by Rachel Ford
The mission briefing was at once terrifying and thrilling. Winthrop led Alfred and Nancy to a lecture room. A human woman in something like twenty-first century business casual dress followed a few moments later. “Good afternoon Agents Favero and Abbot.”
Alfred thrilled a little at hearing the title Agent appended to his name. He was very proud of his role as a Senior Analyst with the IRS, and he disdained the agents of his own profession as overappreciated, underworking chumps with guns. But Agent Favero had something of a ring to it that could not be denied.
“My name is Director Reynard. I’ll be briefing you for today’s mission. I understand this is your first time in the field? With us, at any rate?”
Alfred nodded, and Nancy said, “That’s right.”
“Well, you’ll want to pay attention, then. We’re sending you to a pre-time travel world. Technology is widely applied but limited in its scope. It is, in short, even less advanced than your own time.”
Alfred frowned, and Winthrop cleared his throat.
Reynard said, “Forgive me. I believe that word was added to the list of deprecated terms as of our last agency-wide communique.”
Winthrop nodded. “The recommended alternative is pre or post orbital development.”
“That’s right. Well, they’re pre-orbital development. They have limited flight capabilities – inferior to the Terran standards of your day – and no in-orbit development.
“They’re a humanoid species, medically distinct from Terrans but outwardly indistinguishable. You will have no trouble blending into their society.”
“Oh,” Nancy murmured. “That’s good.”
“Yes. You may receive comments about your fingernails – theirs are darker than ours – but they will be remarked as a deformity, and you will be fine.”
Again, Alfred frowned, and again, he was ignored. “You will be equipped with a translation device that will project your speech into the native tongue.”
“Wait,” Nancy frowned, “won’t they hear what we’re actually saying too?”
“The device projects a dampening field to hide your actual speech, Agent Abbot. It will mimic your voices, and translate in almost real time – too quick for the brain to notice any irregularities. They’ll hear your words in their language.”
“It’s a remarkable device,” Winthrop said.
“The world is divided into two distinct powers: the island of Atupal, and the mainland of Inbalibrab.
“Atupal is the predominant power: their technological advancements and military superiority has kept the mainlanders at bay for centuries.
“However, the mainland science academy is on the brink of discovering time travel. And if they do…well, the timeline looks very bleak for the people of Atupal.”
“How bleak?” Nancy wondered.
“If the academy figures out time travel, they’ll be able to go back to the moment when Atupal’s first king established the Atupalan Royal Academy. They will be able to wipe out thousands of years of progress.
“But it’s worse than it sounds. About two centuries ago, there was a plague. It hit the entire planet hard. It was Atupalan medicine that prevented a pandemic.
“If the Royal Academy of Atupal never gets built, Agent Abbot, all sentient life on the planet dies.”
Nance stared, slack jawed. Alfred shifted nervously in his seat. “Wait, that’s, like, an entire genocide we need to stop?” That seemed rather too much pressure for a first-time mission to the taxman.
“That’s correct, Agent Favero.”
“Don’t you have something…I don’t know…a little lower stakes? Like maybe an overeager inventor or something? A kind of Doctor Frankenstein, but with time?”
She ignored this. “The good news is, we’ve made contact already with King Trajan of Atupal. He’s eager for our assistance.”
“I thought this was an undercover mission?”
“It is, Agent Abbot. The king is the only one aware that we’re sending people to aid him. I would recommend you make contact with King Trajan first. He will be expecting you. He’ll be able to give you more background on the situation.”
“But, what’s the plan?”
“Make contact with Trajan. Form a plan.”
“Form a plan?” Nancy’s jaw almost dropped. “There’s an entire planet’s worth of lives on the line, and you want us to just wing it?”
Reynard frowned at her, then at Winthrop. Turning to the latter, she wondered, “I thought you said they were ready?”
“They are,” he hastened to assure her. “Nancy, that’s how this works. You have to be able to figure it out as you go, because the missions change. Just like you did on the MarvelousCon case. Or when you were in the Cretaceous period. You didn’t have a plan then. You dealt with the facts on the ground, and adjusted as they changed.”
“Yeah, but there wasn’t the prospect of genocide if we failed.”
“Playing with time, there’s always the possibility for devastating consequences.” Winthrop shook his head. “But you handled yourselves like pros. You’ve got this, Nancy. You both do.”
Chapter Five
Nancy fidgeted nervously. They’d wrapped up the briefing, got their injection of Compound L, and then changed for departure. They were waiting for Winthrop to reappear, and she seemed to be using the time to brood. “I don’t know, Alfred. I hope we don’t fuck this up.”
“Fudge this up,” he reminded her.
She shot him a sideward glance. “I’m serious.”
He was too – he abhorred such language – but it seemed the wrong time to press the point. Instead, he took her hand. “We’ll be fine. Winthrop says-”
“Winthrop says,” she snorted. “Winthrop’s not the one heading into territory unknown.” She glanced down at her ensemble, and then his. “Winthrop’s not the one dressed like Indiana Jones extras, either.”
He laughed at that. It was a pretty accurate description. Her dark brown, floral vest added a little bit of flair to her outfit, but, otherwise they did look like they were off to raid a cursed tomb, or something of that nature. Khakis and dark colors, he could only guess, must be all the rage on Atupal. “I don’t know, Nance. You’re looking awfully hot. I’d call that a perk of the job.”
Now, she grinned at him, conceding, “You wear the rugged look pretty well yourself, Mister Favero.” Then, she sighed, “But that’s not going to help us save a planet full of people.”
“No,” he agreed. “It won’t. But I can enjoy the view all the same, can’t I?” When she didn’t respond, he took on a more serious tone. “Hey, babe, they wouldn’t send us if they didn’t think we could do it. You know that. You heard Winthrop: he’s reviewed our previous excursions through time. He has faith in us.
“And, I mean, if you think about it, we might not have always known what we were doing, but we still did alright – we lived through getting stranded in the Cretaceous period. We made it through Yngil-wode. We fought the mob – and won.” He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. “Babe, you and me? We’re a hell of a team. If Winthrop thinks we can handle this, well, we can handle it.”
She snorted, but with a little less fire than before. “How can you be so sure of that, Alfred?”
He smiled. “Easy, Nance: because I’ve got you by my side. Anywhere I go with you at my side, I know I’m going to be okay.”
She considered this for a moment, and then smiled too. “I guess you’re right, Alfred.”
He pulled her to him, kissing her. “That’s more like it. But, Nance, if you want out: say the word. If you don’t want to do this, we won’t.”
She held him and shook her head. “No, babe. If we’re going to do it, let’s just do it.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure.”
He nodded. “Alright. Then let’s go stop genocide.”
Special Agent Roger Winthrop handed Alfred a pack, and Nancy a purse. “Alright, this should be it. Miss Nancy, you should have enoug
h currency to last you. Alfred, you’ve got the supplies. So, be careful with that knapsack, otherwise, you’re going to be hungry. Your personal effects are in storage, they’ll be here when you get back. Everything you’ll need is in the pack – but it’s all culturally appropriate. You don’t want to bring anything with you that will cross-contaminate timelines or dimensions.”
They were standing in the center of a large, bare room, its silver walls devoid of markings or adornments of any kind. This, Winthrop told them, was the jumping point, from which they’d leave IBTI headquarters and travel to the shores of Inbalibrab.
“Well, Nance?” Alfred asked, slipping his hand into his pocket and withdrawing the spacetime generator. “You ready?”
“Oh,” the IBTI man said, “you won’t need that.”
Alfred blinked. “I won’t?”
“No. In fact…” He stretched out a hand, and took the device. “You’re actually not going to be able to take it with you.”
“What? Why?” Nancy demanded.
“I’m sorry, Miss Nancy. But it’s a safety measure. You’re with the agency provisionally. We can’t give you the coordinates. Nobody but members of the bureau are allowed identifying information to worlds we aid, in order to protect them.”
“How the hell are we going to get home, then?”
“I’ll be dispatched in three weeks to collect you.”
“Three weeks? What if it takes longer than that?”
“Longer?” Alfred wondered. “What if we finish early?”
“I know our business is time, Agent Abbot, but you are on the clock here. If you’ll pardon the pun.”
Nancy grimaced and Alfred groaned, and Winthrop smiled, as if that had been the desired effect. “I’m sorry. I know the jokes get old after a while.”
She cleared her throat, asking, “Why are we on the clock, exactly?”
“The Inbalibrab science academy is about a month away from unlocking the secrets of time travel. If you don’t solve the crisis before they do, well, the mission’s a bust.”
“Why not send us back earlier? That’d give us more time?”
“Our risk-benefit analysis has pinpointed this arrival date to be the optimal one. The pressure on the Atupalans will be sufficiently high to compel them to act reasonably, but not in desperation.”
“Oh.”
“Alright, if there’s nothing else…”
“Wait,” Nance said. “That spacetime generator…how do we know – well, not to put too fine a point on it – but that we’ll ever get it back?”
“You have my word, Miss Abbot. But, more than that, if we were trying to rob you, we wouldn’t need to send you into another dimension. We know you didn’t invent the device: Futureprise corporation did. We know it’s the last – the only – prototype in existence in your timeline.
“We could have lifted it out of your home in the middle of the night, and there wouldn’t have been a thing you could do about it.
“You didn’t design it, you wouldn’t be able to replicate it. So if we meant to rob you, there would be far easier ways than throwing you across time and space.”
That was true enough. Nance had repaired the device a few times, but not even she would have been able to build it from scratch. If someone stole it, well, it was gone. She must have come to the same realization, because she nodded. “Alright. You better be back for us in three weeks, Winthrop.”
“I will, Nancy. And in the meantime…well, good luck and bon voyage.”
Chapter Six
White light washed over Alfred, and the empty chamber vanished. A kind of distant humming filled his ears, and then the light diminished. The sensation of cross dimensional travel via the IBTI device was much the same as using the Futureprise generator he and Nance had, but it was smoother. He felt less of a tingling sensation in his extremities, and the light that washed over him was less intense. It was a more serene experience.
Alfred blinked into a sunny mid-morning. Nance was at his side, and they were standing in a field of vibrant greens. He heard birds singing in the distance, and the rustle of a gentle breeze sweeping through the grass. The smell of sea air, and the distant crash of surf, rolled over him a moment later.
It was one of the most blissful settings he could imagine, and he glanced around, just to be sure there were no dangers lurking somewhere unseen. There was nothing – nothing but rolling green fields and deep blue waters, a cheery blue sky, and bright sunshine.
“Wow,” he said. “You don’t think they sent us to the wrong place, do you?”
“What?”
“Well, this sure doesn’t look like a world on the brink of genocide. I mean, there’s nothing but sunshine and singing birds here.”
Nance shot him a bemused smile. “Who knows. Maybe Hitchcock was onto something. Maybe it starts with the birds.”
He frowned at her teasing. “You know, that was only just better than one of Winthrop’s time jokes, Nance.”
She laughed. “Well, he has set the bar pretty low.”
“Very,” he nodded. “But what I mean is, it’s so quiet. Where are the armies marshalling? Where are the ships at sea? Where’s all the death and destruction?”
She took his hand, squeezing it gently. “Well, with any luck, we’re going to make sure none of that happens.”
“I guess.”
She examined the area around them, turning to the far trees on one side and the coast on the other. “But, where do you think we are?”
“What?”
“We’re by the sea, so we must be on Atupal, right?”
He nodded. “Must be.” It was the most logical place for Winthrop to drop them, after all.
“Alright. Then we’re probably close to the palace or house of state – wherever the king lives.”
“So all we have to do is find it.”
She smiled. “Okay. Let’s go find this king, then.”
They set their steps for the coast, deciding to follow the shoreline until they found a road or town. The day was warm, but a cool breeze carried in from the water. Alfred walked with a cheerful step, whistling as they went. Nance was quiet and thoughtful.
At first, lost in the smell of ocean air and the sound of birdsong, he didn’t notice. Eventually, though, her silence drew his attention. “Hey, what’s wrong, Nance?”
“Nothing. Just…why do you think they put us in the middle of a field? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to send us straight to the palace?”
He shrugged. “No idea. Maybe they have some kind of strict check-in policy or something. Maybe you need credentials to see the king.”
She nodded slowly. “Still…I don’t even see the castle. At least, I’m assuming it’s going to be a castle.”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed her to him. “Winthrop’s got his reasons, darling.”
“I just wish he shared them with us.”
He smiled to himself. His Nance didn’t like not knowing things. It was one of the personality traits that made her so good at her job. It also made her a bit of a bloodhound when things didn’t make sense. She wouldn’t rest until she got to the bottom of it. “Let’s just keep walking. I’m sure we’ll find something before long.”
He was right, although it wasn’t the something he had in mind. About half an hour later, they rounded a turn in the rocky coastline, and found themselves almost on top of a small town. It was quaint and old-fashioned, built in a style that reminded Alfred of an old English fishing village. The homes were small, with thatched roofs and whitewashed walls. A fish market sat just off the dock. The odor hit him before he saw it: pungent and fishy, heavy with the smell of salt and death. “Sugar cookies.”
Nancy pulled a face too. “Oh boy. That’s…strong.”
He pressed a hand to his nose. “Yup. Still, they’ll be able to tell us where we are.”
She groaned at the prospect of advancing toward the smell, but acquiesced. “Alright. Good thing we ate hours ago, though, because I
might lose my lunch otherwise.”
Alfred nodded. “You and me both.”
Their arrival didn’t draw much attention. A few fishmongers looked them over once before returning to their work, and a dirty child threw them glances here and there. But for the most part they strolled into the village unremarked. “I hope these translators work,” Nance whispered.
“Me too.” He hadn’t thought much about it since the briefing, but now that they were about to put them to use, he did.
Nance set her steps toward a middle-aged woman hawking fish. “Moment of truth.” Alfred gulped, but said nothing. She smiled, a bit nervously, and said, “Good morning.”
To the taxman’s ears, her words sounded every bit as normal as they always had. The merchant glanced up, and for a long second they waited in suspense as the woman studied them. Then, she smiled a gap-toothed smile. “Morning, folks. You must be from the capital, eh?”
Alfred loosed a breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding, managing a, “That’s right.”
“Well, what brings you out this way then, eh?”
“Just…exploring,” Nance said. “What is this place called?”
“This is Greycoast. On account of us being on the coast. And on account of the rock.”
“Ah,” Alfred ventured, “Because it’s…grey?”
She nodded.
“Well, umm, very sensible name.”
She bobbed her head again. “Exactly, traveler. You Katar folk are very sharp.”
“We’ve been walking all morning,” Nancy said, “and I think we’ve got ourselves a bit turned around. Can you tell us, how far are we from King Trajan’s palace?”
The old woman’s eyes widened. “Trajan? Far, I hope. That tyrant is never good news.”
Alfred frowned, catching Nance’s sideways glance. “Umm, yes.”
“So he’s not here?” Nancy pressed.
“Good gods, no. He’s not welcome on Inbalibrab.”
Alfred blinked. “We’re on Inbalibrab, then?”
She regarded him with a skeptical eye, as if she couldn’t quite tell if he was mad or just stupid. “Of course. Where did you think you were?”