Spies: 7 Short Stories

  “And?”

  “Well, this takes some explaining. There are two components to the chronovex,” said Stone. “First there’s the actual relocator. It detects variances in the space-time continuum and finds entry and exit points for travel to time threads that we have determined to be statistically viable. As such, we are constrained in our targeting. We can only send and retrieve from certain, specific points in time. The windows of opportunity are moving ever-forward, effectively limiting our range. The second part is the method we use for tracking agents. The chronovex has the ability to view historical threads, but the scope is greatly limited. We tag our agents with a chronovariant implant that allows us to at least see the agent when the windows open, but that’s the extent of our ability.”

  The explanation made sense. It shouldn’t have, but it did. It was like I was reviewing old high school classes long forgotten rather than hearing about strange new technologies.

  Stone continued. “The problem with Nikki is that she has essentially, for want of a better word, gone rogue. She fulfilled her initial assignment, but when ATC failed to extract her, she, like you, took on her assumed identity as her own. And from what we’ve seen, the results have been disastrous.”

  Despite feeling like I had two brains, it was all starting to fall into place for me. “Let me guess,” I said, “you want me to go back and retrieve her.”

  Stone allowed a tiny smile to flit across his lips. “You’re catching on. The next available window will send you back to 2016, just in time to make a difference,” he said. “At that point, Nikki will have been undercover for over twenty years. She will appear about the age you are now.”

  “And where will she be? What is she doing?”

  “Michael, a lot has happened since she was sent back. By 2016, Nikki has worked her way to a position of power.”

  “Why don’t you just tell me,” I asked.

  “Nikki’s new identity is a woman named Nikki Scott. In 2016, she is the leader of a militant separatist faction called Slaves of Freedom.”

  “What?” I blurted, slamming my hand down on the table. “I’ve heard of her! She’s been rumored to be involved with some very nasty people.” Anger percolated to the surface. “How could you have allowed this to happen?”

  “It wasn’t me, Michael,” Stone said. “Don’t forget – when you were first sent on your mission, I was only twenty-two years old. ATC has done its best over the years to cope with this situation. Now we need you to finish it.”

  I stewed for a minute while I let it all sink in. This absurd reality was becoming more and more real to me. “So what am I supposed to do? Bring her in, dead or alive?” I asked with disdain.

  “You have to understand,” said Stone. “She cannot be allowed to continue the course she is on. We don’t know why, but every thirty-one years, the various time lines align, and a single strand takes precedence, eliminating the loose threads. We’ve identified Nikki’s thread as the superthread, the one that will take precedence when the time lines merge. For now, we’re safe. But by this time next year, if the Nikki time line is not resolved, life as we know it will be changed dramatically – for the worse.”

  “How?” I asked.

  “The last chronovex history viewing window indicated that Nikki Scott plans to merge her radical organization with a foreign one that shares the same goal – to overthrow and destroy the federal government of the United States. She’s adopting the ‘any enemy of my enemy is my friend’ philosophy. If she continues in her current course, it will threaten the outcomes we associate with peace and prosperity. In fact, it could change the very nature of ATC and our existence here, now.”

  “Wouldn’t that be a paradox?” I asked.

  “Perhaps,” said Stone. “It’s hard to say – something like this has never happened before. We’ve never had agents lost to time, making drastic, unplanned changes to history. These missions have always been carefully choreographed, but now, well, it’s all gone haywire. This is all new to us, and we’d rather not find out how bad it can get.”

  I sat back in my chair, attempting to take it all in. Although Stone’s words were all making sense to me, part of me was still anchored in my former reality. Ten years was a long time. Those memories were fresh, but as the moments passed, they were starting to feel like they belonged to someone else – like the recollection of a movie or a really good book. The more I concentrated on the thought of Nikki, the more I could accept this and the more grounded I felt in my “new” reality.

  “Tell me,” I said. “Let’s say I go back to 2016 and find Nikki. How can I convince her that she is not who she thinks she is – that she’s from the future – that she’s my wife?”

  “Unfortunately, you’ll have to figure that out for yourself, Michael. The chronovex is not capable of transporting technology through time, so you can’t carry her restoration visual with you and show it to her.”

  “Her restoration visual – you mean, like the video I just saw of myself – where I say the magical phrase that fixes my brain?”

  “That’s right,” said Stone. “You’ll be on your own.”

  “Why can’t we just snatch her, the way your Commander Roman did with me?” I asked. “Then we can just show her the restoration visual once we have her back.”

  “It won’t work,” said Stone. “Yours was a special case. We can’t just go around abducting people from the past - it would cause too much contamination to the time line. We lucked out with you – you were about to become ashes – everyone in that time line assumed you dead either way.”

  “Dead - like the rest of the people in the twin towers,” I said, a pang of survivor guilt gripping my heart.

  Although I was adjusting to my new reality, I still felt for all those who had died. Some were my business associates, most were total strangers. All were innocent human beings. My mind returned to the questions associated with that attack.

  “Exactly,” said Stone, seemingly oblivious to my feelings. “Besides, the windows of opportunity for time relocation are specific, and the next window is way too close to call.”

  “Too close to call?”

  “We believe a critical event will occur in early 2017. There’s a time window very close to it, and one a little earlier. We’re going to go with the earlier one to give you time to effect a favorable outcome.”

  “Did Nikki’s group have something to do with the events of September 11th, 2001?” I asked, trying to connect the dots.

  “Not directly,” said Stone. “But the groups she is allying with did. And that’s why she has to be stopped.”

  “And you figure I’m the best man for the job.”

  “If anyone can pull Nikki back to reality, it’s her husband,” said Stone. “Now, you need some rest, and then we need to brief you on all the relevant events that occurred between 2001 and 2016. Your time window is due to appear in about thirty hours.”

  I nodded, my confused mind starting to get settled. I decided some rest may be just what I needed to get a handle on all this. Commander Roman returned to the room and led me to my quarters, where I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

  #

  I awoke to the sound of a man yelling at me.

  No, he wasn’t yelling – just trying in vain to rouse me from my slumber, his voice growing more and more harsh with each attempt to break the spell of my turbulent dreams.

  “Michael. Michael!”

  I forced my heavy lids open and focused on Commander Roman.

  “You need to get up, Agent Dennis,” he said. “There’s much to do today.”

  I willed myself to stay awake, and pushed myself up on one elbow. “How long was I out?”

  “You’ve been asleep for more than four hours,” said Roman.

  “How generous,” I said.

  “What? You want to sleep all day?”

  I crawled out of the bed and slipped into some clothes
that had been prepared for me.

  “New?” I asked, indicating the clothing.

  “Can’t have you walking around in 2016 wearing decade-old fashions,” said Roman.

  I buttoned up the shirt. “I had the weirdest dreams,” I said. “Dreams of Nikki, dreams of lots of people dying. Hardly restful.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” said Roman. “But if you think your dreams were weird, wait till you get your briefing today. The period between 2001 and 2016 saw some very – interesting – developments. And it’ll be key that you remember all that you learn.”

  “Right.”

  We left my quarters and headed down a long hallway. The artificial gravity of the ship was still playing tricks on my empty stomach. As if reading my mind, Roman said, “You hungry?”

  “Starved,” I said.

  “Well, you did empty your stomach on the conference room floor,” said Roman, smirking.

  Feeling a little affronted, I said, “So, what exactly is my rank, anyway – you know, as a chrono-agent?”

  “Well, after you were sent back, and we were attacked, ATC took heavy damages. With the original chronovex destroyed, the military took over all time-related operations. The new ATC is now just a sort of contracted branch of the military. So, to answer your question – you work for me.”

  “I see,” I said. “but, what was my rank within the original organization?”

  “You were the equivalent of a captain,” said Roman offhandedly.

  We entered a room that resembled a miniature movie theater. Captain Stone was there waiting for me. Roman left us alone.

  “Good morning, Michael,” he said. “As we’re short on time and you have so much to get caught up on, you’ll have to eat while we work.” He gestured to a seat near him. I sat. He continued. “Are you still with us? I mean, is reality still sinking in and finding a firm hold in your mind?”

  “You mean, do I still believe that I am actually Michael Dennis, a planted operative from the future, sent back to enact certain changes in Earth history? Well, yes,” I said. “That does still feel right, despite the nightmares I experienced all night.”

  “Well, even though we lost you for a few years, I’m glad to report that you did in fact fulfill your mission. Let me start by briefing you on how that worked,” said Stone. “First – that is, right after you made that visual to yourself - your memory was wiped of everything but your specific mission parameters, so you wouldn’t contaminate the time line beyond your mission objective.”

  I ate my breakfast while Stone told me things that I should’ve already known, and as he spoke, it felt like I did already know it, even though I didn’t know that I knew it until he spoke the words.

  “You were sent back originally to help develop some technologies – hence your setting up J-Tech Industries – and also to have some political influence in early nineties America. You performed both of those tasks exceptionally. However, when your extraction date was missed, you carried on living as Michael Jacobsen – long past your expiration date.”

  “Expiration date, eh?” I said. “Makes me sound like a jug of sour milk.”

  “That’s just what we call the period of safe return. After about three years under cover, agents tend to start incorporating their new identity as their own – they lose themselves.”

  “And that’s what happened to me,” I said.

  “We’re so lucky we were able to get you back,” said Stone. He looked down for a moment. “There was a man named Bruce Langley. He trained me personally, back before the ATC was absorbed by the military. He was also your sponsor, Michael. When you were lost, it took a real toll on him. He would’ve been so glad to know you made it back all right.”

  I sifted through my mind in search of a Bruce Langley. At first, I drew a blank, but when Stone used the word “sponsor” I suddenly saw Bruce’s face again, as clear as yesterday.

  “You make it sound like he’s dead – is Bruce dead?”

  “He passed nearly two years ago,” said Stone. “He was a good man – a good leader. I just wanted you to know that I feel like I am carrying on his work, here. He had a vision, and he cared very much about his agents. And I feel an obligation to him, to help see it all through.”

  “Sounds like I’m in good hands, then,” I said, finishing off my orange juice. “I’m interested to get the history briefing – to learn what happened from 2001 to 2016.”

  “Let’s get to it then,” said Stone. He proceeded to give me a brief verbal narrative, highlighting the main geopolitical events of those eleven years. He then showed a visual on the large screen in the room. It played like a historical documentary, providing the details and context and analysis of everything from those years, and then went on to describe how things were supposed to play out after 2016, provided I could fulfill my new mission.

  “Do you have any further questions?” asked Stone at the conclusion of the presentation.

  “Not about history – it’s clear what has to be done – what I have to make happen. But when am I going to get my old memory uploaded?”

  “That will have to wait until after the mission. It’s too dangerous to travel back with your memory intact. We must stick to our standard operational protocols,” said Stone. “I know you’re going to need everything you’ve got to carry this out, but there’s just too much room for error if we send you back with your memory uploaded. You’re our last chance at this – we just can’t afford to fail. This should be a relatively short assignment – a matter of a couple of months - and after that, we’ll restore your backup and you can retire from this game, if that’s what you want. Heaven knows you deserve it.”

  “So I’m going into this blind?” I said, catching my breath. I’d assumed that they would make me whole before sending me out again, and the idea of trying to do this without all my memories was terrifying.

  “I know you don’t like it, Michael, but you have to understand – this rule is not flexible. From the beginning, ATC researchers and policy makers determined that an agent bringing all of his knowledge to the past presented a greater risk than was deemed acceptable. This is one of the rules we just can’t bend or break.”

  “And I’m supposed to convince my wife that she’s an agent, without even being able to appeal to her with our shared memories? This is a suicide mission.”

  “Believe me, I’ve already tried to change this. The Board of Governors, the ATC Commissioner – I even took it to the President of the First World – because I understand the critical nature of this mission. But no one is willing to take responsibility for what could happen. Now, I know it seems strange, but if you were uploaded, you’d insist on being downloaded again before the mission. You’re a dedicated agent, and you believe in these rules because you understand the dangers.”

  I sat back in my chair and exhaled explosively. “Can I at least get briefed on Nikki – not who she is now, but Agent Nikki Dennis?”

  “Yes,” said Stone, “we can get to that right away. There’s not much time before that window opens.”

  I spent the next couple of hours getting to know my wife. Then they had me make a brief visual record – a message to myself to help me readjust upon my return from this mission. Next I was taken to a large, two-story room that resembled a laboratory. In the center of the room was a gunmetal gray chamber, about the size of a school bus on its end, with steps leading to a single hatch entry. Thousands of colored wires led from the top of the chamber down to several banks of computers, and also up to the ceiling, where they disappeared into the steel rafters. At least thirty technicians buzzed about, reading various meters and punching data into their glowing consoles.

  Stone and Roman shook my hand and wished me success, and I climbed the steps and entered the giant metal cocoon, feeling a distinct sensation of déjà vu. I sat down in the contoured seat within, and the door automatically closed, slowly eclipsing my view of the lab. As it formed a
seal, I found myself sitting in near-silence, accompanied only by the sound of my own breathing.

  I looked around the small shell and saw a few more of the colored cables that adorned the outside, and a single visual monitor set into the door in front of me. The monitor came on, and I was greeted by the face of one of the control room scientists.

  “Agent Dennis, my name is Johnny Nakamura. I’ll be in charge of initiating the transfer today.”

  I nodded.

  “All you’ll need to do is lay very still – we’ll take care of the rest.”

  Before I could question what he meant by “lay very still” – the chair started to slowly recline and a support came up under my legs. After a few moments, I was lying flat on my back with my arms at my side.

  “Excellent,” said Nakamura. “Now, just close your eyes, take a deep breath, and hold it.”

  I did as I was instructed.

  Nakamura muttered a few quick commands to his subordinates, using technical terms that I didn’t understand. Then his voice returned more clearly. “Standing by in five, four, three, two, one. Activate chronovariant streaaaaaaaam-eam-eam-eam.”

  Nakamura’s voice seemed to stretch and echo and distort and finally fade away to infinity. My body tingled all over. I was tempted to open my eyes and release my breath, but my fear of interfering with the process and messing things up kept me rigidly in place as if I were getting an MRI. Within moments, or after an eternity, I thought I heard the sound of the ocean, a distant roar growing louder and louder.

  The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital bed.

  “He’s coming around,” said a female voice.

  I opened my eyes and stared up at a man in a white doctor’s coat.

  “Can you hear me?” he asked, his voice deep and sure.

  “Yes,” I said feebly. “What’s happened – where am I?”

  “You were found washed up on the beach,” he said. “You’ve been in a coma for four days.”

  “Oh,” I said, struggling to get my bearings.

  “My name is Doctor Halsgaard. Do you recall how you happened to wind up on the beach?” asked the doctor.

  I thought hard for a moment. “Um, no,” I said.