If you’ve never had the misfortune of being tasked with finding a needle in a haystack, allow me to summarize the experience for you in four words: I’d rather eat dirt.
Regrettably, I don’t have that option.
Case 43b has been my strangest yet. The file includes a black-and-white photograph of a
“I’m Luke Skywalker, and I’m here to rescue you!”
I stride through the doors of my time machine, my compact, titanium blaster swinging jauntily from my hand.
Beneath her white lace cap, the young woman’s eyes widen. She scrambles to her feet. The iron chains clamped to her wrists rattle loudly.
“For the last time, Mr. Hernandez,” I enunciate, poking savage holes in my lime-green blotter with my peacock pen, “you cannot land in Wittenberg, Germany on October 31, 1517.”
“Killjoy,” mutters the time traveler on the other end of the phone. “All I wanted to do was have a look around.”
A column of pure white light shone down on Phineas T. Phoenix, illuminating the assembly of witnesses and lawyers, all of whom had come to see him pay for his crimes.
A second beam of light appeared. The prosecutor entered the view of the court, lowering the hood of his white robe, revealing his pale, bald head. He stared at the criminal, savoring the moment.
Light burst across the room, exploding in a shower of sparks.
Chaimon lowered his pen and glanced up from the treaty spread across his desk. Ah, he’s back.
When the sparks faded, a familiar figure materialized. Dressed in a black coat and matching fedora, his outfit looked out of place in the castle’s study where Chaimon’s sword collection covered the stone walls. Then again, a time traveler couldn’t help obscurity.
The salty smell of the harbor in Baltimore hit my nose and I know exactly where and when I am.
I trip over my own feet, still woozy from the jump, and catch myself on a newspaper stand. To my great and pleasant surprise, my hip doesn’t ache after nearly slamming into the sidewalk.
Hank wandered about the empty house, bored out of his mind, from the kitchen with a fridge full of meals, to the TV showing only reruns, to the shelf of books he’d read a dozen times, then all over again. He’d expected having his parents away for five weeks would give him a sense of ecstatic freedom.
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“One more time. Please, Dude.”
“You’ve already tried ninety-nine times, John!”
“No sweat, Dude. One hundredth time’s the bomb.” John paced in the only open area the lab equipment left them.
“I don’t know. Dr. Perrault’s due back in the lab soon.”
The cabin’s porchlight appeared through the trees. The cop in me couldn’t help wondering why Pete would leave a light on if he was on the run. The man I knew was smarter than that. Then again, that same man had mysterious figures in gray suits chasing after him.
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“This thing’s a museum piece.” Russ unlocked the door. “Literally. The only reason it’s not on display is that we don’t like to advertise.”
Will managed a half-smile as he entered the storage locker. Light flooded gray walls and concrete, making the object within incongruous: a domed cage of wrought copper and treated glass with exposed mechanical parts
Where the beast came from, I had no idea.
I was only passing through this kingdom. A gentle breeze threaded through my loose braid, and I’d been enjoying the quiet and the view, in spite of the large, bare patches dotting the green fields alongside the dirt road.
Not again. Gerald could not do this one more time.
He rubbed his eyes. Michael’s words glowed at him in angry orange from the vidscreen:
REPORT INADEQUATE. RANKS MUST NOT BE ABBREVIATED. REFERENCE TIMECORPS REG. 927.3. RESUBMIT.
Gerald pushed back from the console and floated across the capsule until he bounced lightly against the opposite wall.
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