Temporal Entanglement: Watchbearers, #5

By James Litherland

Reaching a reunion of the surviving Travelers first requires staying alive.

 

Deciding a little judicious fast-forwarding and backtracking through time is just the way to fulfill her obligations to the FBI and help out her colleagues from the future while continuing to conduct her own research, Nye soon ties her personal timeline into a knot so complicated even she may be unable to unravel it—meanwhile making herself the target of a couple of highly trained hired killers…

 

A brain-bending, time-twisty thriller!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Outpost Stories
• Release date: Nov 14, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393827023

James Litherland

James Litherland is a graduate of the University of South Florida who currently resides as a Virtual Hermit in the wilds of West Tennessee. He’s lived various places and done a number of jobs – he’s been an office worker and done hard manual labor, worked (briefly) in the retail and service sectors, and he’s been an instructor. But through all that, he’s always been a writer. And after over thirty years of studying and practicing his craft, he took the plunge and published independently. He is a Christian who tries to walk the walk (and not talk much.)

Book preview

The Watchbearers

A team of researchers from the future crash landed in the summer of 2000 in New York City, scattering them across that ancient metropolis and stranding them in the past. Some managed to reunite, some became separated again as they used their limited ability to travel in time, but only one, a graduate student named Nye, chose to take the slow path forward and focus on the research she’d come to conduct. At least, that was the idea...

Chapter 1

Giving Oneself Ideas

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Friday, September 12th, 2003

Hogan’s Alley, Quantico, Virginia

NYE LOOKED THROUGH the tinted windows of the SUV and read the unique welcome sign greeting them as they entered the unusual small town—a terse message warned visitors about weapons being displayed and blanks being fired. Not very hospitable, but then they weren’t exactly wanting to attract tourists.

A good thing innocent civilians couldn’t wander into this fake municipality by accident—it was just a section of the huge FBI training ground surrounded by the massive Marine base and so very secure. She hadn’t been too sure she wanted to be here herself—even before seeing that less-than-friendly signpost. But it was too late to change her mind. The Bureau had only recently hired her as a consultant, and she needed to gain their trust.

She sighed. Not that long ago she’d been a suspect, and while her faked background was too solid to be shaken, her supposed history was also too thin to satisfy the FBI. Presumably they’d only given the green light to hire her because of her help stopping a terrorist attack. So she was essentially working on a probationary basis.

Sitting in the backward-facing seat on the other side of the SUV, Special Agent Coulter was watching her closely with what seemed a blank expression on his face. But the background subroutine her glasses were running to analyze microexpressions informed her he was amused.

Nye cocked her head back toward the retreating welcome sign and gave him a weak grin. Apparently it’s pretty—active?—here. I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

She knew wannabe Feds trained extensively for months at Quantico, but they weren’t the only ones who came—state and local law enforcement personnel from all around the country, from all around the world, traveled here to learn the latest methods, the most up-to-date techniques in various fields to help catch criminals. But she’d come for tactical driving lessons. Not to be shot at, even with blanks.

The slim senior agent shook his head. No need to worry, Miss Walker, with you students tearing up and down the streets as bad as, or worse than, New York City cabbies, there won’t be any other training sessions scheduled here for over the weekend. And there will be far fewer ‘residents’ around than usual too. Just to be on the safe side.

Having interacted with Coulter several times in the past, she had sufficient experience of the way he used language to understand that though his words often contained a humorous inflection, the meaning always remained serious. So his amusement didn’t allay any of her anxiety. But at least Nye would not need to worry about suddenly finding herself in the middle of a mock terrorist takedown.

Still, the man had been considerate to meet her at the Quantico station—she’d taken the Carolinian commuter train down from Manhattan on her own, and she knew no one here. He’d even taken her on a brief tour of the Bureau’s other facilities here before bringing her to this simulated small town. But soon he’d drop her off, leave her alone among people she didn’t know at all.

One of the reasons—the least of them—that she had agreed to work for the FBI in the first place was the opportunity it offered to further her study of the natives of this time. With the hope she might eventually understand them. Of course, Nye had a difficult enough time relating to her own contemporary citizens from the future. But familiarity had led to a certain comfort level with them.

However, having taken Anya and Tate ahead to next summer a few days ago, with Turner and Page and their companions having skipped all the way to twenty twelve, and Sam and Bailey still both adventuring back in the past, Nye had been left all on her own. And since she was taking the slow path to the future, she’d have to get used to it.

Her decision to travel forward day by day like a normal person had stemmed in part from the sheer magnitude of her main research project, documenting and analyzing the urban architecture of that ancient metropolis called New York City. The amount of work involved had led to her limiting her study to Manhattan, and that was challenging enough. They kept changing things around while she was trying to map it all out.

Now she had this part-time job with the Bureau too, as well as the important task Anya had assigned her of retrieving Kirin’s watch. Even so, Nye hadn’t considered declining Coulter’s invitation to participate in this weekend’s training, which was too good an opportunity to pass up. Despite the way it made her feel distinctly uneasy.

At the wheel of the SUV, Agent Burke eased the vehicle slowly down the town’s ‘Main Street’, giving Nye ample time to study everything in detail, though naturally she was recording it all for later analysis. A little brick post office sat next to the traditional, imposing bank building. A slightly decrepit theatre advertised showings of ‘Manhattan Melodrama’. And on the corner stood a small, quaint hotel with white siding.

It all reminded her strongly of Little Piece up in Chickadee County. Clearly they’d been paying close attention to the details when constructing the sixty-acre faux community, even down to the way people went about their ‘business’. The hired actors or extras or whatever—who’d presumably been taught to keep out of harm’s way—played their parts well, according to how their patterns of movement matched her rather limited observations of the population in that town in upstate New York Anya and Tate called home, at least in the summers. Nye even saw a few people lined up at the counter inside a small deli.

Agent Coulter nodded at it. They’ve got a good selection of sandwiches there, for when they let you out for lunch.

If you say so, sir. She sighed and looked over at the ‘Dogwood Inn Restaurant’ ahead on the other side of the street. What about that place? Family-style dining would mean the chance to sit down and relax better than getting a quick bite at the deli, definitely preferable if she remained this anxious.

But he shook his head. You won’t get any food there, it’s a big classroom on the inside, rather than a real restaurant.

While Nye heartily approved of the idea of constructing an entire town for the purpose of running simulations, she wished they hadn’t made that particular deviation from accuracy. Surely they built a school here. That would’ve served better.

Before Coulter could comment, if he’d intended to, Agent Burke pulled the SUV into the lot at ‘Honest Jim’s’ auto dealership. And the senior agent instead gestured at the various vehicles on display. I wish we could join you, racing around in those. But I’ve got other business to attend to. I’m sure somebody will give you a ride down to the station Sunday afternoon, after you’ve finished the course.

Nye nodded. She’d be staying the two nights in a room in that little hotel they’d passed. Thankfully without a roommate. I appreciate your giving me a lift, Special Agent Coulter. She could have walked, being used to that. But she was grateful that hadn’t been necessary, as nervous as she felt.

Sliding the side door open, she started to climb out, to go join the few people she’d seen gathered by the door to the dealership, who she presumed were her fellow pupils. But Coulter had a question. You said you know how to drive a stick shift? They’ll be training you on cars with manual transmissions.

Certainly I know. At least, she’d pulled up the instructions on her glasses, though she hadn’t gone over them yet. I just haven’t had a lot of practice. None at all, actually. And the only time she’d driven a car had been when she took the test in Little Piece to get her license, where it was easy. And which she had only done to bolster her ID for this era. Probably she should’ve gotten some more practice before now, but she hadn’t had the time.

Starting to skim through the directions she had brought up, her anxiety increased. While the principle seemed straightforward—she understood easily enough how to operate the clutch when she needed to change gears, and when that would be—it clearly required good hand-to-eye coordination, the sort of skill one needed to practice plenty before becoming proficient at. And since they’d expect her to pick up advanced techniques, she’d need to at least be comfortable driving a stick shift. But she wasn’t.

When Coulter had offered her a slot in the seminar, he’d joked that if she ever wanted to drive herself around in town, she’d need tactical driving skills to survive Manhattan traffic. It had sounded at the time like humor, though it had appeared he was serious. And though she preferred walking for her research, being able to drive in the city might be useful, she’d thought. More importantly, participating in the training would be a great way to begin building the trust she’d need if she were ever going to get Kirin’s time-travel device out of the FBI’s hands.

Now she faced the real possibility—probability, really—that she’d make a fool of herself. And make her mission much more difficult. Looking up at the senior agent’s face, her glasses told her Coulter was concerned. I’m feeling a little unsettled. Is there a restroom anywhere around here, sir?

The senior agent nodded the grizzled head that showed some gray and gestured back the way they’d come. The classroom disguised as a restaurant has facilities you can use, but—he checked his watch—you only have twenty-five minutes before the seminar starts.

Twenty-seven, actually. The clock and calendar app in the upper outside corner of her left lens kept her all too appraised of how much time she had. Or how little, considering she needed to cram weeks of experience into a bathroom break. Then I’d better get going. Thank you again, sir, for this.

She slid the door shut, then started powerwalking in the direction of the Dogwood Inn. It took her ten minutes to reach it, and she pushed through the entrance with unseemly haste. But then that wasn’t likely to look like unusual behavior.

Noticing the sign for the restrooms down a corridor at the back of the building, Nye headed toward it without hesitation, barely paying any attention to the large empty classroom through which she went. But she could always review the video later. For the moment she was more concerned with reading, and rereading, the directions for driving a manual transmission. And praying.

After entering the ladies’ she checked to confirm she had it to herself, then leaned against the sink to stare at her reflection in the mirror. She’d managed to get herself into quite a mess this time and had no one to get her out.

Instead of sixteen minutes, Nye needed sixteen days if she were to keep from looking like an idiot in front of everyone who’d come for the training. And while Agent Coulter wouldn’t be there, or any of his team, word would surely get back to him. And she’d seen enough interactions between Feds to know how important one’s reputation was. So what should she do?

The obvious solution would be to travel back in time and get the practice driving a stick shift she so clearly needed. And it was probably what any of the others would do in her situation, but Anya had gotten herself into trouble trying something like that—likely she wasn’t the only one. And Nye needn’t act as they would.

Besides, if she popped back even a few weeks, it might be difficult getting out of the Marine base—it might be impossible to get back in to return to right now. But she’d achieve nothing by ruing the limitation that meant she’d always appear in the same location she left whenever she traveled in time. Often that turned out to be a helpful feature rather than a hindrance. In her current circumstances, however, it made things awkward.

With a sigh she stopped gazing past her own reflection in the restroom mirror, squared her shoulders, and straightened her spine. Nye supposed she would just have to do her best and hope everything worked out alright in the end, that it wouldn’t be the end of her time with the FBI.

Still thinking there should be some way to utilize the time-travel device she wore on her wrist to work out a better solution, she turned to the door and began to step out into the corridor.

But she arrested the movement the moment she saw herself already halfway down the hall.

It felt weird watching the back of her own head—an unfamiliar sight to say the least—as she walked away from herself. But the individual identification program she always had running in the background on her glasses these days had told Nye who she was seeing even before she’d recognized herself.

Startled, she shut the door without thinking and retreated into the restroom. Barely able to breathe, she replayed the recorded video of herself she’d just seen, but this time with full analysis.

Her glasses confirmed it was her. And interestingly, the kinetics results showed the other Nye had walked with complete confidence and authentic assurance, meaning she must’ve had plenty of experience driving a stick shift. Apparently she was going to go back in time and get that practice after all.

Or was she? Obviously she had worked out how to go about it successfully. So she should be able to figure it out now. Turning back to gaze again at her image in the mirror, Nye bit her lip in thought.

What if she traveled forward in time rather than back into the past? Presumably she’d still be a consultant for the FBI in the future, and hopefully they would know her here by then. It would explain how she could leave Quantico and enter again in order to return to this present, materializing in the hall right outside the ladies’ restroom. And head to the tactical driving class and acquit herself well.

It had to work. She’d just seen the proof of it.

Not only that, in the future she presumed she’d be trusted by her Bureau colleagues, opening up an opportunity for her