Tma: Agent Susan

Author's note: This story is part of a loosely connected series of stories inspired by Slyc_Willie in a thread on Lit's Authors Hangout. Read Slyc's TMA stories for a background on the Temporal Management Agency. You may also want to read the first story about Agent Susan.

Susan flicked the "off" switch, and then replaced the orgasmatron in the bottom drawer. She locked the drawer carefully; it would not do for her to be caught with contraband. After the idea was introduced in the 1973 movie "Sleeper," many companies worked to find the proper technology.

The FDA banned the device when clinical trials demonstrated how addictive it was. Hers was a souvenir of an unauthorized trip to the 20th century. She had her handler to thank for that. He had the power, the authority, and most importantly, the technology, to allow her to travel when and where she wanted.

He also had that priceless quality of being unable to refuse her requests. She carefully nurtured their relationship over the years, as she moved up in management, her nurturing evolved from the physical to the material.

In her early days at the Agency, she had become somewhat infatuated with an older man in the organization. He was sexy, charming, flirtatious, and very married. Her attitude toward him fit in with Susan's personal rule to not become sexually involved with the men with whom she worked. That was, unless absolutely necessary.

When she first started there, he enjoyed approaching her at her desk, especially when her back was turned and she was listening to her mp3 player.

"What you want, baby I got it," she sang under her breath then looked up to see him standing there with smiling eyes.

"You got that right baby," he said with a grin, "keep doing whatever it is you do."

"Shut up, horn dog," was her usual reply. No matter what she was doing, he always made her smile. "What do you want this time?"

"Did I ever tell you," he queried, "that you remind me of someone I used to know?"

"About a hundred times," was fast becoming her standard reply. He really did say this often, with a glint in his eye that she could never understand.

Their discussions always centered around work, but were also usually studded with double-entendres. They both enjoyed the verbal jousting and although she wound never admit it, she loved the attention he lavished on her, while cynically noting the fact that he seemed to give the same attention to any and all women he encountered. He had retired a few years before and she missed him greatly.

The phone on her desk rang, disturbing her reverie. "Elders," she answered. It was the technology department. They had a problem and wanted her to attend a meeting. She agreed and rose to make the trip downstairs.

When she got to technology, she immediately sensed that something was very wrong. The problem, it seemed, was due to the fact that the disturbance was less that fifty years ago, near past was very tricky in that many of the current crop of agents were older than that and ran the risk of bumping into their former selves.

"In addition," one of the young techs informed her, "this looks and feels like a red herring." "There is a fifty-five percent chance that this is the work of a hacker, and not actual rectifier activity."

Susan questioned the tech department, then called in the research department. After spending the afternoon gathering information, she made her decision.

Her handler had to be convinced. "What do you mean, you will go?" he asked, "no sense in that, send one of the other agents."

"Nope, I have to take this one, and you need to send me, tonight," she replied. "I also need you to give me an extra day, off the clock."

"No way," he answered, "you know how far I will be sticking my neck out for that? Not worth it, even for you."

"Sure it is," she began and quickly brought him around to her way of thinking. "Sheesh," she marveled to herself, not that she was complaining, but it seemed that high heels and lipstick made for an awful lot of cooperation among men.

Susan prepared for the trip, along with the items required for the mission, she also packed a few unauthorized extras.

Her mission was uneventful, just as she and the techs had suspected. The Rectifiers did not make an appearance, there was no work to do.

With a smile, she set her path toward a local pub. A place her older friend from work had described as the scene for many a happy memory in his younger, wilder and most importantly, single days. She checked her purse and made sure she had lots of cash to buy a few rounds. She had a younger man to seduce. She was on a mission.