Author's note: This vignette is the result of a challenge thread about Time Travel. The possibility of a chain story has been discussed and still may occur. In the meantime, some of the authors have posted a few stories within the theme and if you like the premise, look for them in the Sci-Fi/Fantasy stories. This particular snippet has no real erotic content, just so you know. For the thread, I borrowed a couple of the main characters from my Chase Cooder story and it seems they wanted to stick around awhile. The background on the TMA is by slyc_willie.
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The Temporal Management Agency was established in 2004 once it was determined that physical time travel was possible and even practical. The brainchild of Lithuanian scientist Dr. Andrej Turgenyev and US DOD scientist Dr. Phineas Jasper, the TPRFG -- Temporal Probability/Redundancy Field Generator (also known as the 'Tap') -- was constructed under a secret joint venture of UN member nations, under the auspices of the United States Government. The TMA is an ultra-top-secret agency of which only its members and high-level government officials are aware.
The Tap is housed in a secret location in Nebraska, away from major centers of civilization. Tap has several limitations: there is a limit as to how long a person can remain in the past – thirteen days – as well as a limit as to how much mass – 220 kilograms – the Tap can sustain at any certain point in time. In addition, time travel is only possible into the past, because finding a point in time to travel to also requires that we know where in space the Earth existed at that moment. It cannot be accurately predicted where the Earth will be in the future, so traveling forward along the timestream is not yet feasible.
The genesis for the TMA came when historians, working with the Tap's initial ability to simply 'look' into the past, noticed certain events in history being altered by members of a group called the Rectifiers. Their leadership and motives remain unknown, but their goal is apparently to disturb the timestream by altering past events. They are believed to conduct their operations from some point in the near future; estimates as to the era of their existence vary between 25 to 100 years beyond the current time.
The TPRFG maintains the Agency in the 'correct' timeline, regardless of what changes are made to history by the Rectifiers. It is only because of this effect that the TMA is able to discern the true timeline from any altered ones and TMA agents are charged with stopping the Rectifiers whenever and wherever they strike.
*
It was early evening when Box strolled through the Temporal Management Agency's atrium. Having finally completed his days work, he was looking forward to a relaxing evening. As he approached the oversized front door he noticed an old friend and colleague crossing the wide expanse and called out, "Hey, Chase. Haven't seen you around lately. When did you get back?"
"How you doing, Box? This morning. I've been downloading the eye-view report and filling out the paperwork. You'd think we'd be paperless by now, wouldn't you. Hey, if you have a minute let's go to the canteen and get a pint. I'll tell you about my latest."
"What about your..." Box waved his hand in the direction Chase had been walking, "...whatever you were doing?"
"It can wait. I'll return later."
"Okay, then. If you're a buying, I'm a drinking," Box said. They turned from the ten foot high double doors and headed back toward one of the TMA's four-star restaurants located in a distant wing of the wood, stone and glass complex.
They walked down wide hallways, turning left, then right and so on through the complex toward their destination. They had no need to break stride as doors to highly restricted areas opened for them as they approached. So transparent were the security measures they appeared nonexistent. However, as Chase and Box drew near security arrays conducted multiple biometric scans and challenged their forearm implant, smaller than a grain of rice, for further identification data as well as current password and access codes to each area.
Finally arriving at the lounge, Box and Chase entered as another couple was leaving and were fortunate to get a table at a window overlooking the lake. There was a man fishing from the dock and there were a few small two-person sailboats carving graceful patterns along the water's surface. The lounge itself had been acoustically dampened and was tastefully decorated in rich but subdued colors. The overall effect was of casual elegance and intimacy, though Chase and Box had selected it simply because it was the closest lounge serving refreshments of their choice.
They sat down and as the chair's processors measured and molded the cushions, seatbacks and armrests to their forms Chase said, "The Rectifiers are still up to their old tricks, pal. And as desperate as they've ever been."
"Do tell."
"Well. Initially, I was sent back to November, 1877 this time." Chase looked down and tapped a spot on the table twice, ordering two beers that would be delivered by the wait-bot.
"Man, those waybacks are really not my favorite periods. It smells like shit and the clothes are heavy and hot. Awful."
"Hey, it was better than 1492 when we guaranteed that dude made his boat trip," Chase replied.
"That's true. Or 1773, when we prevented the Rectifiers from stopping the Boston Tea Party." He grinned, his sparkling white teeth peering out from his bushy black beard.
"Right! I haven't thought about that one in awhile," Chase laughed. "You know, those were a lot of fun. I think I'll talk to Hutchins and see if she can find another assignment to send us on. She owes me one."
"Yeah. See if she can send us sometime cool. Like, I don't know, the nineteen sixties."
"Good idea. But not Vietnam stuff."
"No way. Stateside. I'm thinking hippie chicks and free love, buddy," Box said with a wink.
"Now you're talking! I'll see what I can do. But you know, the Rectifiers are sneaky as ever. Not only that, this was just one weird assignment. You're not gonna believe this one. I was there and I'm still not sure I do."
"All right. Let me have it," Box said.
"Okay. It's a long-term assignment, right? Occurred over the course of the past year. A little longer actually because the intel was sketchy and the white coats couldn't pinpoint the signature event in the timeline for some reason."
"Man, those are a drag."
"Tell me about it. Having to leave every thirteen days then return after another thirteen. Standard protocol; I'd have some down time or get sent on other short-termers. I used the usual cover, too."
"The good old business trip routine, eh?"
"Yep. I was a merchant and had to make purchasing trips and shit. Someone else would watch the target while I was gone, but I was tasked to get up close and personal."
"I bet," Box smirked.
"So I meet the target. She's married, of course. I knew that from the briefing. I quickly insinuate myself into her and her husband's lives and become close friends with them. Cool people. Turns out that they'd been trying to have a baby, but she can't get pregnant. The doctors of the time can't find anything wrong with the woman so they figure the guy must be shooting blanks. What the hell did they know back then anyway, you know?"
"Got that right."
"Anyway, one night I'm over at their place and we're partying and shooting the schiss. Had to upload German for this one. So we're shooting the schiss and she excuses herself. The guy hems and haws and finally gets it out that the chamber's empty and would I do them a favor."
"You're schissing me!" Box guffawed and slapped a meaty paw on the table.
Chase laughed, took a drink and leaned in, forearms on the table. "I schiss you not. So he begs me and begs me. I'm their best friend, it would be an honor, how much they want a child, my name can be the kid's middle name, and on and on. I thought it through real quick and decided I had to do it for duty, country, and honor," he finished solemnly, placing his right hand over his heart.
