Episode 21: Event Seven

Event Seven

by Alicia Cay

Brann Creasey watched Amelia Earhart's plane burst into flames for the tenth time that day.

He'd tried every filter and editing technique he could think of, but it was still there: an anomaly smack dab in the middle of his footage. He sighed, took a swig of his gone-cold coffee, then scrolled back through the video. He'd been working on the raw footage of Earhart's last flight on July 2, 1937, for the past three hours, but right as her plane nosedived, the footage blurred, and a splitting line of static appeared with a sharp vertical flash of… something.

Brann squinted at the screen. Was it interference from the storm? That didn't make sense, the Time Trip drones were advanced enough to compensate for such nominal things.

No, he'd seen this before, although it'd never messed with the actual view of the Event. Was the data being corrupted during the drone's hibernation? Brann rubbed his temples. Either way, if he didn't get this done right, his boss would have his ass—or worse, his job.

He leaned back in his office chair and flipped a quarter across his knuckles, Grandpa’s coin, from back when they'd used physical money. Brann bit at his lower lip. If he couldn't fix this, he'd have to pitch the footage over to the FX guys. The thought of sharing the film credits pained him. Everyone in the world watched the Time Trips and saw his name--no way he wanted to share the spotlight.

The quarter slipped from Brann's hand and onto the desk with a clatter. "Damn." He scrolled the footage back again. "Maybe I can cut around you."

A chime alerted, and the door to the editing lab swished open behind him.

"Heya, Brann." Richard said.

Brann swiveled his chair around.

Richard unbuttoned the jacket of his Gucci navy pinstripe suit as he sat on the edge of the desk.

"They released the trailer for E6." Richard grinned his lopsided smile. "It looks good."

Brann laughed. His best friend might be the Lead Scientist at TempusCorp, but to Brann he was still the same goofball he'd been in college.

"Yeah, the footage is being a ripe pain though." Brann pinched the bridge of his nose. "I've got some interference or something that's clouding up the Event. No one will want to pay to watch a bunch of static when Ms. E's plane nosedives in a ball of flames." Brann worked his quarter across the back of his fingers.

Richard pointed to the line of static on the paused video. "Light pollution, maybe?"

"In the middle of the Pacific Ocean?" Brann shooed Richard's hand away. "Listen, you handle the Time Trips, I'll handle the editing."

Richard chuckled. "Anyway, I'm headed out, wanted to make sure we're still on for drinks." He buttoned his jacket and smoothed down his black and teal striped tie.

"I'll meet you there about six," Brann said. "Oh, and you still owe me that drink."

"You can't wager on the Time Trips when you've seen the footage before everyone else!" Richard called back as the door slid closed behind him.

"Yeah, right." Brann knew there hadn't been a second shooter even before he'd seen the drone video of JFK's assassination. No one claimed the two-million-dollar jackpot on the Main Event that night. Nobody had seen that one coming.

Brann headed to the safe in the corner of the room. He swiped his badge, entered his code, and the safe clicked open.

Brann pulled the raw footage for Events 4 and 5. He pushed E4's chip into the reader and hit play. "Alright, Pilgrims, let's see what you've got to say for yourselves."

The Time Trip drones perched in the trees above the Roanoke Colony six minutes before the settlers met their doom, and… there it was! At exactly one minute, five seconds before the Main Event, a vertical flash of static had appeared. This one spanned three frames, too fast for anyone to notice unless they were looking for it. He'd ignored it before because it had been easy to edit around. But now, Brann stopped on the center frame of the anomaly. What was that? A shudder ran down his spine. A dark crack had flashed open behind the line of static. Then it was gone.

He set up and scrolled through E5's footage. This time the anomaly appeared at four minutes, eighteen seconds after the drones appeared to capture the Lindbergh baby kidnapping, and one minute, thirteen seconds before the culprit looked right at the camera, revealing her identity, then crawled down the ladder with the bundled toddler in her arms. This anomaly was slower and covered five frames. Brann froze the footage on the third frame. The picture was less fuzzy, the strange image more defined. Behind the static was a slit, like a sideways eye, a crack of pitch black. Brann's hand froze, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth. In the center of the sideways eye, where the pupil would be, were six long appendages of some sort. They looked like insect legs or… He peered at the screen. "What is that?"

#

Brann took a seat at the bar and pulled out his tablet. The inside of The Tav was softly lit, covered in warm wood, and two video screens mounted above the back of the bar lent their flickering light to the dim interior. If you worked for TempusCorp, you hung out here. It was almost a rule. Plus, the bouncers did a good job of keeping Time Trip "fans" out, those awesome nut-jobs convinced that time travel was bringing about the end of days, or worse, people looking to glean secrets about the next Event. Betting on Time Trips was big business, and some folks were willing to do anything for information.

 Brann snapped a picture of himself holding up a glass of expensive Scotch for his I-media page. He hated the taste of Scotch, but he was all about cultivating an image.

He tagged and posted his picture, and attached it to the Event 6 trailer. People followed him because of where he worked, and it made him feel special to be involved. He was second in line for viewing the historical Events, after the scientists—who got to watch first—but all he really did was prepare the footage for the paying public, then another version, still heavily edited but longer, for the historians and world scientists who got special viewing privileges. Brann's followers might think his position was an exclusive one, but he only had access to the editing room at work. He'd never even seen the lab where Richard worked or the trip machine.

The news blared from one of the TVs. Brann pulled out his quarter and scrolled it over his knuckles.

"Heya, man," Richard said.

Brann greeted his friend as Richard took the stool next to him. Richard had on the same Gucci suit from earlier, only… Brann laughed. "Got a hot date later, or did you spill coffee on yourself?"

Richard looked down at his clothes. "No, why?"

"You changed your tie just to have drinks with me? Why, I'm flattered."

Richard smoothed down his wide royal-blue tie. "This is the same one I've had on all day."

"No." Brann shook his head. “You had on the black one with the teal stripes."

"How many of these have you had so far?" Richard picked up Brann's glass. He swirled the Scotch in it, then raised the glass at the bartender. The bartender nodded back.

Brann shook his head. "I must have been distracted. You remember that static problem I was working on in E6?"

"The light pollution thing?" Richard said.

The bartender delivered Richard's drink. Brann waited for him to leave, then glanced around the room. He leaned close to Richard. "It isn't light pollution."

"Clearly," Richard said.

"Yeah," Brann said. "No, it's an anomaly of some sort. The thing is I pulled some previous footage, from E4 and E5."

Richard frowned. "Because you can't salvage the footage from E6? There'll be hell to pay if you can't. You know how much a Time Trip costs?"

"I know, I know," Brann said.

"So, what is it? Is the data being corrupted during hibernation?"

Brann wanted to tell his friend what he'd seen, but with Richard, he knew to tread lightly. "I don't think so. I'm not sure. When I slowed the video down I saw something in one of the frames. Behind the static, there's this dark spot, or… I don't know." Brann took a sip of his drink. It burned all the way down into his empty stomach. He looked around The Tav again. "Thing is, it's in all three of the Events that I checked."

"Shit." Richard took a swig of his Scotch. "You're gonna have to tell Douglas. My entire department will need to know about this. If there's some interference our equipment is causing or—"

"Or something else," Brann said.

"What else?" Richard said, scowling.

Brann held up his hands. "I'm not saying there's a problem."

"Yes you are," Richard said. "If something is interfering with the video coverage, that's a problem, and it's going to land in my lap, not yours."

There it was, what Brann had been trying not to step in. Richard was his closest friend, but the size of his ego matched his genius and was easily bruised. "Hey, it's not your problem, not at all. If anything—"

Richard waved a hand. "Just put it in a report and send it up the line. You know the drill. I don't want this anomaly, or whatever you think it is, getting out of hand and costing me my job."

Brann nodded, though he didn't think Richard had anything to worry about. It was Richard's thesis work that had provided the last piece of the puzzle in the equation and made time travel possible. TempusCorp had recruited him straight out of school because of it. No way they'd ever fire him. Brann, on the other hand was the expendable one. "You're right. I'll write it up tomorrow."

The bartender returned. "Another round, gentlemen?"

"Dos màs, por favor," Richard said and finished his drink.

Brann rolled his quarter across the top of his fingers.

"Still with that magic crap?" Richard said.

Brann smiled, then flipped the quarter into the air and grabbed it in his fist. He flashed an open palm to Richard. The quarter was gone. "Yes, and one day when everyone knows who I am…"

Richard rolled his eyes. "I'll be sorry I made fun of you, yeah, yeah. I've heard it all before." Richard's sculpted jaw, with just the right amount of stubble, clenched and unclenched in annoyance.

Brann wanted to say something more but turned his attention to the TV instead.

The news reporter, a woman with a mane of blond hair and glittering white teeth, stood outside their workplace in front of a group of protesters. "As we approach the long anticipated release of Event 6, a crowd has gathered here outside TempusCorp to protest what they call the serious side-effects of time travel." A teaser clip for E6 flashed on the screen.

"You believe this crap?" Brann asked, jutting his chin up at the TV. He forced a laugh.

Richard snorted. "That's my life's work those idiots are complaining about. They don't even understand it, but they'll trash it on national television. We're injuring—"Richard mimed air quotes"—the timeline. Morons." He stopped his rant as the bartender set down their drinks.

Brann hadn't finished his first yet but switched to the fresh one and took a sip. "I mean, I work there and I don't even know how it works."

"My point exactly." Richard waved his glass at the TV. "They sure as shit don't know, so how do they know we're doing it wrong?"

Brann shrugged. TempusCorp claimed their strict security was in place to keep the public safe. They didn't want Joe Public getting their hands on any company information, building a time machine in their garage, and trying to send themselves through—getting sliced into molecular goo in the process. The magnitude of lawsuits would register on the Richter scale.

While TempusCorp assured everyone their version of time travel was the safest possible, there was a reason they sent back drones and not people. Not that Brann knew exactly what that reason was. A year ago, after six Scotches, Richard let slip they employed a Fixed Point version of time travel which allowed small changes, such as the appearance of a couple of drones, to be made before or after a major event--the Fixed Points--and that it could be done without disastrous consequences to the current world.

Richard slapped the bar top. "We're changing lives. Why don't these people get that? Oh, and that guy." He pointed to the TV. "He's a real piece of work."

The reporter was interviewing one of the protesters, Jag Jacobson, the leader of a local protest group: Not This Time.

All those waving signs made Brann uncomfortable. He liked his work, liked being a part of something big and popular, but the image he portrayed for his I-media followers didn't change the truth. Without TempusCorp, he was just an average guy who'd made mediocre grades in school. Before Richard got him this job, he'd been on his way to editing home videos and dying a slow death from tedium. Brann wanted more out of life; he wanted to do something great, and he wanted all the glory and fame that came with it, except, he hadn't been gifted with anything that made him special—not like Richard.

Brann cast a longing glance at his friend and sighed. "Screw those guys. We are changing the world."

"Damn right we are." Richard laughed. His head swiveled to watch an attractive brunette in a silk blouse and a tight skirt walk past.

"And I'm a part of that," Brann said. "I mean—"

"What?" Richard asked, returning his attention to Brann.

"You're a part of it. I'm just the film tech. They're not exactly going to be naming any libraries after me, are they?"

"Nonsense," Richard said. "It's your name on the credits, not mine. I'm the one who has to stay anonymous." He lowered his voice. "Wouldn't want me getting kidnapped and tortured for what I know, now would we?" He winked and went on, his speech a little more slurred. "Tell you what. Next week, you're going to watch E7 with me in the booth. See it unfold right before your eyes."

"Really? Rich, that would be amazing! I mean, can you do that?"

"Of course I can. Besides, it's not like you're an outsider. You see more of the footage than anyone else. I'm sure it won't be a problem." Richard tipped his glass. "You in for another?"

"No, I gotta get going," Brann said.

Richard looked crestfallen.

 "I've got to get in early if I'm going to have E6 ready for release."

"I hear you," Richard said. He swigged down the last of his drink. The quarter smacked against his lips. He pulled it out of his glass and held it up. "Really?"

Brann grabbed his coin. "I told you, one day I'm gonna be famous."

Richard smirked. "For doing old magic tricks?"

"For something special."

Richard smirked.

Brann finished the rest of his drink in a swallow too big to go down all at once. It burned. He hoped it was only the sting of expensive Scotch that brought the tears to his eyes.

#

The next morning at work, Brann pulled the raw footage on the first three Events and went through them frame by frame. The anomaly in E1 was barely a blip on the screen and, had he not been looking for it, would have remained unnoticed. It was the same with E2, a mere scratch on the screen well before Hoffa was even buried. On E3 the static line appeared right as the shot at JFK rang out, and the drone spun in the direction of the shooter. In the blur of the drone's movement, the static line was almost invisible.

Brann worked his way forward, freezing each frame and grabbing screenshots. In each Event the anomaly grew larger. If anything occurred on E7, would he see it while watching from the booth?

He finished his report and clipped a collage of the photos to the email. He rubbed his eyes. The uneasy feeling he'd had since seeing those images yesterday, along with his worry about his job and Richard's reaction, had kept him up most of the night. But sending the email, knowing he was doing something about it, made him feel better. He returned his attention to E6.

Hours later his watch buzzed. This day was finally over. He was packing up when the office door chimed and an alert lit up on his screen. Someone without security clearance was requesting entrance. He shut down his screens and released the door lock.

His boss's assistant, Debra, stood in the hall. Brann had only spoken to her once before, at a company party, when she'd made it clear she worked on the thirteen floor and did not talk to lowly film techs from the fourth floor.

"Mr. Creasey, Mr. Douglas would like to see you. Follow me."

#

All the way home, Brann tried to reassure himself, but the meeting with his boss--and his boss's boss--had unsettled him. Not to mention the "random" search that security had conducted on Brann on his way out of the office building--that had never randomly happened before. The higher-ups in the meeting had reassured Brann that there was nothing unsafe about the Time Trips, and that scientific minds far greater than Brann's would look into it.

Brann scowled and bit at his bottom lip. He hopped off the train at his stop and walked up the block. His fingers nervously flipped the quarter in his pocket, over and over. Next door to his high-rise was an abandoned building of red brick. His real estate agent had called it charming, and maybe it had been until the local kids decided to redecorate it in neon-green spray paint. Brann had walked past the same graffiti for years, random tags, stenciled designs, and in bold letters a proclamation that: His Kingdom Come.

Brann stopped. Someone had painted over it. He trailed his fingers over the crumbling brick. No, that wasn't right; there wasn't any of the previous paint left. The graffiti had been… altered. The designs were gone, and in orange spray paint were the words: It Comes.

Brann's stomach twisted in knots, last night Richard's tie, now this. What the hell was going on? He looked around; sure this was all some hidden-camera prank. He stood on the pavement, alone.

His fist tightened around the quarter in his pocket. He needed to talk to someone who would listen.

#

Brann lay awake in the dark, staring up at his bedroom ceiling. Something was off. Richard had reacted badly to the idea of a problem with the Time Trips, and TempusCorp was not interested in anything that threatened their bottom line. He needed to talk to someone. Someone with their own doubts about time travel.

He tossed aside his sheets, turned on the bedside lamp, and grabbed his keyboard. He pulled the holo-screen up and typed Jag Jacobson's name into the search bar. A number of links lined the screen, including Jag's website. Brann clicked on it.

He read through Jag's posts. The man had several theories on time travel, none of them good. Brann ran a hand through his knotted hair. One of Jag's earliest posts caught his attention. In it, Jag claimed that he and another member were noticing things, minor changes, in their daily lives. He called them alterations but didn't go into further detail.

Brann pulled his comforter around his bare shoulders. Were these alterations the same things Brann had been noticing?

There was an email address for Jag. Brann chewed on his fingernails, biting until his cuticles were red and raw. Before he lost his nerve entirely, he typed out a message. Brann introduced himself as a local freelance journalist, said he was interested in interviewing Jag for an exposé on the potential fallout of time travel and the corporate greed that drove the machine. He asked if Jag would agree to meet him in person. Brann's finger hovered only a moment. He hit SEND, then bit into the ragged skin on his forefinger.

He clicked on other links and perused their content. For as many people that forked out their hard-earned money to watch the Time Trips, there were just as many naysayers. He read through a few of the posts, but stopped when got to the fan-fiction written by someone who longed to meet Ghandi and… procreate.

Brann couldn't read anymore. With a grunt of disgust that scraped against his dry throat, he entered the command to darken the holo-screen.

His keyboard dinged softly. He had new mail. From Jag.

Happy to meet. Tomorrow, 3:00 p.m., under the Alterway bridge.

The message was only a few sentences long, but it filled Brann with terror. What if the Time Trips were causing a problem? Or worse, what if TempusCorp found out about his meeting? He would lose his job. Then what? He'd go back to being a nobody. He got up, went into the kitchen, and grabbed a six-pack of beer from the fridge. It's not like he'd be sleeping tonight anyway.

#

Brann stood under the Alterway Bridge watching the water. A woman about his age with short red hair sat on a bench along the Riverwalk reading, but no one else was around. Jag hadn't shown. Figures some online rando wouldn't be dependable. Brann paced, twirling his quarter in his hand. He'd forced two aspirin and a cup of coffee into his sour stomach, but his head still ached. He checked his watch again: 3:06 p.m.

"Hello."

Brann looked up. The woman from the bench, she was dressed in black, her eyes a startling color of green and gray. She smiled and held out her hand. He stared at it for a moment before realizing she wanted him to shake it. It was an old custom, one he'd only seen in early-century movies.

He pulled his jaw closed with an audible clack of teeth. "You're not…"

"No, I'm not." She smirked. "Come on, I'll take you to him."

Regret flooded through Brann and made his stomach cramp like he'd eaten day-old sushi. This was a mistake. What the hell was he doing? Clandestine meetings? Unemployment? He felt like a spy. And not the cool kind, but the kind that gets caught and strung up for their betrayal. Brann took a long look around, pocketed his grandpa's coin and hurried after the woman.

She stopped in front of an empty building. White paint peeled from the clapboard wood siding, and a faded sign with Goodyear on it hung above a metal door; an old auto parts factory from back when cars had been a thing. The woman held the door for him. Brann hesitated. Spit gathered in his mouth as last night's beer threatened to lurch its way out of his system. He swallowed and forced himself across the threshold.

Inside, sunlight fought its way through grime-covered windows, highlighting dust motes that drifted in the still air. Old machines and silent assembly lines stood in rows, remnants from a time when people worked in such places. Further in, furniture made from up-cycled materials took the place of machinery. In a back corner, an array of TV's and computer screens glowed into the stuffy space. On the other side of a wood-pallet table, on a plaid covered sofa, sat Jag, legs crossed and smoke from a vintage vape-pen drifting into the air above his head. His jet black hair was short and slicked back, and he wore an illegal leather jacket. Animal products had been banned since the 2030s. 

Jag stood and extended his hand. His grasp was warm and firm. "You didn't tell me your name."

"Yeah, sorry. It's Brann." Shit, why did I tell him my real name?

"Have a seat, Brann." Jag indicated a purple chair next to the sofa. "We can begin the interview whenever you're ready."

"Sure, okay." Brann sat and pulled a digital recorder out of his satchel. He looked at Jag, then at the woman.

"This is my partner, Marlow," Jag said. "She sees them too."

"Them?" Brann asked.

"The alterations. You mentioned them in your letter. We've been documenting our experiences. There isn't any trace left of the way things used to be, so really, there's no proof outside our own observations. But we can start there."

"Start? Oh, sure. That'd be great." Brann clicked on his recorder and set it on a side table. He rubbed the sweat off his hands onto his pants.

"For me, it started after the first Time Trip," Jag said. "I was seeing a woman and we'd watched the Event that night then fell asleep. When I woke the next morning, her sheets were different. I asked her how she'd changed them while I was sleeping. It led to a fight, and she kicked me out. That's another thing we've noticed."

"What?" Brann asked.

"When we mention the alterations to people, they get mad, like really upset. No matter who I told, violent opposition. So I find it interesting that you asked about them." Jag raised his eyebrows.

Brann stayed quiet.

Jag went on, "I started poking around online and the day after Event 3, I found Marlow." Jag smiled at her.

Marlow perched on the back of the sofa behind Jag. "My first one was the day after Event 2. I noticed my roommate's cat was gone. I thought she was playing a prank on me, so I started searching the house for the food bowls and litter box. She accused me of using drugs and suggested I move out." Marlow tapped a finger on her chin. "Let's see, the next one was after Event 3. My best friend's hair color changed, and I complimented her on it. She felt my forehead and asked if I was running a fever. Right after that, Jag found me and reached out. We've been in this together ever since."

Jag reached up and squeezed her hand.

"So, all the protesters from your group, they can see," Brann said.

Jag laughed. "God no, most of them are," he rolled a finger next to his temple, "but no one listens when only two people complain, so we let them tag along to the demonstrations." He folded his hands on his lap. "You see, Brann, this is how we know the Time Trips are causing a problem in our world, whether anyone wants to admit it or not."

Brann opened his mouth.

"I know," Jag said. "I know what TempusCorp says about the Trips. They're fail-safe, right? No part of our current timeline can be altered by the minor presence of their drones, but" --Jag leaned forward, elbows on his knees-- "they're lying to us."

Brann had not been ready to admit this to himself, even with what he'd seen, and hearing Jag say it out loud made Brann's mouth dry up. He swallowed hard. "That's why I'm here, or why I contacted you, I guess. Last night, I couldn't sleep. See, I've talked… seen some things too, but no one else—"

"Believes you," Jag said.

"Something like that, yeah. A couple of nights ago it was my best friend's tie. I'd seen him at work and he was wearing a black one, but when we met up for drinks later, it was different. I asked him about it, but he thought I was drunk." He waited for Jag or Marlow to scoff, or laugh, or something, but they only waited for him to go on. "Then yesterday, there's this graffiti on the building next door to my apartment, and, I don't know, the painting, it was… different." His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, cutting off the rest of his words. Goosebumps broke out on his arms.

This couldn't be happening. He needed his job, needed to be noticed, he didn't want anything to change. He stood. "I'm sorry, I should go. I'm not sure why I'm here."

Jag looked up at Marlow. "Give us a minute, Mar?"

She leaned over and kissed Jag. Brann turned away, uncomfortable. Then she headed into a back room. The door closed, and the muffled sound of music came on.

"Listen, I get it," Jag said. "I thought I was losing my mind at first, too. So did Marlow. That's why we're here. You think we're the same as those other protesters, right? Just shaking our signs for the news cameras and saying 'hooray for our sign'. I get it. But you're not crazy, and neither are we."

"Even if we aren't," Brann said, "the changes are so small, it's not a big deal. I mean, if no one is getting hurt, who cares?"

Jag scowled, the first unfriendly face Brann had seen on the man. "Who cares? I care. Marlow, she cares. It's proof that something is happening. Things are being affected, changed. TempusCorp either knows and doesn't care, or they don't know and wouldn't care if they found out. They make billions off this, they aren't going to close up shop because two…" Jag pointed at Brann, "three people claim to have seen things."

"So, then what do we do?"

"That's the real shit-kicker of it, ain't it?" Jag said. "Something is happening here, and we can't prove it. But what if it gets worse? What if eventually everyone can see the alterations and by then it's too late?"

"They use a safe form of time travel. Nothing big can be altered."

"They don't release shit about how their time travel works, so whatever PR bullshit you've bought into, you need to get real clear about this real quick, my friend. Trouble is standing on our doorstep, and we're the only ones who know it."

"We don't know anything for sure!" Brann snapped. "Just because a tie changed, or some girl got rid of her cat, it's not major. Not important."

"Not important?" Jag repeated. He leaned back and stared hard at Brann for a minute. "Come here, let you show you how not important this is."

Brann followed Jag over to the screens on the wall. Below them, on a long table, were stacks of sketched pictures and hand-written notes pinned into the wood.

"I've talked to a lot of people over the past few years," Jag said. "There's more to this than you think. Not everyone can see the alterations, sure, but other people have started having these dreams or, like, nightmares. At first I thought they were as crazy as the conspiracy theory folks." Jag shook his head. "But there were too many of them. It didn't make sense. These people had never met, never spoken to one another; they live in completely different cities, but they were all having the same visions. Look." Jag pointed at an array of the penciled drawings.

Brann's heart slammed into his ribcage like a fist to the chest as he flipped through a stack of drawings that had been bound together. Like a children's stop motion book, the passing pages created a halting movie. Someone had drawn a sideways eye in charcoal, slitted at first, then slowly it opened. A black thing appeared within the slit, and six long legs stretched out. The unholy thing seemed to be trying to pull itself through the ever-widening hole. As Brann reached the last page, a fuzzy shape appeared above the legs--a head, lost in shadow. Brann pulled his hand back as if the paper had caught fire. He looked at Jag.

"We can't all be crazy," Jag said.

As Jag brutally stripped away the lies Brann had been clinging so hard to, he suddenly felt dizzy. TempusCorp had lied then offered him a raise to keep his mouth shut. Anything he did would cost him his job. But worse than that… What if this thing couldn't be stopped? Terror grabbed Brann's spinal cord and squeezed. He couldn't think. This wasn't happening. He was a part of something wonderful, a part of history. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

"I'm not sure—" Brann started.

"You don't think this is real?" Jag pulled out a binder full of color-coded tabs and pages. "I've got almost fifty reports."

Brann looked at the binder. There were so many pages.

"Read some if you don't believe me. Every single one of these people say the dreams began after the first Time Trip, after Event 1." Jag pressed a finger on the top page. "Explain that!"

"I can't." Brann stared at his shoes. The static line of distortion from the Event's footage burned in his mind. He'd seen it, that shadow creature, crawling out of the darkness. He hadn't told Jag any of that. This guy didn't even know Brann wasn't a reporter. How could all these people have seen the same thing? "It's not possible." He staggered back to the chair and fell into it.

"Not possible! Christ, how are you not getting this? I'm not one of those crackpot bible thumpers, and this isn't as simple or as nice as their end-of-days, biblical plague shit. You've got to think bigger than that."

Brann couldn't think. His head hurt. He closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples.

"Every time TempusCorp sends their cameras back, those people have the same dream again, and they all say the same thing: the hole is getting bigger. You can see there's something beyond it, beyond the veil. And it does not look friendly." Jag sat on the sofa and leaned his entire body toward Brann. "Listen to me, I think this is bigger than we could even guess at, bigger than just the end of life as we know it on Earth. No one can say for sure, but it looks to me like something is, I don't know, tearing apart the fabric of the universe, and trying to… cross over, or something. Do you get what I'm saying? It could mean every planet, every species, every timeline, or alternate version of history, whatever." Jag threw his hands up. "All of it, gone, wiped out, or eaten by whatever that thing is. Who knows! Those pictures you saw were drawn by a sixteen-year-old, right after Event 5. That's only five times. How many more trips do you think it'll take before that thing comes through?"

"Six," Brann said.

Jag blinked. "What?"

"We've gone back six times. The seventh is scheduled for send-back this Friday."

"How would you know that?"

Brann sighed. "Because I've been invited to watch. When they send the drones out, live from their headquarters."

Jag leaned back, his body pressing into the sofa cushions. "Who the hell are you, man?"

"I tried to tell them," Brann said. "Richard, he… he didn't really want to hear it, he got angry, you know, like you said. So I sent a report up the line. I told them, hell, I showed them, and they didn't care." Brann's eyes burned with hot little needle pricks. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You're right, they won't stop."

Jag reached over and clicked off the recorder. "You can get into TempusCorp's headquarters?"

Brann felt a thousand miles away. How was this happening? "I work there."

Jag almost smirked. He scooted forward on the cushion. "I don't believe this. Who are you? Never mind, I'm not sure I care. Listen, I've been thinking about this for a long time and I have an idea. It could work. If you're willing to try something, maybe we can stop this." He put a fist on Brann's knee and tapped. "If you're willing?"

Brann stared at him, then nodded slowly.

"I'm not going to lie to you, this could get you killed. You know that, right?" Jag asked.

This was not the life Brann had signed up for. He did not want this. He thought of Richard, grinning his lopsided smile, and knew. Something bad was happening, and he could not let it destroy the people he loved. Brann swallowed the knot in his throat. "Tell me what to do."

#

Brann scanned his ID badge and headed through the double doors. He waited in the security line and fiddled with his quarter. With a thumb, he slid the coin into his fist and then opened his palm. He pulled the quarter out of his pocket and did it again. He was going to be famous… one day.

The security guard waved Brann forward.

Brann held his breath and walked through the scanners. The security lines were made for detecting electronics or hidden technology, tools of corporate espionage, nothing as simple as plain old paper. Marlow's carefully worded message was folded and tucked into an inside pocket of Brann's pants. The inked page was no longer flashy enough an idea for anyone to care about.

Brann's fear grew with every step toward the elevators and soon it would be big enough to open its gaping maw and swallow him whole.

He met up with Richard outside the viewing room. Richard clapped him on the shoulder. "You ready, man? Our past awaits."

Brann tried to chuckle at the joke. Richard never had been very funny.

Richard scanned them through the first set of security doors and indicated Brann should do the same.

After two more security doors, they were in the viewing room. It was pure luxury. The entire back wall was a video screen, where the drone's video feed would show as the Event unfolded. Plush sofas formed a semi-circle in front of the screen, and piled onto serving trays was a selection of the finest liquor, cigars, and hors d'oeuvres. On the front wall, a control console spanned the length beneath a huge window that looked out into a warehouse-sized space. Brann's breath snagged in his chest. He was here. It looked like a movie set. The massive room was cluttered with towering stacks of blinking electronics arranged around a table on a center platform.

Richard was talking and pointing at things, but Brann couldn't focus. His head spun. The last anomaly had shown up right across the deadly lightning strike on Earhart's plane. Had the scientists seen it? Maybe only those who noticed the alterations could see it? Had seeing the anomaly made him notice the alterations? Brann raked his tongue across chapped lips. Would sending the message back change things right away? What if he couldn't pull this off?

Brann shoved his sweating hands into his pockets. "This is great, man. Are those the drones?" He jutted his chin at the table in the center of the time machine room.

"Yep," Richard said. "See those two arms? That's where the power is focused. It'll break down the structure of the drones, and… well, I can't say any more than that, but it's still interesting to watch. The drones are sent through from here, then we'll open the feed and the footage will show up here." Richard pointed to the video screen wall.

"It's so different, seeing it like this," Brann said. "How do you guys set the date and time for the Trip?"

"That's all done here, on the console."

"Oh, you don't go in there?" Brann asked.

"Hell no. It's not safe to go in there. The guys who set up the new drones have to wear special suits. It's a whole thing."

"New drones?"

"Yeah," Richard said. "Once they're sent through the drones can't come back. They're programmed to head to a predetermined location and hibernate. We get their transmissions right away because you know, time travel." He grinned his lopsided grin. "Hey, you okay?"

"Yeah." Brann wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. "May have had too much to drink last night."

"That's because you drink cheap crap when you're not with me. Got to stick with the good stuff."

Brann made a face. If they didn't catch him and send him straight to prison, he was swearing off the Scotch, be more himself, no matter what people thought. He shifted on his feet. The note felt heavy in his pocket. "Wow, special suits. So I can't see the drones up close?"

"Definitely not," Richard said. "The engineers handle everything in there." He jutted a thumb at one of the men sitting on the sofa. "The drones are Samuel's department."

"Yeah, no, that makes sense," Brann said. Shit!

How was he going to get the note onto a drone? They'd gone over Jag's ridiculous plan about a thousand times last night. Brann was supposed to hide the note on a drone, then watch as Richard set the date and location of the trip. A small fire in the trash can with a cigar would clear out and seal the room and allow Brann to reroute the date and location settings. The rest, as Marlow had said, would be history. Brann hadn't laughed. And now, standing here, he realized the utter stupidity of their plan. No way this was going to work.

The red phone on the wall rang. One of the scientists answered it. He held the phone out to Richard. "It's for you, Rich."

Richard got on the phone. "This is Richard." He looked at Brann. "Sure, he's right here."

The sweat pouring down Brann's back turned cold. They knew! About Jag and Marlow, about everything!

"He's our film tech, so I didn't think… Yes sir, of course." He hung up, then walked over to Brann and lowered his voice. "Hey, man, they saw you scanned in. I'm real sorry, I thought it would be okay, but the bosses upstairs said no. You can't stay." Richard must have interpreted the look on Brann's face as disappointment. "I'm so sorry, Brann. I cleared it with my boss, but for some reason—"

"No problem, yeah, no, I get it." Brann felt like someone had punched him in the nuts. Would security be waiting for him at the building's entrance? He had to get rid of the note. Maybe he could stop at a bathroom on the way out?

A chime sounded. The security monitor above the door showed two large men in security uniforms standing outside. They were requesting entry into the viewing room. Shit!

Richard pushed a button on the console and the first set of security doors slid open. The two guards moved into the first room, and Richard waited for the room to reseal.

Brann watched his friend. Richard was a nice guy, a great man. Someone others would miss if he weren't around. Brann had wanted to be that. If he let those security guards escort him out, Richard could die. That would be a problem. "Hey, Richard, I'm gonna need you to not do that."

Richard's forehead wrinkled. "Do what?"

Brann grabbed a cigar torch and an open bottle of Macallan off the snack tray. He shoved a wad of napkins into the bottle's neck and held the lighter to them.

The chatter in the room faded, leaving the quiet hum of electronic equipment in its wake.

Brann licked his lips. "I'm gonna need you to move your hand off that button. Please." The look on Richard's face had made him add that last word. He looked like he'd just been gutted and stood holding his intestines in his hand. His friend was a genius; he caught on quick.

"Brann, I don't know what the fu—"

"I don't have time to explain, but there is a lot of flammable stuff in this room. Please don't make me hurt anyone."

Richard pulled his hand back.

The chime sounded again. Brann shot a glance at the security screen. The guards were moving in tight circles in the small room. He shoved the bottle beneath his arm, reached over and snatched Samuel's security badge off his breast pocket. "Something's wrong with the Time Trips. I have proof."

Richard's hand darted out. He pressed the button again. The second security door opened and the guards moved into the next room.

"Shit!" Brann yelled. He clicked the torch. A hot blue flame hissed to life.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Samuel said. "There's priceless equipment in here, you'll—"

"Shut up!" Brann said.

Richard's hand hovered over the button. As soon as the second room resealed, the next set of doors could open. "Richard, you have to believe me. You've gotta trust me."

"Trust you? You've lost your mind. Do you know what they'll do to you?"

"There won't even be a trial," Samuel added.

Brann knew all too well what would happen to him. What he didn't know was how far he was willing to take this. He could throw the burning cocktail at the guards, but he didn't want to hurt anyone. He could burn the building down or cause damage to the machines, maybe stall the next Event. But then what? They would rebuild, and eventually… crap!

Richard slammed his hand onto the control console. The third set of doors whispered open, and the guards entered. They were bigger in person. They took one look at Brann and reached for their stun guns.

Brann took two fast steps and slammed his body against Richard's. His friend went flying onto the ground. Brann whirled and held out the makeshift explosive. "Don't move!"

The guards froze, though they remained crouched, ready to spring. "Everyone out, or I swear I'll roast all of you alive!"

What the hell was he doing? Brann's mind was locked on autopilot, running on pure adrenaline. He looked down at Richard, and tears pushed at the backs of Brann's eyes. He'd spent the last eleven years looking up to his friend, jealous the entire time that he wasn't as good looking, or smart, or successful. He was just a film tech--an average guy, making average life choices.

"Alright, Brann, don't do anything you'll regret, okay?" one of the guards said.

Brann sucked in air. They knew his name. He had been flagged. "I won't tell you again. Everyone out!" He flicked the lighter on again.

The guards ushered the other employees out of the room. They clustered in the first small exit room, but the guards made no move to leave.

Brann's hand shook. He lit the cocktail napkins. "You too, both of you, out now."

One of the guards stepped back, his arms out wide in protection of the precious scientists. Brann slammed his fist onto the button and the doors hushed shut. He, one guard, and Richard remained. Brann pulled the burning napkins out of the bottle and threw them onto the sofa. The fabric began to smoke. He held the bottle over the flames.

"Brann, stop," Richard said. "Think about what you're doing. You've already ruined your life. You set that sofa on fire and we all die."

Brann knew it too. Every employee did. Any room where fire was detected automatically sealed itself. There was no rescue plan for anyone trapped in those rooms. Profit over life. It's what was best for TempusCorp.

Well, profits be damned. The Time Trips were tearing holes in their lives. Brann smirked at the irony. What was best for TempusCorp is that it never existed.

"Brann?" Richard said.

Brann looked over. He imagined how he must look to his best friend; a grinning madman ready to kill them all. Richard would never know Brann was doing this to save his life. This was the way Richard was going to remember him. Richard might live, but it was going to cost Brann everything he cherished.

Brann pulled the note out of his back pocket and tossed it onto the console. "Richard, I know you don't understand why I'm doing this," Brann's throat tightened, "but I need you to enter the date and location on that paper into the machine and start it up."

"No, I won't—"

Brann poured a small amount of alcohol around the smoking embers on the sofa. It caught, and a spout of fire leapt up. "Do what I told you."

The security guard took a step forward.

Brann reached down and flipped the cushion. The fire began to burn the back of the sofa, and dark smoke trickled up. "I'm not messing around!"

The guard stepped back. He nodded at Richard.

Richard pulled open the folded note and read it. "This is insane, what is this?"

Brann poured more alcohol onto the spreading fire, then grabbed another bottle off the table. He held them over the sofa. "A little more and the fire alarm triggers."

"Okay, alright." Richard entered the information on the note into the system. He entered several codes and swiped his badge. "I need another badge to confirm the request."

Brann used Samuel's badge on the console. A female computerized voice sounded the countdown. Brann then swiped the engineer's badge at the door to the time machine room. It slid open. Brann snatched the note off the console and stepped backward into the other room. He would have to fix this before Richard and the guard burned alive.

"I'm so sorry, Richard. I wish there was more time to explain." He shook the liquor out, tossed the bottle, then swiped the badge on the outside panel. The door hissed.

The security guard launched himself through the closing door. He caught Brann around the middle and they hit the floor. Brann clawed at the guard's face with one hand, and then swung a fist up. It caught the guard on the chin. The man grunted but remained on top of him.

He pinned Brann's arms down, so Brann leaned in and bit the guard on the shoulder as hard as he could. The guard yelled. Blood soaked through his uniform.

The guard's grip loosened enough for Brann to slide out from beneath him. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the table where the drones were.

The countdown continued to sound. Eleven… ten… nine…

Brann had to get the note attached. He ran around the other side of the table and grabbed one of the drones. His hands were slick with sweat and alcohol. The smell of burning fabric clung to his skin.

Eight… Seven…

The guard slammed into the table, sending the edge into Brann's gut. Brann grunted. The drone slipped from his damp hands and crashed onto the floor. He heard the plastic shatter and slide away.

Five…

Brann reached for the other drone. The guard was quicker, he grabbed the drone and threw it. The man flashed a wolfish grin.

Four…

Brann stared in disbelief. Behind the guard, the viewing room had filled with black smoke; red flames licked at the glass. Richard's face was contorted in terror. His friend was going to burn alive, and there was nothing Brann could do about it. It wasn't supposed to happen this way. One day Brann was going to be… famous… He pulled the quarter from his pocket.

Two…

He flicked the quarter into the air. The guard's attention went with it, his eyes caught on the spinning coin.

One…

Brann threw himself across the table, reached up and caught the coin in mid-air. The most magnificent pain he'd ever felt ripped through him as something tore into his right side, then his left side--as if two giant hands had grabbed both sides of his body and were pulling him apart. The last thing he heard was the wail of the fire alarm, a high shrill scream that sounded very human. Then Brann vanished.

#

Stone and grit dug into Brann's cheek. His entire body throbbed. He was sure every bone in his body was broken, every molecule of himself ground to dust.

Sound filtered in through the agony. Someone was yelling. Red and blue lights flashed around him. Hands pulled him from the rough pavement. Pain crashed over him like a tidal wave, and he let the undertow pull him into darkness.

Brann woke to the sound of beeping, as steady and persistent as breath. Breath… breathing… he inhaled deeply. The harsh smell of chlorine and the faint whiff of body odor filled his nose. He pulled apart his sticky eyelids. He was in a bed in a room. A woman dressed in white stood nearby. She turned, saw him watching her, and nearly dropped her clipboard.

"You're awake! Hi, there."

Brann didn't know her. He closed his eyes.

"I'll go get the doctor. Be right back."

The doctor's hands were soft, he pulled Brann's eyelids up and shone a light into his eyes that made his headache. Brann blinked to clear the spots from his vision. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital, son. You took a rather nasty fall." The doctor shared a look with the nurse.

"What's today?"

"Thursday, October 13th," the nurse said. She patted his arm.

Brann blinked again. The thirteenth? That wasn't the right. If he had traveled back it should be… "2081?"

"Yes, that's very good," the doctor said.

Brann sighed. He'd done it!

"Can you tell me your name, son?"

"Brann… don. Brandon… uhh… Copperfield." Why not, Brann thought. He'd pulled off the greatest disappearing act of all time.

"That's great," the doctor said. "Seems your memory is intact."

"Am I okay?"

"You came in with a scrape on your cheek but otherwise appear to be in perfect health. We'll run some more tests on you now that you're awake, but we aren't sure yet what caused the coma."

Brann knew. He was the first person to endure a Time Trip, and if he could pull off the rest of the plan, hopefully the last. He'd come back to when he and Richard were in college. Richard! Brann tried to sit up. His muscles bellowed in protest.

"Now, now," the nurse said. She laid him back down and adjusted his pillow. "You've been in bed for two weeks. We'll get you up and moving, but it'll take some time."

Time. Brann almost laughed.

A week of pain medication and light physical therapy later, Brann was able to move and walk again. He woke in the night, dressed in the change of clothes the nurse had given him, and slipped out of the hospital. He walked with a limp, but given what he'd been through, he considered it a small cost.

It took him three more days, but Brann had found her, and told her everything. They sat in a booth in the back corner of The Tav. Her eyes were the same startling green and gray that he'd first seen eleven years from now. The waiter stopped at their table and dropped off their drinks.

Brann grabbed his beer and took a hearty swig, it was cold and tart. "Thanks for meeting me here, Marlow."

"I could hardly stay away after what you've told me, now could I?"

"You like Scotch?" He pointed to her glass.

"Not really, but it's better than beer." She shrugged and smiled at him.

Brann smiled back. "So they say."

Marlow leaned in and lowered her voice. "Is that him, over there?" Her eyes darted toward two men sitting at the bar. One of them flipped a quarter in the air and caught it in his fist.

"Yeah, the tall one, with the light hair, that's Richard, and the other guy is—"

"You." Marlow whistled softly through her teeth. "You look older now, but yeah, I see it."

"I wanted you to see them for yourself so you'd believe me. Everything I've told you is true." Brann chuckled. "We had a plan, to send a note. It was ridiculous. Never would have worked. But you were certain, back… forward…" Brann clucked his tongue. "When I met you, that we could convince you."

Marlow shifted her gaze back to Brann. "So, what happened?"

"What happened, what?"

"To the note?"

Brann laughed. "It's safe to say things didn't go exactly according to plan." He spread his hands. "Here I am."

"I guess I was right."

Brann lifted an eyebrow.

"Me from the future, I was right." Her green-gray eyes twinkled. "I do believe you." Marlow slid from the booth and headed over to where Richard and Brann's younger self sat at the bar.

Tomorrow Brann would take care of the mathematics lab on campus. A Molotov cocktail through a window should do the trick. The irony tickled him. That would handle Richard's thesis work, and Marlow, she would handle Richard.

Brann sighed, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out his grandpa's quarter. It was a blackened, twisted spiral of metal now. He tossed it into the air and caught it in his fist. When he opened his hand, the quarter lay on his palm. Brann couldn't bring himself to do the old trick anymore. He'd pulled off the biggest one of all—he'd traveled through time and changed the world. Too bad no one would ever know it.

He glanced over his shoulder. Marlow leaned on the bar next to Richard, chatting with him. A pang of jealousy rang through Brann. He was going to live the rest of his life without his best friend. Brann had told Marlow everything she needed to know to get close to Richard, to become his friend or his lover—either way, if Richard tried to recreate the work Brann was going to destroy tomorrow, she could step in. Brann had only hope that he'd stopped time travel—for now at least—and sent the shadow creature back into its hole. Only time would tell.

He grabbed Marlow's drink and swigged it whole; it burned all the way down. He hoped it was only the sting of Scotch that brought the tears to his eyes. Then Brann dropped the damaged coin into the empty glass, pulled his hat on low over his eyes, and vanished out the door.

THE END