AEVUS: A RecAgenda Production

by The Ghost Writer Tue Mar 22, 2011 5:59 pm

Author's Note: Comments are appreciated.

Amongst the billowing smoke and the screams of terrified innocents running about the ravaged city - what was once the jewel of the world - banners of their enemy are being raised and hoisted once every high rooftop in sight. Monuments are being looted, women taken by merciless brutes, and fathers slaughtered before the very eyes of their sons and daughters. Rome, fallen. The glorious empire is now no more. It was only a matter of time before the Goth hordes invaded and took the city. The struggle only lasted through the night; by morning their Chieftain, Odoacer, was sitting on the throne of Caesar demanding that the city's last emperor, poor twelve year-old Romulus Augustus, hand over the Western Roman Empire to Germanic rule.

Through the streets of Roma walks a man that clearly does not belong. He is neither Roman or Goth. He is not from the Eastern Empire, either. His clothes are foreign, as well as his posture and his weaponry. Black combat boots clomp against the cobbled road as he storms his way through the chaos of the streets, towards the Castel Sant'Angelo (at least, it will be known by that name later on in the timeline); where Romulus is waiting at the end of a Germanic sword. Aside from the steel-toed boots, the strange man is also dressed in a light-weight, black combat uniform with a Kevlar vest, grip gloves, and Oakley's sunglasses. Strapped to his right hip was a Five-Seven pistol attached with laser sights, reflex sights, and pouches around his waist with five magazines of twenty match grade ammunition. Wrapped over his shoulder and hanging down his back was an SC3000 assault rifle with an adjustable gun stock, suppressor, and five magazines in separate pouches above the sidearm pouches of thirty hollow point ammunition rounds. It was clearly evident that he didn't belong. Quickly, the man marched his way across the bridge leading to the fortress.

You know, I don't think many wake up in the morning and are prepared to travel back in time to the year 476 AD. Most would just prefer to sip their morning coffee and fight the rush hour all the way to work and live out a mediocre life with a mediocre job. But that's where I stand out from the rest. Yes, I'm the guy that just arrived in the year 476 AD; the guy that isn't stuck in rush hour traffic…

Four Germanic brutes began sprinting towards him with swords and maces raised in the air; yelling at him in a very disgusting-sounding language. The foreigner draws the Five-Seven from his holster and fires two rounds in the closest target; one in the chest, one in the head. The warrior buckles and falls forward, flat on the surface of the stone bridge. His comrades come to a dead halt and look from one to the other. One of them shouts something in his language, probably saying "Sorcerer!", and takes to retreating back across the bridge. His friends follow suit.

...And definitely not the guy living a mediocre life with a mediocre job. My name is Troy Desmond, and I work for a company called Ethro Industries. It’s a technology corporation that specializes in state-of-the-art, military-grade weaponry and logistics technology. Our latest toy? Yeah, you guessed it. What else other than a time machine would allow a guy to go walking through Rome on September 4, 476 with kick-ass guns and Kevlar?

Before I go any further, let me explain what I'm doing here. Last year, Ethro finally completed construction of the Aevus - the time machine - and had been testing it out with several brave volunteers. After multiple successful travels, the scientists that developed the Aevus and many well-known historians - who were paid dearly to keep the device's existence a secret - wondered what it would be like to bring a figure from the past to the present. That's where I step in. I'm what's known as a Recovery Operative. My mission is to travel into the past and pick up whoever these brainiacs want to have an afternoon teatime with. However, I can't just run back in time and kidnap whoever; it’s a bit more complicated than that. You see, this isn't like Michael Crichton's book Timeline, this is still all in one universe. If I remove, say, Isaac Newton from the past and bring him to the present, then the whole theory about the apple goes out the window and we don't know gravity from gravy. Same thing with Thomas Edison, or Leonardo Da Vinci - although I would like to ask him why he never put eye brows on the Mona Lisa. We can only recover persons who eventually become lost in time; where the history books simply stop recording their lives and drop them off the page. Basically, I recover those that history has forgotten, or in this case, will eventually forget.

What about the butterfly effect, you ask? Yeah, I know; I'm shooting bullets in a time where there are no bullets. I get your drift; but believe me, we're more careful than you think. Those rounds I'm shooting aren't normal hollow points and match rounds. Each bullet is made up of a special alloy that deteriorates over time. It may be as hard as an actual round when its fired, causing the same amount of damage as it would if it were normal, but the alloy slowly erodes into nothing after a few months. As far as recorded sightings of us "foreigners", we don't make ourselves known to the general public of the past. And on a day like today in 476, where Rome is in a state of complete chaos, I'm practically invisible. If anyone does see me, they're in too much of a state of shock to remember me the next day.

Troy makes his way to the other side of the bridge without having to fire anymore rounds from the Five-Seven, still gripped in his hand with the muzzle lowered to the ground. The guard tower entrance had been forced open by the Goth invaders. Bits and pieces of whatever make-shift barricade on the other side of the wooden doors had been strewn across the entry way and into the courtyard beyond.

As he passed through the secondary gate and into the circular entrapment surrounding the main tower, several barbarian warriors leaped out from either side, slashing their weapons. Troy's special ops training kicked in automatically and he lunged forward, keeping low to the ground and rolling away from the swinging axe that nearly brushed his hair. Raising the Five-Seven and steadying his aim, Troy capped the man with the axe first. His weapon was longer than the others and posed the greater threat. He then proceeded to down the other two barbarians that were aiding him, without sparing a moment longer. He then continued through the main entrance of the Castel Sant'Angelo. In this present age, the castle is actually known as the Mausoleum of Hadrian; a cylindrical tomb built for Emperor Hadrian. It was a building project that lasted from 135 to 139 AD. It became a military fortress in 401, was looted nine years later when the Visigoths sacked the city, and will later be attacked again in 537 by the Goths. It seems Rome could never quite keep their enemies at bay after the turn of the 400's. The statue of the Archangel Michael, standing triumphantly at the top of the tower, wasn't added until after the end of the plague in 590, when legend claims that the angel was seen sheathing his sword to signify the end of the bubonic.

After climbing his way up the tower and towards the prison cells, Troy stopped at the corner of the chamber where he heard a mixture of voices. One voice was deep and of a boastful nature, the other sounded questioning and fearful. Troy decided that now would be a good time to test out Ethro's latest toy. Placing a finger to his ear he pressed in slightly until he felt and heard a faint click. The small, while ear bud in his right ear acted as not only a voice amplifier (able to discern human voices from other noise), but also an audio translator. There was a moment of white noise in his ear as the device listened closely to the language and dialect, and then within seconds, the Saxon tongue instantly morphed into the familiar modern English that Troy loved to hear.

"Odoacer wants the runt to be taken to Campania;" the first voice said, "to what the Romans call the Castellum Lucullanum."

"I don't see why we can't just kill him… right here and now." Troy heard the sound of a sword being unsheathed. "The last of Caesar's blood… spilt on the floor of a prison."

Troy was about to make his move, before anyone's blood went anywhere; but stopped himself when he heard another, weaker voice. This one was much younger than the other two; and he knew it had to be his target.

"Why is Caesar treated so?"

The first voice began to bellow in laughter. "He speaks German! By the gods! Now we can't have any of that where we're taking you, boy. Maybe we should cut out your tongue."

"Humiliation over death?" the second voice said. "That sounds like twice the fun!"

Troy decided that he had been waiting long enough. If Ethro wanted to speak with Romulus in 2011, then Troy would have to recover him from 476 with his tongue. The Recovery Agent holstered his Five-Seven, but grabbed his SC3000 rifle and swung it around on the three-point sling and out in front of him. Already on fire and charged, Troy stepped around the corner and raised the iron sights. His target's couldn't have been in a more perfect position; one standing right beside the other. From where Troy was entering the room, one devastating hollow point round would travel through both of them.

Squeezing the trigger and feeling the burst of the rifle, Troy exhaled and let the air flow from his lungs as the bullet left the barrel of the rifle. It was if the round was leading his breath. The round travelled through the first target, leaving a gaping hole in his side where a spleen should have been, and into the next, throwing him into the wall. When he confirmed that both were good kills, he darted towards Rome's last emperor, the young Romulus Augustus; shackled to the floor and wearing tattered and torn robes.

Coming face-to-face with your target for the first time may not be a rush for you if you've done it a dozen times over with others; but it is for them. Looking at the eyes of a strangely dressed man with seemingly magical powers that can tear holes in the bodies of his enemies can be a bit… overwhelming. But regardless of the circumstance, its always polite to greet them nicely in their own language.

The boy simply stared in astonishment as Troy examined the iron shackles binding him to the stone floor. A moment later, the Recovery Agent reached inside one of his pouches and revealed another ear piece. He raised it up to Romulus so that he could see what he was about to give him, and then turned his head and pointed at his own ear, showing him the matching piece. Troy then gently placed the translation device in Romulus' ear and pressed inward until he felt the click. Letting a moment pass by, Troy gave enough time for the device to activate and begin listening for voices to translate.

"Emperor Romulus August," Troy began, speaking in English, "do you understand what I am saying to you?"

The boys eyes grew wide in astonishment and he replied in Latin, "Yes."

Smiling, Troy patted the kid on the shoulder and said, "Then it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I don't have much time to explain, but for now; hello and nice to meet you. You can call me Troy Desmond. I'm from the future."

Troy managed to keep Romulus quiet long enough for him to concentrate on picking the locks of his shackles. When the boy was free, he tried to run; but he couldn't escape from Troy's strong grip. "Hey! Relax, kid! I'm here to help you, in case you haven't figured that part out by now."

"Who are you!?" Romulus demanded.

Troy gave him a puzzled look. "I already told you-"

"You're either a sorcerer or a trickster! Which is it?!"

The Recovery Agent rolled his eyes and walked past the pipsqueak ruler; or at least the former pipsqueak ruler. "Have you surrendered control of Rome to Odoacer, yet?"

"What kind of question is that, foreigner?"

Troy turned to stare him down with an intimidating glare. "Have you, or not?"

Romulus looked down at his feet, and in a quiet voice full of shame and regret said, "I have. Lord Odoacer is now the ruler of the West… I have failed my father."

Any sympathy towards the child would have to wait until 2011, which would hopefully arrive in a few short moments. All Troy needed to hear was that Romulus had surrendered control of Rome to the Chieftain of the Goths, Odoacer, so that the timeline would not be disrupted. After receiving such an ironically positive response, Troy spoke aloud but not to Romulus, which must have confused the boy even more. "Okay, Sarah," he said with a smile, "we're ready for a full recovery. Bring us in!"

Romulus raised a brow and asked, "What are you-?" but was cut off when Troy grabbed his wrist.

"Take a deep breath, your highness," he said, leaning in close and wrapping his other arm around the boy. As Romulus struggled to break free, both of them felt a shockwave erupt below on the floor. Soon after, nothing. It was all white… just pure white.

Time travel isn't as fancy as you think. There's no swirly worm holes with pretty colors, no spaghettifying of your body as you're sucked into another dimension, and there's no speeding cars leaving behind flames on tread marks. All it is, is a quick shockwave followed by a bright, white light. The next thing you know, you're waking up feeling like you've just been drugged by a powerful anesthetic. You're partially blind, drowsy, and you have a nasty, sore throat.

"Standby," a female voice said over an intercom in the chrome-walled room with lit up floor tiles. "Atomization complete. Scans show no need for detox. Welcome back, Troy."

Troy blinked his eyes several times before forcing his body to sit up straight in the leaned-back chair of the Aevus. Even though the apparatus was actually quite comfortable, Troy felt as though his entire body was crying out from soreness. Look over to the other Aevus chair, he saw Romulus breathing rapidly and gripping the arms of the chair. He was in shock; which was normal for a first-time atomization. According to Sarah, the owner of the voice that came over the intercom, "atomization" was the process of breaking down and rebuilding the molecule structure of a subject and transporting the data through the space-time continuum. Troy decided it was best he didn't ask questions; as that would just make him headaches and open up room for even more questions. He did know, however, that the sock, a sore throat, aching pains, and sometimes nausea were the side effects of atomization. Their extremes lessoned the more you became accustomed to using the Aevus.

"Welcome to the future," Troy said to the panicking boy laying only a few feet away from him.

A temper-glass door on the far side of the Aevus Chamber hissed and slid open, making way for two HAZMAT-clad men entering the room. Even though the scanning process revealed that both Troy and Romulus were clean of harmful biological agents, once could never be too careful. In the next few seconds, a needle that one of the men was carrying would inject a powerful sedative into the boy's system; preparing him for a full medical examination to take place over the next hour and a half. Meanwhile, Troy would have another attempt at taking Sarah out for coffee. She could be quite stubborn, but Troy felt that some of her barriers were weakening due to his charm.

As Romulus' now-sleeping body was carefully rolled out of the chamber on a wheel chair, Troy slid off his Aevus and made his way out behind them and stopped outside another temper-glass door that peered into a dimly-lit room with a large one-way window against one wall, looking into the Aevus chamber. Several computer screens provided a faint, bluish glow that made out the faces of several technicians working tireless around the clock on Ethro's time travel missions. It was almost ironic to think of it in that sense.

Troy saw Sarah's beautifully blue-lit face turn away from her screen and look up at him. She gave a quick smile and waved, forming her open palm into a "one minute" gesture. Troy stuck up his thumb in response, pointing it over his shoulder to tell her that he'd be waiting. The direction he was pointing his thumb indicated that he would be near the armory. He still had to remove his combat gear and turn in his weapons to the armorer. As much as he loved his Five-Seven and SC3000, they were paid for by Ethro.

After placing ejecting the chambered round from the Five-Seven and inserting it back in the magazine, he approached the armory window and held the pistol at the reverse position of pistol-ready. They called it "choking the chicken" because you would holding the weapon safely by the neck of the barrel, allowing the armorer to grab the pistol grip and see inside the open chamber in case a round had not been properly eject at the clearing barrel, as well as to double-check that the weapon had been placed on safe.

The armor said two words: "Safe, and clear." Troy repeated the words to verify that the armor did, indeed, follow safety procedure before allowing him to turn in his last weapon. Ethro may be a commercial entity, but their privatized military department follows the same procedures as every other properly-trained military organization.

"Did you hear?" the armorer asked. "We got some new blood that came in today. Fresh recruits, ripe for the picking!"

"Really?" Troy loved it when new kids came aboard. He especially loved the look on their faces when they used the Aevus for the first time. As the most experienced Aevus operative, Troy was in charge of training new recruits. He would show them the ropes, get them used to the procedures, and then finally release them on their own to carry out missions like the pros he would make them out to be.

"Look's like you got someone waiting for you outside. I see her on the security cam. Is that… Sarah?"

Troy turned to glance at the closed armory door behind him. "Probably. I told her be around here."

His armorer looked at him with a big smile and wink. "Go get her, tiger!"

by The Ghost Writer Tue Mar 22, 2011 5:59 pm

I had everything. I was the most powerful man in the world. I controlled an entire empire. I am Caesar! ...What happened to me?

The boy's eyes squinted in the bright light that seemed to radiate from above him. He had been lying down and his muscles were stiff. Trying to bring a hand up to cover his eyes from the light, he found that his limbs had been restrained. They're weren't shackles, however. They were made of a different material, something more comfortable than the iron-clad chains he had been restrained with only moments ago. Lifting his head, Romulus looked around the white room. There were several objects that were completely foreign to him. They seemed to have lights of their own, and moving paintings. But their colors were not of nature. They were something else all together. When he looked down, he found another surprise. The ragged and torn royal robes he had been wearing before his encounter with the foreigner had been replaced with white linen; trousers and a shirt. His feet were bare, but clean, along with his hands. As far as he could feel, his face and hair were also bare of the dirt, blood, and soot he had been covered in before.

There was a hiss and his head snapped around to see part of the wall moving into itself. A secret passage of some sort? He knew that his home had many secrets of its own, including similar moving walls, but none of them were nearly as subtle as this one. From beyond the passage, two men dressed in long, white coats and light-blue trousers entered the room. One of them was wearing an odd contraption that wrapped around his eyes and seemed to be supported by both of his ears. Glass shapes dropped over his eyes and reflected some of the light above Romulus.

The man with the glass contraption approached Romulus and looked over him, blocking all light from above. He smiled and asked the boy, "Romulus? Can you understand me?"

Never have so many thoughts ran through my mind at one single moment in time. I knew that his tongue was foreign to my own, but I couldn't help but completely understand it, even think in it. Before, I had responded to the foreigner in Latin; but I responded to this one in his own tongue. How?

"Yes." Romulus' eyes were wide and full of shock. "H- How? Who are you?"

The man leaned back out of the light, blinding Romulus once more. He quickly closed his eyes tightly to save his sight. "You may think magic, my boy, but we call it science. This may be a shock to you, Romulus, but you're no longer in the year four hundred and seventy-six. You're in the year two thousand and eleven. My associate, here, and I are doctors."

"You're lying!" Romulus exclaimed, still squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head no.

"It is normal to say that," the other man said. "Like he said, it may a shock to you. But we're here to help you, Romulus."

"Why am I here?" a tear had managed to break through the boy's tightly closed eye-lid. The doctors were right, it was a shock, and too much to handle. The tear was one of fear, not of sadness.

"You're here to be apart of something great and spectacular, Romulus," the first doctor said. "Do not worry, now. You're safe. You no longer have to suffer the fate of the Goths. You can start a new life; be a new person."

I don't know what the fool is talking about, but Caesar does not simply become a "new person"; and I refuse to change. If he says I am safe, then why I being held prisoner in this room? Is this Odoacer's doing? No. He said I "no longer have to suffer the fate of Goths". Were they really going to cut out my tongue? Kill me?

I have so many questions. I know where I am, who I am really talking to. I to know why I can understand and speak their tongue. But if I have to sacrifice who I am to attain such knowledge, then I would much prefer death.

by The Ghost Writer Tue Mar 22, 2011 6:00 pm

The loud, ear-ringing sounds of tourists and angry taxi drivers on the cold, rain-drenched streets of the Washington District faded into soft mumbles as the glass door to the coffee shop closed behind them. Troy and Sarah approached the counter where Darla, the co-owner of the humble store, was busy ringing up a customer. The shop was not as crowded on a Monday afternoon as it was later in the week. Only two other other customers, including the woman at the counter, were in the store. As the woman stepped away with her espresso, Sarah and Troy approached the register to place their orders. Darla recognized them immediately smiled.

"Hello! How are you two doing today?" The woman had a smile that stretched from cheek to cheek, showing the hidden wrinkles covered by the make-up. Troy knew that the shop had been started by the same woman and her husband back in the late sixties, but was unsure of just how old they were. Darla was short, maybe about five-foot, nothing. Her hair, which was held up in some crazy fashion of a bun, was matted by hairspray. The faint aroma of the hairspray was hard to make out amongst the smells of fresh coffee and teas floating in the atmosphere of the shop; Troy was actually thankful for that, as what he could smell of the hair was probably too strong for him to handle otherwise. "What can I get you two today?"

Coffee: America's liquid McDonald's. Every American either hates it, or is very particular about it. Some will take just a straight, black brew, preferring to be "true" drinkers. Other's, like me, need a bit of customization. If I were to have a brew, it would be with three packs of Splendas, and two clugs of creamer. I say "clugs" because that's how it sounds when I pour it, but no one else ever actually understands that. Thus, I prefer to pour my own brew. When I'm in a coffee shop, however, I'll go with a medium caramel macchiatto. Two shots of espresso, the perfect froth, and delicately drizzled caramel syrup is enough to last my energy reserves all day. The layered drink is precisely made so that the bitterness of the espresso shots rests on top of the steamed milk, teasing the drinker's taste buds a mix of flavors.

Yes, I pride myself in my coffee.

When Sarah and Troy sat down with their orders in a couple of lounge chairs in the corner of the shop, the two began to discuss anything and everything that was going on in their lives. It wasn't until the subject of work came up that the conversation seemed to separate the two.

"So," Troy said, "I was wondering: how come I use the Aevus every week but have never understood how exactly it works?"

Sarah rested her cappuccino on her lap and the smile from their previous topics quickly faded. "Troy, you know that's classified. I understand you're our best operative and Recovery Agent, but the workings of the Aevus are on a need-to-know basis."

"And I don't need to know, huh?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Okay then," he raised his hands gesturing surrender, "I can deal with that. But can I ask another question? Why don't we go into the past and use this dang thing for more productive purposes? I mean, we were warned of the butterfly effect during our training. One mistake can end up changing the future, or present, in unimaginable ways. I've taken every precaution to uphold this, but I can't help but wonder why we don't use this to... I don't know... save JFK? Or provide aide to the colonials back in the American Revolution? ****, why not go back and meet Jesus?"

Sarah's frowning expression had not changed and Troy sensed that she wasn't so liking of the idea. "Troy," she said calmly, reminded him of his mother teaching him a lesson, "the Aevus isn't some easy, fix-all button. It has its... complications. What we are doing now is far more beneficial than changing the present; we're trying to change our future. The more we learn from the past, the better of we're going to be later on."

"You give that bull **** speech to everyone who questions the Aevus?"

Sarah seemed suddenly taken aback; almost offended. "Troy, look, there are secrets about the Aevus that I want to tell you, I really do; but it would come at too much a cost. Trust me on this, Troy, don't go digging for these answers. Just do your job everyday and go home."

Wow... I feel like I just had the door slammed in my face. Or perhaps Sarah was actually unlocking the door for me? The way she said that was all too leading and, I must say, very cliché. This sounds fun.

A few minutes passed and the conversation moved onto lighter topics. Sarah was beginning to relax and smile again and Troy had pushed all talk of the Aevus aside by moving on to the subject of his latest recovery. "So what's going to happen with 'his little highness'?"

"Well by now," she began, "they've already altered the broca area of the neocortex in his brain so he can understand the English language. Its going to be glitchy at first, but he'll catch on. He must have a pounding headache right now, though. I feel sorry for the poor kid. Bio-nano surgery has some nasty side effects that'll last for a while. He's also had a full medical screening and physical. I can only imagine his confusion right now."

Troy started to laugh. Physicals weren't comfortable for anyone, but at least Romulus had been sedated during the entire thing. He often wondered why they didn't do the same to Troy when he first joined Ethro. "Will he ever get to see the light of day?"

Sarah took a sip of her cappuccino and set the cup down quickly to catch a drizzle of the warm espresso roll down her chin. "Oh yeah," she said, grabbing a napkin from the coffee table in front of them to clean up. "All of the recovered subjects are allowed their freedom. We perfectly understand that they can't be cooped up like prisoners all day. Romulus will be given a new name and blended into society, becoming transparent in modern America. He'll be placed in a foster home - the parents having connections with Ethro, obviously - and instructed in American culture. He'll be a typical teenager in no time."

"And during all of this... conditioning he'll be interviewed by our historians?"

"Correct. In exchange for whatever information he can give Ethro, he'll be given a new and comfortable life. Romulus will slowly have privileges leaked to him over time. Eventually, he'll be able to live on his own before even becoming a legal adult. Just as we have a team for medical, a team for recovery - like you, and a team of historians, we also have a team dedicated to conditioning." She took another sip of her drink and set the nearly empty cup back down on her lap. She looked at Troy quizzically and asked, "You didn't know all of this already?"

"Some of it yes," he said, smiling. "I just like hearing you talk 'geek'."

She playfully slugged his shoulder. The rain outside began to pour more heavily now and the two decided that it would be best to start heading home before the full effect of the storm hit D.C. Saying goodbye with an awkward smile and wave, Sarah exited the shop first, followed by Troy about a minute later. He called back to Doris on his way out the door. "Thanks, Doris! Say hi to Frank for me!"

by The Ghost Writer Tue Mar 22, 2011 8:05 pm

Still in the same white linen, that he learned only moments ago as being a "hospital gown", Romulus sat in a small chair made of some light-weight metal, almost silver in appearance, though he knew it was not. There was a leather cushion that provided comfort on both the seat and the back of the chair. It was strangely more comfortable than the hard throne he had been sitting on everyday since he had taken control of Rome. The room he sat in now was similar to the room he woke up in, except there were no strange machines, and no bed. Instead of two men, there was only one; he was sitting directly across from Romulus, with a table separating the two.

The table seemed to be made out of the same silver-like material that the legs and support of the chair was made out of. Sitting atop the surface was a small square board, about an inch in height. Board had a marble surface with checkered pattern of white and black. One either end of the board were several small figurines, like the figurines of the Roman gods and goddesses of the past, except they were different. Two figures in the back center of the sets were taller than the others, while the eight pieces in front of each set were smaller. Romulus also noted that there were two horse-like pieces in each set, as well as two pieces that reminded him of the tower entrance of Hadrian's tomb. Both sets of the figurines were glass, but Romulus' set was made of a black glass, while the man across him had a clear set.

The man himself was an elder. He had a strangely trimmed beard that circled his mouth and upper lip and came just below his chin. It was trimmed and clean shaven just past each end of his mouth by less than an inch. The hair on his head was a mixture of black and gray, and there were bald spots on the front above his forehead. He reminded Romulus of a Roman senator, though the senators of Rome were either completely shaven, or did not trim their beards. The man was wearing a strange fashion of black clothing, polarizing the arrangement of the figurines on the board. He was wearing a black jacket and leggings, with a white shirt underneath the opened jacket that appeared to have sewn buttons. His legs were crossed, and his hands were resting gently on his knees. When he spoke, his voice was soft and kind.

"Hello, Romulus," he said.

The boy shifted in his seat, his hands carefully moved underneath his legs, a sign of discomfort. "Who are you?" he asked.

My father had warned me that I would have many enemies, being the emperor. He told me that they would all know who I am, but I would only sometimes known them. Many of them will hide in the shadows, he said, only striking when they are sure they will be able to kill me. Others would be enemies within the state; politicians or even commanders. They could be servants and slaves, or even close friends and possibly family. If am Caesar, than I must be guarded by the best, or my fate may very will be that of my ancestor's. Betrayed by those close to him; those that he trusts.

Here, however, I'm not sure what to make of these people. I don't know if they are to be counted as friends, or as enemies. I still don't know what's going on, and little has been explained to me. This man… can I trust him?

"My name," the man replied, "is Jensen; Jensen York."

"And who is Jensen York?" the boy asked.

"I am a historian; a scholar. I am an educated man who is hear to teach you about this world." Jensen gave a kind smile, helping the boy to relax his stiff shoulders. "I know you have many questions, Romulus. I am here to answer them. But before you begin asking, let me show how to play a little game. You like games, I take it?"

Romulus looked at the pieces in front of him. He was sure that Jensen was referring to the set up of the board and the tiny figurines. Of course he liked games, he was twelve, after all. Just because he had been a ruler, doesn't mean that he didn't play like every other Roman child. "How do I play?" he asked, looking at the pieces.

Jensen's smile seemed get brighter when he showed his perfectly white teeth, a trait that few Romans had. No one in Rome had such pearly-white teeth like Jensen. His mouth looked clean and healthy; his smile much brighter than any Romulus had ever seen. The man removed his hands from his knees and rested them gently on the table in front of him. One hand reached forward and picked up one of the smaller pieces in the far row of his set. "This game," he began, "is called 'chess'. It's a game of strategy and wit. It did not exist in your time, but came well after in what he call the 'late fifteenth century'. This piece-" he held up the small figurine in his hand "-is called a 'pawn'. Its is the work force of your army. Pawns can be quite tricky devils. You can use them to block and deceive your opponent, or use sacrifice them to by yourself a needed play." The man placed his pawn two squares in front of the position it started in and said aloud, "Pawn to 'D-4'."

Romulus looked at his own figurines and then around the edges of the board. On his end of the board were a series of eight figures etched into the marble, faintly visible to the eye. His mind somehow recognized them as letters. On the edges of the board, facing away from him and Jensen, were more figures that his mind, unknowingly again, recognized as numbers. He then understood what Jensen meant when he announced that his pawn was 'to D-4'. Taking of his own pawns, the one sitting on E-7, Romulus placed it on E-5, imitating a similar move to Jensen's by moving it forward two squares.

"Pawns can move only two squares when you first move them from their starting position on the board," Jensen explained. "A pawn can attack in a diagonal direction, but never directly in front. As so." Jensen picked up the pawn he had moved and placed in the same square that was occupied by Romulus' own pawn, E-5. Jensen then picked up Romulus' pawn and set it down off to the side of the board.

by The Ghost Writer Tue Mar 22, 2011 8:07 pm

Two Weeks Ago...
... Year 1203 AD - Rouen, France

The scruffy man wearing a green sweater with rolled up sleeves, tan cargo pants, and tennis shoes definitely didn't blend in with the rest of the crowd in upper Normandy; especially with the fact that he was sitting on top of the Rouen Cathedral. Strapped to his his hip was an M9 Berretta, and under-slung around his back was his custom, light-weight SC-20K carbine assault rifle. Being the new guy on the block with Ethro Industries, he had his unorthodox ways. Normally, Recovery Agents would be wearing body armor for these missions, but Eric preferred the excitement of risk-taking over protocol.

Who am I, you ask? My name is Eric Thorton. No, I'm not another beat-em' up cowboy like my mentor, Troy. I'm my own man with my own way of doing things. The emblem on my utilities and gadgets maybe that of Ethro Industries, but my true allegiance is not with them. For the most part, its classified, but let's just say I work for someone with a bit more firepower. Its not a game of industrial espionage, not by far. Instead, is a game - or matter - of national security. My friends call me Eric, but my real co-workers call me Special Agent Thorton. I'm an NSA operative that has managed to sneak into Ethro's secret little project. So far, there's nothing really illegal, but this whole operation is definitely a threat. But unless the government can uncover what Ethro is really planning on doing with the Aevus, I'm stuck playing "rookie" and time-traveling.

Well... anyway, let's just get this mission over with so I can go home and get some sleep in 2011.

Eric waited for a group of several iron-clad Englishmen to step inside the cathedral through the entrance far below the roof he was perched on. This famous place of Christian worship and marvelous architectural triumph, the Rouen Cathedral, had been only recently reconstructed from the ash it had nearly turned into in 1200 due to an incidental fire. Much of the cathedral is still under construction, but will soon become the tallest known structure until it is surpassed by the construction of the Roman Catholic Kölner Dom in 1248.

When the sound of the wooden doors closing was audibly heard, Eric dropped from his perched position and began to scale down the side of the building. About one hundred meters later, his feet dropped against the cold stone in front of the main entrance. Not bothering to knock, and knowing that his target and the other men weren't expecting company, he casually kicked open the heavy doors, splintering the wood from the point of impact up to the top arches. Inside, everyone whirled around and drew their swords.

The sanctuary of the cathedral was dimly lit. There were no burning candles, no hanging lanterns, and not a lot of moonlight shining through the stained-glass windows. It hardly felt like a sanctuary at all; almost demonic with the vast amount of Gothic architecture casting shadows in all directions. The faint signs of swirling dust from the construction could be seen in the rays of the moonlight. In the center of the grand room stood six men, two of them were persons of interest (POI) and could not be harmed, one being his target. The other POI spoke. "Leave this place! You are not welcome here!"

Eric smiled and said, "But isn't anyone welcome in the house of God?" Eric drew the M9 from his holster and fired two shots, one in the head of an English guard, and another in the head of the closest one to the first victim.

The other two guards coward, with one of them crying "Witchcraft!" and falling to his knees. But the POI that had spoken aloud, demanding for Eric to leave, drew his sword and took several steps forward.

Okay... maybe I am another "beat-em' up cowboy". But hey, when they're wearing medieval plate armor its kinda hard not to go Rambo on them.

Eric spoke again. "Stop where you are, William de Braose, the fourth lord of Bramber." The man, hearing his name and title, stopped dead in his tracks. Eric continued. "You will hand Arthur over to me and return to your estates in Wales. Do you understand what I am telling you?"

William began to laugh maliciously and asked, "Who are you to command me? Do you have any idea who I-"

"-You are William, born in Braose, and the current baron of Bramber. You are a favorite in the court of King John of England. You are here to execute John's younger brother, Arthur the first, Duke of Brittany. But isn't enough that you've already killed one child in your life?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"On the contrary, I think you do. Perhaps the name Cadwaladr rings a bell; the only surviving son of Seisyll ap Dyfnwal. A survivor of the massacre you carried out on his family and others eighteen years ago in Abergavenny."

William took a step back. Clearly shocked, he asked in a trembling voice, "Wh- Who are you?"

"That is none of your concern." Eric strolled past the stunned William and to the second POI, the sixteen year-old nephew of King John, Arthur of Brittany. A black sack had been drawn and tied around his head, preventing him from seeing what was happening. Eric took pitty on the adolescent and untied the rope around his neck that held the sack in place. Removing it from his head he starred into the eyes of a pleading freckled boy with dark eyes and black, messy hair. The prison rags showed Eric that he had been in captivity for a long time, and the skinny limbs revealed a serious lack of nutrition. "You're safe now," Eric said to him in a gentle voice.

"You're not leaving here with that boy!" William bellowed from behind. Raising his sword high, the baron charged towards Eric and Arthur; a blood-thirst evident in his raged eyes.

Eric reacted quickly. Being a POI, William was not to be killed or even wounded. He would have to either restrain William, or escape him. Leaping forward in time would not be the best option right now, as there's no telling what the history books would record if someone of William's status were to see it. Being far lighter than the heavily armored man, Eric pushed Arthur away quickly and then dodged in the opposite direction, effectively avoiding the blade of William's broadsword. Eric then took advantage of his opportunity and brought up his M9, aiming at the blade of the exposed sword.

When William saw seconds later that his blade was lying in two pieces, destroyed by the bang of a strange weapon, he decided it would be best to stay where he was, kneeling on the stone floor of the sanctuary with his two other guards. Eric placed his arm around Arthur's shoulders and brought him close, turning around with him to head back out the way they came in. He heard William call to him again from behind. "You're not going to kill me?!"

Eric stopped and turned to face William. "No. Your sins will catch up to you, William. You will lose your family to the same fate that you gave to those in Abergavenny." With that said, Eric and Arthur exited the cathedral. All that William saw through the cracks of the splintered doors was a bright light that seemed to shine for several seconds before disappearing entirely.

by The Ghost Writer Tue Mar 22, 2011 8:33 pm

Back in the Cold War era, espionage was everything. Nowadays, it’s a thing of the past and no one really pays much attention to the spy world. Everything is handled by eye-in-sky technology, cellular surveillance, and even credit reports. Every time you pick up the phone a highly intelligent computer somewhere out there is listening to your voice and recording everything you say, scanning your words for any red flags. The computer may record up to twenty of these flags by the end of your conversation about your nephew's basketball game, and forward the findings to the Department of Defense for further review. If you say the word "Allah" you're put on a list of possible terrorists, and if you say "freedom" you're put a list of possible revolutionists.

But the world is still unaware that there's a tool far more powerful than a computer or recording machine. Its as old as the concept of war itself, and still has a very important role in the outcome of international affairs. The spy is still around; and he's as elusive and deceptive as ever. James Bond doesn't exist, but you can consider me the next best thing. I started working for Ethro Industries two months ago; infiltrating their rosters as a new Aevus Operative after the NSA obtained leaks about the project from former Ethro technicians, two of which recently vanished under mysterious circumstances. The last technician? He's being protected in an NSA safe house out of the States. My mission is simple; find out what the hell Ethro is really planning on doing with this machine.

So far my mission hasn't been as easy as I had hoped. There's no paper trail and no data files on the servers I have access to, and all of my hacking attempts have been blocked by an incredibly built anti-intrusion firewall installed on their higher echelon servers. It makes for a tricky mission when you're sole object is to get intel. If I was allowed to interrogate I'd be done by now, but I'm not allowed to blow my cover until NSA gives me the go-ahead. Instead, I have to play things out and act cool. I've been slowly working my way up to the big dogs, however; receiving invites to parties and get-togethers, I've managed to befriend several Ethro higher-ups and have finally managed to meet the founder and CEO, Zachariah Malone, himself.

Eric pulled up in the G8 alongside the curve outside the Arlington National Cemetery. Standing with his back towards the iron fencing surrounding the perimeter, underneath an umbrella in the pouring rain, was a tall elderly man wearing a gray suit and trench coat. When Eric unlocked the doors, leaving the car in drive, the man approached and opened the back passenger door, sliding inside and folding up his umbrella. When the door shut Eric began moving, the man looked over his shoulder out the back window, making sure that his ride wasn't being tailed.

"Relax, Mr. Reese," Eric said. "I'm NSA remember? We own the streets of D.C. and Ethro hasn't a single clue as to who I really am. You're safe with me."

Alfred Reese, Ethro's Vice President of Internal Affairs, allowed his shoulders to hang loose and let out a sigh of relief and confidence that the man he was about to meet with was legitimate and knew what he was doing. "Do we still have a deal?" he asked with a concerned tone. "I give you the information you want and the government guarantees my protection?"

"Once you give me the information I'll drop you off with the CIA. They'll take you to a safe location and you'll wake up in warm bed every morning with freshly brewed coffee, the sound of your children playing, and your wife cooking eggs."

Eric glanced in the rear view mirror when the car came to a stop at a red light. He could see Reese's heavy eyes looking down, probably at nothing. The man then looked up and met Eric's gaze in the mirror, asking, "The CIA?"

The clandestine agent looked back out the windshield and slowly gave the G8 gas as the light turned green. "In Intelligence Community, an umbrella organization consisting of sixteen different intelligence agencies of the United States, was established on fourth of December, nineteen eighty-one by President Ronald Reagan under the Executive Order 12333. It was created so that the agencies could cooperate with each other in a time when the former Soviet Union and communism posed as an ever increasing threat against the free world. That order is still in effect to this day. Sure, we may have our petty rivalries, but when it comes to the stability of this nation, Mr. Reese, we're all on the same page. This whole operation goes far deeper than you may think it does. The CIA will be in charge of you and your family's protective custody."

Reese seemed to become more relaxed in the backseat with Eric's promise that his family would be watched by one of the best agencies out there. Now that he was comfortable with who he was talking to, he began to tell Eric what he needed to hear. "These little time travel operations to go back in history and 'recover' particular individuals simply for knowledge is obviously a front as, I'm sure, you already know. Its no secret that Ethro developed the Aevus with something much… bigger in mind. Malone sees war as a business, the perfect entrepreneurial enterprise. With the aide of a time machine, he can go back and make sure that every investment he makes benefits Ethro in every way. And what better time is there for corporations in America to make money than when the country is at war? Job opportunities sky rocket, the demand for military contracts - which, as we all know, is Ethro's specialty - go through the roof. If time travel is now possible, think of how one could alter the outcome of a war… or even start one? It’s the perfect cheat to life. Something doesn't go your way? Just hit the reset button. Its easy as one, two…" Reese held up his thumb and middle finger together, snapping them in the air, "...three."

"And you have evidence that Ethro Industries is planning such… investments?" Eric asked, turning down an avenue and maintaining a steady speed amongst the bustling traffic of the Capital. The rain's weight seemed to lift and there was only a drizzle against the windshield. Eric turned the knob to the window wipers down a few notches to widen their intervals.

Reese reached inside his front right pocket on the trench coat he was wearing and revealed a small, orange flash drive. "This drive contains all the evidence you'll ever need. Even the best corporate lawyers that Ethro has won't be able to explain this data to a court." Eric placed the drive on the elbow rest in between the front two seats. Eric took one hand off the wheel long enough to swipe up the flash drive and place it in his inside jacket pocket. Reese continued to speak. "But you don't even need data and logs to see that Ethro is up to no good. They're training their Recovery Agents for their future sabotage missions by sending them back in time with modern weaponry and armor. You've been doing this yourself for the past two months, haven't you? I mean come on; you know very well that your own instructor, Recovery Agent Desmond, is issued a Five-Seven pistol. Who the hell issues such a weapon as a sidearm? And hollow point rounds? For what, medieval archers and ancient barbarians? Please, a paintball would suffice in subduing such targets. No, agent Thorton, those weapons are for much bigger operations; war operations. Ethro Industries will change history."

Eric slowed down the G8 and placed it in park this time. Outside, on the curb, stood several men in suits with umbrellas and all-weather coats, similar to Reese's own. Spooks, as they were known by everyone else. One of the men approached the rear passenger door and opened it for Reese. The man exited the vehicle and unfolded his umbrella again to protect him from the cold drizzle. Eric shifted to drive when the door was closed shut, but kept his foot on the break when he saw Reese tapping on the front passenger window to get his attention. Eric rolled down the window from his side. Reese leaned in a ways when the window was low enough for him to speak. "By the way; they only think they'll be able to change history. If you take Malone to court, you'll only be able to charge him with conspiracy and intent. But not any actual war crimes."

"And why is that, Mr. Reese?" Eric cocked an eye brow, clearly intrigued by what Reese had just said, wondering if he was challenging his skills as an espionage agent.

"Look at the flash drive I gave you," he said pointing, "and you'll learn what very few in the Aevus project actually know but are too scared to actually tell anyone." After that, Reese turned away and allowed the CIA operatives to give him a quick frisk, checking for any weapons or questionable objects. When they found none, they escorted him down the street to another car, a black Mercedes parked just a few car-lengths down the block from where Eric was. He waited to see Reese disappear into the car with the CIA before rolling up the window and driving away.

That... was interesting…

by The Ghost Writer Wed Mar 23, 2011 8:54 pm

In the law enforcement world, whenever something happens the responding officer will have to write up a "police report" after the incident has been taken care of. But I'm no cop, so I honestly don't see why I have to sit here in this damn office and type up a report covering yesterday's events when everything was captured on the mounted weapons cameras. However, if the big boys demand it be done - and I don't question authority - then it must be done.

Troy finished the last sentence of the report, checked it over, double-checked it, and then checked it one last time after sending it to the printer. When he was sure that there were no mistakes anywhere on the page, he rolled his chair over from the desk to the printer and grabbed the warm sheets of paper that the large machine spat out onto the front tray. Carefully handling them as to not cause any wrinkles, Troy laid them down on the desk and signed and initialed in each of the proper places. By the time he had finished inking his name up and down each of the pages it was nearly four o'clock in the afternoon; quitting time. Resting the papers in a black box on the edge of the desk for Sarah to pick up later, Troy stood up from the chair and exited the office, flicking the light switch in the off position as he closed the door behind him and locked it with the keys.

No combat uniform or weapons to turn in today. He hadn't used the Aevus at all. The report was for yesterday's encounter in Rome and with Romulus. Each Recovery Operative was required to have at least three days of rest after using the Aevus. Too much exposure would often lead to psychological issues, such as the inability to differ between what was real and what wasn't. Troy had seen too many young operatives lose their minds because they had over-used the machine against protocol. Sometimes, they would go AWOL while inside the time stream and prefer to run around in the past instead of carrying out their assignment. This was a huge mistake. Too much time in the past and the same effects would take over. One can eventually lose all touch with reality.

As Troy rounded a corner he nearly bumped into a familiar looking boy, Romulus. He was dressed in plain clothes this time, not the hospital gowns that most of the subjects are normally found in. Sarah was right, his conditioning had already begun. Romulus was wearing faded blue jeans (probably designer styled); a blue-checkered, short-sleeve button shirt; and a white blazer. It was a trendy casual look and it, surprisingly, suited him well for his age. "Romulus," Troy said and nodded, a nonchalant greeting.

"You're... Troy. Right?" he asked.

"Yes, I am." Troy extended his hand to shake the boy's. "I apologize for not properly greeting you before, but we were kind of in a rush. I hope you'll forgive me."

Romulus seemed to stare at the hand for a moment, unsure of what to do with it.

"Here," Troy said, gently reaching for and grasping Romulus' own hand. He then leveled it with his own and began to firmly shake. "That's how you greet someone in modern America. Its called a 'hand shake'. Get it?"

"Yes. I do."

Troy cocked an eye brow and released his hand. "Relax, kid." He smiled and slapped a hand on his shoulder. "Are you going out on the town tonight?"

"I just return from outside... if that's what you meant inquire about."

Troy's smile turned into a cheesy and awkward grin. Meant to inquire about?! "Yes, Romulus; that's what I was asking. Tell you what, let me take you out for a little bit longer. I'll introduce you to the real American lifestyle, not the bull shit those brainiacs are putting you through."

"What is a 'brainiac'?"

Troy thought for a moment. "A loser. You understand that term, I take it?"

"I guess so."

"Perfect! Now let's go!"

"Troy... are you sure this is such a good idea?" Sarah was riding shotgun in the Aston Martin while Romulus was sitting in the back seat. She was obviously concerned that Troy had randomly decided on letting Romulus join them for a night out in D.C.

"Relax, will yeah? He's perfectly safe as long as I'm here. And besides, if Ethro has a problem with it they can kiss my ass. The kid needs some fresh air, and I don't mean taking him out and about the capital to show him Rome's architectural influences and teach him about how his empire fell to ruin, I mean a take him out to have a good time. So... will you help me help him to live it up a little?"

It was either his simple, common sense logic or his fake puppy-dog smile that changed her mind, but Sarah's response was was much more satisfying to Troy's ears. "Alright," she said. "But only, on one condition."

"What's that?"

"You buy me lunch tomorrow."

The grin that spread from cheek to cheek was the grin of victory and conquest. "Deal." Pressing down further on the gas once the traffic on 395 was clear to the east, the V12 engine of the Aston Martin roared to life and began cruising past other drivers. As the sun dipped down below the horizon the street light reflections became more apparent against the slick silver surface of the car. The back leather inside absorbed whatever light came inside and seemed to created one large shadow, only to give way to the blue glow of the odometers and various controls up front.

"Music?" Sarah asked.

"You got it. Hey Romulus, I don't know what it was that you listened to back in 476, but in the new age we listen to this stuff. Check it!" Troy pressed his finger against the volume dial to power on the Monsoon HD stereo system. Rihanna's S&M began to play from within the 6-CD changer.

"Rihanna, Troy? Really?" Sarah gave him an are-you-serious? look.

"What?! ... I think she's a good singer."

"Hmm... What else do you think of her?"

They were both distracted when Romulus finally spoke from the back seat. "I like it."

Troy returned his attention to driving and smiled, turning up the volume.

by The Ghost Writer Fri Mar 25, 2011 7:56 pm

Agent Thorton's walk through the Fort Meade's famous two high-rise complexes of the NSA headquarters was usually pretty smooth, but today seemed quite hectic; then again his Friday's usually consisted of an early-ended work day at Ethro Tech and dinner by four o'clock. Heading into the office at this hour was unprecedented, to say the least. The National Security Agency was the top employer for the world's mathematicians and geek squads. Eric had run into at least three different analysts within the last few minutes of simply making his way from the main entrance to the high-security level elevators on the other end of the main building.

The typical fan of all-things espionage would expect me to take the elevator down into the underground ten acres of additional NSA headquarters property, but the world doesn't operate the way it used to under the Reagan administration, where everything that went on in the spy business had to be kept secret in case a Soviet agent was among your co-workers. Sure, we still use the basement levels for deniable ops and our famous super computer (only rumored to be the underestimated second-most powerful), but a mission like this, attracting the cooperation of the rest of the Intelligence Community, needs to be watched over by the top dogs... upstairs.

When the elevator on the top floor dinged the doors slid open and Eric stepped out onto a black marble floor and made his way across to the receptionist directly in front of him. The tall brunette sitting on the other side, without bothering to look away from her screen, raised a finger and pointed Eric down a short hallway with double glass doors at the end. Executing a sharp detour away from the desk, he marched forward until he was at the doors. Peering through the green-tinted glass, braced by heavy stainless steel frames on both the top and bottom of each door, Eric could see an incredibly large, round wooden table. Several men and women in suits were sitting and speaking in hushed tones, leaning over to exchange words next to ears as if to pass on coveted intelligence in a cliché manner that the other agencies wouldn't even suspect.

Pressing his way through the heavy doors, Eric's presence suddenly quited the room. Reaching in his pocket he revealed a small flash drive, the same one that Reeves had passed onto him the day before and the reason why he was there in the first place. A large monitor on the other end of the room was where the flash drive would come to the end of its journey. Eric hastily made his away around the table of lions and plugged the drive into a USB port on the end of the screen. The entire screen was operated by touch and remote. The remote was probably somewhere amongst the strewn files and papers on the table, so Eric simply put his fingers to work and brought up the contents on the drive.

When he opened the exact files he wanted to present as evidence, he turned around and spoke for the first time to the leaders of the Intelligence Community. “Director Lanz, Madame Secretary,” he said, addressing Norman Lanz, the Director of National Intelligence – leader of the IC; and the US Secretary of Defense, Patricia Colman, “you both asked me to bring you evidence that the technology corporation, Ethro Industries, is the prime facilitator in a conspiracy to incite a world war using a device called the Aevus, something that acts as a medium to transport human beings from one moment in time to another.” Several of the men and women around the table, minus Lanz and Colman, began to shift in their seats. It was apparent that the IC wasn't working as closely together after all, like they were supposed to. “I know that what I just said may seem preposterous. The truth is that is.” Now Lanz and Colman raise a brow. “You asked me for proof of a conspiracy using a time machine. I found proof of a conspiracy... but no evidence of a time machine. It seems that there are two levels of operation within the conspiracy; the left hand is completely unaware of what the right hand is doing. Let me begin by saying that the founder and CEO of Ethro Industries, Zachariah Malone, believes that the Aevus is a time machine; something that he will attempt to use to alter the past for war profiteering and actually monopolize war as if it was an industry all of its own. But further review of the machine and the evidence I gathered from our insider within the company, shows that the Aevus is not a time machine at all... but something more to the effect of a Michael Crichton travel system.”

One of the larger attendants of the meeting raised a porky hand and asked, “Are you saying that we just went on a wild goose chase for a time machine and ended up finding a worm-hole device?”

Eric raised a hand of assurance, though he wasn't aware how much assurance it would offer for the awkward moment. “Precisely. I know this all sounds like it came out of a sci-fi novel, sir; but I cannot be more serious. Everything on this flash drive not only contains the plans for building an Aevus machine, but explains exactly how to operate it. The documents I have on-screen behind me are records of e-mails exchanged between two Ethro Industries figures. The first author is Malone, but the second is an unknown alias. I believe him to be the mastermind, however, of this entire conspiracy.”

This time, the IC Director spoke up. “From the hackneyed phrase you gave us earlier about the right and left hand, you mean that Malone is being duped?” Lanz asked.

“Yes, sir.”

Now the entire room was shifting in their seats. Two conspiracies; one unaware of the other, and the other in control.

Finally, Secretary Colman raised a hand to silence the room as she spoke. “Agent Thorton,” she addressed him in a stern and direct tone, “your mission parameters have now changed. I don't care anymore about gathering evidence or playing spy. What you've brought us is enough for me to make a judgment call, and I'm sure my colleague, Director Lanz, will agree with me when I say that your new objective is to find out who this unknown conspirator is... and eliminate him. Do I make myself clear?”

Eric glanced from Colman to Lanz to see if there really was an agreement. Lanz resolute nod confirmed it. “Understood, Madame Secretary. I'll carry out the mission to the end.”

Lanz leaned forward in his chair. “Agent Thorton, you are to eliminate this man at all costs, as well as anyone that gets in your way. Ethro Industries has a lot of powerful allies and you'll no doubt run into several loyalists that are intent on keeping their salaries. Don't let them stop you.”

“Now wait a minute!” an older man wearing a badge that identified him as being with the CIA whirled in his chair from facing Eric to facing the director. “We don't even know what this no-name is planning doing with the Aevus. Sure, we know that Malone intends to use it in the false hopes of changing history, but now that we know what the machine really does, why don't we take the time to confirm a conspiracy?”

Eric replied, “The documents I have may not explicitly state what this man's intentions are, but if you read through the e-mails its clear that he's up to no good. For instance-” Eric turned and tapped the monitor, pulling up one of the e-mails to Malone. Aloud, Eric recited a portion of the e-mail:

“...Along with the sum of money request in the last e-mail I sent you a few days ago, I'll need an additional thirty men to accompany the last team we sent into Murmansk. Extraction of the warheads will take a while longer than I originally anticipated and will need to provide our the team with extra security and man power. Rest assured however, that we'll have our precious cargo soon and I'll be able to make my personal modifications...”

Eric turned around and let no-name's words sink in a bit. “Anyone in here thinking of another Cold War? Its obvious what 'warheads' he's talking about, as Murmansk is a north Russian city off the coast of the Barents Sea. In earlier times it was used a docking station for Soviet nuclear submarines. Many of those old vessels are still sitting there, in complete disrepair and slowly degrading. Their destructive cargo have been removed of course, in our time and our universe, but no-name is using the Aevus to either steal or buy warheads that are still there in another. And if that doesn't convince you, I'd hate to wait and see what he means by his 'personal modifications'.”

The room was silent. No arguments from the CIA, and no objections from the rest of the IC. Eric's evidence was clear and straight-forward, and so was his new objective.

by The Ghost Writer Sat Mar 26, 2011 9:55 pm

Romulus couldn't help but let his foot tap to the beat of the foreign music vibrating the interior of the car. Cars, as he learned earlier in the day during his tour of the nation's capital, were the primary means of transportation in this era. They were far more comfortable than chariots and horseback and the inside was cooled or warmed to a temperature of your choice. The sun was kept well out of your eyes and from the looks of it, the weather could scarcely touch you. The future had many pleasures that Romulus wished he could take back and share with his fellow Romans; if only his Rome still existed.

The car slowed down and turned off the large road (known, apparently, as a highway) and onto a smaller street, leading to paved area of many cars. Romulus reminded himself that he had to ask what these locations were called; they were like stables for cars, but somehow he knew that wasn't the term to use in this age. “Where are we?” he asked.

“At the Springfield Mall,” Troy replied, turning down the music. “Its like a huge market. You can buy all sorts of stuff here. Before we go where I want to take you, we need to change your wardrobe. The blazer's nice, but I'm thinking some darker colors for tonight.”

The three had entered the JC Penny department. Romulus wasn't sure of what to make of the vast amount of garments hanging on the walls, on stands, and folded on display tables and counters. There were also many types of clothing that he had never seen before. Statues, not made of marble, but of another material entirely, were dressed to display a particular set of clothing. Some the sets seemed to match, while others did not. Were the mannequins a form of art? Or a mockery of it?

“Try this on,” Sarah said as she rounded the corner to the dressing rooms with a dark purple shirt on a hanger. Romulus had been standing in front of a mirror with a similarly toned blue shirt and black bracae, which he learned were now called pants, or more specifically for this type, slacks. Romulus took the shirt and stepped into the dressing room that he had been using. When he closed and locked the door he began to unbutton and remove the blue shirt. He heard Sarah say on the other side of the door, “Hey I was just wondering...”

“Yes?”

“How come your hair isn't longer?”

I knew what she meant by the question. In Rome, boys my age normally wore long hair, down to their shoulders sometimes, and wouldn't have their locks cut until they turned of age. The cutting of their hair was usually ceremonial and the locks were often offered as sacrifices to the gods through burning. However, the imperial life was different. Even though I was still young enough to have long hair, my father frowned upon it and said that it made me look too immature for a Ceasar.

Romulus let out a soft sigh so that Sarah wouldn't hear his frustration with his father's unfair words. “I am a Caesar,” he said, a bit of irritation in his voice, “and a Caesar must look like a man.”

“Caesar?” she asked. “I thought your name was Augustus. Not Caesar.”

“My father believes that I have the blood of Julius Caesar flowing through my veins. I don't know if that's true anymore, but I've always wanted to make him proud of me, so I adopted his believe as my own.”

“And why don't you think that's true?”

Romulus finished button the top button and opened the door to the stall. He stepped out and centered himself before Sarah. “Because Caesar could rule. Yet, I am an emperor with no empire.”

“Heavy.” Both Sarah and Romulus turned to see Troy leaning on the wall next to the entrance to the dressing rooms. He had his arms and legs crossed, supporting his body with his shoulder. “Romulus, just because you're in 2011, doesn't mean you're not a Caesar. If his blood is really inside you then you will always be one. Its something we call lineage. Its something more than just status and possession. However, in the end, it doesn't really matter who you are. What you make of yourself now is how you'll be remembered; not by your ancestors.” Troy straighted out and turned to walk back out into the department but stopped before disappearing around the corner completely. “By the way,” he said, “I like that look.”

by The Ghost Writer Mon Mar 28, 2011 4:21 pm

The Corsican Bistro is a little restaurant just south of the Springfield Mall, recently established, but built to have an old-school feel. Worn brick, cobble stones out front at the entrance, dim candle lighting, and burning furnaces in the kitchen facing out towards the dining room so guests can watch their cuisines cook and bread bake right before their eyes. The heavenly smells of freshly baked 'pane', or bread in Italian, filled the entire restaurant and teased the tongue as the waiters passed by our table with new loaves and butter for other customers. I was about to raise my hand to get someone's attention when one of the waitresses approached with a pan of our own serving. I was happy.

“Welcome to the Corsican Bistro!” she said with a cheesy smile, taking out a pad and pen for orders. “My name's Chelsea and I'll be your waitress, tonight. Can I start you guys off with appetizers and drinks?”

“Dr. Pepper,” Troy said instantly.

“Do you have sweat tea?” Sarah asked.

“Of course!”

“I'll have that with a lemon on the side, not on the glass.”

Chelsea marked down the drinks and then turned to Romulus. “And for you, sweetie?”

In a questionable manner Romulus said, “Wine, please?”

All three simply stared at him for a second. Finally, Sarah broke the silence with a fake laugh. “Ronnie you're such a kidder! He'll have a coke, ma'am.”

“Who's Ro-”

“And could you brink me a pitcher of the tea? I can drink a lot of it within a few minutes, I'd hate for you to run back and forth to take care of me!”

Chelsea smiled and nodded. “Sure thing, ma'am. I'll be back with your drinks.”

When Chelsea disappeared Romulus leaned over the table. “What did I say? And what's a coke?”

Troy responded this time. “Romulus, in this day and age, its illegal for you to drink in public because of your age. By law, you have to be a legal parent or guardian in a private residence if you want to drink wine or other alcohol. And a coke is a carbonated drink. It has a bit of a... how shall I put it? Zest to it. Trust me, you'll enjoy it!”

“Okay,” he said, still appearing confused. “So who's Ronnie?”

Sarah chimed in saying, “You need a nick name. 'Romulus' makes you stand out too much. Its not a common name anymore.”

A few minutes passed over random banter and discussion until Chelsea returned with their drinks. Romulus took one sip of the coke and his face seemed to distort for a moment as a reaction of the taste. Troy nearly spat out his Dr. Pepper in amusement and Sarah could just sit and smile while holding her lemon over the tea glass. Chelsea wasn't quite sure what to make of the strange threesome at her table so she just whipped out her pen and pad again to take their main orders. “Do y'all need a minute longer or are we ready?”

Romulus glanced down at his menu. It was evident he wasn't sure what to make of it. Sarah's head popped up, as if having a sudden realization, and then told Chelsea to come back after a few more minutes.

“What's wrong?” Troy asked.

“Romulus,” Sarah said, “can you read?”

Romulus looked at her, a bit embarrassed, and said, “Yes. But only sometimes. I see a mixture of languages on this thing. I see English and Latin, but I also see something else similar to it, but my head hurts trying to decipher it.”

“Its the nanobots,” she replied, sure of her conclusion. “They're only wanting to translate the English, but when you're faced with different languages at the same time, they can cause quite a headache. By the way, that third language is Italian. Romulus, after Rome, Latin kind of evolved into four similar languages. We call them the romance languages. They are Italian, Spanish, French, and Portuguese. Italian is the language of Italy now; its no longer Latin. However you're seeing Latin on the menu because the restaurant is trying to be 'authentic' with their cuisines. Though I doubt any of what's on there is something you're used to having. Here, I'll help you pick out something.”

Sarah stood up form her chair and moved to stand over Romulus' shoulder at his side of the table. Leaning partially over him she pointed at several different areas of the menu and helped him translate the titles of the cuisines. Troy watched her intently, closely.

She's the perfect woman. Kind, smart, funny, and nurturing. She gets my sarcasm – after a while of working with her, of course – and I know I can talk to her about anything. She's honest, and when she can't reveal something, she'll leave the door open for me. And she obviously likes kids. The way her hand gently rests on Romulus' shoulder; the way she leans in close to him as if he was her own son. The embrace shows a underlying care for him, and I know that she will do anything to protect him. Its in her body language.

Reading body language is something I had to learn when going through the application process for Ethro's project. Its also a skill I sharpened throughout my many adventures through time. Even if you didn't understand one's language, you could understand their body language. In my career, it could help you determine whether or not you were about to live or die, and how to correct that second outcome.

It was around ten o'clock in the evening by the time the three had left the Bistro. The skies over Washington were far different than before than they were mere hours ago. The drive back to Ethro headquarters was smooth and quick. Troy knew that he would end up getting a mouth-full the next day by his superiors for taking Romulus out without informing them; but he honestly didn't care. He never questioned authority... he simply ignored it when it was petty.

The music was kept low on the drive back so as not to disturb Romulus' nap in the back seat. Sarah had been reading an ebook on a device called a 'nook' - with a lowercase n, she told Troy earlier. The book was the classic Of Mice and Men, by John Steinbeck. Troy had remembered reading it a long time ago in school, but never quite got the ending and the decision George made to shoot his best friend, Lenny. Troy struggled with wondering why George didn't just let Lenny escape to safety. What was Steinbeck thinking when he wrote that chapter?

by The Ghost Writer Wed Mar 30, 2011 11:56 am

The NSA operative wiped the drop of sweat creeping down his forehead and around his jaw line away with one hand as the other continued to peck at the keyboard in front of him. The blue and white screen flashed before him when he had finally broken through the security measures he had been working tediously at for the last several minutes. Eric was like a jack-of-all-trades in the spy world. He could shoot, hack, and talk his way out of any situation; well... most, anyway. When he turned to leave the security room, he stopped to look at the guard he had successfully subdued, tied up with a carbon-fiber wire he had taken from his backpack, and gagged. The guard was sitting against the lower part of the main security panel, sweating and trembling under the intruder's gaze.

“Don't even think about trying to get out of that,” Eric said softly. “If I were you, I'd sit tight and wait for your buddies to come get you at shift-change.”

The agent exited the room and shut the door behind him. Turning to the keypad, Eric reached into his pocket and took out a tiny device the size of a quarter. The NSA, like Ethro, had their own set of cool toys as well. Only their's were more designed for sabotage and combat than research. The device had a white piece of plastic on the back that, until Eric peeled it away, protected a sticky adhesive layer. Attaching the coin-sized gadget to the keypad, Eric pressed down on the center and then quickly removed his finger when the gadget beeped three times and sent a small enough electro-magnetic pulse into the keypad to destroy it. The tech geeks at the NSA called it the Electro-Magnetic Coin, or EMC. Not really original, Eric first thought, but it got the job done and could be used for a variety of purposes.

Marching down the corridor to the conference rooms at the end of the level, where Zacharia Malone, his first target, was currently meeting with other Ethro VIPs, Eric passed by a decorative floor-to-ceiling mirror on the wall. He stopped to glance at himself. The agent was wearing combat attire similar in design to Ethro's own, but less baggy and more designed for stealth. The dragon-skin armor around his torso would protect him from a wide range of small arms fire, and the padding around the shins, and elbows would assist in climbing and scaling walls or tall obstacles to get to those hard-to-reach places. The braces around his wrists and lower arms were a new addition to the outfit. He couldn't wait to try them out in close-combat as each one concealed a retractable blade about ten inches in length after full extension. Strapped around his right leg, below the hip, was a silenced Walther P99 semi-automatic pistol. It only fired the typical 9x19mm, but with a muzzle velocity of 1,339 feet per second, it had more than the average stopping power of his personal M9 Beretta.

The same executive order that established the Intelligence Community, Order 12333, is also the order that prevents the United States, or any entity acting on the behalf of the country, from carrying out assassination's. But the definition of assassination differs from that of targeting killing. Frankly, I don't give a damn. My orders to take out two individuals that pose a serious threat to national security. If that's the case, then so be it. Even if one's a duped lunatic, my orders are orders.

The word “assassin” can be traced back before the crusades when a group called the “Hashishins”, from which the modern word is derived. This group of highly-skilled killers were responsible for multiple murders up until 1265, when their stronghold in Syria fell to Sultan Baybars I. But actual assassinations have been carried out time and again thousands of years before. In fact, Biblically speaking, you could trace it back to Cain and Abel.

Eric approached the glass door to meeting room 3-C, where several men in suits rolled around in their leather executive-style chairs to stare blankly at him when he stepped through the threshold. At the head of the table, relaxing against the back of his seat, was Malone. His target, noticing the armor and weapon, leaned forward to place one elbow on the table and, with a cocked eyebrow, asked, “Can I help you, mister...?”

Careless to respond to the question, Eric swiftly drew his P99 from its holster and raised the sites up the exposed torso of his target and leveled the three-point aiming reticule at the forehead. Before the room's occupants had time to react, Malone's entire body was thrust head-first against the back of the chair when the pistol went off. There was no terrified screaming and yelling, no cursing, no gasps; not even whispered words. It was like everyone there was expecting it sooner or later. They simply stared at the limp body of Zacharia Malone, the late founder and CEO of Ethro Industries.

Eric holstered the P99 and turned to exit; as he left, he raised a finger to his ear and pressed in on a tiny ear bud, barely less visible than foam hearing protection, and said aloud, “Target one eliminated. Proceeding to locate target two.” Going over the checklist of objectives he had planned for himself; Agent Thorton had successfully infiltrated Ethro Industries headquarters after dark not soon after a shift-change, had deactivated most of the building's security systems through a quick hack, and eliminated Malone. Now all he had to do was get to Malone's office and access his e-mail history to try and track down the alias he had been communicating with through Ethro's corporate e-mail servers. A quick IP trace from the receiver's own computer would be far faster than hacking his way into the servers themselves and picking one out of a million messages. So far, everything was going smoothly. So long as nothing unexpected came up, he figured he would be back by midnight.

However, the unexpected expectedly happened. Eric instantly became aware of approaching footsteps down the corridor he was in when entering a new level of the complex. From the sounds of the footsteps, there were multiple individuals making their way closer to his position. Ethro's interior decorating, which Eric thought needed a serious upgrade, didn't allow for much improvised cover or concealment. The bare walls were absent of any alcoves able to hide in, and unattached objects – like trash cans, benches, and office plans – were few and too small for concealing a human body. There was no choice but either run the direction, which would be counter-productive, or make a stand where he was and fight his way through if the approaching individuals proved to be hostile.

That last part was definitely questionable when he saw that his Aevus mentor and direct supervisor, Troy Desmond, rounded the corner. Alongside him was Sarah, his field handler when in the Aevus, and some young kid. A son? Nephew? Either way, he was far too young to be here this late; and Eric, personally, wasn't up to having a fight with a child present. “Desmond?” he said?

“I told you to call me Tr-” Troy stopped and looked at Eric up and down for several seconds before saying, “What are you doing?”

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