Solo Assignment

Part II

Time travel offenses are not trivial. They require complicated machinery and an understanding of how to handle unstable radioactive elements to power said machinery. While the plans for these devices can be found in the shadier corners of the Net, few people have the breadth of knowledge required to put them together or the resources necessary to acquire the fuel. Whole teams are typically required, and the result is so unstable that when only one individual in a group is chosen to go, they often end up as atoms strewn across spacetime. For the most part, the machines themselves are widely believed to be rumor or conjecture. The math never seems to hold up when dissected by multiple mathematicians. Interpol's Chronology Division, the group that Melissa Santiago works for, is more than happy to keep that misinformation alive.

But if a particularly talented individual finds the right kind of motivation, say the death of a close loved one, dreadful things can happen. The Division was created to locate individuals who are successful at jumping back and prevent them from altering the course of history significantly. Most people who build jump devices independently typically only go back to just before they need to to prevent the event that caused their grief. The largest department at the Chronology Division covers this five-year rolling jurisdiction. Others are setup for specific time periods, like Melissa's, which handles everything in nineteenth and twentieth century North America. With a few exceptions, namely World War Two. It has it's own department and a special group just to prevent Hitler's assassination (the results of which are worse than you think, as horrible as that sounds). It seems everyone wants a chance to assassinate Hitler.

It's rarer for someone to travel further back than a few years, but the consequences are compounded exponentially.

Melissa was careful to get through the field without any damage to her clothes, though a few stray strands of tall grass required manual removal once she got to a street. From there, she started making her way downtown.

Venice, unlike the Italian city it was named after, was a quiet town no matter what time you visited it. Cars rumbled lazily down its dusty streets. At its center were two singular red traffic lights, both a block apart and both blinking in unison. Pedestrians crossed the street with disregard for the nearest crosswalk. Children on bicycles rode past as fast as they could, shouting and hollering at each other. Somewhere in the distance, a chorus of dogs struck up a round of barking.

Melissa thumbed through the tiny wallet in her purse. The department had issued her an identity and she used her time walking into town to study the driver's license they had given her. One of her coworkers, having some fun, stuck her with the name Molly Applebottom. Melissa groaned and rolled her eyes, putting the cardboard card away.

Melissa's feet were tired from walking in flats by the time she spotted the town's library. She was relieved to arrive at her destination, it being the most likely place someone who needed information would come. She trudged up the steps, removing a small pad of paper and pen from her purse.

The librarian behind the counter was immediately suspicious as soon as Melissa entered the door. Melissa knew this might be tricky, but approached the librarian's desk nonetheless.

"May I help you?" the woman behind the desk asked incredulously, giving a long once-over look with her eyes while simultaneously lowering her reading glasses to the tip of her nose. She was an older woman, thinly set, wearing a sweater over a striped blouse. From her dress to her glasses, everything she wore was a shade of brown. How bland. The tiny plaque in front of her read 'Ruth Langley, librarian.'

"Yes, Mrs. Langley," Melissa began, speaking quietly and doing the best to sound like she belonged. "I'm a reporter with the Iowa Star newspaper and I was hoping you'd be able to help me."

"I'm afraid I haven't heard of any 'Iowa Star' newspaper. And I would know," Ruth said, pointing a lazy finger to a display shelf not far away with the various area newspapers.

"Oh," Melissa said, coming up with a story as quickly as she could. "Well, we're newly formed, you see. I'm working on my first assignment."

Ruth raised an eyebrow but didn't refute the lie as such.

"I am trying to track down a man or woman from Des Moines who may have come through here a couple of days ago. They're an escaped mental patient and detectives are looking all over the city for them but no one has bothered to consider he or she may have come this way. If I can find them first it will be a big break for my career." Melissa tried her best to sound sincere, throwing in just a tiny hint of helplessness.

Ruth didn't seem to believe a word of it. Coldly she asked, "What is your name, miss?"

"Molly Applebottom."

"Miss Applebottom," Ruth said. "That is quite a name. I will look forward to seeing it in print, if you ever make it," she said, putting particular emphasis on the word 'if.' She turned aside and began to help checkout a boy who just approached with a book. "If you'll please excuse me, I have an important job to do."

"Please," Melissa pleaded. She could tell Ruth was withholding information from her. "They probably looked strange. Wore strange clothes. They might have looked very tired and even said some strange things that didn't make sense."

Ruth ignored Melissa, but the boy Ruth was helping turned his head and opened his mouth, as if looking for the right words to say. Melissa immediately recognized the expression and jumped at the opportunity presenting itself.

"Did you see someone that looked like that?" Melissa asked the boy.

He was likely no more than twelve years old. He wore dusty clothes, indicating that he spent most of the afternoon already doing work in a yard or field, but had a small stack of books on history and trigonometry. It was clear he was looking for something besides a life in a field.

"You did see someone like that, didn't you?" Melissa asked again, prodding the boy for a response.

"Y- yes," he stammered. Ruth gave him a cross look but continued her work without a word. The boy continued, "He was here at the library two or three days ago, looking for books on computing machines. He talked strangely and very quickly. He didn't look healthy at all. I helped him find a book."

Melissa was elated. This might be an easier case than she thought. "Did he mention his name?"

"No, but he did say that he was staying at Hammond's Hotel. Told me to come by his room if I wanted to see something really neat for helping him find the book. But my pa's told me not to trust a stranger who wants to get you alone so I haven't gone to see him.

"Honestly, the man was strange. He talked until he was blue in the face, never slowing down to let someone interrupt." The boy shook his head and bit his lip. "I think something was wrong with his head, ma'am."

"That's what I'm trying to find out," Melissa said. "Do you remember what room he was staying in?"

The boy nodded and answered right away, "Room 1. But I don't think it would be wise for anyone to go calling on him."

The librarian closed the last of the boy's books with a loud clap, the sound deafening in the quiet library. "Mrs. Applebottom, I believe you have the information you're looking for. If you are not planning to do some research or make a withdrawal from our collection, I would ask that you please leave and stop harassing our patrons."

Melissa took the suggestion. "Thanks, kid," she said, mussing the boy's hair with her hand. She walked quickly to the exit, eager to go to her next (and hopefully last) destination.