Achieving Serenity

Part I

"We're going in heavy," Lieutenant Coyle said. His words were tinny coming through the earbud, but Melissa could not deny the resolve in his voice. All the same, it was easy for him to say sitting in a portable lab half a block away. He wasn't the one about to breach a door and rush into the middle of a sting operation already in progress.

Vess Verrill, an officer for the Los Angeles civic police and Melissa's partner on this assignment, stifled a laugh. "Easy for him to say," she whispered, as if reading Melissa's mind. She began to inspect her gun for the fourth or fifth time since they prepared the breach, a nervous tic she probably didn't realize she had. Verrill's fidgeting was the only movement in the hallway outside of that dirty, spider-ridden warehouse office. The company of androids (and less-human, more-utilitarian robots) accompanying them held completely still, not feeling anxiety or fear.

"Masks on," Coyle said. Melissa and Verrill pulled their facemasks down and prepared for entry. Melissa's vision filled with a new scene: she could see the undercover officer was sitting on a couch inside the room, a three-dimensional image superimposed onto her contact lenses. The images weren't perfect, but they allowed every officer about to enter to know exactly where everyone inside was, who was friendly, who wasn't, and the lay of the room in case anyone attempted to run or, worse, if things heated up.

Their man on the inside was flanked on both sides by two strong-arms. They appeared to be holding him still as he conducted business with a third unfriendly that sat across from them, reclining in a chair. The older woman in the chair was their mark, a black-market art dealer named Greda Harris.

Because of the case's nature, Melissa Santiago (an officer for Interpol's Chronology Division) had been called in officially to consult as a historian and assist with the arrest. The civic police in Los Angeles believed Harris was simply selling stolen twentieth-century works of art. Everything recovered so far belonged to a private collection from the 1970s. The truth was Harris and her goons brought the art to the present from the past using illegally developed technology, which altered the timeline, and it was now up to Melissa to clean up the mess.

And messy work it was. Because of the way quantum nexuses functioned, an officer couldn't be sent back in time to either stop Harris before the heist or do anything to prevent her actions that led up to the series of events that unfolded as they were now unless they wanted to create a paradox. No one was sure what happened when a paradox occurred, but a few reports existed of officers seeing future versions of themselves or others vanishing instantly.

Time travel might be messy, but paradoxes were downright scary.

And each of the nexuses—the points in time one could travel to—moved forward through time relative to all others, further complicating matters. The current plan was to arrest Harris, secure the art, and travel to the nexus prior to the one Harris used to make the theft. Once there, a team would simply wait it out until Harris took everything, replace it with the recovered items after she left, and return back to the present.

"Alright everyone," Coyle's voice said. "We have a go. Breach!"

One of the non-humanoid robots sprang to life, a four-legged machine with a simple purpose: Flatten any door that stood in its way. It approached the threshold, hunkered down, and raised a panel to the door. It stayed still for a moment and then seemed to explode into a cloud of dust. The robot actually jumped back at the same moment the door that was standing in the frame disappeared into the room, blown clean off its hinges. It created a clear path of entry.

The other androids and robots rushed into the room. The two human officers, Verrill and Melissa, were the last to enter. Guns were drawn and orders were shouted at everyone inside.

Melissa relied on her virtual eyesight rather than what she could see with her own eyes. Concrete dust filled the air, making regular eyesight nearly impossible. Everyone inside cooperated, except Harris, who sat in her leather chair with an amused look on her face. Melissa converged with another team of officers that came into the room from a rear entrance.

"Greda Harris, you are under arrest," Verrill said, keeping her weapon aimed at Harris.

"Oh, please," Harris said. She drew out the word please, pronouncing it puh-leeeese. "I am unarmed. I am not resisting. I am happy to let you handcuff me as soon as I stand up." Harris waved a thin hand in the air, letting it roll at the wrist.

"That better be soon," Melissa said. She inched closer to Harris, around the other three individuals (including the undercover officer) who were handcuffed and being read their rights by one of the androids. Melissa's gun was also trained on Harris.

"Yes, yes," Harris said. "But first, I want to ask you a question. Something ... to go on the record." Her tone was uneasy and Melissa checked her gun to make sure it was set to electric stun. Harris continued, "What is mankind's ultimate goal?"

"What?" Melissa asked.

"I believe our purpose here on earth—our collective purpose—is to achieve serenity." She let the last two words roll slowly off her tongue.

Harris smiled. Smirked, really; it was tight-lipped. Everything about Harris made Melissa's skin crawl. This was not the reaction she expected when they blew down the door and stormed the room. But Harris seemed prepared for this scenario.

Harris then stood up and said, "I am bringing serenity to us. But I do not exist. And nor do you, or any of this around us. We are ghosts in an unnatural world that is no longer here."

"The woman is a lunatic," Coyle's voice said through the earbud. "Take her down, Verrill. Make the arrest."

Without hesitation, Officer Verrill fired once and Harris went limp, falling back into the chair. Spasms went through her for a few moments and then she sat still, eyes closed. She was breathing heavily.

Verrill pulled Harris out of her chair by the nape of her shirt and laid her out face-down without grace. Verrill slung her rifle over her shoulder and began to handcuff Harris. "Sodding ticker," she swore. She looked up at Melissa and asked, "What do you think that was about?"

"No idea," Melissa replied honestly. But Harris's impromptu speech worried her.