THE EPOCH CHRONICLES | ✔

six

Chicago Basin, Colorado
2039

━━━━

LALE'S MOUTH remained firmly set in a grim line; he was too well-practiced and disciplined to let it drop open, like he wanted to. But his mind was floundering, grasping for a life-boat that simply wasn't there.

"Preposterous." The word was out of Fereldson's mouth before he could say a far nastier word. She regained her composure as Robert's glance seemed to shear her exuded authority away - Lale had never seen his mentor so subdued. He didn't know whether to feel afraid of Robert, or in awe of him. "I mean - permission to speak. Sir." The 'sir' seemed to carry a coldness that justified all the men and women in this room. Lale felt an unexpected burst of anger. They'd been brought here to be laughed at. Two marines, left to do all the country's dirty work, among scholars and professionals in running the America they sought to protect while sharing internal jokes with each other.

"I am quite sure your opinion has already been expressed," the older man's voice carried bemusement, but his eyes were cutting and void of emotion. There was a small rumble of nervous chuckling at his words among the politicians.

Fereldson and Lale bristled.

"But go ahead, Sergeant Major."

The woman kept her gaze on the opposite cement wall while she spoke, her arms firmly behind her back. Although she stuck out like a sore thumb in her military-issue uniform, her stripes and medals were nothing to be sniffed at, even by the snobbiest of the snobs. Lale felt a rush of warmth for his comrade, but kept his gaze steadily on a woman who happened to be in his view.

"Sir, despite your words and the very detailed pamphlets we have received, I am still having trouble with understanding what we have to do with any of this."

Carson's mouth turned down into a thin line, and he looked ready to burst with his wish to answer Fereldson's questions. But Robert nodded, giving a flicker of a smile at Lale's fellow Marine. "Excellent question, Sergeant Major.

"It's relatively simple, however extremely confidential. That is why," he turned to his fellow suits, "I think we should all leave our two Marines to discuss." Everyone got the point, and even Carson, who resembling a pufferfish by that time, slowly shuffled out of the room. (Which took much longer than it should've.)

Lale relaxed a tad. But Robert remained in front of them.

"PAST is a far more complicated regime than either of you could ever imagine," the man announced crisply. His tone had changed now that the officials had left; now it was brittle and less humorous.

Just the way Lale liked it. Business - and not a comedy show.

"Or, to be precise, time travel is a complicated and arduous process," Robert continued talking, and Lale forced himself to focus despite his frayed and fuming nerves. Kind of hard to do, though, he reflected drily, when the man in front of you was talking about a crack-pot idea that belonged in a science fiction magazine like the ones businesses used to sell, before paper grew into a scarce and expensive commodity.

"I'm not going to sugar-coat it, because I know from experience that marines prefer bluntness to beating around the bush." The crisply-attired man began to pace across the room, which was only three steps each way. "And, if you choose to take part, you should know and understand all the risks." He stopped and cast his gaze over them. Even though Lale was probably the same height as him, it did not feel like he was in control. At all. And he was the one with the military experience.