The Supervisor
The pair saw it happen out of the corner of their eye and kept on walking.
The cafe was suddenly abuzz, and then went quite. Some action happened in the space between the buildings and then it snapped back to the normal it had been the moment before. The taller man, in a grey three-piece suit made a small motion to keep the younger, and shorter man, from showing any signs of interest. The dark haired man in the grey suit looked to be middle aged. The younger could have been in his thirties, but still kept a boyish face. They kept on walking south on Trinity Street.
They walked, but not unnoticed. A black woman with medium length ringlets watched them pass with only her eyes. She waited a moment as they continued on their way, waited for another event to be observed, and then departed with the rest of the cafe customers who left in small spurts. The show was over.
"What was that?" Vega asked.
"Time tourists," Aros said. "They are nothing to be concerned over, but when you see them, its best to beware."
"They go to interesting points in time and watch like tourists? How does that work?"
"In Earth's future, when time travel has been commercialized for the select rich and privileged, they send people back to watch events. I even think some of them have the means to record the event firsthand to place in archives. They don't make many mistakes because time is on their side. There are rules governing all this. I don't understand it all, but time is tricky. Tourists don't interact with anyone other than their group to avoid people from other times.
"But no system is perfect, and when the means of travel are lost they set up traps to catch unauthorized tourists. That must have been one," Aros said.
"So its best to avoid them..."
"Yes, but when you see them it can mean something important is about to happen, or you have not stayed out of the spotlight well enough. I can't say that I have ever noticed them watching me when I was in this version of Earth."
"Others, then?"
"Well," Aros said, "Time works different on different levels, as far as I have seen. In this version, tourists exist as a result. It can be a gauge of which version you are in: alternate timelines, changeability, resistant changeability, uni-directionality... But that only goes so far. It makes me think..."
They turned right on the tan cobble stone pavement of the Senate House Passage. The sky was covered in grey clouds and the ground was wet from a recent rain. The two men's footfalls echoed off of the walls of the surrounding buildings.
"I think we are being followed," Vega said.
Aros nodded and walked a distance further and took up position against the corner of a building, next to a wrought iron fence that spanned the distance until the next building. Aros leaned back casually, with the top of his back and one foot resting against the wall, hands in coat pocket.
Vega stood with legs shoulder width apart, facing the direction of the trailing tourist. The passageway was not very crowded as the dark woman walked up to the awaiting pair. She spoke to Aros with a smile on her face that gave away not a hint of secondary communication.
"Will you tell me what she is saying?" Vega said.
"That is what they want," Aros said, code switching between the two languages that Vega could speak. "They would love a recording to analyze my translation of the conversation."
Vega looked around, startled to see another person watching them from a nearby window and another two watching from opposite rooftops. Vega was shocked by the seemingly sudden arrival of the people who blended in so seamlessly with the local population.
"You are the enigma," the woman spoke in a precise British accent.
Aros kept his careless pose and answered with matching pleasantness. "Why, thank you."
"We know very little about you, and it was only by chance that I recognized you back there. May I speak with you? We have a suspicion that you know things about the universe that we do not."
The woman was interrupted by a brief exchange between the two men, but smiled as they finished.
"What is it you want from me?" Aros said once he and Vega had finished.
"What is the name of your friend? Should you not share with him what we talk about?"
"No, he will be fine," Aros smiled back.
A passerby came down the passage, another dark skinned female, carrying an umbrella. The woman stopped to look at the time tourist, and mouthed a short message. Vega could not help but notice that the newcomer and their tail were one in the same, a message to herself from a future time.
"Ahh... It seems you almost made a mistake," Aros pointed out.
"Not a mistake, just a hint. Where were we? If not your companions' name, may I know yours? I am a Supervisor of the tourists. My name is Shana."
"Greetings, Shana. I may give you mine, but I have a request of my own. Perhaps a trade?"
Vega could barely contain himself. After seeing a woman walk up to her past self and the arrival of another pair of tourists down the Passage, he was becoming quite nervous. This was getting out of control, and Aros remained leaning and smiling.
"I thought you said less interaction was better. I feel like you are about to make a decision that will get us noticed," he hissed.
"It appears they have heard of me anyway. Since our last attempt failed, this may be another way to keep moving. Let me see what I can coax from them."
"My friend and I need to get back in time. One hundred and nine years. This place in space will do," Aros said.
"Letting us transport you would be a larger concession than knowing your name," the supervisor smiled. "What is it in the year 1900 that you are seeking, if I may ask."
Aros stayed tight-lipped, until Shana rephrased her question.
"In fact I must know the nature, to be blunt. There are systems in place to prevent mistakes, as you saw back there."
"I seek to purchase a crystal egg in London at a shop near Seven Dials."
The supervisor cocked her head slightly as if searching her memory, wrinkled her nose, and lifter her left hand to look at her wristwatch. After a moment of intense counsel with the innocuous looking device, she looked back at the man in grey.
"Will your friend be coming?"
"Naturally."
She glanced at the timepiece again, and then back to Vega.
"Well, I think he is better looking than the blonde clones..."
The smile slid from Aros's face.
Vega became truly worried at the look on his friends face, still not fully understanding much of the content of the conversation.
"See, not a mistake, just saving a part of the exchange for later. We can go as soon as you fulfill your end of the bargain," the Supervisor said, holding out her hand.
Speaking a single word, Aros bid Vega to place a hand on his shoulder.
"Aros."
"Ahh," Shana said, after confirming with her watch, "Aros the enigma. Well, are you ready to go?"
He gave no verbal response, but took her hand and they were gone. The tourists at the windows, on the roofs, and down the path all dispersed as well. Cambridge went back about its business that June afternoon.
Blackheart
His feet were raw and soft from being wet so long, but he trudged on. The base of the mountains had come into sight, hazy, yet visible now at the furthest distance he could see. There were no breaks in the shin deep water that stretched before him. Each step over the smooth oblong stones that were submerged below the blanket of water was an effort, but one well worth it. In the mountains was his chance to earn a name.
As he walked, he held onto the bandolier hung over one shoulder. In the pockets were two weapons and a small bit of food. He had been walking for half a day and a full night; first over dry land and then in the middle of the night he reached the water. The shallow ocean was not a surprise to him. He was told it would be the last obstacle between him and the land that reached up into the constant cloud covered sky.
His people did not come from mount
ains. They lived along rivers, and islands or caves that ran through the earth. Steep land was the home to the great beasts, and was only used for pilgrimages. The mountains extended up past the low layer of grey clouds and from them, he was told, you could see the true sky beyond. And now it was his turn. The nameless one worked his way across the great distance and would find his fate in the mountains.
Only the sound of his wrapped feet breaking the surface of the water was to be heard. It was the only thing that reminded him that he was still moving. The scenery looked all the same and the mountains drew closer at too slow of a pace to account for. The splashing of his feet...
The first step onto dry ground was painful. Too long had they been waterlogged beneath him. He looked up into the hills and let out a deep breath. He would need to stop before he finished his task. The rags were removed and draped across a stone to dry. I will leave them here, he thought. I can get them on my way back. His people rarely protected their feet. He had grown up on a river and used canoes to go long distances. It was a shame the water was not deep enough for a canoe...
Leaving his feet to dry and pointed uphill, the boy in dark clothes slept; exhausted from the distance he had come. It was the first time he had gotten to close his eyes since he has set out...
All the men whore the dark amber stones around their necks. Some wrapped theirs in the same fine leather that the stones dangled from, while others kept theirs in pouches, and away from common view. It was becoming popular for the new men to make metal claws that held the smooth stones in their grasp, and then it was worn around ones neck. How would he wear his? In a small pouch, like the old way perhaps...
He awoke and the sky was still grey. Now, I will go and see what is above you, he said to the clouds. His feet were dry and solid again. Much of the swelling from the walking had gone down as well. It was time to move. The day would not wait for him and his name beckoned. So up the hill he went.
The path was dusty and he saw no tracks. In one hand he held a fist sized stone, and in the other the cord from which the weight could be swung. He twirled it occasionally to make sure he still knew the load. He was in the clouds now; the luminous fog blanketed the area, allowing him to see only fifty feet in all directions. The ground was made up of packed orange dirt and a subsequent powder that spread across the landscape. Small pine trees that grew no more than waist high created a maze that had to be navigated on the way to the summit. The only sound was the rhythmic pattering of his feet...
He felt like a giant treading among the small pines along the gradual slope of the mountain. His feet continued to slap the solid ground, crunching slightly as they sent up small puffs of dirt. He set his gaze in front of himself and plodded his way along the landscape that was void of vegetation, except for the trees. How long would this take?
He walked like this for a long distance, until the ground began to level out and he wondered how high up the mountain he had come. The subtle change in the sound of his footsteps came to the forefront of his mind and his heart rate accelerated beyond what he ever anticipated. How long has this been going on and I have not noticed? He kept his gaze fixed forward continued to walk. The only sound was the slapping of his feet, and now possibly another pair matching his own...
Through his fingers he let the weighted cord fall, the striking ball hang free. He took a breath, a normal breath in reality, but to him it felt like the slowest he had taken in his life. At the peak of the breath he moved.
In a fluid motion, he dropped his non-dominate knee and turned on the ball of his lead foot, making it the trail base. With the hand holding the end of the looped cord he struck out at the towering dark beast trailing behind him. The sudden turn added to the centrifugal force that both surprised the black, stinking creature and sent the accelerating mass into the side of its relatively small head. In one move, the beast was taken down, letting loose one final cry.
The nameless one stood in shock as the dust settled around the black haired monster that walked on its rear legs. He had only ever seen crude representations, that were usually quite abstract, painted by men who had came back from their name-quest. This was real. This was nothing like the tales told around the fire to scare the young boys before their time.
It had the head of a dog, and the body of a bear, but it was much larger and the fur was very long; matted in some places. Coming to his senses, a short bladed knife was drawn from the bandolier and the kill was made certain. So close to a name, the young man looked around to make sure he was alone, and cut into the chest of the beast.
The smell was awful. It seemed to be coming from a scent gland on the belly and coated the fur around the area. The smell was coating the inside of his nose and making him nauseous, but he kept on with his task. The blood from the creature was black and sticky and the heart did not free itself easily from the beast's chest. Finally it was free, and the young man held his name in his hand, letting the blood drain onto the ground. With a final look at the beast, he walked away, back down the mountain holding the heart in one hand, forgetting all about seeing the sky. This time he moved with intent, not allowing himself to be stocked again.
He clamored down the last stretch to where he had left his feet wrappings and set the black heart on the rock beside them. From around the slope, dried grass and sticks were gathered and placed near the makeshift camp. Once enough fuel was gathered, the proper stone was selected and the spine of the knife was scraped across it. On the third attempt, a spark caught the tinder and smoke heralded tiny flames.
The heart was of a good size, and would make a medium length name. It made the young man smile as he squeezed at the cartilage-tough organ to purge the remaining blood. Once the fire grew to a large enough size, the heart was placed on the pyre. The heat boiled off the remaining blood and the heart began to melt in on itself. Smaller and smaller it grew until it was an oblong lump sitting in the coals. The nameless youth could barely contain his long awaited curiosity. He fished the burnt gem from the fire and brought it to the water's edge. He washed the stone and rubbed it free of soot. Holding it to the light, he could see the tiny imperfection of bubbles trapped in the stone. Sectioning the stone off and allocating the dots of bubbles to letters, he read his name for the first time. Four consonants were left for him in his peoples writing, and he would add the vowels.
"Seprig."
Seprig smiled and was content at his name. He had come a long way and not imagined the way back would be easier now that he had come this far. He took a deep breath and prepared to take to his feet.
Above the clouds, a deep roar pounded the ground below. Seprig clutched his name stone in his hand and looked to the heavens. Off in the distance, well over the shallow sea, a thing like none on this world had ever seen, descended through the clouds. Shaped like a huge arrowhead and with yellow lightning crackling from the back and bottom, the spacecraft dipped below the clouds and made its way in the direction of Seprig's home.
Having no idea what he was seeing, Seprig tied on his foot cloths and splashed into the water and went in pursuit of the flying mountain he had just seen drop down from the heavens.