You sit down in the lobby. You’re early. Five minutes early. Well, that’s not technically true. Mom drilled you for years. “Five minutes early is on time. On time is late. If you’re late, don’t show up.” You really wanted to be here, so you’re five minutes early on time.
Now seated, waiting, your pulse slows a bit, but ever so slightly. It slows just enough for your conscious thought to wander through the obstacle course of unwelcome anxiety mines just waiting to wreck this day for you. This day, the month, the next several years, really. It’s all come down to this, hasn’t it? But all of your energy is now going into pretending that isn’t true.
The place could hardly be more intimidating. You had taken an elevator to what, the billionth floor? Yet, at least twenty-five feet of rarefied air separated the expensive, white tile floor of the greeting lobby from its ceiling. The space itself must be over five thousand square feet. Why in the world was it so big?
Directly across from the single elevator that whisked you up to this Xanadu in the sky, and accessed only by a nerve-wracking thirty-yard hike across the tile, was a single, black desk – no, it was more like a table – with a single, black chair behind it, and another facing it and the table-desk, perhaps ten feet closer to the elevator. The latter is the one you’re sitting in now.
Beyond the desk, and rising to consume the entirety of your field of vision, is a wide, two-story window of perfect, uninterrupted glass. A single pane that big? You’re confused and mesmerized only momentarily until your eyes settle on what lies on the other side.
From here, several hundred yards above downtown, you can see into infinite space. Without even standing up, you take in the expansive view before you which contains the whole of the northern suburbs and the impossibly distant horizon kissing a perfect, blue midday sky.
Your view is suddenly interrupted by a small, red digital clock in the upper right corner of your periphery. It’s your Apple Lens 3 informing you that it is now 2:00 p.m., the hour of the appointment you set.
At the same moment, a door that you hadn’t noticed opens discreetly out of the tall white wall on your left. Emerging from beyond the wall is a person of about thirty, wearing a well-fitting long-sleeved black shirt and pants to match. The clothes are not remarkably one style or another, but are obviously of impeccable quality.
The person walks toward you and extends a hand in a greeting gesture that is polite but somehow not warm. “My name is Lane,” the person says, offering a practiced smile. You stand up and shake Lane’s hand, a bit nervously. Lane’s cool, confident – robotic? – manner is disarming, and your pulse rises again. “Follow me, please,” Lane says.
Ahead of you by a few steps, Lane sidles through the door, still ajar, into a room that appears from this short distance to be totally dark. You blink as you open the door a bit wider for yourself, and you see that the room is not dark at all, but well-lit by a white LED strip that runs the perimeter of the room at its ceiling. The room itself is surprisingly small, perhaps eight feet square, windowless, and just as white as it can be. You take this in while almost simultaneously realizing that the room has no other door, and Lane is not here.
Instead, standing up behind a black table identical to the one by the huge window, is a distinguished, handsome man in his sixties. He has exquisitely-maintained silver hair, round, black designer spectacles, and a simple black suit that hangs comfortably from his athletic frame. His mouth spreads into a sincere, inviting smile that warms your heart so completely that you have momentarily forgotten your horror over losing Lane to the emptiness of space.
“You’re here,” the man croons, in the most pleasing baritone you’ve ever heard. “Welcome. Welcome!”
“Thank you,” you mutter, now so helplessly at ease that you’ve forgotten to introduce yourself, and maybe even your name. You realize that you are smiling widely and stupidly, but you don’t care. This man has known you your whole life, hasn’t he? No, but it feels that way.
“Sit, sit,” your host says, indicating the plain black seat opposite his own. “Were you waiting long?”
“No. No, n- not long,” you half stammer. You’re drooling a bit, and only notice when the liquid reaches your chin.
“Excellent, yes, fine… Wonderful, well,” says the man in the spectacles, regaining his own seat, ”you probably already know who I am, yes? That is why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes, mmm hmm,” you offer. The realization of your purpose here comes flooding back, washing away most of your awestruck stupidity. Here comes that quickened pulse, again.
“You’re here,” the man in the spectacles says expansively, “because there is important work to be done, and you’d like to help us. Isn’t that…right?” He winks, almost imperceptibly, at this last, prolonged syllable.
“Oh, yes sir,” you spew, as though he’d offered you your first meal in four days. “I’m up for it.”
“How old are you?” asks the man in the spectacles thoughtfully, one eyebrow now raised for dramatic effect.
“I… Uhh…”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter. You’re young enough. I could have looked it up if I’d cared, but I don’t. Everything else in your application looks splendid, and we scanned your vital signs in the elevator, so that checks out too. This little meeting is really to help me – well, all of us here at the Project – to get a sense of whether you understand what you’re getting into. You…do understand that it will be dangerous?”
“I mean, I guess so,” you start. “But I figure, it’s still America. I read all about the period in school, and I even did some extra study to prepare for today. It’s really different, but also kind of the same. And like I said, I figure-”
“I mean the, um,” he breaks in, suddenly looking at the floor. “The process. We have a perfect record so far, oh yes indeedy-o, but there are risks, of course. There’s the travel, for one, and then there’s the intercept, and the assumption. They tell me the resumption is the hardest part of all, but to be honest, everyone who has returned has reported back in good health and good spirits. Unfortunately some have returned to vastly different home circumstances, but well, that’s why the compensation is so generous, so if you think about it-”
“I’d like to do it, please,” you interrupt, your voice a little higher than necessary. The anticipation is becoming too much to bear, and if you’re not selected for the Project right here, right now, you’re afraid you’ll miss your chance. You’re sitting with one of the most powerful people in the world. Don’t blow it!
Suddenly thoughtful again, the man in the spectacles pauses for a moment, stands up, and sticks out a congratulatory hand. “Welcome aboard, then,” he brays, grinning widely. “Can’t wait to get you started.”
“Oh, thank God. I mean, thank you, sir. I mean, you know I’m not calling you God, you understand? Even though my uncle says that… Well, that’s not important. I won’t let you down, sir. Thank you. Thank you, sir!”
“Yes, fine, that’s quite alright. Now, just head back out there and Lane will begin the paperwork. It was wonderful to finally meet you.”
“And you as well!” You are elated. It was easier than you imagined, but, well that’s not important now. The important thing is to get going. A week’s worth of work is now all that stands between you and a single paycheck that will set up your family for life.
You open the door and re-enter the vast greeting lobby. Behind the small table-desk stands Lane, who is holding a clean, black notebook.
“Congratulations,” Lane says, handing you the notebook. “Here you will find your training agenda and pre-work. Please read everything carefully and report to the third floor at eight o’clock a.m. tomorrow. Goodbye.”
Lane turns on a heel, and in a moment disappears back through the discreet door.
You hurry back to the elevator, barely feeling your shoes on the floor, and as the elevator doors close, you open to the training outline, and begin to read:
The Project
The Most Important Work of Our Time
Individual Training Regimen (rev. Apr., 2048)
- Day One
Background: Early 21st-Century America
Media coverage of President Trump’s first election
President Trump’s first three terms: Great America - Day Two
What Happened in 2016: President Clinton
The Solution: The Project - Day Three
Modern Time Travel: Safe. Legal. Effective.
Early 21st-Century America revisited: Culture and Voting Procedures
Clandestine Operations for Beginners - Day Four
Genetic Transfiguration: Assumption and Resumption - Day Five
Advanced Clandestine Operations
Time Travel: Re-entry and Therapeutic services
…