Fourteen
The Truth About Events
You know the term. Everyone knows the term. It’s usually said in ominous tones.
Event.
It means extreme time fuckery has occurred over a specific time period to such a degree that the Powers That Be cannot condone further visits to that zone.
Time travel access to that year has been retracted. Denied. Cut off. Forbidden. Further visits to that year are now impossible, regardless of geography.
If, for example, the wild, erratic and increasingly desperate search for a lost time traveller causes time stress points in and around East Anglia on the second day of Skerpla in the year 912, the triggered Event would seal off the entire year.
If that wild, erratic and highly irresponsible search continues to badger at the surrounding years, you might end up with an Event that fractures outwards, encompassing multiple years or even decades.
Why, yes, the mass Event covering the entire lifespan of Cleopatra did have quite a brutal effect on my ability to complete my PhD thesis on Mariamne I of Judea. Thanks, Anachronauts.1
The big question is: who presses the button to declare an Event? Is it Melusine from Admin, or Time herself? Bureaucratic intent, or natural disaster? Is it possible that humans and cats have done so much damage to the chronosphere that history cauterises its own wounds? Is it possible that someone, somewhere, is sitting at a desk making these decisions on a case by case basis?
We usually know who claims responsibility for causing the massive damage to the time stream necessary to create an Event, but we don’t know how it happens.2
The Colleges claim that the policing of Time is within their administrative control, but that can’t be true, can it? How could they physically wall off years and even decades from access by all time travellers?
If the Colleges can do that… what can’t they do?
The trouble with time travel, is that we don’t know the limits. We sure as hell don’t have any form of appeal to a higher power. For those of us who believe the meta-process of time travel is a topic worthy of its own academic discipline… it’s important to acknowledge how much we don’t know.
How many travellers to a single year does it take before that year is taken away from us forever? How many visits is the magic number? How much damage has to be done before the wound gets a whacking great gatekeeping Band-Aid stretched across it?
One strike, or twelve strikes, and you’re out?
Who can say?
Why don’t we know?
Will we ever see those lost years again, or have they slipped through our fingers forever?
Zadie Kincaid, Yes, I’m Rather Bitter About Time, Actually - blog post deleted seven days after first publication
1 The credit for the Cleopatra Lifespan Event (69-30 BCE) was claimed by the anarchist organisation known as the Anachronauts, and has never been conclusively proven that this was from any specific intent to sabotage the postgraduate thesis of one Z. Kincaid.
2 Causes of Events are generally ascribed to the Anachronauts, whether or not they have personally claimed a specific Event as their own work (though they usually do claim credit). Travellers from Chronos College have also caused quite a few by returning to a particular year or series of years too many times. See, for example: Boswell and Cressida (the Medea incident of 431 BCE), Monterey and Lovelace (the Burning of the Library of Alexandria 48 BCE), Boswell and Chronos College (the rescue attempt of Cressida 911-915 CE). Banksia College has only claimed responsibility for two Events: 1936 CE, thanks to several failed attempts to rescue the last thylacine to die in captivity, and 2012 CE, thanks to a successful attempt to rescue Lonesome George, the last Pinta Giant Tortoise in the Galapagos. George now lives happily in an artificial recreation of his original habitat in what used to be the Banksia College Rec Centre, along with his genetically engineered queen consort and fourteen children.
Fifteen
“We’ll need a crew.”
The news that Melusine from Admin had technically approved the Cressida Church retrieval mission was met with great scepticism from the unofficial rescue committee.
“Bullshit,” Monterey said immediately. “Six weeks? She’s trying to bury it.”
“I agree,” said Professor Boswell, to everyone’s surprise.
Ruthven didn’t know either Monterey or Boswell all that well, but even he had heard on the campus grapevine that something ‘went down’ between the two of them sometime between Cressida’s disappearance, and the erection of her statue. Everyone knew that Monterey and Boswell had barely spoken to each other since.
The fact that they both agreed that rescuing Cressida had to happen immediately, with or without the assistance of the college authorities, was significant.
Then again, they were time travellers. Given the choice between doing something irresponsible, or waiting until the proper paperwork was completed, they were always going to choose the former.
Ruthven had expected Oxford, at least, to put up an argument for doing things by the book, but Oxford had been in a weird mood lately, and was rather enthusiastic about defying his mother.
They all met in Monterey’s rooms, which featured a distracting number of satin throw cushions strewn across the room. At least it was comfortable.
Ruthven was not comfortable. Every mote of his body resisted joining groups of people that required in-person gatherings. He was wildly out of his depth.
Monterey provided drinks, a folding card table, a charcuterie board and a powerful sense of melodrama. “We’ll need a crew,” he announced, spreading his arms wide so that his invited guests could admire his vintage smoking jacket with the peacock lining and, like all of Monterey’s custom-made clothes, enormous pockets.
“Why is he talking like he’s in a heist movie?” asked Tunbridge, picking the greenest stuffed olives off the board with sharp-nailed fingers.
“There was a late night vintage movie binge session I was unable to prevent,” admitted Lovelace with a sniff.
Professor Boswell was present, perched on top of an antique bookcase, and glaring down at them all, but especially at Monterey. Hopefully he wanted Cressida found more than he wanted to murder everyone in this room, but you certainly could not tell that from his face.
“Keep it simple,” said Oxford, sprawling all over one of Monterey’s chairs. He was fidgeting more than usual. “In and out. Jab jab. Anything too complicated and we’ll make waves. Cause ripples. Incite anarchy.”
Oxford did not say the word ‘Event’ aloud, but they were all thinking it.
“We may only get one chance at this,” said Monterey. “Cressida is already disrupting the timeline just by existing in 1964. Us clodhopping in to pull her out could cause as many problems as it solves.”
