The Time Machine: Not This Time (By Evan Gretok)

            The time machine had returned, and while it brought a familiar face, his newly augmented mechanical form would not be easily explained to Agent Gretok's superiors.  Though he had only spoken to Nick for a few moments, the threat he described, with such advanced technology, was feared to have followed him through the window in time.
            Amid the chaos or a nearly rioting crowd still shaken in Josh's disappearance, the double doors to the improvised laboratory turned media headquarters swung open.  There was no longer anything Allie could do.
            Seventeen men walked through the doors.  Clad in dark suits, they moved with a stark, foreboding purpose.  Fanning out immediately, several began to escort the crowd out, while others inspected equipment, making themselves a bit too comfortable for Allie’s taste.

            “Just what do you think you’re-“she lashed out.

            “I’m sorry, Miss Laird,” the tallest of them interrupted, approaching her and flashing a badge.  “CIA Classified Operative, Agent Gretok, Unit 037.  Everything in this building, all the work you’ve done, now belongs to us.”

            “I’ve spent years on this research, not to mention millions in funding,” Allie snapped.  “This is illegal, and way beyond your jurisdiction!”

            “My jurisdiction, Miss Laird,” Agent Gretok replied with a tactless grin, “is not in question here.  You, however, have certainly exceeded yours.  We have been watching you for some time, Miss Laird, you should be aware of that.  Now your primary resource for funding is missing, presumed dead, allegedly trapped in a distant decade, and you have unleashed a threat of unquantifiable proportions on, potentially, the entire planet.  I feel as though your qualifications may be in question.”

            “I have done what no one else in the world could do.”

            “Indeed you have, Miss Laird.  But it appears we weren’t the only ones concerned you would follow through with it.”  Agent Gretok’s gaze shifted.  “Agent Sherbine, have you made any progress tracing the message?”

            “Not yet, sir,” replied a well-built, blonde-bearded man who had subtly gained access to the computer systems.  “It’s been passed through a protocol I’ve never encountered before.”

            “Keep working, we don’t-“ Agent Gretok stopped.  There were sounds of unrest outside, screaming, then a sudden explosion.  Power flickered off, and a pale terror swept over the room.  “As we expected.  Agent Bucci, secure the doors.  Agent Livengood, see if you can route the backups and get the computer systems back up.”  In the darkness, the machine was lit by an ominous blue haze.  “I’m going to see if this blasted thing is light enough to bring with us.”

            Upon entering, Agent Gretok was unnerved to see the machine spring to life.  Lights flashed, dozens of displays and interfaces scrolling through thousands of lines of incoherent data.  Agent Gretok couldn’t help but spy a large red button off to the left.  “Some things never change,” he muttered.  Before he could ponder a less conspicuous method of disabling the device, the door slammed shut.  He spun swiftly around as the panels went dark and a low hum drowned out the calls of his compatriots.  A huge flash of light blinded him as he fell forward.

        The door of the machine opened and he rolled out.  The room was the same, but empty.  No shelves, no computers, no books, no people.  He looked up to see the sun, and realized he was standing in the center of a gaping hole that had swallowed up what had once been the Owen Library.  He stumbled to his feet and began to drag himself up the steep incline to the hill above.  At the top, the world he saw was not his own.  The sky was dull, the ground dead, the trees barren.  The campus had been leveled, the hill disfigured, the pathways overgrown by dense brush.  He could still make out what remained of the lobby. At the bottom of a burned pile lay a copy of the final edition of the Advocate.  The front page was blackened, the headline burned away, but Agent Gretok could make out the little it could convey.  The campus was evacuated after the machines followed Nick through time.  The campus was destroyed and the area reduced to rubble to annihilate the machine, the plans and research, and the threat it wrought upon the planet.  Little did they know he took it with him.

He rushed back to the time machine to find it damaged.  Entering again, the lights remained dim, and low hum of before died away in buzzes and pops.  There would be no return trip.  A single terminal, the communication link, blinked a faint green cursor.  “I think I’ve found the source of the message,” he murmured.

“Miss Laird,” he typed.  “The project must be stopped.  A strange set of unpredictable circumstances has been set in motion.  The future I find is not of the present I've left, and it is because of that machine.  I beg you to reconsider its activation.  Life is too short to tamper with time. --CIA.037-EWG”

          He clicked send, and stood for a moment in the fading light of the terminal, the setting sun casting a golden reflection off of the machines chrome panels.  He pulled out his wallet, tore out his badge, and threw it to the ground.  Behind it, he stared into a family photo.  In a mixture of rage and pain he slammed his fist into the large red button.  He crawled from the hole and faltered to the edge of the campus mall.  “A worthy view, at least,” he mused to himself, looking the next hill, recalling all the time he’d spent sitting on this stone wall.  The ground shook as flames shot from the hole.  The time machine was dead.  With the only visible remains of civilization abandoned, all he could do was walk.  Which way?  How far?  Was anyone he ever knew even still alive?  As pondered a plan, the sun dipped below the horizon.  “Looks like I’m running out of time,” he chuckled to himself.

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