The Bureau of Time (6 page)

Cassie took a deep, shuddering breath.
A few weeks.
She felt her throat closing over, the walls moving in to suffocate her. Her heart beat faster and her mind whirled with thoughts of escape, of running all the way back to Pennsylvania. Then she thought of her parents, and fresh tears welled up. She wanted to go back to them, but at the same time, she knew she
had
to be here.

I have to know why I’m different. I have to know why the Adjusters want to kill me.

The lights in the classroom dimmed; Natalie walked back and sat at the table beside Cassie.

“Welcome, new recruit, to the Bureau of Temporal Integrity, Monitoring, and Execution.”

A cool, female voice boomed around the room.

“The Bureau of Time was formed in 1990, replacing an earlier scientific research division of the United States Government,”
the voice continued. Various images flashed up on the projector screen, including President George Bush Senior signing an important-looking document in the Oval Office.
“The Bureau was created to defend America and its citizens against the outside threat that we called ‘Adjusters.’”

More images: a fuzzy picture of an Adjuster, as though the photo had been taken on an old Polaroid camera. Cassie’s blood ran cold. The faceless monster, its waxy, mannequin-like face contorted into a snarl. Her gut churned with a chaotic swirl of emotions – anxiety, terror, anger. The image disappeared, but the fear remained as a tight knot in her chest, shortening her breaths.

“Through preliminary testing and observation, the Bureau determined that the new threats were highly advanced humanoid soldiers from a future timeline.”

Future timeline.
The words sank into Cassie’s mind like a lead weight through thick jelly.
The future. You can reverse time. Timewalker.
It was all starting to fall into place, and the gravity of the revelation threatened to swallow her whole, dragging her down into its insanity.

“The Adjusters appeared unwilling or unable to communicate,”
the presentation continued,
“however it became clear they were targeting high-value domestic personnel within our agency, and in particular, were attempting to assassinate – often in a very bloody and obvious manner – a portion of the American population born with a mutated gene.”

Pictures of young children cycled on the screen – the footage was distinctly old, perhaps from the late ’80s, at least based on the assistants’ hairstyles. She watched a young girl, about four, with her pudgy arms outstretched.

In front of the toddler, sand flowed backward through an hourglass.

“This was called the Cronus Gene,”
the voice explained,
“and its users were called ‘Timewalkers.’ Timewalkers are capable of manipulating an exotic matter that binds the dimensions of space and time into one continuum; this matter is called Temporal Energy, or T.E. for short. People without the Cronus Gene are unable to feel or access T.E.”

Cassie flexed her fingers. She knew she had felt ‘T.E.’ before, on the football field. There had been a rush of tangible energy from the Adjusters – the same inexplicable power that had allowed her to reverse time to save Ryan Boreman. And perhaps the same energy that had allowed the
other
Timewalker, the boy with the white hair, to heal her near-fatal injury.

“Timewalkers vary in their abilities,”
the presentation continued, bringing up a slide with six different categories on it.
“All Timewalkers share an extrasensory ability called their ‘Affinity’, which enables them to locate and harness Temporal Energy. In turn, different subtypes of Timewalkers have varying types of control over T.E., such as Shifting, Regeneration, or Bridging.”

It seemed impossible – and yet, entirely reasonable. She knew what she was capable of. Ryan had died before her eyes, and she had brought him back to life. She was still alive despite being stabbed by an Adjuster. They were not miracles, not marvels of medicine, not explainable by something more mundane. They were the effects of Timewalkers and their abilities.

“The Bureau of Time is a covert intelligence-gathering and operational agency that is free to act with impunity to defend American civilians from this threat,”
the video continued.
“Our Intelligence Analysts use state-of-the-art satellite technology to detect changes in T.E., while our Temporal Operators are highly-trained soldiers that risk their lives to destroy Adjusters and protect Timewalkers.”

Images of soldiers in black combat gear flashed before her; fresh-faced recruits jogging through a forest, practicing in a firing range, and sparring in a boxing ring. At the same time, Cassie felt an uncomfortable headache spread across the base of her neck, and in her mind, she saw – or rather
felt –
a bright beacon flare to life, growing in intensity.

“After completing an intensive physical and weapons training course, your Supervising Agent, in conjunction with a formal review from the Bureau’s Directors, will advise you where your unique skills will be used to help serve and protect the Bureau of Time.

“God Bless America.”

The video segued into an image of the American flag with a brief burst of pompous sixties-era music, and then the presentation ended. Lights flared to life, and Cassie jumped in her seat when she saw two other people in the room – she hadn’t even heard them enter.

She recognized both. There was a man in his mid-thirties, his black hair greasy and thick, his jaw chiseled; he wore black-and-gray fatigues and held himself with an air of command – she had seen him the night before, when the soldiers had rescued her from the Adjusters.

Beside him stood a teenager, no older than Cassie herself, with a shock of dyed-white hair and slate-gray eyes. Her heart leaped suddenly, a strange mixture of emotions swirling through her mind; she realized that the bright beacon in her mind – her
Affinity –
was pointing toward the boy.

“Cassie,” Natalie said, standing up and smoothing her skirt. “This is Captain Tallon and Timewalker Briars.”

Cassie stood, aware that her hands were shaking again.

“Timewalker Wright,” Captain Tallon said, his voice hoarse. He shook her hand roughly, his grip strong. For the moment their hands touched, the strange beacon in Cassie’s mind faded, then returned in force when they separated. His dark eyes roamed over Cassie’s face, making her cringe – it wasn’t a lascivious look, but an appraising one, as though Tallon was sizing her up, determining what she was capable of.

“I’m the Captain of Clockwork Unit,” Tallon explained. “You’ll be training with the rest of the recruits, but spending time with our operators too.”

Cassie swallowed past a thick lump in her throat.
This is really happening.
It was all becoming so real, so quickly. Her old life was being torn down, replaced by this new world.

“Shaun,” he indicated the white-haired boy, “will show you around the base, and help you to feel at home. We start training first thing tomorrow morning, understood?”

She opened and closed her mouth like a beached fish. Natalie subtly nudged her in the side, and Cassie mumbled, “Yes.”

Tallon grunted, throwing a disapproving look at Shaun, as though confirming a shared suspicion. “Yes
Captain,
” he said, his dark eyes flicking back to Cassie. “We’ll work on that. Briars, show her the ropes – Agent Hunt, a word, please?”

Tallon nodded once at Shaun, then headed for the door. Natalie stayed a moment, offering Cassie a supportive smile that didn’t ease the fear and anxiety coiling up inside of her.

“You’ll be fine,” Natalie promised, handing her a pager. “My number’s in there, if you need to talk. Your unit’s numbers too – you’ll be working with them a lot, so don’t be afraid to ask for help if you need it.”

“Thank you,” Cassie murmured, holding the pager limply.

Natalie followed Tallon out of the classroom, leaving Cassie and Shaun alone. She wasn’t sure what to say, or where to begin. She knew that Shaun had saved her life – Director Anderson had told her that much – but she couldn’t find the right words to thank him.

“Hey,” Shaun said, snapping her out of her thoughts. He offered her a wry grin that made his gray eyes sparkle – or perhaps it was just an optical illusion under the lights. “Cassandra, isn’t it?”

“Cassie,” she corrected him automatically.

“Okay then, Cassie it is.” He offered her another grin. “Come on, I’ll show you around the base.”

Like a lost puppy, afraid and overwhelmed, Cassie followed after him. The next two hours passed in a complete blur, a sensory overload of names, places, noises and smells.

“The base itself is completely underground,” Shaun explained as he led her through corridor after corridor. “Just outside Brightwood, Virginia. Aboveground we have the hangar and close-quarter training environment.”

Brightwood Ranch – as Shaun called it – was alive with activity, bustling with more people than Cassie would have thought possible. For a moment, it was like being back in New York City, with millions of people crowded around her and Adjusters lurking in the shadows; her old fears threatened to return and crush her. Soldiers in black-and-gray fatigues hurried past her, talking loudly; agents in suits, carrying folders or computer tablets, rushed between meetings, always talking loudly to each other or on the phone.

Cassie forced herself away from Shaun, breaking away down another corridor, this one almost deserted. The walls and floors were covered in white tiles, the air freezing cold, sterile and unwelcoming. She wiped a hand over her mouth, her entire body trembling, and took several slow breaths.

You can do this, you can do this,
she told herself, again and again.
But what if I can’t?

“Are you okay?” Shaun appeared behind her, his tone worried.

Cassie turned to face him, the worst of her shakes fading into mere tremors. Her face was flushed with embarrassment – she knew how she must look.
Weak.
Shaun opened his mouth, but he didn’t say anything except, “We’re almost finished.”

She nodded, her cheeks burning.

The rest of the tour went much quicker, and without incident. Shaun explained that the Bureau was broken into nine major Sectors, and he showed her the massive gymnasium, the equally large mess hall, and finally the dormitories and bathrooms. The male and female dorms were on opposite sides of the base – to ‘discourage activities unbefitting of the agency’s reputation’, as Shaun recited from memory. Cassie would be bunking with the thirty-odd women who were currently living on-base.

“All right,” Shaun said, drawing out the second word. He stood outside the women’s dormitory, his hands shoved in his pockets. “That’s all I can show you for now.”

“Thank you,” Cassie said, her voice a whisper. Louder, she said, “Thank you. An-and about before, I’m sorry—”

“Don’t worry about it,” he told her. There was a pause, then he added, “Listen, I’m glad you’re joining the team. I’m the only Timewalker around here, so it’ll be nice to have some company.”

Cassie didn’t say anything. She was too overwhelmed to summon a sentence longer than about ten words.

“Okay then,” Shaun said, almost to himself. He nodded. “Good talk. See you tomorrow, Cassie.”

He turned and vanished around the corner. Cassie stood, still dumbstruck, now angry with herself more than anything else. She contemplated going after Shaun, saying
something
intelligent; he expected her to be a
Timewalker,
but instead she’d acted like a frightened little girl.

Exactly how I feel.

She pushed open the door to the dormitory and trudged inside. There were twenty beds on each wall, neatly made and militarily austere. At least there was a curtain to draw around the bed, and a small chest of drawers. It was midday, and the dorm was empty; most beds already had a name assigned on a small plaque. Cassie made her way down to a nameless bed and sank onto the thin mattress.

Her exhaustion caught up with her, and she fell asleep with tears drying on her cheeks.

*     *     *

She woke from the middle of the nightmare dripping with cold sweat, haunted by an afterimage of her father being stabbed by an Adjuster, his body cold and forever beyond her reach.

Cassie sat bolt-upright, blinking into the complete darkness. She hadn’t heard the other agents enter the dorm, but she could see their dark shapes rising and falling steadily with sleep. There was the occasional snore and the creak of bedsprings, then nothing but the sound of her own heart hammering in her chest.

The sheets were hot and uncomfortable under her, and her gray shirt was soaked through with sweat. She brought her knees up beneath her chin and rocked in the darkness. Her stomach growled at her, angry for missing two meals; but her brain kept her rooted to the spot, paralyzed.

She closed her eyes and thought of the techniques the psychiatrist from New York had taught her. She breathed in and out, trying to clear her mind – but it was impossible. For every fear she pushed away, ten more rushed in to replace it. After what felt like hours, she managed to uncurl herself, and reached for the pager she had placed on her chest of drawers. In the darkness, the LCD screen lit up the dorm like a miniature sun; she hastily blocked most of the light with her pillow.

Her fingers trembling, she arrowed through a list of contacts. The pager was a two-way model that would allow her to send a message. She didn’t even know who she was looking for –Natalie was her first thought, but the older agent lived off-base with her family. She hesitated, then before she could regret it, she sent a message to Shaun Briars:
Are you awake?

She waited, holding her breath.
He’s probably sleeping. He wouldn’t care.

A moment later, the pager vibrated in her grasp:
am now. u okay?

Can’t sleep can u talk?

The reply took longer than she expected, and for a moment, she wondered if he’d fallen asleep. Then another vibration and:
meet me in the mess hall careful of curfew.

Something Shaun had said earlier came back to her, and she remembered the 10pm – or 2200, as she was supposed to call it – curfew for all agents. But she couldn’t go back to sleep, not with her mind still racing.