Time Agency (9 page)

I decided to get a new hotel room because I needed a place to take the mint. The “cards of any credit” changed at my will. I thought of the card I needed, and the blank white card would morph into my desire. The name could change, but my picture never did. The picture was always my current face. I thought that if I changed the name each time I paid, the police would have trouble tracking me down. I didn’t account for the fact that they would be doing facial recognition searches and not name searches.

I sat on the bed and rolled the mint in my hand. It was a message from my pre-wipe self who knew about the wipe. I felt that if I took the mint and heard what my pre-wipe self would say, I had to accept my fate. Right now, I had pretty good access to resources. Though the resources would only last so long. Whoever was chasing me would find a way to trace the transactions from the cards. If I used the resources wisely and ditched the cards, I could probably disappear. If I bought one high-ticket item with the card and then sold it for cash, I could find some house in the middle of nowhere and retire, but I couldn’t spend my life not knowing.

This time, I was prepared for its effects. My head was on the pillow. The door was locked and secured. I bit into the mint. The world faded out and faded back into an apartment with nothing but a couch and a bookshelf. The walls were devoid of anything including a door leading to the room. There weren’t even the bumps on the wall from the texture of the paint. The walls were perfectly smooth and gray. It was a gray box, and I was sitting on the couch without any hint of claustrophobia. The couch was soft and very comfortable. It was blue and made of a substance I didn’t quite make out.

“Mirror,” I said. A tendril morphed from the couch and displayed my face. The face looking back at me was the same age as me.  It was very strange like I was watching a movie of myself. Memory playback is disconcerting because it feels like you are living the memory when in reality, it’s only a recording. I couldn’t turn my head unless I turned my head in the memory. I was stuck with the point of view my other self had while making the memory.

I looked right at myself and said, “This is probably pretty weird talking to yourself like this, but as you know, they are coming to wipe my memory. You are probably wondering why I don’t just think the message.” I was actually wondering why my past self didn’t explain who “they” were.

“The memory mints don’t record thought.” My face in the mirror continued. “Your thoughts are your own, and my thoughts are my own. The memory mints only record what we see, hear, touch, and smell. The thoughts you are experiencing were not the thoughts in your head at the time of the memory.”

I couldn’t shake the weird vibe I was receiving from the experience. The night before while lying in the old hotel bed unable to sleep, I saw a bad horror movie about a guy who went crazy. The person he saw in the mirror was the psychopathic side of his personality. There was a scene where he argued with himself. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was just too funny. Now, I kind of understood what the character was going through because seeing myself was too off-putting.

My memory continued speaking to me. “So this memory won't last long enough for me to explain everything. I also don't have enough time because the agency is coming for me. They will wipe my memory and plant a new set of memories into me. That's how they punish crime in our time. They turn you into something you’re not. I need you to carry on the fight. It’s too important.”

I was a little frustrated with myself because I felt I was a little vague. And I felt if I had been the one who left a message for myself, I would be as specific as I possibly could. Maybe I was just an insufferable asshole before my memory wipe. The historian part of me wanted some time to study each version of me. I would be interested to know how much of my personality changed from a memory wipe.

People’s personalities seemed to be molded from several sources. Experience was a big part in shaping personality. Survivors of traumatic events suffered from personality disorders. A teacher could build or break confidence. People close to an individual would also shape personality. But there was also the element of choice. Decisions to join certain groups or take responsibility also played into experience. In essence, experience played a large role in shaping how people acted. But experience was just a part of personality.

Genetics played another important part. Some people were predisposed to being unhappy merely because the chemicals in the brain involving happiness were deficient. While those with deficiencies certainly had the choice to make decisions that would lead to an overall greater happiness, they would be predisposed to making self-destructive decisions because of the chemical deficiency. Experience and genetic makeup also shaped personality.

The third part that shaped personality wasn’t easy to identify. Religions attempted to explain the mysterious part of personality through various mystical means. If a person found familiarity with a city they never visited, a religious viewpoint could use reincarnation to explain the event—the person was familiar with the city because they lived there in a past life. Science would explain the déjà vu as the subconscious and say the person saw the city in a book when they were young. Other religions would explain the mystery with the concept of a soul. Personality was shaped by experience, genetics, and a third more mysterious part of the human psyche.

My memory spoke again. “You know, I hate mints too, but I didn’t have much of a choice for stolen tech. Each capsule has a limited memory capacity. It can only record so much and replay so much. The future is not what it seems. I know you are thinking, “Be specific asshole.” But anyone could view this memory. So you need to listen carefully. Think about what your eyes see and more importantly, what they don’t. When you look at a bookshelf like the one here, your eyes see every single title. Your brain, however, doesn’t notice the titles that quickly. In your first glance, you’ll notice a couple. If you spend more time looking at the shelf, you’ll notice more. If you study the shelf and memorize every book title, you’ll notice them all. So even though in the first glance every title was visible, there are only a few that pop out. Those ones which pop out stick in your brain.”

I concentrated on the bookshelf. It was stuffed with books. The books were all hardbound with dust jackets. They looked like they had been well maintained or possibly were reproductions. And true to my memory’s word, at first, I only saw a few titles. Most were various old physics books by Stephen Hawking and Brian Greene to newer titles about time travel. I could not possibly see them all. “Think about it because this is something only I would get, and you need to understand.”

I wanted to slap myself, but the memory was in playback mode. It was like I was a floating soul in someone else’s body with only the ability to watch. So I couldn’t explain to myself that if I didn’t remember my experiences, there may be the possibility that I’d never understand. Did he expect me to have my memories by this point? I know he was leaving me a message in the titles of the books, but I wasn’t getting the message.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be more help, but they’ll scan me. They will dissect this memory. They will categorize every book title and try to find the pattern. Only you will be able to figure it out.” I could see tears welling up in the memory of myself. A dark expression fell on his face. He looked toward a door that appeared on the wall. “They’re here…”

My earlier self pulled out the mint package and exposed the device hidden within. He looked me in the eye using the mirror. The memory faded from view. For a brief moment, I felt that I was falling. I wasn’t in any place or time. I was just falling.

Jerry’s escape into the daylight was short lived. He made it to the surface of the city and saw his face everywhere. Every advertisement, billboard, cell phone, and anything else with a screen flashed his face. The picture the police used was from a security camera, so the quality wasn’t clear. He had the advantage that he was messy, covered with blood and disheveled in the police footage. Now he was clean and well groomed. It was like his body had a self cleaning cycle. People had to look closely to associate him with the man in the photo. The longer he lingered, the more chance a person would link him to the person in the police alerts.

He surfaced from the subway system and didn't get more than a few blocks before a police vehicle arrived where he emerged. He pushed through the crowds of people on the streets. He risked a look back. The people interviewed by the police pointed in his direction. He ducked into an alley. Hopefully, his reaction was quicker than the police. It wouldn't take long for them to discover him.

He checked all of his pockets. He had nothing but a gun. He considered ditching the gun but decided to keep it. He was already wanted for murder and having a weapon couldn't make the situation worse. Though he was beginning to think his choice of alley was worse. It was small and had only two doors. One was locked. The other opened before he could try the handle.

A small old Chinese man was surprised to see him. The old man sized Jerry up. “You in trouble?” the old man said.

“Can I come in?” Jerry said. The police were close. They would come into the alleyway at any moment. “I don't have much time.”

“You have gun,” he said.

“I don't plan to use it.”

“I want it. Give me gun and I help.”

“It's yours.” Jerry handed the gun to the old man.

“Come in. Hurry,” the old man said. Jerry was herded into a storage room for a Chinese restaurant. There were loads of boxes with Asian and English lettering. An old Chinese woman entered the room.

“Who that?” the woman inquired.

The Chinese man said something in Chinese, and the woman ushered Jerry forward. He handed her the gun.

“Hurry. Hurry,” she whispered, and Jerry went into a kitchen. A young man was cooking something in a gleaming wok. The old man hung back in the storage room. Jerry heard the police enter, and the old man screamed at them in Chinese.

“Hurry!” she yelled more forcefully. The cook left the food burning on the wok, and he pushed a stainless steel countertop on wheels to the side. There was a trap door under the counter. The young man motioned Jerry down an old wooden ladder. The old woman passed the gun to the young man and joined the yelling in the back. Jerry didn’t think twice. He climbed down the ladder. The darkness came very quickly as the trap door was shut, and he heard the counter being pushed back into place. The young man’s footsteps stomped the opposite direction from the screaming in the back.

The room was dark and cavernous. Jerry’s night vision switched on fairly quickly, and he saw there was a bunch of old equipment in the room. It was an old beer brewing facility. Dusty casks lined the walls. And old bottle sterilizing device and dusty wooden tables filled the emptiness. Several large bins labeled hops and barley were on a shelf. The equipment had not been used in ages, but the room did have evidence of human inhabitants. Lots of footprints disturbed the dust on the floor. A small child’s handprint could be seen in the dust on one of the tables. A quiet settled over the room.

The yelling in the back ceased. Jerry waited. He heard footsteps in the kitchen above. The wok sizzled like it was burning. The footsteps walked over to the stove. There was a click followed by the sound of a fire extinguisher. Jerry held his breath. A man’s voice crackled on the radio. “The couple seems to be the only people back here. What’s your situation?”

“Right… Just some patrons in the dining room. Better call in a unit to secure the place. Watch the guests, and I’ll check the bathroom,” the voice said overhead.

“Copy that.” The radio crackled.

Jerry froze as a hand came from nowhere and wrapped around his mouth. He almost screamed when he noticed it was the young man from upstairs. The man took his hand from Jerry’s mouth and waved Jerry towards the rear of the room. Under the table with the row of casks, was a tunnel. The young man climbed silently into the hole and motioned Jerry to follow.

A radio voice crackled from above. “This is 3431. The area is secure. None of the patrons have seen the suspect.”

The radio responded. “Roger that. Keep the couple for questioning. We are checking the other businesses now. The street cameras confirm no one exited or entered the building during the hot time frame. He couldn’t have disappeared in that alley.”

“Maybe the witnesses were mistaken.”

“The street cameras confirmed. The suspect entered the alley at 9:16.”

“Then where the hell did he go?”

“We’ll tear the place apart to find out.”

The cook grabbed Jerry by the collar and pulled him into the tunnel.

I woke up from the memory replay in the comfort of a hotel bed. It was pleasant and relaxing. For the first time in days, I felt comfortable and lulled into a false sense of complacency. I mulled the puzzle left by myself. The titles I noticed bounced through my mind. My earlier self gave me some time to study, so I was able to repeat them over and over in my head. It seemed I had a fairly good memory because I was able to recall most of them.

Some of the titles didn’t make sense. For example, there was a title of a book called
Yourself,
but when I tried to pair it with books near it, nothing made sense. There was a book near it called
Hidden Reality
. But other than a tacky attempt at humor about hidden realities, there wasn’t much to go on. Using a pen and pad from the hotel, I wrote down the various titles and tried to reason out a solution.

I put the puzzle aside when no immediate solution presented itself. I had to assume that I was still missing a key bit of information. I decided to turn on the television. My brain needed a rest. Unfortunately, I would get no rest. The TV displayed my face next to the well-dressed man’s. We were wanted on suspicion of the murder of the bookstore owner. They must have reviewed the security footage.

Seconds later, there was a bang at the door and a muffled threat. “Police, you are wanted for questioning. You have one minute to open the door.”

I gathered my things, which didn’t take that long. I tore off the pages where I worked on the title problem and shoved them in my pocket. The police of this time period probably would not be able to understand the puzzle, but I didn’t want to take any chances. My pursuers from the future could be working with the police.

“You have thirty seconds,” the voice commanded. I needed a way out, and the only way out was the window. I was on the third floor, and the window would not open all the way. The lamp on the desk was heavy. With all my force, I slammed it into the hotel window. The impact sent glass raining to the street below. The police heard the noise and kicked in the doorway. A hotel manager cringed at the use of force. I hopped through the window out onto the ledge. I was three floors up from the ground. Normally, such a height would be suicidal, but there was a large tour bus picking up travelers. The police were halfway through the room. I leaped from the window ledge and flew through the air. It seemed to take an eternity. I hit the top of the bus and rolled. The police officers gawked from the window in disbelief. I ignored the pain from the landing and slid off the bus.

I hit the pavement with a loud thump. My knees burned, and pain shot through my legs. The nanomachines sent painkillers through my body and quickly numbed the pain. There was a tingling sensation in my legs and kneecaps. The machines were repairing two shattered kneecaps and broken legs from the jump. They rewove the bone and reconstructed cells one molecule at a time at a breathtaking rate. I was able to hobble off, and the hobble turned into a trot. The trot turned into a run. I ran down the block to a subway tunnel entrance.

I had planned on the possibility of a quick escape from the hotel and picked one close to a major hub. I was wise enough to choose a spot close to the subway but stupid enough to let them give me a room on the third floor. I was probably too hard on myself as I was a historian and not a secret agent. I needed to start thinking in terms of escape, especially because now the city authorities were after me and had exceptional means of tracking me.

I pushed my way down into the subway system. The evening commuter traffic increased the density of people. The people slowed me down, but it also was going to slow the police down as well. When I got to the bottom of the initial flight of stairs to the deep underground, the police were at the top. I hopped through the turnstile and dashed into the tunnels. I pushed through the crowds and came to another set of stairs.

The stairs went down to the platform. Rather than push myself through the crowd, when I was down far enough, I swung over the railing and jumped the rest of the way. My knee cried out in pain once again. The pain was almost too much but quickly subsided. I broke my knees again because they were still weak. The nanomachines dosed me with more painkillers. The police were hot on my trail.

A train was at the stop. I pushed my way through the crowd into the train. The officers pursuing me made it to the ground level just as the train was leaving. I saw one of the officers turn his head to his shoulder. He radioed for backup. Officers would be waiting at the next stop, and they would have the entire train covered. I didn't plan on being on the train.

As soon as I was cleared from the officer's sight lines, I pushed my way to the back of the train. For the most part, people helped me by stepping out of the way. People always seemed to respond to another person's sense of urgency. I was also lucky that my face probably just started to hit the warning networks. A few people may have recognized me, but they probably didn't want to get involved. Either way, there weren't any heroes on the train that day. If a private citizen tripped me up or attempted to stop me, I may have gotten caught at the next stop. I planned to be off the train before the next stop.

Once I was at the rear of the train, I waited. The train slowed down as it rounded a sharp turn. The time was perfect. I pulled the emergency stop. It was covered with warnings about consequences for false alarms. One more charge in addition to evading arrest. It wouldn’t be the first law I had broken that day, and more than likely, it wouldn’t be the last. The train lurched to a halt. I had to act quickly.

The emergency exit wouldn't budge. There was something locking the door while the train was in motion, and I had to wait until the train was completely halted. The people in the car panicked. Some screamed, and others tried to help me open the exit door. It was interesting how people just assumed I knew about an emergency they didn’t know about. After the train had come to a complete halt, the emergency door opened, and the alarm sounded.

Some of the passengers who helped me followed me out the door. They weren't sure what was happening, but they assumed they were acting out of self-interest. It was fascinating to note. I bet the historian in me enjoyed observing people. They always seemed to gravitate to the person who seemed to know what they were doing. Because I was confident enough to jump off the train, others followed and flooded out the car into the tunnel with me.

However, they stopped following me when I started down the tunnel at a jog. People would follow the confident person until that person led them into the unknown. They were scared and staying near the car was the safe choice. For me, the unknown was salvation. It offered me a way to escape the police. The people and the subway car disappeared behind me. The nanomachines switched to a night vision as the light faded from my view. The police would catch up. I planned to try and lose them in the sewers before they could catch me.