Writing Challenge: Time To Play

[slyc_willie]

Inspired by TE's story in my Clue writing challenge thread, and subsequent comments regarding it, I started this one. Of all the basic themes in science fiction, I hold a special place in my heart for time travel stories. There is just so much a writer can do with the concept of traveling through time.

So here are the rules:

Your character is an agent with the TMA -- the Temporal Management Agency -- whose job it is to travel back in time to observe history and insure that events that have already transpired happen as they originally did.

Your enemy are members of the Rectifiers, a subversive, pseudo-religious organization that somehow also has access to time travel technology. No one knows who they are beyond their name, nor does anyone yet know their true agenda.

In 1,000 words or less, describe where -- and when -- your character goes and how they keep the Rectifiers from changing history.

Let's have some fun with this

 

[tickledkitty]

Well, you're just full of good ideas.

 

[slyc_willie]

Well, you're just full of good ideas.

Inspiration, my dear

 

[tickledkitty]

Inspiration, my dear

How about sending some this way?

 

[slyc_willie]

How about sending some this way?

I thought that's what I was doing . . .

 

[TE999]

As the Official Inspirerer of this thread I feel duty bound to contribute a story or two.

Agent 99 of the TMA is on the case to preserve history as it happened.

Don't touch that dial....

 

[slyc_willie]

As the Official Inspirerer of this thread I feel duty bound to contribute a story or two.

Agent 99 of the TMA is on the case to preserve history as it happened.

Don't touch that dial....

I was waiting for you to show up

Hurry . . . your first mission is about to begin!

 

[_Lynn_]

Somehow this isn't what I thought he had in mind when he said a Time Travel Challenge............

 

[TE999]

Assassin!

Agent 99 scanned the milling throng of theatergoers with the practiced eye of A Senior Time Travel Agent. The synthobeard he wore was beginning to itch and he rubbed at it as he looked for any tell-tale signs of Rectifier agents in the faces that filed past him. He stood in the lobby of Ford's Theater on April 14, 1865, the night that President Abraham Lincoln was to be assassinated, thankful that the microfilter implants in his nose screened the worst of the stench of unwashed bodies and reeking perfumes.

Information obtained from a raid on a Rectifier outpost in 19th Century St. Louis indicated that the shadowy cult of time travellers were planning to prevent Lincoln's being shot by John Wilkes Booth. It was unclear to the Temporal Mangement Agency exactly why The Rectifiers wanted to keep Lincoln alive, but then many of their actions were difficult to fathom. A prolonged existence of the Confederate States? A delay in the passage of tougher anti-slavery laws? No one at TMA knew. What was clear was that the Rectifiers continual meddling in the space/time continuum could result in permanent chronal ruptures and have disasterous consequences for both human history and the race in it's entirety.

In a flash, 99 saw what he had been watching for, a silvery sheen of synthoflesh on the face of a man dressed in the uniform of a Major in the Union Army. The Major moved easily through the bustling crowds and up the stairs to the theater's box seats, Agent 99 following at a discreet distance. Stopping before the door to Box Number 7 where the President would be viewing the evenings performance, the Major concealed himself across the corridor in the red velvet window curtains to wait for the assassin Booth to appear.

Agent 99 remained at the top of the staircase, nodding and smiling as President Lincoln ascended the stars, his wife Mary at his side and their guests for the evening close behind. They filed through the door of Box 7, the President seated last in a rocking chair provided specially for him by the theater. 99 was struck by how gaunt and weary Lincoln looked, his skin a deathly pallor and his eyes dull, almost as if he already knew the fate that awaited him that evening.

Music, applause and laughter greeted the opening act of the play, a farce entitled "Our American Cousin" that Mary Lincoln had insisted on seeing although her husband was not in a happy mood. The single soldier assigned to guard the door of the President's box had left on a false order engineered by Booth and his cohorts, assuring that the President would be vulnerable to attack. 99 stood back in the shadows to await developments.

Both agents saw Booth striding down the dimly lit corridor, hand on the derringer in his pocket, face set in the resolute mask of one who knows they hold destiny in their hands. The Rectifier agent stepped from behind the curtain, stun projector in hand and fired at the approaching Booth. Keying his neural accellerators, 99 flashed between the two men, his energy field absorbing the stun bolt. As Booth looked on, astonished, the two men fought briefly until one crumpled to the floor.

"Hurry, man, hurry", 99 barked to the amazed Booth. "Kill him quickly, I'll take care of this one." Booth sprung into action, dashing down the corridor and through the door of the president's box. The dull report of the pistol was drowned out by roars of laughter from the crowd, but the shrieks that followed were not as Booth fell onto the stage, screamed "Sic Semper Tyrannis" and made good his escape.

Agent 99 had seen the lifeless eyes of his opponent, knew he was battling a Beta Class Android, and occillated his neural transmitters, disrupting the machines control synapses and rendering it useless. The androids body quivered in 99's grasp, exploding in a shower of molecules as it's self-destruct circuit engaged, leaving him with a handful of shredded cloth. 99 quickly joined the running groups of men and women crying "The President's been shot," until he was outside the theater and away.

He returned to the entrance of the Time Portal, concealed in the wall of a livery stable a short distance from the theater. Pausing at the entry threshhold, he watched Booth hobble in, mount a horse and ride off to meet his destiny in a blazing barn. Once again, the Rectifiers attempts to change history had been thwarted and 99 was ready to go home to the Year 2107. He could hardly wait to rid himself of the itchy beard and take a long null-gravity bath. A whiff of ozone and the portal closed, leaving a dying Lincoln and history unchanged behind him. Mission accomplished.

 

[slyc_willie]

I like it, 'Agent 99.' Good use of historical facts and figures. Lol. Maybe I should have suggested doing this is a chain story.

I had planned to write my own tonight, but my obligations kept me at work. I'll have to wait until tomorrow.

So, anyone else?

 

[TE999]

I like it, 'Agent 99.' Good use of historical facts and figures. Lol. Maybe I should have suggested doing this is a chain story.

I had planned to write my own tonight, but my obligations kept me at work. I'll have to wait until tomorrow.

So, anyone else?

Thanks, dude. I had fun with this one.

Like the man said, anyone else?

 

[_Lynn_]

Thanks, dude. I had fun with this one.

Like the man said, anyone else?

I agree with him TE. Good job.

((slinking away back to the corner))

 

[lisa123414]

wait for me (ha, get it, a time thread)

“It seems to me, that as employees of the Temporal Management Agency, we ought to be able to make this slow week go faster,” sighed Susan. Susan was a long time agent of the TMA. She was very good at what she did and took great pride in the fact that twenty years before, she had been their first female agent. Women had not been encouraged to seek employment here.

Early on, when the science of time travel was new, there was a fear that time travel would disrupt women’s delicate sensitivities, maybe even disrupt their cycles; fear of the unknown kept women from seeking this career. Fear of a disrupted woman, kept TMA management from considering them for the job.

Susan was young and aggressive, with the whole world laid out before her. She had always yearned to try non-traditional things. Her affinity for math and science opened many doors for her. The science of time travel was just too interesting to pass up. She was fortunate in that the manager with which she interviewed was recently divorced, this probably influenced his decision to hire a woman.

When she started out, the small group of older men were thrilled to have her on board. Sure, they took down a few calendars, but working next to the tall, blonde 23-year-old more than made up for it. They were already a close-knit bunch, and welcomed her in. They mentored her and shared their knowledge, she quickly became a competent and efficient time travel agent.

As her career blossomed, she gained more influence and power to direct which areas were to be studied and directed. Naturally, she was interested in feminist issues. Her research had led her to learn about a splinter group of the Mortal Minority. She suspected this splinter group, the Rectifiers, sought to reverse the sexual revolution. She believed their goal was to eradicate the science and research into sexuality of the 20th century.

To date, they had attempted to impregnate Margaret Sanger, discredit Clair Booth Luce and castrate Larry Flint. “What else could they possibly be up to?” she wondered.

As she considered, the phone rang. It was the observation center. “Elders, “ Susan spoke sharply into the phone. “Susan, this is Stephen in observation, we have detected a time jump originating from the Rectifiers.”

“Where are they headed?” Susan demanded.

“St. Louis, 1964,” came the reply.

“Okay, here is what I need you to do, “ Susan began. “Get two travelers here now, have them gear up. Send what information you have to Research and see if they can get us a list of potential targets.”

“On it,” came the reply.

“Thank you. Call me back and let me know which travelers are available today. I am headed down to Research, so leave me a message there.” Susan stood up, but before heading out of her office, she glanced at some of her notes. “Oh hell,” she said to herself, as she realized the likely target.

Susan headed down the stairs to research. They had already been alerted and briefed and were narrowing down the list of possible targets. The call from observation came. “We have two agents ready for travel,” reported Stephen, “Kahn, and Brooks.” Susan smiled at the news, these two were the cream of the current crop.

“Send them both,” she ordered. If the target was who she suspected, she wanted to be certain to stop the Rectifiers plot. “Check references for Masters and Johnson,” she requested the nearest researcher.

“Yes and yes,” the young woman in spectacles replied. “Masters and Johnson set up a clinic in St. Louis, they were there in 1964.”

“Send the details and the coordinates to the launch room, I will brief the travelers,” Susan said as she headed for the nearest empty desk.

A few hours later, the team returned, victorious. The Rectifiers had planned to set off a bomb in the clinic, not only ridding the world of Masters and Johnson and their research, but also precipitating a rash of clinic bombings for political reasons.

Susan sat back in her leather chair, satisfied with the days work. Looking at the clock, she noted the day was done. She was more than ready to go out and enjoy her weekend, but before she did, she stood up and walked over to the door to her office. She closed and locked the door, then went back to her desk. She opened the bottom drawer and pulled out the shiny sphere.

She held the orgasmatron in both hands, then reached with one painted nail to flick the “on” switch.

 

[slyc_willie]

God bless the sexual revolution!

Great story, Lisa

 

[TE999]

Good one, Lisa.

The Rectifiers trying to reverse the Sexual Revolution was a nice touch.

Anyone wanna follow the lady?

 

[lisa123414]

Agent 99, wow, nice story!! I particulary enjoy the idea of synthoflesh, in fact that gives me lots of ideas.

 

[lisa123414]

Good one, Lisa.

The Rectifiers trying to reverse the Sexual Revolution was a nice touch.

Anyone wanna follow the lady?

Thanks 99, seemed appropriate for the site.

 

[TE999]

Agent 99, wow, nice story!! I particulary enjoy the idea of synthoflesh, in fact that gives me lots of ideas.

Thanks, lisa. Ideas are our stock in trade.

Synthoflesh--don't leave your time continuum without it.

 

[lisa123414]

God bless the sexual revolution!

Great story, Lisa

Hey thanks Willie -
When I was a kid, I tried to get a paper route and was turned away. They told me they did not hire girls, really. Enough to give a chick an attitude, you know?

kisses back at you
Lisa

Obscure reference in the story. Susan Elders is the descendant of Jocelyn Elders - anyone remember her? A giver of very good advice, I might add as a hint....

 

[slyc_willie]

Hey thanks Willie -
you are (ahem) a little younger than me (around ten years, but who's counting). When I was a kid, I tried to get a paper route and was turned away. They told me they did not hire girls, really. Enough to give a chick an attitude, you know?

kisses back at you
Lisa

Obscure reference in the story. Susan Elders is the descendant of Jocelyn Elders - anyone remember her? A giver of very good advice, I might add as a hint....

I have to admit, I was wondering. The name 'Elders' dis resonate with me, and I wasn't sure why.

Thanks for explaining Now I won't be waking up at four in the morning going 'That's it!'

 

[Guest]

OK, so it's just a bit over 1000 words.

(hard to write short sex scenes!)



Agent Sweetsubsarahh peered from behind the stacks of books, weapon in hand. The library had been an excellent meeting place for agency members; she was well aware that the Rectifiers rarely chose to expand their collective minds studying any type of literature, even back in this time. But now that the evil organization had decided to torch all printed material from the past, including erotica (and especially anything having to do with serious butt sex) she knew she must change her location soon.

That, or go up in flames with her beloved smut.

Suddenly she heard shouts and thuds, then the zzzzrch of hand weapons before a muffled string of swearing in Chocktaw. Sweetsubsarahh grimaced and sighted her blaster as two robotic Recitifiers wrestled the tall form of her colleague Cloudy into view. Agent Cloudy was not making it easy for them as she landed a kick to the chin of the nearest attacker. They fell back, then regrouped, and even though she had complete faith in her partner’s abilities when they raised their weapons Sweetsubsarahh took aim and blew them both away.

She stood to holster her gun and barely felt the sudden stinging blast that knocked her unconscious. More Rectifiers joined the fray, and, after subduing Cloudy, the guards hoisted their limp bodies and carried them off.

When Agent Sweetsubsarahh woke up she was face down on the floor, the upper half of her body draped over something soft and warm. It was Cloudy. The Rectifiers had dumped them into a cell. Together they opened weary eyes, groaned as they stretched tender muscles and carefully got to their feet.

The two of them examined the cell, searching for weaknesses, quickly seeing the futility of disabling the electronic gate. They’d been stripped of all weapons, their communicators, and most of their clothing. Very much aware of the Rectifier guard in the outer room, the agents communicated telepathically per their training and began to formulate a plan to escape.

“They are a collective,” Agent Cloudy began. “If we disrupt one it may effect the rest of the group.”

“Correct,” returned Agent Sweetsubsarahh. “But we can’t just take this one out. For maximum effect on the rest of the group it has to remain functional, in communication with the rest.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a piece of cake. What did you have in mind?”

“Beats the hell out of me.”

The women checked the cell again. Through all of this, the Rectifier guard ignored their motions. With narrowed eyes, Sweetsubsarahh examined the man-robot. Before the electronic components were added, she mused, he was seriously buff. A prime specimen of a man. But how much of the man remained after he became computer, she wondered. How truly human was he?

Glancing at her counterpart, Sweetsubsarahh sent her idea telepathically. Cloudy’s eyes widened, then darkened in delight.

“Do you think it will work?”

Sweetsubsarahh grinned. “It could.”

“Sounds like fun.”

With that, the women stepped together. They were both tall, with one lean and dark, one well-rounded and fair. Their hands caressed each other’s forms as their lips and tongues met eagerly.

Their clothes were quickly tossed aside as they continued their play. On the floor they went, hands and fingers touching, teeth taking tiny nips, gasps and sighs and lusty thoughts filling their heads, even as their plan continued to formulate between them.

What man could resist watching two women fucking without joining in? It was their hope the Rectifier was still more man than machine.

Sweetsubsarahh spread Cloudy’s thighs and began to feast on her heated pussy. She tasted so fine; she happily applied fingers and tongues as Cloudy lay back and writhed and moaned. Sweetsubsarahh squirmed as she pleasured her partner, her own needful sex so wonderfully wet.

They were barely aware of the Rectifier shutting down the electronic gate long enough to enter the cell. Sweetsubsarahh first realized he was there when she felt him lift her thighs and slip his large cock into her dripping pussy from behind.

“Oh, God!”

No grace, no tact. He hammered into her, almost too rough, with long and luscious strokes. He grunted with the effort and so did she, opening wider for him, egging him on with her body.

Sweetsubsarahh attacked Cloudy’s body again, fingering and stroking, then recognizing her approaching orgasm. As she bit her clit the lean beauty screamed and exploded in her arms. But still she continued the oral assault, enjoying the reactions of her partner.

Meanwhile, the Rectifier had additional plans. Long forgotten for the robot, well-remembered for the man, he teased her puckered anus with a lubed finger, seeming to enjoy her whimpered reactions. Soon he fingered her ass in time with the motions, so lewd and nasty.

She knew what was coming but it was still a shock when he moved his cock to her tight hole and pushed. Cloudy held her arms as the man-robot forced his steel hard rod inside.

If she hadn’t been prepared she would have been in serious pain. God. Oh, God. She began to climax with his first powerful thrust. And from the feel of him, he wasn’t far behind.

Sweetsubsarahh felt the Rectifier’s motions become less robotic, less managed. His massive cock grew even larger and his punishing thrusts into her ass pushed her mouth against Cloudy’s still quivering pussy. The women, still entwined, were trying to maintain some control. It wasn’t working.

The Rectifier roared his orgasm as the circuits around his neck and forehead flickered. And as he pulled his body back he froze, idiotic expression in place, cock still jetting fluids. Suddenly the lights in the room flickered and the electronic gate to the cell dissipated.

The women extricated themselves from their positions and got to their feet. With trembling limbs they dressed and located their weapons and communicators. As they checked in with Command they realized that all the Rectifiers had stopped functioning. Their sexual stunt had fried the circuits of not only their guard but of the rest of the man-robots who’d chased them back through time. It was over.

They received congratulations from Command and took off to meet their arriving ship.

“All in all, a great way to spend an afternoon.”

“Who knew a serious bout of butt sex would save the future of the planet”?

“I knew.”’

“What’s our next assignment?”

“Oh, something about the planet Uranus.”

“Here we go again.”

 

[TE999]

Woohoo! Nice one, sarahh.

You get two thumbs up from Agent 99.

Who knew time travel could be so much fun.

 

[lisa123414]

Sarahh -
Ha Ha, love it! However, I do not believe that any number of robots will be able to subdue Cloudy...

Agent 99 - you gave her two thumbs, interesting reaction, I'd say -

 

[slyc_willie]

March 30, 1981

"You know how serious this mission is," the Director said, giving me a grave look from the other side of his desk. "We only get one shot at this . . . so to speak."

I nodded. "That's how it always is, Jim," I answered. "We can only maintain the field lock for one chance to make things right. But I understand why this particular mission is important."

"Ronald Reagan was a great President," the Director continued. "He made his mistakes, sure, and the whole Iran-Contra thing was a debacle, but when it came down to it, he was the man we needed."

I met the Director's gaze. His face was slack, his eyes dark. Jim was a man with a lot of responsibility. And personal pain.

"Until someone made sure he died in '81," I said.

"The world's gone to shit," sighed Jim, tapping on his keyboard. The wall behind him shimmered, becoming a screen that showed flickering images of death, destruction, and chaos. "A limited nuclear exchange in '83, followed by numerous terrorist and guerilla attacks around the world. The US established martial law in 1986 under President Bush . . . and it still hasn't been lifted. Nealry a billion people . . . a billion fucking people."

"I'll change it back," I vowed to the Director.

He fixed me a look. "Damn well better," he said. He tapped his temple. "I hope your marksmanship is up to it."

-------------

It was difficult tracking the temporal signature. The Rectifier agent who had gone back in time to successfully assassinate President Ronald Reagan had done an excellent job of masking him- or herself. But unlike a lot of TMA agents, I didn't just rely on my little bag of gadgets. I was old enough to remember what it was like to be a cop before the Age of the Internet.

I decided to keep tabs on John Hinckley, Jr., from the moment he arrived in Washington on the 29th. As far as anyone was concerned, I was just another Greyhound passenger, like Hinckley. I tailed the obsessed man -- undoubtedly with his head full of thoughts of Jodie Foster -- to the Park Central Hotel, 'accidentally' bumping into him to plant a tracker. I managed to get a room a few doors down from him.

Strange, I thought that night as I slept. I'm actually protecting an assassin . . . or would-be assassin.

The following morning, we had breakfast at a McDonald's down the street. I sat near the door, keeping an eye on Hinckley by the window. I was mildly impressed by the fare; the McDonald's garbage I was used to was pathetic compared to what I devoured.

Hinckley got up to wahs his hands after he ate. I figured I'd wait by the door for him, tail him to the Hilton, made sure he did what he intended to do . . . or, rather, what history had already written he had done.

But he was taking too long. I knew every detail of Hinckley's actions that day; he had spent exactly one minute and seventeen seconds in the bathroom; it was now a minute-twenty.

I got up from my booth, headed down the hall, passing a cute young thing, one of the employees of the McDonald's. In the bathroom, there was a single stall. I saw Hinckley's loafers, his pants around his ankles. I flattened myself to the floor, insinuating my head under the stall wall. Hinckley was frozen, literally. His stiff appearance was tell-tale sign of the use of a stasis gun.

The girl! Damn! Thinking quickly, I reached for Hinckley's pants and grabbed the cheap German revolver he carried, then bolted up, ran out of the bathroom. A quick glance behind the counter of the establishment told me the girl was not there. But then, of course, she wouldn't have been.

I dashed out the door, flipping open my temporal tracker. Anyone traveling through time leaves a faint trail; if you're close enough, you can find it. And follow it.

I smiled. Got you now . . . .

-------------------

It wasn't untill a quarter after two that I could make my move. It was easy enough to find my prey; she was using a holoprojector to make herself look like Hinckley. Stealthily as I could, I crept up behind her as she made her way along the rocky wall outside the hotel. No one noticed when I grabbed her with a hand around her mouth and dragged her into an alley.

She was good, but not as good as I. I took her out with a few well-placed strikes, even as she split my lip and loosened one of my teeth. I dropped the body in a dumpster after cauterizing her fingertips, snatched up the holoprojector. Good thing those devices were universal.

The Director's words echoed in my head as I went back to the street: "I hope your marksmanship is up to it." Had he known that I would have to take Hinckley's place?

I took a moment to meditate as I elaned against the wall. I would have to be alert and precise, I knew. Only one chance to get it right, and I had to do everything the way Hinckley had.

Reagan emerged, waving to the crowd as he made his way down the steps. I waved back, along with the others in the crowd. Press Secretary Brady walked before him; Secret Service personnel flanked the man.

Here we go, I thought, and slipped the .22-caliber revolver from my pocket. I acted quickly and decisively, snapping off six rounds in three seconds. It broke my heart to send that first bullet into Brady's brain, and I winced as I watched Reagan flinch with the impact of the sixth and final shot, ricocheting off the door of the Presidential limo.

And then the Secret Service were on me, slamming me into the ground.

-----------------

Damage Control appeared in my cell that night, 'winking in' and bringing the still-paralyzed Hinckley with them. We were gone in a matter of moments, with no one the wiser. History was preserved; the Rectifiers had been stopped once again.

------------------

"Director."

He turned in his wheelchair as he sat gazing out at a digitally-created landscape of a quiet Central Park at night. A glass of Scotch glowed in his hand before he set it on the desk.

"Well done, Agent," he said simply.

I worked my jaw a moment, not sure of what to say. Jim, I'm sor--"

He raised his hand, the only one he could use. "Don't," he said. "You did what had to be done. You preserved the timeline. You could not have done anything else."

I could only nod. Anything I might have said would have been moot.

"We all make sacrifices," the Director said. "Our decisions may not be easy to live with, but they must be made."

I straightened, taking a breath. "You have no idea how much I respect you, sir."

And for the first time, the Director actually smiled. "Dismissed."

I turned sharply, then headed out through the door. I let my fingers grace the bronze stencil upon it which read, "James Brady, Director of Operations."

--*--

 

[TE999]

Sarahh -
Ha Ha, love it! However, I do not believe that any number of robots will be able to subdue Cloudy...

Agent 99 - you gave her two thumbs, interesting reaction, I'd say -

Caught that one, did you?

And there are fingers attached...