floweryhedgehog

My grandfather lied to my grandmother. I guess it runs in the family.

I don’t blame him, really; you know what they say about grandfathers and paradoxes. In fairness, I don’t think she would have believed him about when the time traveling secret agents finally caught up with him as an engineering student decades before they were supposed to have assassinated him. Somehow he convinced them not to carry out the assassination, though the next time he went back to the family farm he had some very pointed questions to ask his dad.

At least in this timeline, he has a grandson, and I don’t think the world ends horribly. Never mind that I have to figure out a way to kidnap my infant grandfather, or figure out how I already have, depending on your perspective. However cute he is right now, he can’t be allowed to grow up to be the man who plunges the world into nuclear winter and post apocalyptic chaos that is very short on heroically brooding love interests. And no matter how bad that future is, I draw the line at assassinating babies. Besides, there’s that thing about grandfathers and paradoxes.

Trouble is, the Minister’s son is well guarded. If I were going to kill him, I could find a way around his mother’s security, particularly as the Bureau isn’t expecting me to survive this mission. Instead, I have to take him alive, and God help us both, I have to raise him. In secret. While hiding from the Panhistorical Monitoring and Prevention Bureau. Normally I’d say that’s impossible, but in a sense I’ve already done it.

Nevertheless, my throat goes dry and my ears buzz as I walk my new golden retriever through the park. The nanny eyes me from a distance, and I wave and give her a wry smile as the puppy squats down and makes a deposit on the walking path. Apparently this marks us as firmly outside the “suspicious” category, because as I fish a poo bag out of my jacket pocket she goes back to pushing the stroller around in the sunshine. I don’t approach her, and I don’t see any sign of other guards, not that the nanny couldn’t kill me six different ways if I did anything out of line. Fortunately for me, the Minister wants to pretend she's giving her son a normal upbringing, and that means the nanny doesn’t kill random strangers for walking their dogs.

As I’d expected, the puppy makes me look harmless, and my cover identity as a history professor at the local community college adds to the impression. The irony of masquerading as a history professor doesn’t escape me, but I’m up to the part and this identity has to be airtight. I vary my schedule, as I can’t afford any whiff of suspicion. If it even looks like I’m getting near the Minister’s child on purpose, I won’t have to worry about the Bureau finding me; I won’t have to worry about anyone at all finding me.

By the time I see them again it’s full summer, and Peaches is scarfing down the doggie sundae I bought her at the nearby ice cream shop. I pretend not to pay any attention to the baby or the nanny, but my grandfather squeals and makes grabby hands at the dog, who yaps and tugs on her leash. I frown for the nanny’s benefit as I reprimand Peaches. “Sorry about that, ma'am, she’s still learning her manners.” I mock-scowl at the dog, who wiggles unrepentantly.

“No harm done,” she replies with a smile that does not reach her eyes, and walks on.

The next time, I allow myself to show a flicker of recognition. She acknowledges my greeting with a nod, and I decide it’s time to push my luck. “Nice day, isn’t it?” It’s a horrible day, with the kind of stuffy heat that makes one long for a good thunderstorm, but it’s harder to make small talk if you say that sort of thing.

“It’s a horrible day,” she says. “It’s hot and stuffy and I’d kill a man for a good thunderstorm.” She looks at me like she’s found a perfect candidate, and I clear my throat nervously.

“…Or we could be candid,” I reply with forced joviality. How did this conversation get away from me so fast? I cast about for a way to make an unobtrusive exit; I’ll just have to try another approach. Some other day. “Hey, um…the ice cream parlor across the street is pretty good. Can I buy you a scoop?”

She raises an eyebrow, but accepts the offer, and I wonder what flavor of ice cream will obliterate the memory of the foot I’ve just stuck in my mouth.

At the ice cream counter, I order a doggie sundae for Peaches and a double scoop of rocky road for myself. I don’t even like rocky road, but this is not the way my missions go and I’m trying not to admit to myself how badly I’ve blown it. She orders mint chocolate chip and bends down to adjust the straps of the baby’s stroller and suddenly the fire alarms are blaring and the sprinklers are all going off and Peaches is sitting outside the ice cream parlor and howling piteously. The woman stands up, clutching my grandfather in her arms, and hisses at me, “How did you muck up the code so badly? Forget about it; we’ve got ninety seconds to get out of here.”

She ducks out a side door into the alleyway, and I lose precious seconds to hesitation. I can hear Peaches through the door, and I know I don’t have time to waste, but I dash out and grab her, fumbling the leash loose and picking her up before splashing back through the ice cream parlor to follow the woman who shouldn’t know who I am. I slip on the wet floor and slide ignominiously to the alley door, which has swung closed again. Peaches is heavy and soaking and very unhappy, and it’s all I can do to shove my way through into the alley, where I can hear yet more alarms. I feel a pang of envy; the Bureau didn’t give me anything that could set off every fire alarm on a city block.

My new partner and/or nemesis has conjured a taxi out of, as far as I can tell, thin air. She rolls her eyes at the dog and pointedly glances at the driver, who is folding a baby seat out in the back of his cab. I probably didn’t need to be told not to talk in front of the driver, but since I’ve thoroughly trashed at least one person’s mission today, I can’t really complain. We don’t have far to go, and the envy strikes again. The Bureau hasn’t set me up with any safe houses in the capitol.

It’s not much more than a room, but no alarms are blaring and it’s dry. Either nobody knows where we are, or I’m about to find out what sort of oubliettes the Minister has at her disposal. Either way, I’m at this stranger’s mercy.

“I know who sent you and why you’re here,” she says, and I know an instant before it appears that she’s going for a gun.

“I can’t let you kill him,” I shout, at the same moment she says: “And I’m not letting you kill him.”

She frowns, and I sigh relief. The gun never wavers.

“Clearly we’ve got our wires crossed,” I observe, trying to sound like a suave secret agent. Her grimace is all the critique my performance deserves.

“Obviously! It was supposed to be peach ice cream and Rocky the dog!”

It takes me a few seconds to work through the implications. “What kind of absurd cloak-and-dagger…wait, you aren’t with the Bureau!”

“You’re with the Bureau of Blunders?”

I draw myself up to my full height, which isn’t impressive. “I’m with the Panhistorical Monitoring and Prevention Bureau, and you are interfering in an operation of utmost importance."

She snorts aloud, but lowers the gun and gestures me toward a chair. She takes the settee, but in fairness, Grandpa must have been getting heavy. Traitorously, Peaches approaches her and tries to lick her hand.

“Of course you’re from the damn Bureau. How else does a timeline go this badly wrong?”

“Hey, back up a minute. I’m here to fix this timeline. And who the hell are you?”

“The cleanup squad,” she snaps. “We’re in a dozen timelines trying to fix what you people broke, and when you kill him it derails everything.”

“Okay one, I’m not going to kill him, and neither are you. Two, derails what? What happens in your timeline?”

“It takes a few decades, but eventually? Civil war, then external war. A few cities get nuked–”

“In the original timeline, it’s more than a few cities.”

“Shut up. A few cities get nuked before somebody decides they’d rather break out the biologicals. Most of them just kill people; most of them aren’t all that contagious. Those aren’t so bad. But some of them spread, and they are unstoppable. I saw one of those timelines. It can’t happen.”

“Fair enough, but we’re at an impasse, because I have to take him with me, and the Minister isn’t going to like her son disappearing without a trace either.”

“You absolute fool, you thought I was going to kill him? Didn’t any of you think to kill her?”

“We…actually didn’t. How do you even make that happen? She’s untouchable!”

“To some highly secretive time traveling agencies, I’m sure she is. Others of us know how to do our jobs. And a lot of things are possible if you’re willing to sacrifice an agent or two.” She meets my eyes, and I’m the first one to look away.

“How can I help?”

“You’re intending to keep him safe?”

“Yes.”

“Then here’s how you help: don’t mess it up. You’re going someplace where nobody will find you, you’re going to take care of him, and you’re not going to mess it up because if you do I will figure out a way to reach you. Is that clear?” I nod and reach for the baby. She doesn’t let me take him. “Your wallet. You can’t have anything that would link you to this time.”

She shouldn’t have had to tell me that, and I silently curse myself as I empty my pockets. Tucked into my wallet behind my inoffensive ID cards and bus pass is the only photo I have of my grandparents, a print from their wedding day. I slip it into a pocket. I’m not leaving that one behind. She raises an eyebrow, but hands me the baby and pulls out a small handheld device. I’m jealous again; the Bureau’s time travel consoles take up entire rooms, but there’s no mistaking what this is. Automatically, I reach for Peaches’ collar and pull her nearer as the woman initiates her time disruption field.

I fight my way to consciousness, aided in battle by Peaches, who is licking my face and whining, and the baby, who is attempting to dig my eyeball out of its socket but at least hasn’t crawled away. Can babies his age crawl? I don’t know the first thing about babies. I don’t know when we are, but I can make an educated guess. We’ve fetched up in a field, orderly rows of hip-high bushes with bright green leaves. I don’t know the first thing about agriculture, either, but I think it might be corn. Perhaps I can start a new life as a farmer.

I try not to think about what will happen to the agent who sent me here. I’m unsuccessful. I hope her mission goes better now that I’m out of the way, but she’s not going to escape. She knew what she was signing up for, I tell myself. I’m not convinced.

Since I’m already brooding, I fish my grandparents’ wedding photo out of my pocket. To my relief, it’s still in good shape. And a slow smile crosses my face as I realize that, whatever else happened, the agent must have made it out.

My grandmother lied to my grandfather; I guess it runs in the family. I can’t really blame her.