Zeta Disconnect: Fetch (chapter 6)

6 Dec 2278, 0702 GMT / Covent Garden Plaza, Covent Garden, London

Z-4Q woke, feeling the presence of someone nearby. He opened his eyes slowly and saw the face of an eight year old boy. The boy was standing over him, staring. He had dark hair, and a dark complexion “Hello, young sir,” he said to the boy. Whatever K-1T and Z-4Q had done to keep citizens away from the plaza, must have recently ended. He began to wonder why such a meeting had been scheduled to take place in such an open area. For that matter, why did the meeting have to be in this time? Why couldn’t WaLiton have simply gone all the way back to Z-4Q’s origin point to get the device from the Timeline Correction Office? Why did the TCO have the device in the first place?

From somewhere to his right Z-4Q heard the voice of a London woman, “Charles! Get back over here!”

The boy called back without taking his eyes off of Z-4Q’s face, “But mum! He looks like a soldier! I think he’s American! And, he’s hurt!”

Z-4Q felt exhausted and dirty, but not really hurt. He realized that the boy must be talking about the wound that Kit stitched up for him in the future. Abruptly, he remembered his earlier realization that he never did stitch the wound himself. He looked back at the boy sadly. The boy looked up as his mother approached. She stopped and looked down at him from the other side. Her face was just like the boy’s except the framing dark hair was longer and her face was marked with nearly thirty years of frowns. Z-4Q thought she was beautiful, but that only served to increase his grief.

“Oh my,” she said, startled. “He is a soldier.” She knelt down, and looked him in the eyes. Those eyes seemed familiar: sad puddles, the color of cola. He felt as though he’d looked into those eyes everyday for a lifetime. He missed those eyes dearly. The woman said something to him, but he didn’t hear. He couldn’t make himself look away. She started speaking again, so he listened this time. “Do you need a hospital?” she was asking, “Should I call emergency services?”

“No.” he said finally, and maybe a bit to abruptly, for she seemed taken aback. He continued in a softer tone, “No, I’m okay. Just a bit tired.” He smiled at her, and her worried look disappeared. She tried to stifle her own smile, but failed. Then, it was her turn to stare for a moment.

Suddenly, she apologized and said, “From over there, I thought you were homeless,” she stood then, “I’m Sevti, I work at the soup bar. Would you like some soup?”

“Sevti, I would love some soup.” said the smiling agent, from the ground.

11 May 2045, 1821 GMT / An underground soup bar, Covent Garden, London

Z-4Q woke on a cold and disgustingly dirty tiled floor. The men’s room of the soup bar had been very clean when he pushed his red button. He felt bad for not eating the soup that Sevti had kindly given him, but it would have been several hours before it would have been processed into his system enough to travel home with him, and even then, it would have thrown off his arrival time.

He quickly picked himself up off of the floor, as much because of the grime as the chance that someone might walk in and find him there. As he exited the restroom ,and walked toward the front door, he heard someone call to him. “Zaq! How nice to see you,”

It was Doctor Richards. He was sitting at a table near the door. There were two cups of soup at the table with him. They were both French Onion, the same kind of soup he had just left behind. “Won’t you join me?” He smiled and gestured to the soup at the other side of the table. Z-4Q sat down.

Richards picked up his spoon, and began to slowly swirl his soup. Z-4Q pointed out the obvious. “It’s not a coincidence that you’re here.”

“I thought it would be nice if I gave you a ride home,” Richards said, still smiling.

Z-4Q picked up his spoon and copied Richards, “Am I going to be reprimanded for my actions?”

“No.” Richards told him, “Don’t look so surprised. Any reprimand would be useless, you’d simply forget about it, and learn nothing. There’s no reason to punish someone who won’t learn from it.

“You must be starving. Eat your soup. We’ll talk later.”

Z-4Q did as he was told, slurping hungrily at the cheesy broth before him.

11 May 2045, 2342 GMT / Somewhere in Australia

A technician was strapping Z-4Q to a lab table in a room marked ‘Erasure’. An intravenous injection had already begun in his right arm. He turned to Richards who had escorted him to the lab.

“Why didn’t you do something to stop me?” he asked bluntly.

“Why should I have?” Richards shrugged.

“You must have known what I was going to do. You must have known that I was going to fail”

“That’s just it, Zaq. You didn’t fail.”

Z-4Q looked surprised, “I stopped The War of the Consonants?”

Richards sighed, “You don’t understand. This is something that you’ve had to learn over and over again: It’s your job to correct the timeline, not make it better.”

“I fail to see the distinction,” Z-4Q said with some venom in his voice.

“I know, but it’s there none-the-less.” Richards sighed again, “if someone changes the timeline, it’s our job to change it back, whether we like the results or not. We can’t pick and choose.”

“Why not?” Z-4Q asked, although he already knew the answer.

The doctor was visibly frustrated with the agent. “Would you declare yourself qualified to make such decisions? Who is qualified to decide the future? Or change the past? Who should be allowed to change who lives and who dies?

“It’s our job to make sure that the only people who affect the future are the people who live in the future, and that the only people who affect the past are the people who live in the past. That’s it.”

“But, we could save all of those lives!”

Doctor Richards squinted, as if trying to decide if Z-4Q really still didn’t get it. “No.” he said simply, “We can’t.”

Z-4Q was starting to feel drowsy. His vision was starting to blur, and his thinking was noticeably muddy. He stared at the doctor, and said with a slight slur, “I’ve seen the future…”

Doctor Richards smiled for the first time since they got on the jet in London, “So have I, Jonathan,” he said, turning away, “So have I.

Look for Zeta Disconnet: Part 2, coming soon to Short-Media. In the meantime, comment on this chapter in our forums.