The NanoWriMo Experiment

Nanowrimo is done...not the end here!

2009-12-03T10:35:00.000-08:00

So November is in the past and Nanowrimo is done for another year. I ended up with a little over 41,000 words written so didn't quite make the target alas. Trying to do this while planing a business trip to the other side of the world was probably a little ambitious in hindsight...isn't hindsight wonderful!

That said, I do want to finish this story and won't let the end of the challenge be the end of the story! I think I will try and write one chapter a week until this thing is done.

The story of FATE Inc and it's employees will be told!

FATE Inc - Chapter Twelve - Training Day

2009-11-27T23:03:00.000-08:00

Exactly thirty minutes before Mr Drewer had been handed the report by a very startled Tim Watkins Helen had been beginning to get the hang of this whole assignment thing. She was finding that it wasn’t that the tasks sounded complicated, because by and large they didn’t. It did surprise her though how difficult it could be to do something that sounded as if it should be inconsequential or easy at first glance. The fact that these actions could have some kind of major bearing on the collective fate of the world just served to compound the frustration and it still didn’t quite sit quite right with her. She did get the whole theory behind it all, but the chain of events that could be set off or avoided by even the simplest intervention boggled her mind more than a little. It was almost as if everything you had ever said or done in the past might actually have affected the fate of nations. Of course it was more likely that it had just contributed to the general chaos of the universe, but you couldn’t help but wonder what your impact might have been once the concept is explained to you. Tobias had assured her that this was perfectly normal, but that the ratio of meaningful chaos to actual chaos was very, very small.

Most of our lives were just another stream of chaotic chance encounters, random events and interactions that meant nothing to anyone other than us and those around us. All set amidst an almost limitless number of other encounters, events and interactions that all combine to be what we generally refer to as ’life’. It struck Helen that to say that ’life is complicated’ was actually probably the most extreme underestimation of a situation as she could imagine being possible.
Right now she had been tasked with holding up a queue at the chemists by counting out small change to pay for something. The important part was that she was to delay the person behind her, who according to the file was called Benjamin N’Tula, by at least two minutes. It didn’t matter apparently if she went over that time, as long as she delayed him for at least two minutes.

If she had followed the report earlier the sequence of events would have gone something like this if they didn’t interfere. Mr N’Tula, who was a clerk at the Department of Trade and Industry, would have taken a phone call almost immediately after arriving back at the office after his lunch break. The phone call would last for exactly thirty-five minutes and sixteen seconds. The phone call would be with an under-secretary at the Home Office regarding some minor corrections to an overseas trade contract. That under-secretary, whose name was Horace Warton, would then have had to cancel his two PM appointment with another under-secretary on account of the call lasting longer than he expected. That meeting would then not be attended by a Mr Thomas Graves, also of the Department of Trade and Industry. This freed up Mr Grave’s time so that he was able to resolve some long overdue paperwork, including an invoice for some plumbing work that had been done in his London townhouse the month before. This means that he will pay this invoice four days earlier than he would have done otherwise. In turn the bank will then pay the contractor, one Mr Bryan Reynolds of Croydon, a day earlier than would otherwise have happened. Mr Reynold’s is then able to pay off a gambling debt to some rather scary sounding East London ’businessmen’ before they have a chance to come around to his house and collect some interest payments from Mr Reynold’s right knee with a baseball bat. That means that Mr Reynold’s will not be the Metropolitan Hospital the next Thursday evening. This will be relevant because he then won’t bump into a certain nurse by the name of Melanie Bryson, and they won’t fall in love or enjoy a brief but passionate relationship. It was apparently important that this didn’t happen as it was far more important that Miss Bryson was single and still looking the following week when she would meet an artist from Camden called Kristopher with whom it was most important she had a child with. That child would apparently be instrumental in finding a reliable cure for some forms of cancer some twenty plus years later. So Mr Reynolds would keep his right knee, but loose a love affair, and humanity would gain a cure for cancer all because Helen was standing in this chemist queue and counting out small change to pay for a box of plasters. A part of Helen was wondering that if these people that she was potentially going to work for could see the future well enough to see that there would be a cure for cancer why they didn’t just give that cure to mankind now. Hell, if you wanted to be cynical they could even profit from it. She imagined the cure for cancer could be potentially very lucrative. In fact it made her wonder why they didn’t just gamble all day, or maybe they did and that was how all this was funded.

However she didn’t have too much time to dwell on such things as she kept glancing at her watch to see how much longer she had to stall for.

Now if you have ever sat in the queue behind someone counting out small change to the cashier it might seem like you are stuck there for a great deal longer than two minutes. However when you are that person doing the counting, and doing so quite consciously, then you actually realise that two minutes is a long time. Cashiers get slightly irate with you after one minute, and by the ninety second mark Helen was starting to feel like physical violence wouldn’t be beyond the realms of possibility if she continued to fumble with her purse much longer.

”Sorry, I have it right here,” she stammered, trying to sound as apologetic as she could. The young girl at the cashier’s desk just smiled a fake smile and picked at her brightly painted fingernails. Helen wasn’t sure whether it mattered if you sounded genuine or not while delaying someone. She thought it was only polite to try, figuring that people would only be even more irate if they suspected you were actually trying to prevent them from being where they needed or wanted to be. The look on the cashiers face only reinforced her suspicions. As Helen’s watch indicated her two minutes were up she let out a sigh of relief and smiled at the cashier. ”Silly me,” she laughed,” looks like I don’t have enough change in here after all. Here, have a five pound note. So sorry to have kept you waiting.” The cashier scowled and almost snapped the note out of Helen’s hand. Under normal circumstances Helen would most likely have been offended and muttered something about the youth of today and their lack of respect. However she was suddenly conscious of just how annoying someone sitting there trying to pay in small change actually was. Helen made a mental note to not be so judgemental and harsh on cashiers anymore.

As she left the chemists Helen glanced around at Mr N’Tula only to find that he wasn’t behind her anymore. In fact he wasn’t anywhere to be seen inside the store. She had been so focused on counting out her change that she had failed to notice that he either decided to leave the queue or move to another cashier. Helen looked around slightly frantically to see if she could spot him. Sure enough there he was, already a god hundred meters or so down the footpath and walking at a good pace towards the bus stop that would take him back to this office. If he had gotten that far already Helen guessed that she hadn’t delayed him by long enough. She swore quietly to herself and wondered if these people would still have a high opinion of her tomorrow or if all that talk of potential would quickly evaporate when they realised she had screwed up what was presumably a simple assignment already.

She looked around for Tobias hoping he would be there to help or tell her what to do. Should she go after Mr N’Tula or was it already too late. Damn it, she didn’t have long until Mr N’Tula reached the bus stop. She still couldn’t see Tobias anywhere so started to walk quickly in the direction of the bus stop. She figured she probably only had to make up thirty seconds or so, maybe less, just enough to make him miss the bus that she could see coming around the corner. She strode purposefully forward trying to figure out how to delay him. If someone was going to catch a bus and could see that buss pulling up, as Mr N’Tula clearly would be able to do right now, she wasn’t sure what she could do short of actually tackling the man to make him pay to a stranger for long enough in order to make him miss that bus. Helen guessed that tackling the man probably wasn’t the desired conduct of a field agent. These people at FATE Inc may be resourceful, and maybe even powerful, but she doubted they liked explaining things to police officers. As she came within a couple of strides of her target she wracked her brain for a way to distract him from the arriving bus. ’Think girl, THINK!’ she muttered to herself as she came almost up to Mr N’Tula’s shoulder. With no better ideas coming across her mind she reached out quickly and firmly grabbed the man’s left ass check with her full open palm and squeezed.
It stopped Mr N’Tula dead in his tracks. He spun round with an angry look on his face that only slightly dissipated when he saw a pretty young lady smiling back at him sheepishly. ”What the hell was that?” he shouted at her,”did you just grab my ass?”

”Yes I did, I just couldn’t help myself,” Helen said meekly,”I saw you back there in the chemist...”

”...and you thought you would chase me and grab my ass?” He interrupted her.
Helen breathed a little sigh of relief as she watched the bus pull away from the stop. Mission accomplished.

”You were that girl in front of my at the counter weren’t you?” the man demanded,”the one with all the damn change. You make me late, you grab my ass, and now you have made me miss my bus!”

”I’m really, really sorry,” Helen smiled,”it was just such a cute ass though I couldn’t help myself.”

The man seemed to blush slightly and a small crack of a smile appeared at the edge of his mouth. ”Well thank you for that, I still don’t think people should go around grabbing asses. I should report you to the police. I mean if I did that to you they would be doing me for all kinds of things, they would probably call it sexual battery or something!”

”Come on now,” Helen said trying to keep up the smiling act,”you wouldn’t get little old me in trouble over this would you? I’m real sorry. I get these crazy impulses from time to time when I see really attractive and strapping men like you. I get help for it you know, can’t help myself. Therapist says I still have a long ways to go.” Helen wasn’t sure where these lines were coming from, but something inside her seemed to be kicking in and taking over, it was if deceiving this poor guy was coming naturally to her.

”Well, when you put it like that young lady.” the man replied, clearly calming down a little,”it does seem you still have some ways to go with your treatment though. You really shouldn’t grab people’s asses in public like that. It might get you arrested if the person wasn’t as understanding as me.”

”Then I am glad I had my moment of weakness with a guy that wasn’t just strapping and attractive but also considerate and sympathetic. I guess today must be my lucky day.”
The man smiled, and laughed briefly,”You look after yourself. I have to get back to work.”
”Thank you Mr N’Tula.” Helen said as he walked away and realised immediately she probably shouldn’t have used his name.

”No more grabbing people’s asses you hear.” He said back as he moved towards the next bus before suddenly realising that she had used his name and spun around to look for her, ”how the hell did you know...”

His sentence trailed off as he couldn’t see Helen anywhere on the street on account of the fact she was hiding behind the first dumpster in the alleyway next to the bus stop. ”Well I’ll be damned,” he muttered to himself,”that was weird.” He shrugged and made sure he got on the bus this time. As the bus pulled away Mr N’Tula was left wondering if this was a story suitable for his wife’s consumption.

Helen wasn’t going to move until she was sure he was gone. The smell behind the dumpster was everything she expected a central London dumpster to smell like and that wasn’t somewhere she would rather be by choice, but she really didn’t fancy having to explain to the man why she knew his name. So she sat crouched behind the dumpster with the smell and whatever it was that she could hear moving about in the bottom of the dumpster.

She was trying to listen for any sounds that might indicate the man was still there and looking for her. All she heard was someone clapping. That someone seemed to be moving towards her hiding spot behind the dumpster. As the clapping got louder and closer Helen tried to shimmy up against the wall, maybe they wouldn’t see her. She did wonder why they were clapping though.
”Bravo,” the familiar sound of Tobias’ voice echoed down the alleyway,”great improvisation, ass grabbing eh? Can’t say I would have predicted that move, you seemed a little too highly string for that kind of a reaction. Nice touch with the therapist too, you might be good at this yet.” Tobias slid up to the side of the dumpster and one arm leaning across it smiled down at her. ”That was very well played Helen, very well played. I’m impressed, for a first day that was something else.”

Helen got up and shook herself down,”I would rather next time it doesn’t involve me hiding with the garbage in an alleyway.”

”I am sure you’ll get better at blending back into a crowd. There is a knack to it, that guy will have already forgotten you by the time he turns around once you get the hang of it.”

”Is there a trick to it? The whole ’making them forget’ thing?”

”Not sure you would call it a trick, more it’s something you just grow into. It’s almost like a willpower thing. Once you learn when you want them to forget, they generally do.”

”Just like that?”

”Just like that!”

”Colour me sceptical,” Helen smiled,”sounds like a Jedi mind trick to me.”

”What is a Jedi mind trick?”

Helen looked at him for a second, unsure if he was joking. ”Jedi mind trick? You know, ’these aren’t the droids you are looking for’ and all that?”

Tobias stared at her blankly, ”droids? Don’t think I get that reference.”

”You don’t know Star Wars?”

”Oh, that.” Tobias nodded,” I know what it is of course, just never been one for the whole science fiction thing. Never watched those movies.”

”Never watched Star Wars? I’m a girl and I’ve even watched them all.”

”You saying girls don’t like Star Wars? Isn’t that being a little sexist against your own kind?”

”Everyone watched Star Wars Tobias, that’s the whole point, everyone.”

”Not I,” Tobias chuckled,” not me.”

”How can you not have watched them?” Helen asked almost incredulously.

”I don’t go in for the moving pictures thing. I generally don’t watch any movies or TV.”

”but you have talked about movies and TV shows while you’ve been with me.”

”I’m not completely oblivious to the twentieth century dear,” Tobias argued, ”I just choose, through my own free will, not to really watch much of it. If I could get away without any of it I would.”

”We are in the twenty first century now dear,” Helen quipped,” and how do you manage to avoid it.”

Tobias looked at her quizzically,” What do you mean by that? Do I suddenly not have free will? I just choose not to spend any of my free time watching TV or movies; it is as simple as that.”

”What do you do then?”

”We have this wonderful invention, these pages and we write words on them in a sequence that tells a story. You might have heard of it, was trendy a couple of thousand years ago, still knocks around today. They call them books.”

“Ok, smart ass, enough with the piss taking.”

“Well, ask a stupid question and get a stupid answer, or at least get a clever answer aimed at showing you it was a stupid question in the first place.”

“It wasn’t a clever answer, it was a sarcastic answer. There is a difference. You do like yourself don’t you? Really fancy yourself as a comedian.”

“Perhaps,” Tobias grinned, “still, just because your generation can’t imagine a world with your moving pictures and internet and so on, it doesn’t mean that we didn’t have perfectly meaningful ways of entertaining ourselves before that. Besides I like the fact that a good book lets me use my imagination.”

“So you don’t dislike science fiction, you dislike movies in general.”

“Oh, I pretty much dislike science fiction too,” Tobias laughed, “not all of it granted, but most of it. I hate the whole space empire and galactic melodrama nonsense. It’s a flawed premise in the first place. As if there is any chance that this race is ever going to get it’s act together enough to get off this planet. No, that stuff just makes me laugh when I am pretty sure the writers aren’t trying for humour. Now some of the more intellectual stuff I can get into, and occasionally a writer will use it as a good metaphor or parable. So there is a few worthwhile examples. Flowers for Algernon for example, that’s kind of science fiction and one of my favourite books.”

“Never heard of it.” Helen shrugged.

“See, I find that way more shocking than me not knowing about Star Wars. Just shows there are differences between people. It’s a great book, you should read it sometime.”

“Maybe I will. I just didn’t have you down as the literary type. I guess I was maybe more thinking a beer and the sofa in front of X-Factor would be more your cup of tea rather than some Doeteskvy or something.”

“God no, not Russian literature either. I’m not a masochist. It would be better than the tripe you guys soak up from the damn TV though. Especially that awful talent show crap.”

“A lot of people like those shows.” Helen protested.

“Only in the same way people slow down to watch a car crash. Modern society loves to watch the spectacle of failure. You build them up to pull them down. Especially you English, you lot excel at that. You love nothing more than seeing someone fall from grace.”

“I guess I misjudged you on that one.” Helen said smiling, maybe you have some depth to you after all and aren’t only a charming wannabe womaniser.”

”I wouldn’t go that far,” Tobias laughed, ”you got the charming bit right.” he winked at her as they continued down along New Oxford Street back towards the office. As they reached the street corner his cellphone rang. ”let me get this.”

Tobias stopped and answered the phone. ”Hello?” he waited a few seconds since he didn’t seem to be hearing anyone on the other end, ”hello? I can’t hear you.” he pulled the phone back to examine the screen. ”Crap, I can’t get a signal. Wait here a second Helen. I’ll try and cross the street back there, pretty sure I get a decent signal by that coffee shop, been there a few times.”

Tobias darted across the street avoiding the attentions of a rushed bicycle courier. Helen sat herself down on a bench outside one of the stores. It was good to take the weight off her feet for a minute. Like the rest of the wardrobe they had acquired for her the shoes were new and not worn in. They were the same make as her old ones, but they still gave her feet that wonderful ‘new show’ feeling. As she watched the people file by oblivious to her presence she wondered if she really could get used to this. She had to admit that having had to improvise on that last tasks there was a definite kick of adrenaline, a rush, an excitement that she never recalled feeling in any job role she had filled before. She watched Tobias on the phone across the street. It seemed like an animated conversation and she was sure she saw him glance back in her direction more than once. Maybe he was just checking that she was still ok.

As she sat there idly she was suddenly aware of sirens, lots of sirens, and they were coming in their direction. Before she knew it the street in front of her was suddenly filled emergency vehicles, two fire engines, a police car and three ambulances. Lots of people rushing around and hastily tying fluorescent yellow tape around things, they seemed to be closing off the road between her and Tobias. The fire brigade were pushing people back down the street and closing things off. The policemen were talking in their radios and discussing blast radiuses and perimeters. From what she could pick up they were worried about a gas leak or something. They didn’t seem to notice her sat there on the bench as they hurriedly asked all the other pedestrians to move back past the barriers.

They had noticed Tobias though. She could see him remonstrating with one of the officers, asking to be allowed to cross the street again. He didn’t seem to be having any luck though. The tall and well built policeman he was speaking too was clearly not falling for his Irish charm. Another fire truck appeared and blocked Tobias off from her view. Helen figured that she best move back with the crowd. She had told she was immortal sure, but they hadn’t mentioned any of the details, and she was fairly sure that getting caught in a gas explosion wouldn’t be pleasant, immortal or otherwise.

As she slipped past the security cordon her phone buzzed. It was a message:

Meet me in Soho Park

There wasn’t a sender listed so she guessed it was Tobias organising where to meet back up. She set off in that direction.

FATE Inc - Chapter Eleven - Contingency Planning

2009-11-22T06:12:00.000-08:00

“What do you mean she doesn't have an origin file?”

It was the second time in as many days that Tim Watkins was having to sit in front of Mr Drewer and explain something that simply shouldn't be possible, let alone have happened. There was something in Mr Drewer's tone that more than suggested he wasn't liking hearing it either. While Mr Drewer never seemed to lose his temper you could just tell when his patience was going to be in short supply, this was one of those occasions. For his part Tim Watkins was wishing he could be somewhere else other than in that meeting room with the three senior managers. Anywhere else would do at this juncture ,he wouldn't really have cared. Anywhere that wasn't where he was right now could only be an improvement on the situation.

Everyone that slipped through a time-line and into the limbo state generated quite a bit of paperwork. First the fact that they had been disconnected from the time line would be detected by a seer, who would then file the first stage of that person's origin report. An analyst would then examine the various time-lines and compile a personality profile for that person, which would then be added to that origin file. Then a security staffer would check for any potential problems and also attach their findings to the origin report. The full report would then be sent to the processing department who would file it and produce the operational report for that person. The instructions for picking the person up and integrating them into the company. At least that was how it was supposed to work.

As it turned out the one true time-line coming to an apparent end was not their only problem. It appeared as if the new recruit, this Helen girl, had managed to appear without triggering half the process. They had all decided it was almost certainly not a co-incidence that two completely unpredicted events could happen at the same time in a situation that is usually virtually a hundred percent predictable.

A nights sleep didn't seemed to have calmed Mr Jenkins down about any of it at all, and the other two were just plain creepy at the best of times, albeit for totally different reasons. There was not any reason that Tim Watkins could conceive that would make him want to be in a room with Mr Nixon and Mr Drewer for any extended period. So far it had just been the latter who had being doing the talking. Mr Nixon was just standing in the corner observing for the most part, occasionally raising an eyebrow when Mr Jenkins muttered something particularly stupid. It wasn't helping that none of them understood how something like this could happen.

“Exactly what I said,” Tim Watkins repeated dejectedly, “I know it doesn't make any sense whatsoever, but there doesn't appear to be an origin file for her. None of the seers noticed her appear, none of the analysts received the notification or prepared an origin file. As far as I can tell she just seems to have appeared from nowhere.”

“That seems unlikely,” Mr Drewer said calmly, “you are suggesting that she just appeared at a certain point in our process, and all the correct paperwork just materialised on the desks of the relevant people? How can she have had an operational report and not have an origin report?”

Tim Watkins sighed and shrugged, “we can't figure it out either Mr Drewer. I mean it shouldn't be possible. There might be multiple time-lines but there is only one of us right? We go to great lengths to ensure that the things we do not slip out of this time-line, let alone something actually slipping in.”

“The operational report was perfectly genuine, it arrived on my desk as you would expect it to, apart of course from it being unexpected. That aside it appeared to be exactly what I would have expected an operational report on a new recruit to be,” Mr Drewer elaborated, “If it had been an expected arrival I wouldn't even have double checked it, and I pride myself on an eye for such things.”

“You would catch a comma out of place,” Mr Jenkins muttered as he started pacing again, “I think you would notice a fake document.”

“It isn't a fake,” Mr Nixon agreed, “I have had my people go over it with every test we know, and a few that we had to invent this morning just to be sure. Neither though does it appear like anyone managed to get inside and place it here. I have reviewed all the security logs, if someone from the other side had infiltrated this complex I would know about it.”

“Things like this can't just appear!” Jenkins snorted.

“There certainly wouldn't be any precedent for that, I have to agree there.” Mr Drewer conceded, “If we have been the victim of deliberate manipulation by the opposition it is a method we have never encountered before and is the type of thing our security systems are supposed to prevent.”

“They do prevent them,” Mr Nixon insisted, “this wasn't a manipulation or an insertion, even if they found a new way to circumvent our advance warning, we would have immediately detected it afterwards. You all know that manipulation leaves behind traces that no-one can possibly hide. So this was not a sabotage of any kind.”

“So what could it be then?” Jenkins demanded.

“Any other ideas from the analytic reports so far Watkins?” Mr Drewer asked.

Tim Watkins could only shake his head, “Not yet sir, but I have the next batch of reports being sent up right now. I brought in all four shifts last night, only the high security clearance people of course, and I tried to have them work remotely or from the satellite offices as much as possible. I fear that a lot of people are getting very curious, but I have tried to spread things out so people don't get too suspicious, but you know, people gossip, I think many are starting to know that something is going on.”

“I do hate it when they do that.” Mr Drewer said, sighing deeply, “gossiping is the refuge of the idle mind.” Mr Drewer definitely didn't understand how people in their profession could be curious either when they could simply look up or get a prediction for most everything that happened around them. He did understand that people were capable of being curious, and that included his employees, he just didn't get it. If something didn't direct effect him he really didn't see why he would be curious about it. It would be irrelevant, and he really couldn't grasp the concept of anyone caring for that which was irrelevant to them.

“A wise man once said that 'Great minds discuss ideas; Average minds discuss events; Small minds discuss people'.” Mr Jenkins added

“Actually, that quote was from a wise woman,” Mr Drewer corrected him, “Eleanor Roosevelt to be precise, I was there when she said it for the first time. I always liked that woman. She could almost have been one of us.”

“Still, it doesn't matter who said it, point is we can't stop them from gossiping, or from being curious, even if they are our people, we just have to mitigate it as much as we can.”

“Now there I agree with you Mr Jenkins,” Mr Drewer nodded, “Watkins has done as much as he can there. You should be commended for that young man.”

“Thank you sir. I just hope the next batch shows something up that might be of use to us. There were some leads that I had the pattern analysts do a more detailed report on.”

“What kind of leads?”

“Well, a pattern possibly, some anomalies in the reading of the time-lines that suggested a possible causality link. It was a long shot, but under the circumstances I am asking them to follow up on anything that seems even slightly out of place, even if it means we go down a few dead ends before we find something meaningful. The teams have been briefed to do a detailed breakdown on any anomaly or potential pattern, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”

“Good,” Mr Drewer nodded, “We cannot be too thorough under the circumstances. Thank you Mr Watkins. You may leave us now, bring the new reports to us as soon as they arrive.”

“I will do,” Tim Watkins seemed very relieved to be getting to escape from the room for a while, although he feared it wouldn't be for long, “they should be here shortly, I'll bring them right in as soon as they arrive.” He disappeared out of the meeting room to make a beeline for the coffee machine. He was going to enjoy any moments he didn't have to spend with the senior managers today as much as he could.

Mr Drewer turned to the other two and leant back in his chair slightly, “This is a most unusual situation.” Mr Drewer was beginning to think that this situation was not at all what it first seemed. Rather it was worse than he had imagined. He wasn't quite certain yet tough whether he wanted to panic Mr Jenkins any further, the man was already starting to irritate him slightly more than he normally did. No, he would have to choose his words carefully, “I am beginning to think that this might be some new phenomenon, something we haven't experienced before. We can't rule out one of the independents doing some stupid experiment either.”

“I have considered that option,” Mr Nixon nodded, “there would only be two real candidates for that, you both know who they are, but neither of them seem to have been up to anything. I try and keep tabs on them as best as I can. Neither of them appear to even be attempting to hide anything, or experiment with anything, or generally do anything other than idly let life pass them by.”

“They earned that right,” Mr Drewer reminded them, “still, maybe it is worth giving them a call just to check. I might do that later, with your permission of course Mr Nixon.”

“As you wish. I understand that you haven't done your interview with this woman yet. Don't you usually do them after the orientation on the first day?”

“Usually I do,” Mr Drewer admitted, “obviously we were quite busy yesterday were we not? I postponed it until this evening or tomorrow, had her go out with Mr Gordon on a trial assignment run. If I had known what we know now I wouldn't have done so. It makes me a little nervous having her out there with these questions unanswered.”

“Unlike you to be nervous Drewer. Shouldn't we recall them straight away?” Jenkins asked, “Find out what she knows.”

“I doubt that would serve our purposes very well. Think about it for a minute. You should both remember well what it is like your first few days. No, I don't want her to suddenly feel like a prisoner or under some kind of pressure. I have no doubt that she is important to this in some way, but until we figure out in what way then we need to be cautious. I do not want to startle her or have her run for the hills. Under the circumstances it is all the more important that she comes to trust us. I very much doubt she will be able to answer any of these outstanding questions herself.”

Mr Drewer had been forced to admit to himself that none of this was making any sense to him. He had after all been around a long time, and it was rare that anything new came up. This was decidedly something new. He had to admit that it was unnerving him slightly to be dealing with something that was clearly unprecedented. The rules, protocols and procedures that he had so meticulously cultivated down the years simply didn't cover this. He had learnt to account for the opposition interfering, to mitigate the effects of his own people's occasional incompetence, but he was unsure which procedures would be appropriate if the universe really was trying to go out in a blaze of glory, completely of its own accord. This was getting close to moving beyond his pay grade. Technically he ran things now, but they all knew they might one day have to call on the boss. None of them however would be volunteering to be the one to have go and tell the boss that he would have to come out of retirement. Even Mr Drewer drew a slight breath just at the thought of it. No, he was going to avoid that conversation as long as he possibly could. It was the one thing none of them were going to mention until they absolutely had to. The last time they had to pull the boss out of retirement they spent almost fifty years convincing him they could manage on their own again. Thinking of the boss made Mr Drewer consider the bosses counterpart on the other side again, what part were they going to play in all this he wondered.

“Do you have any updates on the status of their big man?” he asked Mr Nixon.

“Just that he arrived at Heathrow early this morning. I have a unit trying to keep him in observation range but it's tricky. We think he is staying at the Landmark on Baker Street. We know it's one of his favourites.”

“You think?”Jenkins sighed sarcastically, “don't we pay you to actually know things rather than just think them?”

If Mr Nixon was insulted he didn't show it. “The opposition also have resources of their own Mr Jenkins, resources that are dedicated to trying to make my department and I only think rather than know. They try and take extra precautions when the big man himself is involved. So it's possible they have managed to sidetrack us with a decoy or such. Unlikely, but possible. Hence I say we think he is in the Landmark.”

“We certainly don't need to bicker amongst ourselves gentleman,” Mr Drewer reminded them, “we have a responsibility to resolve this situation. It is unlikely we will do that if we start finding fault in each others areas.”

“Fine, fine,” Jenkins muttered, “it's just a coping mechanism you know. You two might like to repress any sign of your frustrations, and be all calm and collected and shit, but I like to get it out of my system. I find the solutions you need me to find when I am stressed and under pressure.”

“None of the solutions presented so far are very practical alas,” Mr Drewer sighed, flicking through some of the paperwork on the table in front of him, “from what I can see here the shortest estimate we have here for resolving this disruption runs to some fourteen months with more operatives than we actually have.”

“Yes, yes, and given the damn world is now due to end in a little under eight months it doesn't really help us much does it now? Since we don't know exactly what we are trying to fix yet, this is a little like trying to find the proverbial needle in the haystack. Maybe we get lucky and something we do early on resolves all this, maybe it doesn't, maybe any further manipulation just accelerates things.”

“We would want to be avoiding that my friend.”

“I know, but when we don't actually know the cause yet it is a risk.” Jenkins stopped pacing and sat himself down beside Mr Drewer at the table, “take a look at these reports, none of them can actually show us what caused this shift. My experience would tell me there was some pivotal point we are missing, we just haven't found it yet.”

“You really think there could be one pivotal event behind all this?”

“It would stand to reason. We haven't seen anything even remotely close to this that wasn't caused by one major event or crossroads. In my experience there will be a central point to this, that one pivotal moment that suddenly makes significant changes cascade out. Of course we have never seen anything exactly this before, so who knows, this is just my gut feeling.”

“You have the most experience in that regard Mr Jenkins,” Mr Drewer said, “I trust in your instincts. It just seems very drastic. Even I struggle with the concept that there might be one single event that could cause this kind of a reaction.”

“Look at this way Drewer, if I am wrong we are screwed. We actually want this to be a single event, or at the very least a pivotal point from which everything has cascaded, because if it isn't...well, you can see from yourself from those assessments,” Jenkins explained pointing towards the reports on the desk in front of them, “if it is some kind of vast chaotic change that requires extensive manipulation to correct then we simply won't have time.” He wiped his brow again and slumped back in his chair, “we need this to manageable.”

“Let's hope then the next set of reports identify it and that Mr Watkins returns soon.”

“and let's hope he comes with some good news and we get lucky.”

Mr Drewer didn't really believe in luck. He never had, lucky people were usually just those that paid attention and worked hard and knew when to grab an opportunity when they saw one. Right about now though he could do with an opportunity presenting itself, luckily or otherwise.

As if on cue Tim Watkins came bounding into the meeting room without knocking. He was clutching a single sheet of paper and was clearly more panicked than when he left. He had a look on his face that told the three managers that this wasn't going to be good news.

“You have to look at this sir,” Watkins stammered, “I think we have found it. I don't think it's good news though I'm afraid.”

Mr Drewer took the page from him and carefully read the contents. It was indeed bad news, just about as bad as he could imagine. It was a cause though, a real cause, they knew what was happening. He could only hope that the opposition hadn't figured it out yet. Once you knew what was wrong you did at least have a chance of fixing it.

“Someone get Tobias Gordon on the phone, make sure the next part of the assignment brings them back to the office. We need that young lady back here, and quickly, before either of them suspect anything.”

FATE Inc - Chapter Ten - One True Soul

2009-11-19T16:43:00.000-08:00

The assignment seemed more like a shopping trip to Helen. Every now and again they would very specific instructions about where to be and what to do. They would perform the usually seemingly trivial task and then they would move on to the next one.

The morning briefing hadn't really presented Helen with any opportunity for asking any of the probing and serious questions she had been compiling into a list in her mind all the way through their morning commute. There didn't seem to be anyone suitable senior involved that one would ask such questions of. She was assured that she would get to meet their main boss, this Mr Drewer, later this afternoon. It sounded like he was definitely the man she would have to speak to about the details of this arrangement they had planned for her. He clearly wasn't the one running the whole operation, but she could already pick up on the fact that he was the one who was usually in charge, at least in this specific office. Even before she had met the man she could easily pick up on the fact that he was someone that everyone she had met so far either respected him or feared him, or both.

Tobias had warned her that he was a little creepy. Not in a 'you wouldn't leave your children in his care' kind of way but more in terms of just being unnaturally calm and composed. As well as Tobias could remember no one had ever witnessed Mr Drewer get anything more than slightly irate. Tobias had explained that while you could tell when he was angry, disappointed or had lost patience with you there weren't the usual visible signs you might expect from normal people. Tobias also assured Helen that he knew all this far too well from personal experience. It was rather that you felt Mr Drewer's displeasure more as some strange sense of impending doom rather any kind of a direct threat. Even when you knew he was furious he wasn't in any way you could tell, yet you could still feel that if things were not resolved in a manner that Mr Drewer found acceptable then you were going to regret it. You definitely did not want to be on his bad side.

He didn't sound like the friendliest of characters, which was in stark contrast to most of the staff at FATE incorporated that she had met so far. Everyone seemed to be nice, reasonable and average. As average as immortal beings who claim to be running the fate of the world can be at any rate. Helen was beginning to get used to playing a little game with herself of guessing which time period each person she met originated from. It wasn't as easy as you might think either. Some were seemingly obvious until you learnt that many of the staff apparently took to representing a certain era even if they weren't necessarily from their themselves. There was an infamous guy in accounting who fell in love with the seventies and had worn an ABBA style white jumpsuit every day since sometime in nineteen seventy four. He was actually over two thousand years old and one of the senior employees but had just absolutely embraced everything seventies because he could. People in FATE Inc weren't that judgemental about such things. In fact they seemed to believe firmly in embracing the things that allowed you to be as comfortable as possible in your work.

Mrs Peabody, who had re-appeared to take the first part of their morning briefing, had explained just that to Helen. If there was a device that you were particularly attached to then you would be allowed to continue using it as long as you wanted. That is why you could still see all variety of strange pieces if equipment scattered around the offices. From ancient abacuses through quills and typewriters all the way up to all manner of electronic equipment that seemed to span the entire modern age. Helen wondered how it all kept working and was told that the company had store rooms full of spare parts for just about anything you might possibly need. Apparently it was relatively trivial to make small objects slip through the cracks in time and conveniently appear in the store room. There was in fact an entire department dedicated to just that purpose Mrs Peabody had informed her. It did explain a thing or two about why those odd bits and pieces you could have sworn you had somewhere tended to disappear. There was a lot that she had been told since yesterday morning that started to make quite a bit of sense when you actually thought about it.

The man that had taken over from Mrs Peabody and given them their specific instructions for the training assignment was also perfectly agreeable and pleasant. He was quite young, in appearance anyway, Helen hadn't asked how old he might actually be, and she pegged him as being close to her own age. His name was Carl and Helen thought he might just have been flirting, but she wasn't exactly sure if it was with her or with Tobias. He seemed very forward, lewd almost, certainly not politically correct. It was those little things that hinted at when in time these people might have come from. It wasn't so much how they dressed or how they had their hair because with the odd exception they were generally wearing modern clothes, it was more the things they said or did. Sometimes it was more overt than others, but Helen was starting to get a sense of the all the different types of societies that these people might have come from. Even though they were immortal it seemed that some things stick with you.

The briefing itself was a lot more mundane than she had imagined. Carl took them through a series of tasks that they would be expected to perform, all of them relatively close to the office. They seemed to be fairly average everyday activities. Open a door here, pick an item off a shelf there, delay a little on an escalator and block someone coming down for ten seconds, all very everyday things that have happened of their own accord. She had asked why the tasks were important and both Tobias and Carl smiled. Apparently it was normal for new recruits to want to know why they were being asked to do something whereas the more experienced operatives soon stopped checking. There was a paragraph about the background to each task in the folder that they would get at the end of the briefing Carl had explained. It was completely optional whether you chose to read it. They did both stress that she shouldn't let it effect her judgement though.

It was still something she was probing Tobias about as they made their way to the location where they had to perform their next task.

“So what exactly did you guys mean when you said you shouldn't let the backgrounds effect my judgement?”

“It's like this,” Tobias replied, “not all the actions we are asked to carry out have a necessarily happy result, at least possibly not for someone.”

“What exactly do you mean by not necessarily happy?”

“Well, you know, bad things may happen to people, sometimes as a result of our actions. In the greater good and all that. Ends justifies the means and so on, you know the kind of stuff.”

“and that doesn't bother you?”

“I guess that it did for a while, and for some it always does. That's why not everyone is cut out to be an operative. Moral reservations quite often mean operatives don't feel they can continue. I mean if you know that you did something that directly lead to someone's death do you think you could handle that?”

“In the greater good?”

“Sounds callous doesn't it?” Tobias sighed. “I guess that it is as well, if you dwell on it too much.”

“I think being asked to kill someone is bloody well worth dwelling on.”

“Yes and no,” Tobias shrugged, “you know how many people die every single minute of every day?”

Helen shook her head slowly.

“No? Well, a lot I can tell you, and you know what? You have probably already been responsible for the death of more than one person in your lifetime.”

“I most certainly have not!” Helen snapped back. “How dare you say that!”

“You sure about that?”

“Of course I am bloody sure about that. Don't you think it's the kind of thing that one remembers? I am pretty sure I would remember if I had murdered anyone.”

“Hey, I never said murdered,” Tobias said throwing his hands up in mock surrender, “I said 'been responsible for the death of', there is a difference there.”

“What do you mean by that?” Helen demanded, “I haven't killed, murdered, or been responsible for the death of anyone!”

“How exactly do you know that?”

“You clearly want to explain something to me,” Helen sighed, slightly irritated, “so come on, just come out and tell me how I killed someone.”

“Again, I never said you killed anyone,” Tobias sighed, “at least not on purpose. Look at this way, we explained how all our personal choices are all connected right? A simple decision by any one of us can lead to a chain reaction of events, sometimes close to us, sometimes far removed.”

“So you are saying that I have accidentally killed someone at some stage by doing something completely innocuous?”

“More than likely,” Tobias replied, nodding, “we all have. It's virtually impossible to go through even a normal human lifespan and not have inadvertently caused the death of another person. So we look on it as part of the cycle of fate.”

“What people call the butterfly effect again?”

“Precisely, so it's not worth getting hung about is the point. Given that our random actions still inherently have a chain reaction through people's lives, and can occasionally be chaotic or even fatal, why should we then worry about it if we do it more consciously?”

“because that's the difference an accident, unintentional manslaughter and murder maybe?”

“If you want insist on looking at in a linear fashion then sure.”

“I think if it's premeditated, it is not quite the same as having inadvertently caused something.”

“Maybe,” Tobias conceded, “but it does help to keep it in perspective in our line of work.”

“It isn't my line of work yet.” Helen reminded him, “I haven't said yes yet. This is just a trial assignment remember?”

“True enough, but they think you are operative material. They would have already stuck you behind a desk already if they didn't think you were up for it. So whichever analyst had your file passed over their desk felt that you would make a good operative.”

“How exactly did they come to that conclusion?” It didn't seem to Helen that these people had any grounds at all for the apparent faith they had in her abilities.

“I'm not sure of the entire process to be honest,” Tobias started to explain, “but I do know that they get to pull on all kinds of character information that you wouldn't think possible because they can check through all the possible time-lines that you existed in. Over every possible available time-line that is a lot of potential aptitude tests, psychological assessments and so forth. They get a pretty good insight into your character by all accounts in this day and age.”

“I don't think I have ever spoken to any kind of a psychiatrist or done any damn aptitude tests since I left school,” Helen pointed out, “so I really don't think they could have gotten much there.”

“Maybe this you, the real you, didn't have any of those things. Between all the other version of you, in all the other time-lines, living out all the choices that you didn't make, there is a lot of information for them to gather.”

“Those other versions of me aren't me though are they?” Helen interrupted, “I mean you just said it yourself. They would be a result of all the decisions in life I didn't make, or didn't get to make, so doesn't that make them inherently different people, with different circumstances?”

“Unless you believe in one true soul that is,” Tobias grinned, “guess we didn't really cover that much so far.”

“or at all,” Helen said sceptically, “I am pretty sure that no-one has mentioned my soul yet. So what is this revelation then?”

“Don't be so sarcastic,” sighed Tobias, “I should have mentioned this one before I guess. Like I said yesterday I don't do this whole greeting thing all that often.”

“Ok, I forgive you,” Helen smiled, only slightly mockingly, “now you can make up for it and tell me all about it.”

“Very funny, anyway the theory goes that despite the fact that there are many different decisions made who you are remains consistent in a way. Your circumstances and situation might vary from time-line to time-line and that might indeed change elements of your personality, but at some underlying level there is also a consistency. A set of traits and characteristics that make you who you are, they refer to it as the 'one true soul'.”

“That almost sounds religious.”

“Well, it was a religiously minded guy that coined the phrase I believe,” Tobias replied slightly dismissively, “but that isn't the point here. It's just a phrase really. What matters is that it means the character of your other selfs in the other time-lines can yield valuable insight into your character.”

“Still, that sounds like it's something you believe in rather than something you guys have proven. Hell, it sounds like something that would even be hard to categorically prove even if you wanted to.”

“Maybe, hard for me to give any perspective. I was brought up a catholic and told what to believe from before I could even understand it.”

“You aren't religious any more?”

“Not so much as you would define it now no. It is hard to believe in a divine presence when I help changes things on a daily basis usually. I guess there are still things that I choose to believe in though. Things that I have faith in.”

“Like what?”

“Like human nature,” Tobias smiled, “for good and for bad, and yes, I do believe in the one true soul by and large. I have occasionally peaked at the other versions of me in other time-lines and from what I see there is some real truth to it. After all believing in this being the one true time-line is kind of a cornerstone of what we do. Wouldn't be much point otherwise would there?”

“I suppose not,” Helen nodded, “so you believe in what these reports would have to say about me?”

“Can't really say there. They don't let the likes of me see the origin reports. I had to sleep with three different department secretaries in order to get a quick glimpse at mine when I got curious about it a few decades ago.”

“Why doesn't that surprise me?” Helen smiled, “so what you did see was accurate?”

“Pretty much,” Tobias replied, “kind of the same as you would see. I didn't really have any faith in what they saw in me. I needed to see it for myself. Damn thing was almost too accurate. It was almost scary, like reading a report from a mind reader. There were things in there I hadn't even admitted to myself at that stage!”

“What makes you think I don't have faith in this potential you people keep saying I have?”

Tobias grinned widely, “You really have to ask that? Really? Come on Helen, not only am I am man, I am several hundred years old. Standard female insecurity is something I have had a lot of practise with. When you get several lifetimes to figure it out you get better at it, but I think I would have guessed that about you the first time around.”

“Is that so?” Helen laughed, “So you believe this file about me might be correct? That I might have potential?”

“Whatever is in that file,” Tobias smiled, “won't tell me anything I am not learning for myself anyway. Come on, we have to go and press the button on these traffic lights up ahead.”

Helen recalled that the purpose of the button pressing was to delay a car that was going to approach the crossing in about ninety seconds time. It was important that the driver of that care was delayed exactly forty five seconds so that he would then just miss being involved in an accident later today. While this particular cause seemed noble enough she couldn't help but wonder if a life walking around pressing the buttons on traffic light crossings was something she could aspire to. “Don't these tasks get tedious?” She sighed.

“The basic assignments do for sure,” Tobias confirmed, “but something tells me you won't be stuck doing these types of things for long. I think they have plans for you, all this potential and all.”

Helen was beginning to get decidedly curious about exactly what might be inside this file of hers.

FATE Inc - Chapter Nine - The morning after effect

2009-11-18T08:09:00.000-08:00

The only consolation about waking up and finding out that the previous day had not been a dream was that the view was spectacular. The London skyline had seen fit to actually not be totally overcast when Helen awoke, so as she looked out towards Canary Wharf thin rays of sunshine broke down through the clouds from a small patch of blue sky above. She had never imagined that she would ever have been able to afford an apartment with this kind of view under normal circumstances. Then again, under normal circumstances an apartment like this didn’t actually exist. She couldn’t deny it was a nice apartment, a really nice apartment. The bed had been as comfortable a bed as she could remember sleeping. She was also quite certain that she could get used to waking up to that type of a view.

She had just finished dressing and was beginning to wonder what the routine would be when the cellphone rang. It was Tobias.

”Morning sunshine.”

”Good morning Tobias.”

”Sleep well?”

”With the exception of waking up and yesterday not having been a dream. Otherwise I had a good night’s sleep.”

”That’s ok,” Tobias chuckled, ”you won’t shake that feeling for a while. You will wake up with the hope that this was all the product of your over active imagination for quite a few mornings yet I am sure. It’s an easy thing to get into denial about.”

”It all seems real enough,” Helen sighed, ”so what is it this morning? Back to the office?”

”Yup, providing you are still on board with all this I believe the plan today will be that you join me on a minor assignment so you can see exactly what it is that we do in the field. So grab some breakfast, there should be stuff in your fridge, and meet me down in the atrium in thirty minutes. I trust that is enough time to get ready?”

”Only just,” Helen sighed again, she liked her morning more sedate and less rushed even if it meant getting out of bed that little bit earlier, ”I’ll be there.”

“Perfect, it shouldn't be too taxing a day but you can never be sure you'll have time for lunch when out on an assignment. Some days you have what seems like all the time in the world waiting around for something, other times it can be a rush so breakfast is usually a good idea.”

“I think it generally is anyway. My mother always insisted.”

“Isn't that what mothers have to do?” Tobias laughed, “not that I knew mine all that well, but I distinctly remember nagging. Anyway, I need to eat too, so I will see you downstairs in about half an hour? ”

“Yes, I'll be there, all breakfasted up.”

“Perfect, see you there.”

Helen flicked the phone shut and went to investigate the fridge and see whether the mysterious apartment filling department had done a good job there as well. They hadn't done a bad job at all with her clothes. She had been able to pick something out that she at least felt she was comfortable in. A loose brown t-shirt and what was a pretty close approximation of her favourite old worn denim jacket. This one wasn't as old as her one had been. It was the type of 'designer worn' that just looked like it was worn, with the wear and tear deliberately cut and shaved into it, rather than something that had actually be worn. The jeans were a perfect match for the pair she had bought on Oxford Street in a sale not two weeks before. She was fairly sure that this pair actually fit a little better too.

The fridge had indeed been well stocked with a selection of food and drink. Breakfast was quick and easy, a bowl of Corn Flakes with some orange juice. The juice was freshly squeezed as well, Helen hoped that they kept it that way too. If she was going to say yes to these people she was damn sure that they were going to look after her. If this whole show so far was just an act to get her to agree to work for them and didn't carry through into the actual job then she was going to be pissed. She wasn't exactly sure she would be able to do much about it, but she was fairly sure that she could give it a good try. One thing all her teachers and former bosses had been unanimous in was the opinion that she was good at causing disruption. Helen personally always felt that she was the perfectly reasonable one and wouldn't ever have been noticed if the world worked the way it was supposed to. People just didn't seem to care enough about when things weren't quite right, people compromised. Helene disliked compromising, she somehow thought of it as giving in. Her father had drilled that into her. Never give up; it was almost a family motto. Except for the fact her father would definitely have thought it too pretentious for a good working class family to have a family motto.

Today was most definitely going to be an interesting day.

She thought she was starting to wrap her head around what was happening pretty well now. It had all started to sink in at this stage and was stewing nicely in her thought processes. She was clearly not going to awake any moment and discover this was all a bad dream. That was just wishful thinking. So she would have to make the best of it. Today was going to be different. Today she was going to ask questions. Granted she had asked questions yesterday, but that was more out of confusion. More like the way you ask what happened when you wake up with a hangover, you already know what happened, but need to ask anyway. That was what she felt yesterday was like, a nasty, all too real hangover. Today however, today was going to be different. She was going to ask real, demanding questions about the situation and what these people, this company, was going to do for her.

If these people really were controlling the fate of the entire world, and relied on some form of cosmic happen-stance to recruit new 'operatives', as they called them, then it struck her that she was actually a valuable commodity. Valuable commodities like her she reasoned should then be in a good negotiating position. She wasn't going to let them bully her about. Not that she had anything to complain about yet. She had to admit they had been good to her so far. The perks seemed good, and the apartment was gorgeous, but still, it was a matter of principle. She wasn't going to just blindly accept their first offer. It was almost as if they were being slightly too nice.

Helen was a touch cynical by nature, she had come to accept that of herself some time ago, so she almost inherently distrusted a situation that seemed too good to be true. If it wasn't for the still present, and still inexplicable, feeling that she was supposed to be here, a strange feeling of belonging that she hadn't ever really experienced before, then she would have been almost certain that these people were out to con her in some way. She would at least have been very, very suspicious. For now she was going to settle for a state of mindful caution she had decided. 'Keep your eyes open and pay attention' she thought to herself.

Helen had already decided that it was probably best to keep these little reservations from Tobias for now. Not that he seemed like 'The Company Man' type anyway, but she didn't want to show her hand to him just in case she had misjudged him. Her mother had always maintained that her trust issues were precisely why Helen was still single a few months short of her thirtieth birthday. Helen for her part always insisted that a little caution was a good thing, and all she was doing was avoiding inevitable heartache all along. The Irishman was clearly a charmer, and he knew it all too well, so she couldn't be totally sure of these peoples motivations just yet. Maybe his apparently affable personality was just part of the recruitment process.

She doubted it for the same reason that she couldn't explain. There was some kind of almost immediate and implicit trust that she felt when he was around. For want of a better word he seemed genuine, and it struck Helen that genuine people were in short supply in this day and age. She almost felt slightly guilty about not wanting to share her worries with him, but she was willing to live with that for a while.

Helen was going to make sure these people didn't take advantage of her. If she had been the proverbial deer in the headlights yesterday the good news was that the car had swerved and she was still alive to tell the tale. Today was going to be different.

FATE Inc - Chapter Eight - Taking it all in.

2009-11-15T13:52:00.000-08:00

The shower was just what Helen had needed. The fact that her body had been in just as bad shape as her mind throughout most of the day had kind of gotten lost to her. When she had finally been able to sit down after arriving at the apartment she was suddenly aware of just how much her limbs were aching. She guessed that the night her body had the night before was a lot more taxing than the one she remembered having. The dull throbbing at the front of her head, that had grown more persistent over the course of the day, was probably not just down to having to try and take in all these theories on quantum physics and alternate time-lines. She was fairly sure that a significant amount of intoxication must have been involved in the night before that this body had experienced. Not least because it apparently involved hooking up with a completely obnoxious manifestation of her ex-boyfriend. So she was only too glad to have washed away the general odour of that particular encounter.

She couldn't be positive, but she was fairly sure that the marks she noticed on the side of her stomach were actually love bites. She hated that, and was pretty sure she wouldn't have been turned on in any reality by someone doing it down the side of her stomach. On a positive note as least no one would see them there.

The shower itself was actually very nice, as was the entire apartment. It definitely showed it's age, as there was something uniquely eighties about it that Helen couldn't quite put her fingers on. It was the type of place you imagined a Wall Street executive having sometimes during the height of the eighties boom. That thought had made her think of the film Wall Street. Helen could almost imagine a scene from the film playing out there. The long window that spanned the corner of the building, and provided a panoramic view over the city below, would have been perfect for the protagonist of that film to pace back and forward in front of while arguing on the phone with his evil mentor Gordon Gecko. Helen suddenly wondered why was it that you always remembered the name of the memorable villains in cinema but not always the hero. For the life of her she couldn't recall the name of Charlie Sheen's young character, it was going to bug her all evening. She wished she could look it up on the computer but then remembered that she didn't have her computer here. In fact she barely had anything at all here.

Just as Mrs Peabody had advised some of her things, the things she remembered owning, were in the apartment. Whoever had been tasked with finding her things hadn't done a bad job, things were there for sure but it was more like they were close approximations of the things she had owned rather than the actual things. It was almost like the way that you have to go and buy things with the insurance money after you have things stolen. You do get to replace the things, but they aren't the original things. You don't have any real connection to them, they don't quite smell right, or lack the blemishes of the original. Her favourite plant pots were all there, but they weren't quite the same, a colour would be different in one, the shape slightly different in another, the print on the large square one in the corner of the living room was of a white horse rather than a black one. It was if whoever had seen her old apartment and was describing her stuff might have been drunk when they were doing so.

They had managed to replace a good deal of her wardrobe, many of her favourite clothes were there hanging neatly in the large walk wardrobe that dominated the far wall of her new bedroom. They had gotten the colours wrong on a couple of pieces here and there, but she would be able to get dressed tomorrow in something she felt comfortable with, something that felt like she would have picked it out. She was a little perturbed however by the thought that someone who worked for the company, someone that she might get to meet, had been sent to buy her underwear, complete with the frilly sexy stuff that she saved for the special occasions. She rather hoped there were some kind of professional rules about that kind of thing amongst whoever it was that did this job. A code of ethics for the purchasing of underwear and related gossip as it were. Whoever was responsible had though done a decent job at trying to make her feel a little more comfortable in this new space.

The apartment itself was a very open plan design that somehow managed to be somewhat minimalist yet over indulgent at the same time. With large modern art prints on the walls, and black and white zebra print rugs on the floor, it was an apartment clearly decorated in the eighties. Her things didn't really fit with the design at all, she had always lived in older building, places with character. While she was sure that someone, someday, would consider modern designs to have character she most certainly did not, and would have preferred her old Victorian town house style much more, regardless of how run down or dilapidated the one she had been able to afford had been. If she was going to be staying here, she was certainly going to have have to do a little shopping before too long.

The TV however was a different matter altogether. It was shiny, new and very large. The type of TV that Helen would never have even considered buying for herself. It would almost have taken up the entire wall of her bedroom in her old place. This apartment was much bigger and the TV screen didn't look out of place. Helen guessed it must be over fifty inches across. She had never owned one of these new fancy flat screen things and it appeared as if it was already hooked up to a cable system that was piping in a seemingly unending number of channels for her viewing pleasure.

She had wrapped herself in one of the long brown towels she had found in the bathroom. She was fairly sure these towels came with the apartment and weren't supposed to be anything she had owned before but she had to admit they were comfortable. They were the type of towel that you could just feel were expensive rather than the more functional everyday ones she used to buy from Primark. It was almost as if she was staying in a reasonably top class hotel, it had that feel about the place. She wasn't going to get used to this type of a place very quickly.

As she settled down in front of the large TV, having made herself a suitably large mug of hot chocolate, she started to flick aimlessly between the channels. Whatever service they subscribed to it was certainly comprehensive. Helen was fairly sure that they must have a special arrangement for their cable provider as well. It had been some time she lived at home, which was the last time she had lived anywhere with access to a cable subscription, but she was fairly sure that it wasn't normal to have over three thousand channels listed in what appeared to be several dozen languages. It was almost as if they had a combination of all the TV channels the world had to offer. Helen wasn't sure how many TV channels existed in the world, but she was thinking that she now had a good percentage of them at her disposal.

She started to wonder what would happen if she didn't take these people up on their offer. What choices would she have exactly? It might be surreal and strange, but she had to admit to herself that she could get used to having this kind of an apartment if she was allowed to work with the place a little. The credit card, phone and free travel certainly wasn't to be sniffed at either. She wasn't though entirely sure what she was going to be asked to do. She hadn't even decided if she liked the idea of manipulating other people in order to preserve something she wasn't even sure she was willing to accept existed. It struck her that she was being asked to accept a lot of things that would be nigh on impossible for anyone to actually prove to her.

Still, it wasn't as if they were being unreasonable, pushy or pressurising her into anything yet. Although part of her thought that if she was them, she wouldn't want her to feel pressurised either. The whole 'being nice and supportive' thing would probably be a better tactic with most people who found themselves in this situation.

She also couldn't be sure that they hadn't done this to her in the first place. After all they did admit to arranging and organising far more complex and significant things than her appearance here. These people organised everything from a simple accidental meeting to full scale wars. She presumed they wouldn't have too many problems making her disappear, even if she still didn't fully understand all this alternate time-line stuff. It couldn't be that hard for them could it? It would be a great way of recruiting people. Put people in a situation where they don't really have any other option, and then treat them well and appear to be supportive and sympathetic, and they are most likely going to go along with whatever you suggest. It was how she would do it if she was them she thought, but she also hated her cynical side. It just wasn't easy to trust strangers when you have been brought up to be suspicious of all but the closest of friends. People just don't trust each others motives in this day and age, and Helen was suddenly very conscious of being asked to trust in a lot for just one day.

She was also thinking that Japanese TV was every bit as strange as she had heard. She sat there strangely memorised by the sight of skinny bikini clad girls running around blindfolded trying to pin a Velcro tail on a very overweight gentleman that was running around the studio in a nappy. It was more interesting to watch than anything she had found in any of the languages she actually spoke. She guessed that the novelty value would wear off eventually, but there was something strangely compelling about trying to figure out exactly what was going on when you had no knowledge of the language and very little insight into the culture. Helen wondered if Japanese people that sat and watched Eastenders or X-Factor had a similar experience with English television and wondered why such shows had a distinct lack of bikini clad girls performing strange tasks for other people's viewing pleasure. There was a lot to say for cultural differences. Just as the Japanese show cut to what she presumed was an advertising break, Helen heard a noise. She was sure it was an alarm, or a ringtone or a chime of some kind but having not really used any of the appliances or devices in the apartment before she wasn't sure which one it was at first. It was clearly an electronic device demanding her attention.

The noise was coming from the kitchen and given she hadn't tried to cook anything yet she thought it must be that new mobile phone that she had left on the kitchen counter beside the gas burners.

It was indeed the phone and Helen immediately wondered who on earth would be calling her. Tobias had promised that she had the evening to herself and that he would see her in the morning. Was there really something so important that they had to call her now.

“Hello?” Helen answered with a mix of caution and curiosity,”Who is it?”

“Good evening Mam,” a very formal voice on the other end of the line replied, “I am the building supervisor, Mr Canning, I just wanted to check that you had settled in ok?”

“Yes thank you, everything is fine so far.”

“Mr Gordon explained everything to you?”

“Enough to get me settled in at least,” Helen answered, “I haven't had any problems yet.”

“Very good to hear. I just wanted to ask which of the newspapers you might like in the morning?”

“We get newspapers?”

“Most of the operatives like to keep up to date with the work of the press. We have a stock of them delivered every morning so if you want some dropped by the door you only have to ask. You can get hold of me by dialling 001 on your mobile. Anything you need in terms of the apartment you just have to ask.”

“Actually,” Helen said a little sheepishly, “do you think I could get a computer of some kind? I know they aren't the cheapest thing you could ask for, but I would miss not having one in my apartment.”

“I am sure we can arrange something once you are signed up and Mr Drewer submits your permanent contract. I'm afraid I can't authorise something like that before you are official and all. I am sure you understand.”

“Yes, yes, of course. That's understandable.” Helen said. At least they weren't all being that presumptive about her accepting their offer she thought. “Thanks for calling, but I think I'd like to get some sleep now.”

“Of course, I am sure that it's been one hell of a day for you. We all remember our first day. Good night.”

No sooner had the call ended then the phone buzzed again, this time with a single short chime, it startled Helen slightly since she still had it in her hands. This time the little envelope icon on the screen lit up indicating she had just received a message. She pushed the green button and the message loaded up on her screen. The sender was 'UNKNOWN' according to the phone, it didn't even display the number that the message had come from.

Helen looked down and read the rest of the message.

Greetings Helen. Important questions are going to be asked of you very soon. All we ask is that you keep an open mind.

The message wasn't signed. After everything that had happened today Helen thought it was quite an odd message. She presumed it was part of the process, maybe an automated message of some description that all new arrivals received. She did wonder why no-one had mentioned it before though. It seemed a little odd, even for these people to send a message like that just before most people would be going to sleep. It was after all just after midnight.

It was from the strangest thing that had happened today, but she couldn't shake an odd feeling that there was more to the message than she might be thinking. As she slumped down into the big bed she began to wonder why the sender of the message wouldn't identify herself. She flicked open the phone again and brought the message back up. It could well have been part and parcel of the day she had just experienced, but something told her that whatever these important questions were it was something that hadn't been mentioned yet. As she rolled over and went to close the phone she suddenly remembered that the phone also let her get onto the internet. She would be able to find out what Charlie Sheen's character was called in Wall Street after all.

FATE Inc - Chapter Seven - Informal Channels

2009-11-12T17:45:00.000-08:00

Mr Drewer had thought the day couldn’t get any worse. He didn’t really mind that the day at the office had been chaotic, disorganized and stressful. Of course if you asked him about his day he would have told you that a day like he had just experienced was completely unacceptable, and that he was furious, and that heads may be rolling in the near future if things weren’t resolved, and that those heads didn’t have to be the heads of those actually responsible but maybe just the head of anyone who asked him inane questions about his day.

If he was honest however he knew that part of him always enjoyed rising to such occasions and being the one that calmed things down, organized the response and generally sucked all the stress away in that strange way that only he could. Mr Drewer seemed to not just be calm, but had the most unusual ability to actually create calm, almost without trying. He took pride in being the unflappable resilient one. It only served to increase the air of mystery and respect that surrounded him amongst his colleagues, and he had grown accustomed to that respect. He did after all deserve it.

What he did dislike though, and would candidly stress to anyone who asked, was being disturbed once he had left the office. He never left the office until everything was working again. He might not have resolved the issue yet, but things were being done, things were in motion, and that is what counted. He only ever left the office when he was completely sure that he didn’t need to poke, prod, motivate or scare someone into doing what needed doing. So when he left the office, he really meant it. You better have a damn good reason for disturbing him.

So when his mobile phone had rung just after he got home to the town house he wasn’t smiling when he glanced down to see who it was. Thankfully for the person on the other end, the person on the other end was Mr Nixon. When Mr Nixon called even Mr Drewer could put aside his displeasure at being disturbed.

“Mr Nixon?”

“Mr Drewer”

“Something important I presume?”

“Yes, just wanted to inform you of the latest information coming in to me. It would appear that the big man himself at their end is on route to London. He boarded a plane in Las Vegas an hour or so ago.”

“Thank you Mr Nixon, please update me in the morning if there are any further developments.”

“As you wish,” Mr Nixon replied before hanging up the phone.

Short, sweet and to the point. That was probably what Mr Drewer liked most about Mr Nixon. He didn’t even attempt to engage in idle chatter or pleasantries before delivering the information that he wanted to deliver. Mr Drewer really did wish sometimes that more people could be like Mr Nixon. It would make his organizing of things so much easier. He also understood the meaning of instructions. This at least meant he was unlikely to be disturbed again this evening.

There was nothing Mr Drewer valued more than his quiet time. He had become accustomed to his solitude down the years and found his respite in the little things. When you were surrounded on a daily basis by decisions that might shape the fate of entire nations, or at the very least impact the lives of ordinary people with whom you still had some sympathy, you tended to appreciate things in an altogether different way. Tonight he had already decided was going to be a nice glass of red wine while he relaxed in his over-sized red leather chair with some good music as background noise, maybe some Bob Marley this evening. Occasionally he enjoyed one of the thick Cuban cigars that sat neatly in the ornate cedar cabinet that adorned the far wall. He had acquired them during the whole Cuban episode in nineteen sixty two and they were usually reserved for special occasions. He was mulling over the notion that today might constitute an exception to that rule as he decided to pour himself a glass from the bottle of nineteen forty five Château Mouton Rothschild that he had been saving for just such a day. One of the perks of having a job like Mr Drewer had was that acquiring rare things was nowhere near as difficult for him as it would be for any ordinary collector. Any wine collector in the world would most likely keel over in shock at their first glance of his wine rack, and that was before he even thought of showing them the bottles he kept in the cellar.

Just as he poured the wine into the glass and ran his nose just above the rim of the glass to inhale he heard the very last thing he wanted to hear at that moment. The only other phone he allowed in the room rang. It was an old nineteen seventies phone, with an oddly round shape and cast in orange plastic, a very bright orange that for some reason people had found fashionable circa nineteen seventy six.

Mr Drewer sighed. It probably shouldn’t have been unexpected. He had a feeling that if the orange phone was going to ring it would be this evening. He did wish that he’d had a chance to relax first but it wouldn’t be prudent to ignore the call. It wasn’t as if the caller didn’t know that Mr Drewer was at home. He wouldn’t have called in the first place if he didn’t know that Mr Drewer was there. Putting the wine glass down Mr Drewer wandered over to the orange phone and picked it up.

“Mr Drewer?” the voice on the other end of the phone inquired. Mr Drewer wasn’t sure why such a question would even be asked given that they both knew that only the two of them used this number, and that it was extremely unlikely that Mr Drewer would have had company.

“Mr Basilisk” Mr Drewer replied.

The long silence that followed told Mr Drewer all he immediately needed to know as to the purpose of this call.

“This wasn’t down to your lot was it?” Mr Drewer asked, “You don’t know any more about any of this than we do?”

Mr Drewer had always operated on a ‘need to know’ basis with a bit of ‘what they don’t know won’t hurt them’ thrown in for good measure, even to his superiors and that included the purpose of the orange telephone. His superiors most definitely did not need to know that he had an illicit direct line to his counterpart in the competition. Mr Drewer had always maintained that the notion of keeping your friends close and your enemies closer was actually good advice. Besides, he wasn’t a politics person, he was an organizer, the man who fixed the problems rather than caused them. He found having the odd informal conversation with the opposition to usually be mutually beneficial. He didn’t know that much about Mr Basilisk other than the fact they shared a common job role and had some shared opinions on the best way to operate their respective organizations. You could say that they had a strained but firm respect for each other.

“No, completely clueless so far, infuriating isn’t it.”

“Excruciatingly so.”

“All those damned seers, geniuses and prodigies with their supposedly all knowing talents and abilities and we still find ourselves resorting to good old fashioned detective work.”

“Indeed, I would gladly have strangled one or two of them today. Still, if they were as perfect as they would like us to believe then they wouldn’t need us now would they?”

“So your lot have absolutely nothing either?”

“They are resorting to the good old fashioned detective work of timeline by timeline recall analysis as we speak.”

“Likewise.”

“You wouldn’t lie to me about this would you?”

“Have I ever?”

“No, I suppose not.”

That was surprisingly completely true. Mr Basilisk and Mr Drewer seemed to share an uncannily inherent ability to know which questions were appropriate to ask of each other. They almost instinctively knew which subjects could be broached through the orange telephone, and which couldn’t. Both men knew that this was exactly the type of occasion for which they had agreed to have the orange telephone in the first place.

They had installed it in the early seventies when Mr Basiliks predecessor had been moved along to another role after the whole Watergate debacle. She had been a wretched woman that Mr Drewer had found most objectionable. Anyone who thought trying to incite a country as complicated as America into a civil war for a second time clearly had no inclination to learn from history and that was something Mr Drewer simply could not abide. So he had only been too glad when Mr Basilisk turned out to be much more of a like minded soul.

They didn’t speak often, the orange phone could go for years without ringing, but when it did it was usually for a very good reason.

“Besides, your lot must be more pleased about the current situation than my lot is. What, with the timeline now seemingly ending and all.” Mr Drewer probed.

“You have to be kidding me!” Laughed Mr Basilisk slightly bitterly, “The timeline ending on a date other than the one it is destined to end on? Our higher ups consider that just as bad, if not worse, than your infernal meddling in the destiny of humanity. They might not admit to that just yet, at least until they hear the big man offer an opinion, but they see this as potentially disastrous. If the universe throws things into a new timeline on its own steam without any interference from either of us what does that say about our mission statement? No, this is bad, very bad, they are really eager to pin this on you guys so that the rank and file doesn’t start to murmur about universal destinies and all that. It’s not like we don’t have the sort of operatives that are prone to over-thinking a situation and questioning, and you know where that leads.”

“I hadn’t considered that angle,” Mr Drewer mused, silently slightly annoyed at himself for not having deduced that likelihood on his own, “it makes sense from your point of view.”

“On the subject of the big man, he is taking a personal interest in all this. He is on a plane already and will be here sometime tomorrow morning. Just so you know.”

“I know. The ever gracious Mr Nixon informed me of the fact just before you called.”

“Really?” Mr Basilisk asked, clearly a little agitated, “damn that man, I would really like to know how he does that. He will be a thorn in our side until the very end I am sure.”

“I am sure he will. Mr Nixon however does not reveal his methods, even to me. So even if I thought there was any mileage in sharing some bits or pieces with you on that subject I wouldn’t be able to.”

“Like hell you would, even if you did know he does it.”

“Perhaps,” Mr Drewer said smiling to himself, “just like I won’t pretend to ask what your next course of action is going to be.”

“We should keep in touch though,” Mr Basilisk suggested, “I imagine that both of us will be putting in some overtime on the manipulation front over the next few days, especially given that both us know that neither of our management teams will want things to stay the way that they are.”

“I concur.”

“Good, then I shall stay in touch,” Mr Basilisk confirmed, “I have a weird feeling about this one. It isn’t normal. We should both be on our guard.”

“Aren’t we already?”

Mr Basilisk just laughed, “Aye, very true. You are probably never off guard anyway are you?”

“Some people would most definitely suggest that to be true if you asked.”

“Good night Mr Drewer.”

“Good night Mr Basilisk.”

Mr Drewer neatly placed the orange phone back on its base and decided that tonight did indeed merit one of those Cuban cigars.

Progress...

2009-11-12T15:45:00.000-08:00

Passed twenty thousand words today while doing the bulk of the next chapter, so still on schedule and rolling along. After any days I have struggled with so far I have been able to catch up again the next day. So far, so good!

FATE Inc - Chapter Six - Decompression time

2009-11-08T16:44:00.000-08:00

Helen sat there on the underground carriage and was only vaguely aware of Tobias chatting away next to her. It had been quite a day. You couldn't really call it the most confusing, mystifying, frustrating and scary day of her whole life because, as she understood it, what had previously been her life had ended last night sometime around three thirty AM. So in effect she thought to herself, today had in fact been the day of her entire life on the grounds that technically this was the first, and so far only, day of her newly acquired life. She wondered if it was all downhill from here and whether being immortal would grow on her and would become normal. She had already accepted quite a lot today. It was almost something worth being proud of. She was certain there would be people that couldn't possibly have coped with the day she had been experiencing so far.

The company apartment building, she was told, was wedged between new developments on the Isle of Dogs. Apparently you could see the towers at Canary Wharf if your apartment faced out in the right direction Tobias had enthused as they started their journey. If you were up high enough you could even see the Millennium Dome as well. He wasn't quite sure if her apartment on the twenty second floor would have a view of it.

“So tell me again how the company manages to have a forty storey apartment block that I have never heard of slap bang in the middle of the most valuable real estate in all of London?”

“It wasn't always that great real estate let me tell you,” Tobias replied, “I lived there long before they built any of these new fancy developments. There were a good few decades when we felt like we were literally as far from anywhere as you would possibly want to live. That area wasn't always shiny towers, expensive domes and new transport links you know.”

“I do remember the time before the Jubilee line you know.”

“Very funny,” Tobias laughed, “You know I mean well before that, although to be fair, you aren't that wrong either. It was hell trying to use the damned Docklands light railway every day to get in and out. You have no idea how much I hate rush hour in this city. We have been there long, long before that.”

“So what constitutes a long time for you guys?”

“A very long time in normal people scale I guess. If I remember rightly it was built around the late eighteen nineties. Maybe we moved in around ninety eight or so, it was around then at any rate. In those days it was just around the corner from North Greenwich station on Manchester Road. The apartment tower is still where it always was of course, but the station isn't there any more.”

“I thought you said the apartments were on the south of the isle down by Island Gardens? Isn't North Greenwich on the other side of the river from the wharf?”

“The North Greenwich tube station is there now yes, but it wasn't there in those days. In those days the North Greenwich station was close to where Island Gardens are now. It used to be part of the Millwall extension railway which it turns out was not a popular line and got itself closed in the nineteen twenties. We thought having that station there was a stroke of luck when the building appeared. We thought we could start to take advantage of the new transport links the city was building but ended up stuck out in the damn sticks beyond it for many years.”

“Hold on a minute,” Helen interrupted, “what do you mean when you say the building appeared? Buildings tend to be built, not just turn up like unexpected house guests.”

“In your old world maybe,” Tobias laughed, “In ours it is still rare, but not unheard of.”

“A forty storey apartment building just appeared sometime in the eighteen nineties? Besides didn't you just say it was built? Then it couldn't have just appeared.”

“Well of course it was built somewhere, everything comes from somewhere, from one of the timelines.”

“So it wasn't originally built in this time-line?”

“Now you're catching on. No, it was built in a fairly obscure time-line on the periphery of our reach. Don't you think you would have heard of a forty storey building being constructed that long ago? There wasn't a taller building in England for almost a hundred years.” Tobias explained, “It was built by a very interesting chap called Edmund Leverage the Third who would have been hailed as a genius if he had existed in the real time-line.”

“There are people who only exist in alternate time-lines?”

“Yes, we call them fringe actors. They are results of actions that never happened in the main time-line. You would be amazed how close most of the time-lines actually are in terms of who gets born and who dies, but there are also a lot of people who only exist in some of the more outlying time-lines. Edmund Leverage the Third was one such person.”

“and he built the apartment building?”

“Yes he did. He was a real visionary from what we could tell. He studied many of the ancient constructions, like the Pyramids and the Roman Colosseum and he was apparently fascinated by building bigger and better structures. I think someone told me that the Colossus of Rhodes had survived in his time-line too, and that he had been there to see how they made that as well. He basically had a burning passion to extend building upwards. Well ahead of his time, he would have loved modern America I think, he might have even liked Canary Wharf.”

Helen suddenly wondered what kind of worlds existed in all these possible alternate Earths. They kept telling her that most of these alternate realities were almost identical, almost so that you could never tell the difference, but it sounded like some were actually quite different. The idea of being able to go and visit a time where the wonders of the ancient world still existed intrigued her. The fact that entire apartment buildings could hop between one and the other wasn't one of the more credible stories she had heard today. “So you are telling me that an entire apartment building, which would have been the tallest structure in all of Europe, can just appear here and no-one notices?”

“You know it's strange, but yes, from a certain point of view that is exactly what happens.” Tobias shrugged, “To be honest I don't think even our guys understand it completely. You see if something very strange happens, or there is something very out of place in the time-lines, then people from this time-line seem to ignore it. They just don't seem to see things that aren't supposed to be there. It has a lot of advantages.”

“What do you mean by advantages?”

“We don't pay council tax or a TV license for a start,” Tobias joked, “but that's just a fringe benefit. The main advantage isn't so much the buildings or structures that appear it is the fact that people don't really see us. I mean they do, and if you were to talk to someone they would answer...”

“Or just ignore me anyway if we were on the tube,” Helen quipped, “sorry, couldn't resist, please go on.”

Tobias grinned, “Ok, you aren't wrong there. The tube is indeed hardly the most sociable of situations. Anyway, so if you chose to talk to someone and they chose to answer they would see and hear you fine. We aren't figments of anyone's imagination, but very quickly after we had finished speaking to them they would completely forget about ever having had that conversation. We are almost instantly forgettable you see. We can string people along to make sure they keep engaging with us, you will pick up tricks and techniques there, but by and large once we are out of sight we are out of mind, sometimes even before we are out of sight.”

“They just forget us?”

“Yup, completely and utterly.”

“How is that possible? People don't just forget like that.”

“Like I said, we aren't quite sure on the why it happens thing. I can assure you it does happen. They just forget. Take that guy you woke up with this morning...”

“I was trying to forget about that thank you very much.” Helen sighed.

“Well, that aside, that guy wouldn't remember you if you came up to him and said hello right now. He would already have forgotten you. He will remember taking someone to bed that night, and might recall whether it was a good or a bad time, but he won't remember you specifically.” Tobias elaborated, “It's kind of like being invisible when it suits us. If we don't bring attention to ourselves we can pretty much go where we please.”

“and just have people we talk to almost instantly forget us?”

“Pretty much so,” Tobias nodded, “want me to demonstrate?”

“What do you mean?”

“Watch this,” the Irishman grinned, “it can be fun too.” With that he got up and walked down towards the back of the carriage and sat himself down next to two girls who looked like they were dressed for a night on the town. Helen couldn't hear from where she was sitting but she saw Tobias smile, say something then lean towards the prettier of the two girls and whisper something in her ear. She reacted instantly to whatever he said, blushing a bright red and then firmly slapping across the cheek. “Pervert!” she screamed out, and pushed Tobias away. He was chuckling as he made his way back to his seat next to Helen.

“That didn't seem very much like she ignored you!” Helen said raising an eyebrow. Tobias just raised a single finger to his lips as if to motion her to be quiet.

“Wait, watch what I do now. That was the easy part, I can usually offend people at the first attempt if I try, and the length of that skirt just made it easy for me.”

Helen watched as Tobias seemed to be counting in his head, nodding slightly every few seconds until he was happy enough time had passed. He smiled at her, winked, and then slowly made his way back to the girls at the rear of the carriage and once again sat himself down beside them. Again Helen watched as he smiled, leant in towards the same pretty girl and again seemed to whisper something in her ear. This time though rather than the viscous slap he had incurred before the girl started to giggle and blush. He still made her turn a bright shade of crimson, but this time she seemed to have appreciated whatever it was he whispered in her ear. Smiling broadly he wandered back towards Helen and sat himself back down beside her.

“I still have the touch,” he beamed, “it is a hell of a lot easier these days as well if you don't mind me saying. Girl's these days are up for almost anything.”

“She didn't remember what you said the first time did she?”

“Not a single word,” Tobias smiled, “she didn't even remember me speaking to her the first time. They will only remember if we want them to, or if the event was some kind of an important event, the type you can't forget even if you wanted to. Like if I saved one of their lives, or bought them a winning lottery ticket. They would most likely remember me then.”

“So it's selective in some way?”

“Not so much selective as life is able to override it on occasion. Think of it as life sometimes deciding that an event is important enough that you never forget it, even if it involves one of us.”

“This is all seriously freaky you know that don't you? I don't even want to know what you said to that girl...on either occasion!”

Tobias just smiled and continued, “as far as we can tell, the only real effect on them is usually a slight feeling of deja-vu. Besides I imagine that 'seriously freaky' would be a good way to sum up your day in general in any case. You can't have had many days like this before have you?”

“That is an understatement,” Helen sighed, “right now all I want is to relax and have a good long shower.” What she didn't say was that she was still holding out for the slim hope that she would wake up from the next time she got to sleep to find out this was all a dream after all. It was a very slim hope. She looked back at the two girls. The pretty one was no longer blushing and didn't seem to give so much as a second glance to Tobias as they passed by on their way out of the tube to make their connection. Helen wasn't sure that she was going to be able to get used to this whole being anonymous thing.

They made their away across the platform to the Docklands light railway that would take them on to Island Gardens. Part of the supplies that Tobias had been instructed to fetch for Helen contained a nice new leather handbag. It was black and still had that smell of fresh leather to it. It fit neatly under her shoulder. The handbag came with a matching purse that itself came with some very helpful items. There was an oyster card that apparently worked on any trip on the London transport system and never needed recharging. It was joined by a gold VISA card that she was told could be used for just about anything she wanted. There was a limit of a thousand pounds per single transaction Tobias informed her so that operatives couldn't run off on a spending spree. There were apparently limits to the company's resources.

She was also given a new mobile phone, a nice sleek high end one as well. It was almost wafer thin. Helen had always wanted one like that but couldn't have afforded it in her old life. It even did the internet too. She knew that wasn't exactly a new development but she had never had a phone that she could connect to the net with.

Lastly, there was also a passport and a national insurance card that bore her name. She was told they would prevent anyone who demanded to see such proofs of identification from becoming suspicious. They were technically real documents, just real documents for people that didn't really exist.

Helen swiped the Oyster card over the reader and they soon found themselves trundling slowly along the tracks south from Canary Wharf down the length of the isle towards the river. Helen wondered if the apartment would give her a view of the river or of the city and the wharf to the north.

“You know I have been here before and I never noticed an apartment block either," Helen said as she looked out of the window, “shouldn't I be seeing it by now? I can't see anything.”

“You'll just be adjusting,” Tobias explained leaning over and pointing out the window, “give it a minute then look out towards the river just over those old warehouse buildings to your left.”

“Where?” Helen asked again, “I really don't see anything.” She strained her eyes into the darkness and then the strangest thing happened. It was as if she blinked and there it was. A huge forty storey U-shaped apartment block loomed above them. It wasn't just tall and thin either. Helen couldn't count from here but it looked like there were at least a dozen windows in the central block that spanned between each of the side wings. The wings themselves seemed to be several apartments across as well. There was also some kind of strange steeple on the top of the central section. It was quite gothic looking with one central tower that climbed upwards some fifty feet or so above the roof of the building. It was quite out of place on the London skyline, Helen hadn't seen anything like it anywhere else in the city.

The building itself was a contradiction all of its own. Parts of it looked like they were very modern, with glass panels and metallic balconies adorning the upper half of the building while the lower half seemed to be largely red brick with tall thin windows. It almost looked like it could be two seperate buildings.

“You didn't have the budget to refurbish the entire building?” Helen quipped.

“It is an odd looking place isn't it.” Tobias chuckled, “I did say old Mr Leverage the Third was an eccentric didn't I?”

“He couldn't possibly have made half that building in the eighteen nineties!”

“That's very true. We have his grand-son to thank for that. We just woke up one morning in nineteen eighty six and the building had changed. Well, at least half of it had. From what we can tell Edmund Leverage the Fifth renovated the building in the alternate time-line. Somehow, and our seers weren't exactly sure why, part of the building decided it needed to try and catch up with itself in our time-line.”

“You are telling me that ordinary people just don't see that building. How on earth is that possible?”

“You yourself didn't see it just now until you focused did you? It is the same for everyone else,” Tobias reminded her, “they don't know it is there, it isn't supposed to be there, so it isn't there. Their minds just don't recognise it”

“So which half of the building am I in?” Helen asked, “I am hoping that the twenty second floor is in the renovated part?”

“Yes it is, although to be honest all the rooms are quite nice. For some of us the pretentious eighties architecture is more of a turn off than the original building.”

“I can understand that. The eighties were certainly an acquired taste by all accounts. I was a little young to make any judgement there myself. If re-runs of Dallas are anything to go by then I am glad I dodged the whole shoulder-pad thing at least.”

“Those were scary,” Tobias agreed nodding, “and the big hair. I don't miss that at all. God I used to hate the smell of hairspray. Anyway, enough idle chatter, here we are.”

As they stepped out of the station Helen wondered if the day could get any stranger. The apartment building totally dominated the south of the isle and towered over the river. It had taken her a good few years to get used to Canary Wharf and the slow but gradual growth of that part of London upwards as well as outwards. She wasn't sure how well this was going to sit with her. As they walked the short distance from the station to where the entrance was Helen was struggling to think of any other building she had ever seen that was quite that bizarre.

It also wasn't any less bizarre the closer you got to it. The main doors to the building were massive, in fact massive didn't really do them justice. They must have been about twenty feet high Helen guessed, and looked to be made of polished dark mahogany. It was the type of door you might see as part of a prison gate except this one didn't have any smaller door inside of it that was actually practical to open and close.

“You actually use these doors?” Helen asked, slightly incredulously.

“Yeah, they still work fine,” Tobias answered, “watch this. It is actually cool the first couple of times you see it.”

“What do you mean? What is cool?”

“Just stand back there and watch,” Tobias said, gesturing to a spot on the ground a little behind him, “just watch the doors.” Helen watched as Tobias went up towards a little metallic panel on the wall to the right of the door and slid some kind of an access card against it. No sooner had he finished the motion of swiping the card then a small but discernible rumble started to emanate from beneath the gate. Helen could hear the sound of large metal gears clanking against each other deep inside the walls, as rather than open, the door began to disappear up into the wall above it. These doors didn't swing open they ascended, and remarkably quietly given their size Helen thought to herself. She could certainly hear it, but she would have expected something that size and that old to be considerably louder.

Tobias was grinning broadly as he beckoned her towards the door. "See, totally cool isn't it? To be honest I secretly don't ever tire of that."

"It is definitely impressive."

"Like I said, the guy was a total eccentric, no concept of the practical when it came to making the building the way he wanted it. You should see the dumbwaiter system he had installed. It is almost a work of art. He definitely had a fetish for the elaborate. Come on, lets get you up to your room, you get to experience the wonder of the elevators he designed as well, or at least half of them, we have to switch on the twentieth floor from the original ones to the new ones."

"How did an elevator manage to get cut off half way and still work?"

"It's genius, easier to show you than it is to explain it, come on, lets make our way up."

Tobias led her up a short flight of stairs to a large atrium that served as a lobby of sorts. Huge glass windows with bronze gilding ran the length of the semi-circular room and dwarfed a tiny table at the far end that Helen presumed was a reception desk of some kind. In many ways the desk looked a touch absurd, such a small piece of furniture sitting in solitude in front of the huge span of the windows. Helen guessed the windows must stand at almost ten meters tall, and the length of that far wall would probably have been a good work out for a hundred meter sprinter. The domed roof, cast in what looked like plain white marble only served to make the space feel even larger. She was pretty sure it could have passed for a half decent concert venue.

Behind the desk and to each side of the room were separate sets of double doors, cast in what appeared to be bronze. To the sides, the words 'EAST WING' and 'WEST WING' were carved in the marble in large Roman looking print above each of the double doors. The doors behind the desk on the other hand, while identical, were unmarked in any way. Helen presumed they would lead to the central section that started above the atrium itself.

"Come on, this way," Tobias said, leading her towards the door to the west wing, "Your apartment is this way. Wait till you see these elevators."

The double doors swung open almost silently as they approached. Helen didn't see any motion sensors of any kind , but was beginning to not be surprised by anything she experienced today.

"Pressure plates in the floor," Tobias explained, assuming she was going to ask, "really sensitive too, still work to this day and only require a little extra polish and dusting once ever few years. This is really an extraordinary piece of architecture. Would never have happened in this timeline."

Helen nodded and followed him into the corridor beyond the double doors and immediately decided she had been a bit hasty in deciding she couldn't be surprised by the day any further. The corridor that they were walking into was made entirely of polished brass. Floors, ceiling and walls, all brass, and all intricately carved with an almost art deco motif. It was not a short corridor either and along each wall were a bank of single doors all with a number neatly carved into the brass above them. To her left the numbers ran from one to twenty, to her right from twenty one to forty.

"Those are all lifts?" Helen asked incredulously, "each floor has an individual lift?"

"What can I say?" Tobias chuckled, "seems he didn't like waiting for lifts. Now obviously the ones on the right are out of commission on account of the top half of the building not being the same top half that the building started out with. So we will need to take the one at the far end up to floor twenty then take one flight of stairs till we get to the modern lifts."

As they walked along the corridor Helen noticed that each of the doors were also carved, and each had a unique but similar carving, all bearing the same head in profile of a slightly strange looking gentleman with a very angular nose. On each though the man seemed to age somewhat.

"Is that him?" Helen asked, "The architect guy? Is that his head?"

"Yes, that's him. Apparently he had planned this building for years. He was sixty years old when they finished it so each of those doors shows him from age twenty to age sixty. He apparently had a photograph taken every year since he was twenty just for that purpose because even then he had the idea for these corridors even though the work didn't start until he was almost fifty."

"It took them ten years to build the place?"

"Yup, and hell, by today's standards I would say that wasn't half bad you know!"

Helen wasn't sure what to expect as Tobias opened the door to the elevator. The door swung open like a regular door, almost as if deliberately contrary to the way she expected a door to work, but she guessed that when this was built elevators weren't exactly commonplace, if they even existed. She was pretty sure that elevators like this didn't exist. The elevator itself was made of thick glass, with a wide band of bronze running around it's length at about waist height. The floor even appeared to be glass, albeit of an even thicker variety that made it hard to see what was below. The really startling thing about the elevator was what you could see on the other side of the glass. On all three sides of the square glass contraption were an elaborate series of cogs, wheels and mechanisms, all of which appeared to be made from either bronze or brass. It was like staring at the inside of a really large antique watch, or perhaps more like actually being inside one.

As Tobias pushed the single ivory button by the door, it swung shut firmly and Helen watched in amazement as the cogs and wheels started to turn all around them without so much as a hiss. It was almost completely silent as if the glass cabinet was fully sound proofed from the polished machinery outside. Then they started to move, and faster than she thought. It appeared as if the glass chamber was being passed up from cog to cog, wheel to wheel. She guessed there were some kind of latches on the outside of the bronze strip that were being passed up through the machine, it was amazing how fluid the movement was.

"Thirty seven thousand, four hundred and eighty six separate cogs," Tobias said, "not sure who counted them, but I always remember that number, and that's just for one shaft. Amazing isn't it?"

Helen was speechless, her hand pressed against the glass wall and staring intently at how it all turned, pulled, twisted and slid to allow the glass chamber to ascend upwards. They were picking up pace as well, all without a single shudder, bump or tremor and an uncanny lack of inertia.

"This is stunning!" she exclaimed eventually, "and you thought the doors outside were cool?"

"Maybe not quite as cool as this," Tobias shrugged, "but I get more of a kick out of the main door. Don't know why, I just do. Here we are, twentieth floor."

The glass chamber slowed down gently and came to a halt next to the exit door without so much as a stutter and the door swung open. "Ladies first," smiled Tobias ushering her out of the elevator, "this way just one flight of stairs."

He lead her down to the end of the hallway and they climbed a stairwell that was remarkably ordinary compared to everything Helen had just seen.

"Want to see the modern elevator too? We could just walk up one more floor to where you apartment is, but may as well make the tour complete eh?"

Helen nodded and Tobias pointed her to a large metallic door at the end of the thin whitewashed corridor that lead off from the stairwell.

This time the doors slid open as you might expect elevator doors to slide open. Inside the three walls seemed to be covered with huge video screens. Not the smooth high definition kind you see today, but very much the slightly pixelated and blurry versions you might have found in the nineteen eighties. This time Tobias when pressed the single black button there was a loud clunk and the sound of elevator cables coming to life. As he did so the video screens flickered into life and started to display images of the old cogs and wheels from the old lift, as if trying to mimic what you saw from the glass chamber in the old elevator. Tobias chuckled and shrugged, "we guess that it was some kind of homage to the original system."

Before they could continue, the elevator came to a halt and they were at their final destination on the twenty second floor.

FATE Inc - Chapter Five - Life Lessons

2009-11-05T16:39:00.000-08:00

Helen had sat there for over two hours now and had the same concepts that Tobias had explained to her over coffee explained again. In detail, in excruciating detail in fact. All delivered by Mrs Peabody, a lady who was seemingly passed by when the proverbial charisma was being handed out. Grey haired and very formally dressed, primarily in various shades of dark grey and an ugly dirty green that Helen could only describe as reminding her of a chalkboard, Mrs Peabody had the type of personality that could probably cancel out Tobias' in a kind of strange matter against anti-matter kind of way.

She was probably in her sixties, at least she looked to be in her sixties. Which century the lady was actually born in Helen wasn't willing to risk guessing at this stage. There wasn't anything specific about her that gave Helen any clues either. A short and stout lady with quite unusually broad shoulders. The wireframe glasses that were perched on her nose gave her an almost threatening look of a disapproving school teacher who had just learnt that the summer holidays had been cancelled.

The lady was being thorough that was for sure, she just lacked the skills with which Tobias had put Helen at ease. They say things like that are all in the delivery and Helen thought that this Mrs Peabody could have learnt a thing or two from the Irishman about actually trying to win over your audience rather than having to take it all in spite of your delivery. Unless, that is, you are the type of person that judges such delivery by the number of pretty but pointless slides that have been prepared for the occasion. In that case the woman was a genius because Mrs Peabody definitely had slides, lots of slides. Many of them even had very relatively elaborate diagrams and there was even some sparing use of clip-art here and there.

The room itself was fairly drab. It could have been any office building anywhere in the world. Although the dreary décor and choice of colours for the walls screamed government building to Helen. Her father had been a civil servant and she remembered spending many an afternoon playing with her colouring books in just such an office when being taken to visit her father at work. She couldn't recall why it was she spent enough time at her father's office that she remembered it so vividly.

The chairs were comfortable enough, which was probably a good thing given that Mrs Peabody was fast approaching her hundredth slide already.

Helen was definitely starting to pick up on the vibe that Tobias had not been the first choice for being sent to greet her. Every now and again Mrs Peabody would raise an eyebrow skeptically and comment on Tobias having been surprisingly efficient this time when Helen explained that she had already picked up on a topic and was ready to move on. Helen was also picking up on the vibe that Mrs Peabody suspected that Tobias' improved performance could be attributed to the fact that Helen was not an unattractive young lady.

Still Mrs Peabody did agree that Tobias had covered all the essentials and that Helen seemed to be be coping well with what she called the 'adjustment period'. Helen wasn't sure that she had any choice other than to cope, but she thanked the lady none the less and smiled and nodded as she felt was appropriate to indicate that she was still paying attention.

“See I told you I wasn't a total waste of space.” Tobias quipped as he came back into the room to deliver them both some more coffee, “Come on admit it Mrs P, I did the job textbook this morning didn't I?”

“Credit where credit is due young man,” Mrs Peabody nodded, “You didn't do too badly today at all. Far better than the last time you greeted that tall fellow, what was his name again?”

“Durden, Gary Durden,” sighed Tobias, “Will people ever let me live that one down?”

Mrs Peabody shook her head slowly, “I doubt it young man, I doubt it.”

“Who was Gary Durden?” asked Helen.

Tobias quickly interrupted just as Mrs Peabody looked like she was going to answer, “Absolutely no need to go into that now is there Mrs P. After all have to finish getting our new recruit here up to speed don't we?”

“I suppose we do, I am sure we can regale the young lady with your tales of ineptitude at a later date. We do have to get this done and get you set up now don't we Helen?”

“I don't know, I could spare the time to hear a tale of his ineptitude.” Helen smiled, and just for a moment she thought she saw a slight smile forming on Mrs Peabody's lips too but Tobias was quick to change the subject again.

“Come now ladies, no need to be picking on me. I am sure we need to be getting you set up in one of the apartments Helen. You must be wanting a shower about now, and I am fairly sure you will be wanting to get out of the hooker's attire for sure.”

As much as she was enjoying his obvious discomfort at having to dodge what was presumably an embarrassing story, he did have a point. She would definitely appreciate being able to get into some clean clothes after a nice long hot shower. “That would be nice actually. I am fairly sure I stink of things I don't remember doing, and didn't get to enjoy, in the first place.”

“You do a little dear yes.” Mrs Peabody confirmed quietly. Helen wasn't quite sure if she was being rude or just honest. These people seemed to have a slightly more blunt approach to things than she was used to. They didn't seem to have much time for political correctness. “But don't fret about it,” Mrs Peabody continued, “We have an apartment ready for you. The relocation team have already replaced your wardrobe as best as they could. It is waiting for you in the apartment when you get there.”

“What floor is she on?” Tobias asked

“Twenty second floor, a nice spot.” Mrs Peabody replied, “far higher than many new arrivals get. Not that there are many differences between the apartments but the view is certainly better once you are up that high.”

“Wait a second,” Helen interrupted, “what did you mean by replaced my wardrobe? And where exactly is this apartment?”

“In relation to your first question,” Mrs Peabody started to answer, “when we have people arrive we have some of the observation technicians look through the archive logs and see if they can ascertain what objects were in your possession before the timelines collided and left you disconnected. We find that it often helps the new arrivals to acclimatise if we can provide them with some familiar objects or clothes. So we try and provide as many of them as we can. After all, up until yesterday they all existed in this time-line as well. Now obviously some of the really personal objects are impossible, but we can usually get our hands on most things. Replacing the clothes is usually the easiest part.”

“What do you mean that some personal things are impossible?”

“Well, things like photographs for example. Now you never existed in this time-line so any pictures of you that did exist up until the collision were now never taken in the first place.”

For the first time since she had met Tobias on the steps of what used to be her apartment block Helen felt the urge to cry. She wasn't distraught or anything of the kind, and for some strange reason she felt like she really didn't want to let Tobias see her cry, but the idea that no-one else had any memories of her any more suddenly hit her. She could almost reconcile what was happening to her, but the thought that her parents didn't have a daughter or her best friend Amy presumably had a different best friend now, made her sad in a way she hadn't felt before. It was a very empty feeling and one she immediately decided she wanted to siphon off and keep firmly tucked away where it couldn't tug at her heartstrings.

She wasn't part of anyone else's memories any more. That was a fairly comprehensive way for the universe to write you out of life she thought. The fact that she still had those memories, but couldn't share them, was almost like being cruelly teased. Good memories were best shared, at least that is what she had always thought. She wondered if her friends and family had a better life now that she didn't exist. They would at least, she supposed, have very different lives for her absence. She could think of dozens of very stupid things that she had talked Amy out of down the years, she really hoped that whoever was Amy's best friend now had also been able to steer her away from some of those possible personal calamities.

Mrs Peabody had said that she couldn't contact her parents, or any of her friends as they wouldn't know her in any way, shape or form and would most likely conclude that she was some mad stalker. The thing was, that the time-lines were apparently close approximations of each other, and the people that existedin this reality, who now had no knowledge of her, would probably be fairly close to the people she had known during her previously ordinary life. So she would know some details of things, or be close enough, so as to genuinely really freak someone out if she approached them. Helen had to agree there are few scarier things than complete strangers who know things about you that they shouldn't. So it was all better off firmly repressed and ignored.

“Ok, but some of my other stuff is there? At this apartment?”

“Yes dear they are,” Mrs Peabody nodded, “the team try and find as many things as they can. Decorations and such, books, curtains, whatever they have gleamed from the archives. It isn't always a great deal, but something is better than nothing.”

“I'll be interested to see what they managed to get for me. This apartment though, what is the catch? Do I have to pay for it?”

“You are part of the company now dear, so you don't have to pay a penny. The company will cover everything for you while you are under our employ.”

“Wait just a second, I haven't agreed to anything yet. Who said I was going to work for you?”

“Of course you haven't decided yet dear,” Mrs Peabody assured her, “but we still extend that generosity to all new arrivals. You have the apartment at your disposal while you make up your mind about working for us or not.”

“Does anyone ever turn you down?”

“It has been known,” Mrs Peabody nodded, “but not all that common I would say.”

“There was one a few years ago,” Tobias added, “his name was George as I recall. It was all a bit much for him. He almost ran out of here screaming. He took to living as one of those mime artists in Covent Garden. You know the ones that pretend to be robots or statues and such. That way he doesn't have to talk to people, and people don't really talk to him. That is how he chose to deal with things.”

“Where does he live?”

“Hostels I think, the type of places he can pay for with the cash he earns from the tourists.”

“So if I decide I can't or won't work for you then I don't get to stay at your apartment place?”

“Correct,” Mrs Peabody confirmed sternly, “We aren't heartless, we will give you some time to make a decision, but a month at most. After that you have to start assignments for us or make your own way in the world.”

“What exactly would these assignments be?”

“We will go through that in more detail when you come back in the morning. I am sure you would rather get some rest and get out of that dress? Tomorrow we will do some short tests, aptitude type of tests, and see what kind of role in the organisation you are most suited to. For now though Mr Gordon here will get you set up with some supplies and show you to the apartments.”

“Supplies?”

“Just some essentials, think of it as a welcome gift from us to you,” Mrs Peabody smiled, “Mr Gordon will explain more. I'll look forward to seeing you again in the morning dear.” With that Mrs Peabody got up from the table and made her way to the door, “I am sure you will have a great career here ahead of you young lady. Bright types like you usually do well. Mr Gordon I trust you can see that she gets to the apartments without any difficulty?”

“That I can manage Mrs P.” Tobias grinned.

“Goodbye Mrs Peabody, I guess I will see you tomorrow?” Helen asked as Mrs Peabody opened the door and walked out into the corridor.

“That you will young lady. Have a pleasant evening. Bright and fresh tomorrow, I have a feeling you have potential. Let's hope we see some evidence of it in the testing.”

It struck Helen that, as far as she could recall, no one apart from her mother had ever suggested she had a bright future before. None of her previous bosses had used the words 'great career' or 'potential' anywhere near a sentence with her name in it. Unless it was going to be directly preceeded by the words 'she will never have'. She wasn't precisely sure what she might be being judged on here either. It wasn't as if these people had much to go on just yet. Maybe it was all relative, Helen thought to herself, and the fact that they already thought she has potential probably says more for the collection of clearly crazy people that must be working here. Maybe potential around here just equated to not running out of the building screaming and never returning, left to live through eternity as a mime in Covent Garden. Still, she mused to herself, it was nice to get a compliment. She could get used to being seen as having potential.

Rolling along nicely so far...

2009-11-04T16:18:00.000-08:00

Tonight was spent doing a little editing and correcting a few obvious errors in the text so far in addition to finishing off Chapter Four...I did promise myself I wouldn't do too much of the editing and correcting before it was all done, but with me posting my progress there were just some things I had to tweak as silly mistakes always annoy me! Nicely ahead on the word count so far so even building up some slack for the almost inevitable wall that will come at some stage during the month. A good start is always welcome! Hope you have been enjoying the tale so far..I am having to resist the temptation to jump ahead and write scenes I really want to get into that I know are coming up but am trying to be disciplined and make sure I finish the chapters in sequence.

FATE Inc Chapter Four - 42 Bloomsbury Way

2009-11-03T16:54:00.000-08:00

It certainly didn’t look like it should be the offices of an organisation proclaiming to control the fate of the universe itself, although Helen wasn’t exactly sure what she would have expected the headquarters of such an organisation to look like. If you had asked her though, she was fairly sure that she wouldn’t have suggested that the entrance to such a building would be a set of rather plain looking clean glass doubles doors, that looked to be freshly cleaned and polished almost to a sparkle that seemed at odds with the rather overcast weather. Next door seemed to be a fairly run of the mill off-license on one side and a small sandwich bar on the other that looked like it had experienced better days. If it took a lot of people to run the universe and organise fate itself and if a lot of those people worked at this office they seemingly didn't buy that many sandwiches.

The building could have been almost any office block on almost any street within central London. It wasn't hidden or trying to hide behind some kind of 'front', it was just there for all to see. It even proclaimed, in a neatly printed white vinyl sign with stark black letters, ‘F.A.T.E Incorporated’. There looked like there was an intercom too, and some kind of access system, the type of things you would see at the door to any regular, average office building.

“People generally just presume we are a posh media company or something equally pretentious” Tobias shrugged noting the look on Helen’s face, “haven’t seen anyone ask what we do, ever, the local pizza place even delivers.”

“Hiding in plain sight or something like that?”

“Pretty much,” the Irishman smiled, “not that we wouldn’t know if someone was on to us.”

He reached into his pocket and produced a little plastic swipe card that would have passed neatly through the security device at the side of the door if it wasn't for the small chunk of chewed gum attached to the side of the card that it had picked up in his pocket. Tobias muttered to himself in what Helen presumed was actually Irish and irritatedly flicked the gum off with his index finger so he could use the card, allowing him to open the doors and usher her in. It struck Helen that it was possibly the first time she had actually heard someone speak Irish, apart perhaps from in a movie, she knew a few people who were Irish, or claimed to be, but she had never actually heard them speak their own language.

“Ladies first”

A short non-descript corridor led to an elevator. Apart from a couple of potted plants flanking the elevator doors there was not much else to distinguish the entrance from any other office entrance Helen cared to remember. For some reason she was still expecting something more elaborate. She wasn't sure how it was supposed to be elaborate but it wasn't supposed to be so ordinary looking. For some reason she was slightly disappointed that everything seemed, at least at first glance, to be normal. She expected a mysterious organisation that secretly plotted the evolution of man to be a little bit more, well, mysterious.

It wasn’t that she was worried, which surprised her slightly, given that she was walking past a set of doors that had just locked behind them in the company of a genuinely weird stranger into a building whose residents she didn’t have the first clue about. For some reason though, and as much as she was trying to fight it with rational thought, she was beginning to get a most peculiar feeling that she was supposed to be here. It wasn’t anything she could put her finger on exactly, but as they passed a second set of finely polished wooden doors and along another immaculately kept white walled corridor Helen couldn’t help shake the strange feeling that she didn’t have anything to fear...which she thought was patently ridiculous given the circumstances.

The corridor opened out into a wide circular reception area with a large window that looked down onto the street below, a wide arcing white desk sat at the far end of the room and a pretty young girl, who at least looked to be in her early twenties smiled sweetly at Tobias as he greeted her and ushered Helen towards the large leather seats that ran along the wall under the windows.

“This the new recruit?” The blond girl asked returning Tobias’ smile.

“Yup, one in the same, expect old Drewer is expecting us.”

“He is, just sign here,” the receptionist confirmed sliding a black plastic clipboard across the desk, “Why were you picking her up? Not often we see you here apart from Fridays.” Helen wondered what was so special about Fridays.

“No idea,” Tobias shrugged, “they don’t tell me, you know me, just get on and do what they ask of me, a willing servant and all that. Are they ready for us now?”

“Not quite yet, Drewer called some extra meetings this morning. He said you should just wait in the operations area for him to be ready.”

“Hold on a second, did you just say that Drewer called extra meetings?” Tobias said looking more than a little bemused, “like as in unscheduled, unexpected meetings? Mr Drewer called an unexpected meeting?” he repeated the sentence as if the words didn't go together in his mind.

“I know,” the receptionist replied, almost lowering her tone to a whisper and leaning towards Tobias, “took everyone by surprise, first time in thirty years, they say something must have happened this morning.”

“Interesting, guess it’s above our pay grade to know what it is.”

“Everyone is talking about it, caused quite a stir, but if anyone has been told yet they aren’t saying, its just been the higher ups that have been in there so far, apparently even Nixon was there. I saw Jenkins rushing about as well.”

“and that is never a pretty sight” Tobias quipped drawing a smile from the receptionist.

As the pair continued to chat Helen watched the people that passed by, presumably other members of staff since they didn’t stop at the desk and simply used their cards to pass through the large black door behind the reception. No one seemed to give her a second glance despite her current state. She could only suppose that having a clearly bedraggled and slightly dubiously dressed young woman sitting in their reception wasn’t out of the ordinary, or maybe she wondered if it wasn’t out of the ordinary for clearly bedraggled and slightly dubiously dressed young women to be with Tobias.

He struck her as the type who might work a certain rugged charm.

Everyone she had seen so far looked normal enough though, aside from a few out of style haircuts and one man whose fashion sense was apparently wedged firmly in 1970-something.

Tobias came back and sat down beside her, “They asked we wait here a little, hope you don’t mind, some meeting of the bigwigs apparently.”

“Guess I don’t have much of a choice but to wait now do I?”

Tobias smiled, “Very true, very true.”

“How many people work here?” Helen asked figuring she may as well make polite conversation while she waited to learn exactly how her life had been turned upside down in the space of a few hours.

“At this office? I am not sure to be honest,” Tobias answered obviously trying to think, “a few hundred maybe, I think there are around three or four thousand of us in all, not counting the seers.”

“The seers? Those are the ones with the power I presume.”

Tobias nodded, “They call it ‘The Vision’ but yes, that’s the seers”

“Do they work here?”

“Here? No, no one but the higher ups know where they are, rumours are its some secluded monastery in Italy or something, hides a hi-tech network hub, all the information the seers provide gets computerised now so the brains here get it instantly.”

“So how do you know they actually exist?”

“Heh, a frequent doubters question,” Tobias grinned, “well strictly speaking I guess I can’t say that I do know for sure, but what I do know is that the predictions, wherever they might come from are accurate. So does it really matter if it’s a person, a machine or a goat that provides them?”

“A goat?” Helen laughed out loud enough for the receptionist to look up and smile at her.

“I just always found the thought of all this universal truth crap coming from some random farm animal amusing.” Tobias explained, the grin on his face widening.

Just then a group of a dozen or so young men and women bustled down the corridor, busily chatting to each other and rustling the papers and notepads that were wedged under their arms or carried neatly by their sides. One of them was speaking into a rather old looking dictaphone that was probably fashionable sometime in the 1980s. Another who looked to be in his seventies tapped furiously on an iPhone. The last member of the group was straggling a little behind on account of the fact she was carrying an old typewriter in her arms. No one else seemed to show any sign of thinking that carrying a typewriter around might be a strange thing to do in a modern office.

“That’s the morning horoscope meeting breaking up,” Tobias explained, “happens every morning, they plan the damn things out a few months in advance, far too much effort for my liking.”

“Horoscopes?”

“Yeah, natural outlet for our creative types, think we employ half the horoscope writers in the world at last count. It’s by far the most cost effective manner of manipulating the type of people that believe in that stuff. People are much more open to suggestion if they believe its ‘written in the stars’ as it were” Tobias winked

“So you write what you want to happen?”

“Well no, pretty hard to be that specific, its not as if we want everyone going off doing stuff they might not otherwise. Look at it this way, if we need someone to pay attention to a total stranger for some reason they are much more likely to stop if they have read their horoscope and it said something like ‘a stranger will bring joyous tidings’, its just playing on peoples hopes and fears I guess”

“Does it work?”

Tobias shrugged, “The suits upstairs tell us that it does, they always like to present these little pie charts and the like with titles like ‘percentage horoscope efficiency’ and stuff like that. I have absolutely no idea how they come up with the numbers though, maybe they make them up to make us feel more efficient and motivated.”

Helen couldn't help but pick up on the sarcasm with which the Irishman delivered the line. “I imagine keeping immortals motivated in the long term can be quite a task.”

“Funny,” Tobias grinned, “hadn’t ever thought of it that way, personally I’m happy with the beer on Friday they buy for us, then again I am a fairly simple guy.”

“Beer on a Friday?”

“Company perk, once a week they go out and fill the fridge in the recreation room with beer, one of them big American fridges too, you know the type, all metallic and shiny like you only used to see on American sit-coms, I love that thing. It even has the ice machine on the front, that's cool.”

Helen smiled, “So that’s what the receptionist meant when she said they don’t often see you apart from Fridays.”

Tobias nodded, “I am a creature of habit and drinking is one of my more consistent habits.”

“Why does that not surprise me?”

“It's in the Irish blood, all those years of stereotypes do have their roots in some fundamental truths you know.”

“Can I ask you a personal question Tobias?”

“That depends what the question is really. You are free enough to ask, can't guarantee I'll answer.” Tobias chuckled, “have to maintain some of the air of mystery don't I?”

“You said we were both immortal right?”

The Irishman nodded slowly, “That I did indeed.”

“So how old are you exactly?”

“Now there is a question,” Tobias smiled, “To be honest I don't know exactly. Give or take a couple of years I am about one hundred and sixty years old. They weren't so big on birth certificates back in rural Ireland in those days so I don't actually know my birthday.”

“So when do you celebrate it? Or do you stop celebrating your birthdays after that many years?”

“Stop celebrating? You did get the bit about me liking a drink didn't you? I will always celebrate. Don't laugh, but I took to celebrating it on St Patrick's Day. A bit of a cliché I know, but for the longest time I was the only Irishman in this office so it kind of made sense that the paddy's birthday would on good old Saint Paddy's day.”

“So you are actually originally from Ireland then?”

“That I am,” he answered, “managed to stowaway on a grain boat and get my sorry arse to England during the great famine.”

"So to ask a personal question again," Helen continued, "when and how did you end up working here?"

“To be honest, that is kind of fuzzy for me too. I don't exactly know, I think it happened at some point in the months after I arrived in Liverpool sometime in the winter of eighteen fifty-one. Since I didn't have any real anchor in the world I didn't know anyone was missing me for quite a while.”

“What do you mean? How could you miss the fact that you had vanished from the world and no-one knew you?”

Tobias grinned, “Well I wasn't as popular back then. Truth be told I was completely unknown, new to the country let alone the city. I had no friends and I was living on the street so didn't even have a landlord to be chasing me for rent. So I don't actually know when it happened precisely.”

“How did you find out?”

“I bumped into a lass from Leeds that I had kind of had a tumble or two with a few months before at one of the poor houses I dossed in for a while. When she didn't know me from Adam I knew something was up.”

“You mean you met a girl you had slept with before and she didn't give you the time of day? That is what told you there was a problem?” Helen smirked.

“Don't give me that look,” Tobias laughed, “That had never happened to me before, pretty sure that it hasn't happened again since either if you must know. I am a fairly memorable type in that regard even if I do say so myself. So yes, that little encounter did tell me that something was up. I had no idea what exactly was happening though.”

“So how did you end up here?”

“They came and found me. It wasn't like it is now of course. When a seer managed to locate a new arrival back in those days it could take days, weeks or months for them to get an operative out to meet up with you. They didn't even have a London office in those days so they ended up sending a guy from Belgium of all places to fetch me. I was actually one of the first people to work in this office when they founded it not long after.”

“This office has been here since then?”

“Pretty much,” Tobias explained, “apart from a brief period during the blitz where we had to evacuate out the city, we have been here the whole time. It's a good location, nice and central.”

“I would have thought people like you would have been able to prevent any bombs landing on you during the war. Controlling fate and all that, doesn't that have some perks?”

“One, I never said we controlled fate, we just influence it,” Tobias explained waving a finger in Helen's direction, “two, war brings with it chaos. War is one of those wild cards, apparently conflict generates way more variables than normal, and involves far more personal timelines interacting on a daily basis. It is far harder for them to see things properly in a war of that scale. At least that is what they say.”

“I see, did you get to stay somewhere nice outside the city during the war then?”

“Small place called Bletchley Park,” Tobias grinned, “you might have heard of it.”

“Isn't that where they broke the codes and such?”

“Exactly, there were some really interesting people there I tell you. First time some of ours had to marvel at the ingenuity of the regular genius types. In a weird way I actually enjoyed those years, even if I did miss the old city.”

“It must be interesting getting to witness so much history.” Hearing Tobias talk was starting to make Helen consider the possibility that this whole situation might not be as bad as she first feared. Providing she was willing to accept that she must be crazy to be accepting all this in the first place.

“It can be I suppose, I don't really think of it that way. It can get boring too though, I tell you some decades can drag. I thought the damn nineteen seventies were never going to bloody end.”

Before Tobias could elaborate any further the receptionist called him over and said that Mr Drewer was going to be busy today, so they should report to Mrs Peabody who was going to do what they called the 'debriefing', that they asked all new arrivals to do. Helen figured she may as well play along and see what happened.

FATE Inc Chapter three - Morning Meeting

2009-11-02T16:06:00.000-08:00

Mr Drewer was beginning to dislike this day more and more.

There were few things that irritated him more than the unexpected but one of them was when the unexpected made people anxious. Anxiety was rarely productive in his experience. Anxious people were generally irritable, annoying and worst of all stopped making rational, reasoned decisions and started being emotional. Mr Drewer much preferred it if anxiety could be avoided completely.

Unfortunately for Mr Drewer there was certainly a lot of anxiety to be found in the control room at this precise moment in time. Mostly it was almost visibly emanating from the poor central observation technician that had three of the company's most senior managers pacing around him and asking him lots of questions he generally didn't seem to have any answers for. Well, to be precise one of them was pacing, but Malcom Jenkins, the companys most senior observer, was pacing with more than enough ferocity to more than make up for that Mr Drewer was quite comfortable standing calmly at the back of the room.

It didn't help that Jenkins was not the smallest of gentleman in girth and a man of his stature pacing ferociously made for an amount of sweat, and with it body odour, that just reminded Mr Drewer of another good reason for anxiety being best avoided.

The manilla folder and the unexpected new arrival this morning had been just the start of things that Mr Drewer was going to have to tolerate today. No sooner had he dispatched Tobias Gordon to intercept the new arrival than he had received several phone calls from a very anxious observation department informing him that there was something going on that he should probably be aware of. That as it turned out was an understatement, a rather serious one, and it wasn't just something that he needed to be aware of, it was something that Jenkins most definitely needed to be aware of as well, and Mr Drewer had thought it prudent to involve Mr Nixon as well, the companys head of security. So now the three of them had left their secretaries hastily cancelling their meetings and clearing their schedules while they had made their way down to the control room to try and get the details of what had actually happened.

It wasn't so much that the three of them didn't understand what they were being told. They were all experienced and would be the type of employee that would generally be referred to as having been 'around the block' more than a couple of times. It was more that what they were being told didn't make any sense. It was one of those situations where what was happening shouldn't have been possible but clearly was happening. It couldn't be denied, had been checked, double checked and triple checked and was most definitely not an error or a false positive. It had happened. It just shouldn't have been possible.

Mr Drewer felt it was his responsibility to try and focus people. There must be something they were missing here. Things like this don't just happen. People is his line of work know full well that nothing actually just happens any more. The universe may have its own ebb and flow but for centuries now there have been people pulling at the strings, they didn't always know what they were doing, or what the results would be, but they were there pulling and poking. Whatever had happened in the hours between him leaving the office the night before and this morning had probably not just happened.

He had asked the observation technician, who clearly wished this hadn't happened on his shift, to explain again slowly.

“It's like it all just started to unravel sir,” explained the technician, whose name was Tim Watkins and according to the personnel report Mr Drewer had retrieved from the system before starting the meeting was a pretty normal member of staff, as normal as any of them were at any rate, “It started out slow at first. The night shift noted some slight variations in the far fringes of the possibility map. Nothing that we hadn't seen before, at least that's what we figured to start with, just some minor adaptations in some of the more obscure time-lines, but it accelerated.”

“and now the central timeline actually ends again?” Mr Drewer asked, repeating the question he had asked several times over the last ten minutes hoping someone had made a mistake.

“Yes sir, within an hour it went from extending out beyond our longest perception projections as it has been for years and then suddenly it was just ending. You could actually see the graphs moving on the main display. It was like the timeline was just shrinking, some kind of cascade effect. All the surrounding lines started retracting first, and some even completely collapsed, then before we had even had a chance to confirm those periphery retractions the central timeline started to collapse.”

Mr Drewer stroked his chin pensively, “how is that even possible?”

“Just what I wanted to know, exactly what I wanted to know” Jenkins interrupted, clearly exasperated, “this is beyond any tampering that I have ever seen. I mean how long did it take us to prepare the big twist in eighty-nine?”

“Two years, nine months, two weeks, four days and about three hours, give or take six minutes.” Mr Drewer answered almost instinctively in a way that clearly made the others in the room uncomfortable, “and two hundred and sixteen field operatives.” he added for good measure.

“Your precision scares me sometimes Drewer,” Jenkins muttered, “but that is exactly my point. Even if the opposition somehow managed to pull off a major coup, I have never, ever, in over a hundred years serving as chief observer, or in any of the records going back to the formation of the company, seen anything like this. We know what it takes to shift the timelines even a little, months of work, lots of time, resources and operatives and at best that usually only gives us a chance of moving things in the direction we wanted. Watkins how is this possible?”

Watkins didn't seem to be sure whether he was actually supposed to answer that since it was clear none of them knew. “We honestly don't know sir. I have checked over the data several times.” he said stammering a little, still clearly nervous, “This has been confirmed by all the regular cross processing rules. I even ran it past three of the old mystics just to be sure and they all show the same thing.”

“We have never seen a timeline ending this early either,” Jenkins interrupted again, still pacing backwards and forwards behind poor Watkins, “I mean the timeline ending this year? That is plain insanity, the earliest date we have ever seen before this morning was in 2248, and even that I am not sure was an accurate reading. I mean we all know 2252, and the importance there, but we have managed to keep that at bay for two decades now. Did you check the corollary data Watkins?”

“Ye sir we did.” Watkins answered quickly, “twice actually, just to be sure.”

Jenkins seemed to pick up his pace, “We need to control this, I presume we have this information under lock-down.”

“Of course sir. Procedures were followed to the letter, as soon as I was aware of the scale I called you all immediately. The readings aren't made available till after processing anyway as you know, so this hasn't reached beyond the actual seers themselves and the senior observer on shift, Leah James last night, and me on this morning. I gave the processors the emergency cover data as instructed by security protocols, so the rest of the company should be in the dark.”

“I presume your people have confirmed the same thing as the observers Mr Nixon?” Mr Drewer inquired, looking toward the head of security on the other side of the room, who had so far just listened and remained silent.

Mr Drewer respected Mr Nixon immensely, he was not one given to panic or anxiety, something he personally thought was essential for someone who looked after the company's security. He was aware that many people considered Mr Nixon to be someone that any normal person, even immortal people, should be well within their rights to be scared by and afraid of. Not just because of what he did, but also because at six foot four he was an imposing and very well built man. The type of man you immediately presumed knew several ways to kill you with his bare hands. He also had the most startling eyes. Even Mr Drewer had to admit that Mr Nixon's eyes could easily unsettle you. Maybe it was just the jarring nature of seeing a tall Indian gentleman with sky blue eyes, something you just weren't used to seeing, but they weren't just blue, they were the most startling, piercing and unnerving sky blue you could possibly imagine. The kind of eyes that in this day and age you might have presumed were a result of the person wearing some of those fake contact lens, only if in this case his eyes had been like that since the time of the crusades by all accounts.

“Yes we confirmed it as well,” Mr Nixon replied. He actually preferred to be referred to as just Nixon, but had given up trying to get Mr Drewer to drop the mister some time ago, “It does indeed seem like like this was some kind of sudden event, we had no inkling something was up. All the usual channels were as normal security wise, we haven't even heard a peep out of any of our contacts. No street chatter, even the carnival folk weren't twitchy before this morning.”

“Nothing at all? I don't like nothing, don't like the sound of that at all,” Jenkins muttered, “do you think this could be sabotage? Could they have done this?”

Nixon shook his head slowly, “I doubt it, to me this seems like some kind of freak paradox or naturally occurring time shift, it's not without precedent. I want to have some of my guys look through the patterns first before I make any judgements, but we might be dealing with something the universe has decided to throw at us.”

“You don't suspect anything at all?”

“Not from the opposition anyway. If anything the early reports I am getting show a distinct lack of activity there. If this was some kind of mass manipulation attempt they would have needed to mobilise a lot of operatives or agents and I just haven't seen any evidence of that.”

“That's if you people are doing your jobs right.” Jenkins snapped to a sudden silence in the room. Poor Tim Watkins was seemingly very uncomfortable at the thought of being caught in a managerial crossfire, particularly if Nixon was involved.

Nixon though just laughed quietly and smiled, “Now you are just being ornery my friend. There is absolutely no need for us to lose our tempers and throw about blame. As I see it there is no blame to allocate here yet.”

“Precisely,” Mr Drewer echoed, “Malcolm please do try and calm down. However we do need to try and ascertain exactly what we are dealing with. I for one have no intention of seeing the world come to an end on my shift. Besides I have a holiday booked in the Seychelles for January and it would be most inconvenient if the world came to an end before we even get to Christmas.”

FATE Inc Chapter Two - Cappuccino and Quantum Physics

2009-11-01T13:38:00.000-08:00

Helen had sat there and listened for over an hour as Tobias explained what exactly had happened to her and how exactly they came to be there sitting across from each other and how exactly he knew all of this information in the first place. She was hearing the words he was saying in between the sips of his cappuccino alright, but she wasn’t quite taking it all in. As he finished trying to explain things for the second time she looked at him blankly again, something she had been doing rather a lot of since they had sat down at the coffee house.

It was one of those places that probably wanted you to consider it trendy and an attractive place to get your caffeine intake but you knew full well there was most likely another half dozen of them with slightly different yet almost identical styling within walking distance. A dishevelled looking tramp and a slightly bewildered, possibly hungover, but not unattractive brunette who might just still be wearing the same clothes she went out in the night before made for the most peculiar of breakfast partners. What the strange Irishman had been trying to explain to her was something far stranger then any of the theories about why they might be sat there together that had been forming in the minds of the other customers of the coffee house.

“So let me get this straight,” she interrupted him in full flow. “when you say that I don't really exist any more you don't mean that I might be dead, I'm just not alive?”

“Exactly, not dead, think of it more as being ‘misplaced’ by the universe. Let me explain again, did you understand what I explained about how time works and the parallel theory?”

Helen shook her head slowly, “not exactly no.” Which wasn’t entirely true, she was beginning to grasp what he had been trying to explain, even if she found it unbelievable, going over it for a third time wasn’t going to hurt.

“Ok, let me break it down again slowly. Every choice every person makes has a number of possible outcomes yes? When your alarm clock goes off any given morning you could get out of bed there and then or you have the choice to lie in, keep sleeping and not go to work. That choice would mean that your day will play out in a very different way. Your life might even be very different, imagine you got fired for sleeping in for example, what you have is two or more very different scenarios of what might happen as a consequence of your decision.”

Helen nodded. “That much I can keep up with.”

“Good. Well, you see some freak, and they don’t tell front line guys like me the actual how of this bit so I don't know the details, figured out that it was possible to predict all these outcomes and with sufficient time and inclination you could, well, predict the future, or at least see all the possible futures as parallel time lines, as it were, that branch out from each and every decision. You getting this?”

“I think so.”

“Fine, now the problem with that is that there is quickly an incalculable number of possible futures with so many things interacting, there isn’t even a number big enough to describe the possible outcomes. In fact anyone who did have this ability was actually stark raving mad, they went insane with the amount of insight they got into all the possible futures. They had a really hard time telling which was the actual reality they lived in.”

“but someone did figure out a way?”

“Bingo! Now you're getting it. You see they discovered two things, firstly that it was possible to predict the most likely of these multiple futures but that these futures changed so quickly that the calculations changed almost every damn second.”

“Wouldn’t that make it impossible then?”

Tobias nodded, “if we were all normal yes it would be impossible, but not everyone is normal. Turned out that certain people through the course of history found they had a natural ability to not only comprehend these possibilities, but to predict them to a degree and not to be driven mad by the visions. They could switch it on and off as it were.”

“so they are kind of like fortune tellers?”

Tobias laughed out loud, “nah, those hacks? Those hacks are pure wannabes mostly, with one or two exceptions but that's not the point here.”

“Alternate futures and predicting the future I can just about wrap my head around,” Helen said sighing, “but what the hell happened to me this morning!”

“Yes, that’s the bit people always struggle with,” the tramp nodded, “what happens, in so far as I can ever get my head around it, is that from time to time all these possible futures reach a point, a paradox, they kind of collide and the timelines get themselves all ‘confused’ as it were. When that happens, something, or in your case, someone, can fall through the cracks.”

“Fall through the cracks?”

“Yeah, goes missing, drops out of the reality it is supposed to be in, and ends up stuck between them all. So things might end up in the right reality, this reality, but things have changed and what was might not be anymore. When the possible futures meet things can end up in the wrong timeline or disconnected from any timeline.”

“Disconnected? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“Well usually its just a pen or a pair of socks, something that isn't really missed or it's loss is dismissed as accidental. Now obviously sometimes, very rarely it’s something more substantial, something like you, or me.”

“Socks?” Helen said sceptically, “you are comparing me with socks?”

“No, but where do you think all those odd socks go to? Don’t just vanish into thin air you know.”

Helen chuckled softly, the Irishman had a certain rough charm to his words, an honesty that was somehow reassuring in as much as anything could be reassuring under the circumstances.

“Look what happened was that you got removed from history because our future, the real future, collided with another possible future where previous events meant you never existed, but obviously you did, thus you end up here in limbo. Alive and well, but with no past and no future, at least not in the real future”

“The real future?” Helen asked confused, “how the hell do you know which is the ‘real’ future if there are all these limitless possibilities?” She suddenly felt like she was getting into this, she wasn’t sure why but something was clicking.

“Now your thinking like us Helen, that’s good. To be honest I’m kinda fuzzy on this bit.”

“Fuzzy?” Helen raised an eyebrow, something told her that explaining this wasn't something that the Irishman was used to.

“Don’t give me that look, I just do the leg work, the guys upstairs are the brains,” he scowled, “Anyways it turns out that they realised that there was one true time thread carrying on through all the chaos and all the other possible alternate timelines were just ‘ghosts’ indicators of what might be., but they came across a problem…”

“What kind of a problem?”

“Well, it all ended, there came a point, would have been around the year 2252 by all accounts, that the world would just have ceased to exist, all the alternates time lines stopped with the end of the this one time line, the real timeline. So they realised that if they could change that one true timeline they might be able to avoid this end and sure enough with a little tinkering the true timeline is now running into infinity. It’s our jobs to keep it that way.”

“Stop!” Helen sighed grabbing a cigarette and lighting it up anxiously, “you’re crazy.”

“Maybe, but being immortal has that effect,” he smiled.

“That’s not funny, how can you be immortal?”

“You are too now,” he reminded her, “you are still here in flesh and blood, because well, you existed in the true timeline up to this point, but now you don’t because the true timeline was infected by another one and viola, limbo, you exist but you don’t. No-one knows who you are, and time doesn't recognise you any more to find the time to organise your death.”

“You mean I can't die now?”

“Well, I exaggerated a little there, you can actually die in the right circumstances, not sure what all the conditions are, but you can't be reckless and think walking in front of a bus won't hurt because it very much will. You still feel pain, just not in the same way and being disjointed has some other side-effects.”

“Side effects?”

“Not the time to be going into those,” Tobias muttered waving his hand randomly, “what we really need to get down to is whether or not you accept all this?”

“I’m not exactly sure what it is I am supposed to accepting.”

“The job, to work for FATE Incorporated and do your bit.”

Helen nodded, although she wasn’t sure why, none of this made much sense at all and she was fairly sure she’d wake up any minute now. She closed her eyes hoping to open them to find herself back in her nice pine floored bedroom.

No luck, just the bedraggled Irishman making shapes in his cappuccino froth with a fork.

Helen sighed, “FATE incorporated? Fate is a business now?”

“For want of a better word yes, I guess it is. Not into profit or anything like that though, our only mandate is the survival of the one true timeline.”

“You do realise how crazy this all sounds don’t you?”

“Totally, newcomers always have trouble adjusting, perfectly understandable given the circumstances. It was worse before people had episodes of Star Trek as reference to even prepare them for the possibility of shit like this” Tobias grinned, “you try explaining time and space mechanics to a seventeenth century farmer and then you’d understand, hell at least people these days comprehend the possibility” Helen couldn’t shake the feeling the wiry Irishman was somehow enjoying her obvious discomfort at the situation.

“Look,” he went on, “another hour, let me take you to the office, you can see your own file, realise that I’m not stark raving mad, and we get a move on.”

“You make it sound simple.”

“It is, you don’t really have a choice, unless you particularly like being homeless, penniless and having no identification. Your options are pretty slim I’d say. Although…” he paused, looking her up and down, “I could put you in touch with a decent pimp in King’s Cross if you’d rather.”

Helen coughed and threw him the kind of look that could stop a charging bull at ten paces.

“Just joking,” Tobias smiled raising his arms in mock surrender, “they are always telling me I need to improve my people skills.”

“Whoever they are, they are not wrong.” She retorted, “This has to be a crazy dream.”

Tobias laughed, “There isn’t a substance still around strong enough to induce shit like this now is there? Opium had quite a kick to it back in the day, but…” he trailed off almost wistfully

Helen slumped back and tried to compose herself, suddenly conscious of the fact she was still wearing her rather more revealing than is appropriate for breakfast clubbing clothes. She tried to comprehend why she was even listening to this bizarre Irishman, let alone allowing herself to believe that he might just be telling her the truth. If this was happening to someone else she’d probably have found it funny, she was a little warped like that. She almost smiled thinking about it like that, this would be a great prank to play on someone if it weren't for the whole waking up in a totally different world to the one you went to sleep in thing.

“Did my friends put you up to this?” she asked suddenly

Tobias just shook his head slowly, “listen, you can’t rationalise what just happened to you, no matter how hard you try. I understand that. Thinking it is a prank, even an elaborate one is a pretty common reaction amongst you newcomers. Come on though Helen, how would anyone have gotten you into bed with your ex, changed your locks and changed your phone? And do you really think they would have managed to convince old Misses Hudson next door to play along?”

“No, I suppose not.” Helen said, sighing deeply again and letting her head sink into her arms in front of her on the table.

“Listen, how about this? Come with me, see the office, then if you still don’t believe me you can walk away.”

“I need to go powder my nose” She said getting up quickly.

“At this hour of the morning….oh wait, that’s a polite way of saying you need a piss isn’t it…sure, we have all the time in the world.”

Helen made her way through the café to the toilets at the back, all the other patrons looked normal enough, the black cabs and couriers fighting each other for space on the road outside looked normal enough and an hour’s worth of coffees were fast convincing her that if this were a dream she’d have woken up quite a while ago.

She sighed again; the signs weren’t good at all. She glanced back at the table and Tobias grinned back at her. Whilst she didn’t buy all this ‘fate’ crap she didn’t see she had many options open. It wasn’t the first conclusion she would have reached for to explain the morning’s events but it was all she had to go on. Hangovers didn't get this bad, she was fairly sure she hadn't gone crazy, and for all the insanity of the words she heard coming out of his mouth, something told her that this Tobias character wasn't some kind of talented con man. In fact she had a strange feeling that lying wasn't one of his strengths at all. There was nothing else for it, once she had relieved herself of the other effects of having four big mugs of cappuccino already she may as well go and see what this office was he was talking about...

Welcome to my little experiment!

2009-10-30T12:49:00.000-07:00

I have taken part in Nanowrimo three times before, and only completing it once. So when I thought about entering this year I decided to things a little differently! You see I love writing. I don't really care whether anyone thinks I am any good as I am usually my own worst critic, but there is one thing I am bad...really bad...at and that is actually finishing work. Even the one year taking part in Nanowrimo that did yield 50,000 words and past the target it didn't yield a finsihed story because I wrote more earlier in the planned story than I had anticipated and still to this day haven't finished it up.

So that being the case this year I have decided to do it a little more publically. Namely by publishing the chapters as I go throughout the month. I am hoping that it will both give me some motivation to keep going if I know someone is reading (one of you will be enough for me) and any inspiration from comments or suggestions as people (or person, again not shooting too high here) read along.

There is also the story itself. This is actually going to be a story that I first sketched out and wrote some snippets for over eight years ago now. I have just never forced myself to find the time to pull it together into something coherent. So I figured that this year was a good opportunity to take that story and finally let loose on it and hopefully turn it into something worthwhile.

Usually I edit my writing...a lot...so this will be an interesting experiment in that regard as well. Even when I have done this in previous years I always felt I couldn't show anyone what I wrote during Nanowrimo because it was unedited, it was raw, and I feared it was awful. So this is one factor that still has me doubting this is a good idea, but I really want to tell this particular story and well, I need to kick myself up the rear sometimes and force some forward momentum out of myself!

So this is it, forward momentum!

A slight dislaimer upfront as well, I do still have many of the original snippets I wrote for this story so I will be aiming for more than the 50,000 words if possible, only because I have some written already as my posts today will demonstrate there is already a prologue and a first chapter and scatterings of some other stages later on in the story (if they remain in the story as I write this time!)

The story by the way is called FATE Inc and I hope you enjoy it! (or at least what I finish of it!)

FATE Inc Chapter One - Introducing Helen

2009-10-29T17:16:00.000-07:00

Now that we have briefly met Mr Drewer and the teaser of a prologue, time to introduce our protagonist. Her name is Helen and she is about to have a very bad morning...

File #1 – Introducing Helen - The Morning After

Helen groaned as the alarm clock stung her head into as close a form a consciousness as her decidedly hung over head would allow. Except it didn’t sound like her alarm clock.

Groggily she looked up at the bedside table…except the bedside table wasn’t there.

It had been there when she went to bed.

In fact she couldn’t remember drinking last night, and certainly not as much as the pounding in her head or the taste in her mouth was telling her she had. Confused she rolled over…

She certainly didn’t remember anything about the naked man lying next to her.

It looked for all the world like her ex-boyfriend Marcus, but he was very much ex last time she had checked and didn’t have bleached blond hair. Rubbing her eyes she glanced out across her bedroom, except, in what was becoming an alarming trend already; it wasn’t quite the bedroom she recalled going to sleep in the night before. It had the same walls, height and dimensions certainly, but the walls had somehow changed colour and someone had painted over her adorable teak stained wooden floorboards with white emulsion.

She definitely hadn’t put that full-length poster of a scantily clad Britney Spears on the far wall either. Thoroughly confused she pulled herself up on the bed and noticed various items of her clubbing clothes…her little red dress that always had the desired effect and more worryingly her nice black lace bra strewn across the floor. She looked down at herself…she was naked. Which was odd considering she was absolutely certain she had gone to bed early, not to mention alone, and in her nice snug Winnie the pooh pyjamas with a steaming mug of hot chocolate.

This had to be a dream…a bad ‘what if’ type of dream she thought to herself.

She closed her eyes and opened them tentatively. The blond and now snoring version of her odious ex boyfriend was still there though.

Dazed and more then a little more confused Helen leant down and looked for her dressing gown. No dressing gown to be found. In fact, apart from the obviously hastily discarded party dress and underwear none of her clothes were there, not even the pile of dirty laundry she always left to accumulate for too long in the far corner.

Her wardrobe was missing too.

This was a very odd dream she thought to herself even if she did feel quite awake. Gingerly she pulled herself out the bed and reached down for her dress and pulled it on quickly, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable at being naked in the presence of the person she had come of late to see as a particularly loathsome specimen of a man. Although taking all the signs into account she hadn’t found him that loathsome last night, or at least in the last night that had preceded the ‘this morning’ she found herself in, despite the fact that none of this bore any resemblance to the ‘this morning’ she had been expecting.

“Snap out of it for Christ’s sake” she mused to herself, “I need to wake up.”

Instead it was her sleeping bedfellow that stirred. He turned around groaning and lazily opened an eye, glancing at Helen before slumping back in his pillow.

“Man I was hoping it had been a bad dream.” He muttered, “you need to go.”

Helen sat at the edge of the bed and just looked at him blankly for a second.

“I need to go? This is my flat!” She stammered.

He rolled over and raised an eyebrow, “Your flat? Jesus, I know some women can be clingy, but a one night stand does not give you residence.” He mumbled, rubbing his stubble slowly.

“A one night stand? Is that what you call it after all this time Marcus?”

“Pardon?” he looked at her quizzically, “when I go out for a night out with the lads and pull a total stranger for some not so great sex, yeah, I’d call that a one night stand.”

Helen wasn’t sure whether being labelled a total stranger or ‘not so great’ was worse.

“Look,” he continued, “I’m sorry ok, I used you, I wanted it, you were there and willing, I’m a bastard ok, lesson learnt, now get outta my flat.”

Whoever ‘this’ Marcus was he wasn’t any more of a morning person than she remembered him being.

“You really don’t know me do you?”

“What was your name again? Can’t say I remember last night much, no, I don’t know you.”

Helen glared at him, “we were together almost three years? Met on Holiday in Greece? You hate my sister? Any of this ringing any bells?” Marcus sat himself up and stared at her. “I think you have me mistaken for someone else lady, I really don’t know you.”

“You think I am in the business of going out and bedding total strangers after a boozy night?”

He glanced around the room before looking back at her, “I think that’s your bra hanging from my ceiling fan.”

Helen looked up and quickly snatched her underwear back down suddenly blushing profusely. “I’m really not like this…I don’t understand what’s going on…Marcus is this some kind of sick joke? This is my flat god damn it! I dumped you three months ago.”

“You dumped me?” he laughed, “you have lost it lady, look we met for the first time last night, you found me attractive and came home with me and were only too glad to rip my clothes off, beginning and end of story. Now please leave.”

Helen couldn’t help it, but started to sob into her hands.

“Christ woman, don’t turn on the waterworks now, look just leave and feel free to tell your friends you pulled a total pig, who turned you out in the morning and you never want to see me again.” He was right about the last part at least Helen thought to herself, “but this is my flat.” She sobbed.

“You’re getting on my nerves now,” Marcus got up and stomped round the room picking up the rest of Helen’s things and tossed them at her abruptly, “I won’t ask again, GET OUT!”

With that he unceremoniously grabbed her by the arm and lead her to the door. “I won’t ask again, OUT! You are seriously freaking me out lady”

Helen couldn’t keep up, Still crying, she couldn’t even bring herself to resist as he pushed her out into the hallway outside his flat and slammed the door behind her. She turned and started hammering on the door, “Marcus you bastard let me back in, this is my flat, I’ll call the police.”

She screamed.

Silence.

Apart that was, from the creaking of a door down the hall opening. “Are you alright young lady?” a voice inquired from the next door down.

“Thank god!” Helen thought to herself, it was Mrs Hudson, her neighbour, she would remember her and sort this whole mess out.

“Mrs Hudson, please my ex-boyfriend has stolen my flat somehow, please help me, call the police.”

“How do you know my name?” The old lady asked.

“Mrs Hudson? It’s me Helen, I’ve lived next door to you for two years now. You must remember me, I look after your cats when you go away to visit your son in Cornwall?”

“I don’t have a cat,” she said thinking for a moment, “or a son for that matter.”

“You don’t remember me either do you?”

The old lady looked at her strangely, “do you want me to call someone love? You look distressed.”

“No, I don’t think it would help.” Helen replied trying hard not to burst into tears again.

“If you’re sure,” shrugged the lady that might or might not have been Mrs Hudson, and closed her door.

Helen slumped down in the hallway and looked at the pile of stuff Marcus had ditched out with her. A black silk neck scarf, her bra, which she quickly slipped back on under her dress, a pair of Gucci shoes she didn’t remember owning, a small denim jacket and a small black leather handbag were all she had to go on.

The Gucci shoes were nice though.

Sighing she rummaged through the handbag hoping to find something, anything, that might tell her what the hell was going on. Much to her relief her mobile phone was there, and it was the mobile phone she remembered having. This had to be a dream she grumbled to herself as she made her way outside hoping to get some reception on her phone.

As the big black doors to the apartment block swung closed behind her she scanned the street, everything looked pretty normal. Everything looked like she had expected it to look like, although she couldn’t help shake the feeling that a tree or two had disappeared overnight as well from the row of neatly kept saplings that lined the pavement opposite.

She sat herself down on the sandstone steps and turned the phone on. Helen wasn’t totally surprised by the fact that her address book wasn’t on this phone, but at least she knew her mother’s number off by heart, it was as good a place as any to start. She dialled the number only to be met by a very formal female voice advising her that there were insufficient funds on her phone and she could top her credit up by pressing ‘1’.

“’My phone isn’t even pay-as-you-go” she muttered to herself as she flipped the mobile closed dejectedly and really hoped she was going to wake up soon.

“It gets easier don’t worry.” A coarse Irish accent sounded from behind her.

She looked up to see a slightly bedraggled looking man standing a few feet away. His dirty red spiked hair looked like it was in dire need of washing and shaving clearly wasn’t something he had done in a while. “Oh great,” Helen sighed, “now the vagrants want to chat me up, look I don’t have any change and can’t give you a cigarette so just piss off ok? I’m having a bad morning.” She snapped.

“Ow touchy this morning aren’t we?”

“Didn’t I just tell you to piss off?”

“Well, if you hadn’t noticed this is a public street, was just being polite.”

Helen glared at him with the type of ‘don’t fuck with me’ stare that suggested he might want to consider backing off, but the Irishman didn’t seem phased.

“Tobias Gordon at your service Helen.” He said making a lame attempt at a bow.

“For the last time piss off!”

“As you wish,” he shrugged and turned to leave.

Then it hit her, “Wait! How the hell did you know my name?”

Tobias stopped and looked round slowly with just the slightest hint of a devilish grin. “You just told me to piss off.”

Helen stood up and marched after him, “How did you know my name?” she demanded. Tobias faced her and she took a good look at him, his clothing wasn’t doing any more for him then his hair, a long dark leather jacket fell loosely to his ankles hiding beneath it a green woollen jumper that looked like it hadn’t seen the inside of a washing machine in some time. His worn blue jeans and a pair of heavy looking Doc Martens didn’t look any better.

“How do you know my name?”

“Someone told me.”

“Who?”

“Someone who knew you would be here, someone that knew you’d be turfed out of that apartment as a bad one night stand, and someone that has something to offer you.”

“You gonna tell me who this someone is or do I have to play twenty questions all morning with a tramp?”

“Good one, you’re handling this better then most, you gonna come with me or do I have to stand here and play twenty questions with someone doing a good impression of a prostitute?”

Helen self-consciously pulled the denim jacket up over her shoulders quickly and sighed. “Come with you where?”

“Just for coffee.”

“Just for coffee!”

“Is there an echo out here? That’s right, coffee is good first thing in the morning after the kind of night you’ve had.”

“I really don’t remember the kind of night I’m supposed to have had.”

“No, you won’t since you didn’t actually have the kind of night that you have found yourself having had this morning.”

Helen stared at him for a moment. If this was a dream it was the strangest dream she had ever had.

“Look, I know who you think you are, and those people obviously don’t. I know you think that’s clearly your flat, and whilst to you it is clearly your flat, it clearly isn’t at the same time. You don’t have any identification to show the police, and I can guarantee they won’t believe you,” he elaborated, “all I’m asking for is an hour of your time. Heaven knows you’ll have enough of that, and I’ll even pay for the coffees, so what do you say?”

Helen stared at him blankly.

“It’s just an hour, what have you got to lose? We can go to that nice place with the seats outside just down the street, plenty of people around, public and all that”

She shrugged, and was struggling to take it all in, she didn’t see that she had much choice but to join the bedraggled Irishman for a coffee. She wasn’t certain but something seemed to nag at her from the inside that she was supposed to follow him. Whatever it was didn’t explain why.

FATE Inc Prologue - Mr Drewer

2009-10-27T04:34:00.001-07:00

“The best way to predict the future is to invent it.”

- Alan Kay -

London – a cold March morning

Damp....

That’s the only word Mr Drewer could use to describe it, he hated the wet, but hated this even more. For all his years he couldn’t bring himself to like the London weather. At least with wet you knew where you stood, if it was raining you needed a good umbrella, or even better a roof over your head, preferably with four stout walls, and if you were particularly lucky a good log fire.

This weather though was just plain damp.

It wasn’t raining by any definition you could soundly argue with, say, a good current affairs presenter, but it got you wet, it got you saturated in fact, almost without you noticing. Mr Drewer couldn’t feel any rain drops against his cheeks, but his long grey jacket grew darker and darker as he trudged towards the underground station. His neat grey hair growing less neat, and more matted with every pace.

It was just damp, not even a drizzle really, you can feel a drizzle reasoned Mr Drewer, and this didn’t even impair your view sufficiently to qualify as fog.

He stuck his plain black umbrella above his head and continued, not that it seemed to help all that much as he walked through the damp. There weren’t many occasions when he welcomed setting foot inside an underground station, but this morning was one of those rare exceptions. Even this station was better then the damp. Lower Ormond Road, the one he used every morning, was particularly grim, even on a scale of other underground stations.

He shook the umbrella off purposefully as he descended the steps down under the pavement.

It was busier then normal, the damp always did that he mused to himself, but busy was preferable to damp. At any rate he was the stern looking type that meant most people gave him a wide berth even when space was at a premium. He walked exactly the same twenty-six paces that he took every morning to the gate that lead to the Victoria Line. He approached the two guards just like he did every morning and explained that he had lost his season ticket, was horribly late for a very important appointment, and asked if they would be kind enough to let him through.

They did, just as they did every morning.

Mr Drewer had that kind of effect on people.

Not all employees of the company had that particular ability, but Mr Drewer had developed it into an art form. Whilst ‘selling sand to the Arabs’ or ‘Ice to the Eskimos’ were both atrocious metaphors in his opinion, he had once convinced the Manchester city council planning authority that solar power was the way forward. In his defence the subsequent power shortages were preferable to the fallout that would have occurred had they chosen to build the nuclear power station instead.

He just had a talent for making people believe him, which was useful in his profession.

He often wondered if he had ever been as gullible as London Underground employees, or the members of the Manchester city council planning authority before he had been recruited into the ranks. Not that they had a London Underground four hundred and fifty six years ago, but if they had he really hoped he hadn’t been that weak willed.

He moved down to the platform, just in time to step aboard the train, the beauty of having inside information was that the trains were never late for you, even if they were for everyone else. He barely broke his stride as he marched through the doors and took his usual place on the third seat to the left in the fourth carriage from the front.

The chances of getting a seat every morning on the Underground are pretty much statistically absurd, let alone the same seat, but when you were in the business of logistics like Mr Drewer was it was surprisingly easy. Being at the right place at the right time was pretty much essential in his line of work.

He flicked open his copy of the Telegraph and scanned the headlines; it was always nice to read about the accomplishments of the other departments. Today’s highlights were the ending of two international conflicts, the start of a war, rising inflation and a last minute reprieve for the sub post office of a small village in Wales which had been due to close.

A local pensioner reported that it was ‘very sensible’ of the Post Office to keep rural services running for the community. Mr Drewer smiled to himself, if only they knew that all that fuss was over a single letter that would be sent next week by that pensioner, one Mavis Knowles, and absolutely had to get to it’s destination at a certain time. He knew that no-one would ever know that that letter was every bit as integral to the ongoing survival of the planet as the fact that the UN general secretary had been successful in his negotiations with militant rebels in the middle east.

The self-important politicians of the world would have a nervous breakdown if they knew their scheming and attempts at manipulation had about the same impact on the future of the planet as a single raindrop does in making a tree grow. Fate was funny like that; little things like Mrs Knowles letter often had a bigger impact then any of the latest trade embargos or political brinkmanship.

Working with fate, or F.A.T.E incorporated, as it was now known was even funnier, if you had a slightly twisted outlook on what qualified as humorous. Mr Drewer had just finished filling in the crossword as the train pulled up to his stop, he was never too sure why he felt obliged to fill in a puzzle he knew the answers to, but did so all the same. It was part of his routine and routine was important to Mr Drewer.

His mobile phone vibrated slowly as the train came to a stop. Flicking up and cover and reading the text message that had been sent to him he turned and smiled at the rather miserable looking lady who had been sitting next to him.

Well, it passed as a smile at least; good humour was not one of Mr Drewer’s stronger assets.

“Cheer up,” he quipped quietly, observing she was reading an article about a rollover Jackpot in that night’s lottery, “might be the day to buy a ticket, you never know.”

The woman stared back at him quizzically and raised an eyebrow. Londoners were not used to people speaking to them on the Underground, let alone strangers, unless they were inquiring as to the possibility of a charitable donation.

Mr Drewer shrugged and got off the train, glancing at his watch he noted he was almsot precisely thirty seconds later then he usually would have been. He picked up his pace slightly to compensate.

He did wish that they wouldn’t drop those last minute jobs on him. Whilst sure there was a very good reason the miserable looking lady needed to win the lottery that night, he did wish there had been a field operative available. He only had a certain tolerance for conversing with the masses, even if they didn’t feel inclined to converse back.

He wondered how the lady would describe him exactly when telling her children of the stranger that prompted her to buy that winning lottery ticket. He made a mental note to check her file later to make sure she wasn’t too unflattering when the time came.

He checked his watch as he stepped back out into the damp. Good, back on schedule, he thought to himself.

He turned and walked the short distance out of the Tottenham Court Road tube station and round the corner onto New Oxford Street before making his way down to Bloomsbury Way. The office itself was just another anonymous London building, but that of course was the intention. The beauty of London, and cities like it was that people rarely noticed things that lay right in front of them. People could come and go as they pleased and pretty much no-one would notice. The more observant might have noticed that those people coming and going from this particular office rarely seemed to change, and the even more eagle eyed that happened to pass by everyday might have noticed that those people never really seemed to age any either.

That was another perk of the job, or at least they called it a perk. Mr Drewer had gone through a phase of wishing that time had stopped for him a decade or two earlier then it did. The aches and pains of a fifty eight year old body were bad enough without them being preserved perfectly since the fifteen forties. He had become accustomed to it now. You had to really; being technically immortal would have been a fairly miserable existence otherwise.

The office itself appeared to be just another of the older office blocks of central London that had been ‘renovated’ in the Seventies and was now a fairly nondescript edifice of concrete and glass. Uniform grey blocks protruded out at odd angles at the side of each window. Mr Drewer was sure there was good reason for the architectural obsession with concrete at that time but couldn’t quite remember what. He couldn’t keep up with the work of all the other departments, but he distinctly remembered the company facilities manager apologising in advance for the eyesore, but explaining that it was vital to keep the building from looking incongruous with the rest of the street. If all their neighbours were going down the ugly concrete look then the company would have to follow suit. Not that it was seen as ‘ugly concrete’ at the time, misguided architects the world over were certain they were ushering in the ‘brave new world’ of the twenty first century.

Sometimes Mr Drewer wished he’d been able to warn them.

There were rules about things like that though; strictly not allowed the whole ‘letting them know their future’ thing. It was always far too messy. Walking up the steps to the office he had the strangest of feelings. The feeling that something was different, or misplaced...or quite possibly...just wrong. He paused for a moment to consider this, he didn't like such feelings creeping up on him. It wasn't normal and it was generally not indicative of him being about to have a good day.

He nodded to Tony the doorman as the door was opened for him and forced another of his weak smiles for the receptionist Hillary.

“Morning Mr Drewer,” she chimed, “there’s a new starter to be picked up today.”

“Really?” he asked, it wasn’t often someone in his position was surprised.

“Yes, the observation department do apologise,” she explained, “it was a last minute things apparently, something to do with conflicting interpersonal event horizons or something like that, you know how I am with the technical mumbo jumbo.”

“It was a cock-up then.”

“Yes Mr Drewer. Most likely”

“The file is on my desk?”

“Yes Mr Drewer, with your coffee.”

“Thank you Hillary, have a good day.” He said as he turned and entered the elevator, the door sliding open conveniently in front of him. Even amongst the other employees his sense of timing was regarded as unnerving. Mr Drewer never actually seemed to have to open a door, wait for a lift or stand aside for anyone coming the other way. It just kind of happened around him.

His days were always timed immaculately, you could say that he took everything that FATE Inc was about and crafted a perfectly efficient working day each and every day he entered the office. Not only was he not used to surprises he did not like them at all. So it was with slight annoyance that he eyed the brown manila folder on his desk when he entered his office on the fifteenth floor. He sighed and took a sip of his coffee for a moment before picking the folder up and scanning the summary page at the front. Noting that this one could have been picked up earlier, but was certainly a strange anomoly he made a quick note to ask Hillary to draft up a stern reprimand for whoever the duty manager was on the observation shifts recently, and another to send the file down to research to have them give it a once over, better safe than sorry.

Switching his computer on, he flicked open his old leather bound file-o-fax to see who he had available for the pickup whilst the grey machine whirred and kicked into life. It looked like he didn’t have a choice, it would have to be Tobias Gordon, hardly his preferred option for what was often a tricky assignment, but all his other greeters were otherwise engaged.

This kind of thing was why he hated surprises. He rapped his fingers nervously on the tabletop as he waited for the computer to let him log in. He was now eight minutes behind schedule as well. He just had to hope that Gordon wouldn’t make a mess of this one.

‘Hoping’ wasn’t something that came naturally to him either though….