"FIRST, you've got to sign a form."
The man, who seemed as cool as a cucumber compared to Amelia and the commuter-who-was-not-a-commuter, only took a moment to present a PortScreen from the inside of his suit's jacket. Amelia wondered what else he had stored in there.
The blue glow lit the man's face only partly; his sunglasses — Who else would wear sunglasses at night? She thought — stubbornly keeping his features in shadow. He offered the PortScreen to Amelia first, and it took only a moment to read the title.
"A confidentiality clause?" Yet it made sense. If what Gerald and his superior had already stated was true, that many lives were at stake and the whole secret-conspiracy aura could be blown, then information would have to be safeguarded. Amelia tried not to think about what would happen if someone happened to let slip.
"Of course." The man tapped the screen, causing the document to scroll down a little. "Just sign down there."
Hardly trusting such a shady operative — Who am I kidding? This whole thing is shady — she read the entire document (okay, about seventy-five percent of it) before crossing the line with her signature. Most of the paragraphs had been stating how the program in general could not be held responsible for any injury, death, or terminal affect, etc., etc., and continued to list reasons why secrecy was critical. By signing that form, Amelia realized, she would need to continue lying to her cousin.
But it was too late to take it back — her fellow interviewee was already holding the rectangular device, and, by peeking over her shoulder, learnt that her name was Audrie Sesam, as her signature indicated.
The man put the PortScreen back in an unknown (probably huge) pocket in his jacket once Audrie handed it back to him, and seemed to almost smile in satisfaction, like they were cute chihuahuas that had done some neat tricks.
"I'm here to provide you with information, but this knowledge cannot be misused. I'm sure you understand that?"
Amelia nodded, seeing Audrie do the same out of the corner of her eye. "Good." The man dipped his head. "You can call me George. All of your questions will now be answered."
It took a few moments before it clicked in that Amelia was finally — finally — get some actual information. Her stomach churned a little at the thought, though that might have been because of the bad toilet smell that shrouded them. Before she could open her mouth, though, Audrie dove in:
"What's the technology behind the time machine?"
It took both George and Amelia back. Such a thing hadn't even crossed her mind, as she'd never much been the technical type. Hands-on practicality was her thing, and she privately doubted learning the names of a bunch of mechanisms was a priority.
"Neither of you have yet the clearance to access that tidbit of information," George spoke firmly, and Audrie slumped in disappointment. "However," he continued, causing her to perk again with anticipation, "I believe I can share that you can compare inter-timensional travel to your breath on a pane of glass;
"The condensation in this case is our world and the dimension we live in," George continued, and Amelia was glad that he had used such a comparison, else she would've been completely lost, "and the world outside of the glass are other, unknown dimensions. In order to time travel successfully, we do not try to enter the glass directly to get to the landscape outside, per say, but rather insert ourselves into the glass pane and travel within it."
And Amelia was lost again. Her companion, however, looked positively delighted. "That's exactly what I thought!" She exclaimed, her eyes twinkling. "Generating enough power to enter the dimensional cycle, and calculating the approximate landing range, all count on the mass distance from period to period." And now she turned to the curly-haired young woman. "Which is, in this case, about thirty-five million years."
Blinking, Amelia turned to George. "After ERAA has been initiated, can the public follow into the Jurassic Period?" Daryl weighed heavily on her mind; would she be abandoning him to pursue a future free of pollution and destruction, but riddled with dinosaurs? If, she reminded herself. If she decided to do it.
But it was obvious to her heart what the answer would be.
George hesitated, but only for a second. "Of course. Immediate family of the Jurassic settlers would be granted passage, of course," Amelia breathed a quiet sigh of relief, ignoring the niggling at the back of her mind — of fake reassurances and blackmail. "And they would be followed by those who could pay their way, such as politicians and celebrities."
Amelia felt a momentary bolt of shock, but that too made sense. Though she could hardly imagine the offspring of Beyoncé traipsing through mosquito-infested tropical jungles. (And the mosquitoes won't be the most dangerous things out there, she thought darkly.)
That rang forth another question. "And the dinosaurs? How will the armed forces," she said these words with more malice than she had intended, because, at the end of the day, she realized, it would be a kill-or-be-killed world out there. The armed forces would be armed, with more dangerous firepower than mere tranqs. The thought brought a certain tightness around her heart. Could they really kill the creatures that would control the world they were stumbling into? "deal with the dinosaurs?"
George's mouth twisted, yet he remained nonplussed. "With as little bloodshed as possible. You will be briefed on such matters, should you agree to officially join ERAA," and that was when Amelia realized how much these people — scientists, parliament, even the president, depended on her, and others, to say 'yes'. They probably supposed that making it this far without backing it out would guarantee that they would agree.
And they were entirely right.
"then you will learn that we cannot actually bring animals and livestock we have as of now with us. That will make us rely solely on the more manageable dinosaurs for meat and eggs — meaning that each and every single species will be far too precious to simply wipe out."
Amelia swallowed, and nodded. He hadn't answered her questions but her mind was spinning way too much to ask another. It all made so much sense, and at the same time, it was difficult to grasp. How could she, an unemployed, nineteen-year-old girl with a fascination (or obsession, as Daryl sometimes called it) with old dinosaur bones, be chosen to be a part of a mission to venture to a time when those bones were connected to the very alive specimens? Another paleontologist's dream, for sure — but Amelia's skepticism was easing.
Slightly.
And she didn't know if that was a good thing — or a bad one.
━━━━
Amelia let herself into the apartment, her mind still abuzz with George's words.
"The plane to Nevada leaves in two days," he'd told them. More waiting, and not of the good kind. She'd have to break the news to Daryl — lie to him and add one more to the pile, or face getting kicked off the mission for exposure of state secrets. "Be there." His words had not been unkind. He sympathized with them.
But sympathy would not heal Amelia's conscience.
"Mel?" Daryl's voice cracked slightly on the dryness of the air. That day had been hotter than most, and now that Amelia had finally paused to comprehend how her life had changed in the last week, she realized her perfectly yuck she felt. Her curly hair was knotted, and her shirt was sweat-stained. She forgot about this, though, when her cousin appeared at the end of the hall, his eyes wide and concerned.
"Amelia! I've been waiting for you for ages; why're you home so late?" His tone was accusing, but not suspicious. Not yet.
Amelia worked the knot out of her throat. "You might wanna sit down with what I've got to tell you, cuz."
One glass of water later, they were sitting across from each other in the sitting room. She couldn't help but feel she was facing the jury in court. "Okay, I'm sitting." Daryl rubbed his hands on his overalls. She felt a pang of shame that she had kept him up so worried, he'd barely had time to change. "Tell me," he urged. "You've been distant all week, and you're about as twitchy as a cornered rat; like someone's gonna burst though the door any minute."
Amelia opened her mouth to apologize or defend herself or both, but he carried on, which told her to shut up. Her ears heated as his words continued to berate her.
"— and I know you're disappointed by the tenure rejection, hell, I'd be too — but, Amelia, it isn't the end of the world."
But what if it is? Amelia wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to lash out and kick and bite — she wanted to hurt with the pent-up frustration she'd been holding within. She wanted him to understand. But she couldn't. And that's what made her keep her jaw firmly shut. Because Daryl — for all his kindness, and apathy, and concern — would never be able to understand the obligation she had to the past. To the people and creatures of it.
And maybe that was why she wanted to go along with that suicide mission — to finally be understood.
Finally — after an eon — Daryl was finished, his eyes blazing, his mouth twisted in a line of hurt. She had hurt him. Her cousin. The only family Amelia had left.
"I'm sorry." That was the only thing she could say. "I'm so, so sorry."
And Amelia wasn't just apologizing about the past, about her week of reclusiveness; but also for what would happen in the future.
She could only pray that Daryl would — one day — forgive her.
━━━━