September 13, 2794. Tuesday.
Max sat in a restaurant filled with people having their breakfast. His table was the closest one to the entrance. All the walls had three-dimensional pictures covered by window frames, giving an illusion that the place was located on a skyscraper and had a beautiful view outside. You could see city stretching and disappearing in the horizon, flying vehicles, people walking on the bridges connecting sky towering buildings. The truth, however, was that the bar was located on a skyscraper indeed, but because of the smog outside no one could see more than five hundred meters ahead on the best weather conditions. Only the constant buzzing of flying vehicles and echoes of people provided one with the impression that the world outside of his vision range was alive.
At some point in the past, humanity had crossed a point of no return. The world had become unrepairable. Moonrise Enterprises did everything in their power to substitute the conventional, primitive energy sources but were already too late. No energy source, not even the extolled helium-three was clean enough to let the Earth get a break from pollution. Each passing year, the demand for energy increased and no one noticed how quickly the Earth had become one giant light bulb covered in inextinguishable smoke.
Everyone lived in the moment; they wanted the newest technologies but did not care what chemicals were needed to make their toys; they wanted to eat a lot and well, and did not care how much forest space was sacrificed to satisfy their needs; they wanted to travel fast and far and did not care what was the fuel composition of the high-speed planes or cruise ships. If one ever tried to take something the world owed the humans, especially the rich ones, he would face an unstoppable wave of negativity and resistance and his ideas would be pushed into the depths of ignorance.
Besides the incredibly low crime rates this world was far worse than George's.
Max lifted his glass filled with brown beverage and took it in one sip. "Bring me two more," he said to the waitress standing by the bar.
"Be there in a sec," she replied with a despicable tone and brought him two full glasses.
He did not like the look on her face. She must have thought he was a low drunkard, but her opinion did not matter. For him, she was a fool just like everyone in this room. He had a hell of a night and deserved a moment of relaxation, a peace of mind. Without hesitation, he drank half of the glass and put it on the table.
Everyone inside and the new clients who entered the place wore almost identical dark blue suits. Max's sleeveless gray jacket with a white clock on his chest, a cloth used only by the time cops, distinguished him from the crowd. Whenever a person entered the bar, Max would feel an eye stab from behind. The person would walk by showing no signs that the time cop disturbed him, but Max knew better. He knew that everyone in here despised and hated his kind.
It was because of the media, which lately had been nitpicking and scrutinizing every mistake, every misbehaves the time cops did. The result was that after multiple investigations were conducted, more and more time police departments and their time machines were getting shut down. One thing Max knew for sure, someone was sponsoring the vilifying and was interested to stop time cops from operating. Time cops were never famous for their kind character, but they were the only ones who saw the clear line between right and wrong, they were the ones who let others sleep calmly at night. Who were these fools to doubt their actions?
Max's stare met the eyes of one clerk. The suit instantly looked down into his empty food plate.
The time cop turned his attention to the holo screen spinning slowly by the ceiling. Core City news was on, showing a crime scene of a murder. After four hundred years of peace, crimes were taking place on the streets once again.
He leaned back and drank the half-empty glass to the bottom.
As he put the glass down, his eyes opened wide. Like a lightning, a thought invaded his empty mind. There was a new memory in his head, a bit blurred, but it was there and it was unsettling. It was a memory of a help call from George Bottlemore. He stared at the clock below the holo-screen. It showed nine AM: the time of the day when the time machines were activated. Had someone on this day traveled to George's time and messed with it?
But how could this be possible? There was only one machine that could take a person so far to the past and it had been destroyed four hundred years ago.
All the anomalies of the far past had been fixed by the time cops before him. Time variance detectors had shown no turbulence in the old times for at least three ages. Yet the new blurred memory Max had in his head, gave him a bad feeling. Time Cops of the past usually were competent enough to deal with the troubles before their establishment. The threat must have been no joke if people from the past asked the aid from the best.
After drinking the remaining glass, he put a little cube on the table. It projected a screen in front of him. Max said, "Computer, scan the archives, give me data on the Museum of George. Show me the map."
The cube projected a floating a three-dimensional image of the museum: a humble house, reconstructed piece by piece, identical to the one George Bottlemore had lived in. The furniture, different objects left intact. Everything was kept as authentic as possible - three trees, a dog kennel, a swinging chair at the back of the house on which George had spent his last days. Circling the house outside of the lawn were large stone tablets that had George's heroic deed descriptions with pictures carved on them.
Max remembered reading stories about George as a kid. The man was a genius. No matter what he did, what threats and dangers he faced, he always succeeded and came out victorious in the end. Once he had faced a lion sent back in time to kill him. Using his wits and bravery, he put it to sleep and later gifted to the Milltown's zoo. Another time George was kidnapped to the future, where he had not only escaped, subdued, the evil men, freed a bunch of important people but helped to strengthen the world peace, the terrorists were so willing to destroy. He even had won a death race against the greatest daredevil 'The Skull,' using an old but powerful bike. And what about the countless satisfied tourists that came from his home with the best memories of their lives?
Moving his fingers in front of him, he manipulated the map and checked the place from all directions. The image was identical to the one he remembered when visiting the museum as a kid. Should be an easy way in, he figured, paid his bill and walked out of the restaurant, ignoring glances of the drones.
———
A high-speed train rushed along magnetic tracks above the misty Milltown.
The hell is this? Max thought as he glanced through the window.
Down beneath him, in the mist, concrete walls were being raised from the ground, stretching around the city's perimeter. As the train got closer to the station, Max could see more and more buildings being renovated. A city block was being covered under a dome. A massive sign stood here and there, saying, 'This construction is supervised by Moonrise Enterprises. Your future is safe with us.'
Now Max was seriously disturbed. Something big was going on here, something he and the time police had not known about. If there ever was a dangerous or lethal harm coming to the society, a time cop would come back from the future and try to stop or at least tell about the incident. He had never heard about this strange, unsettling construction.
When the train was beginning to slow down, he lifted the small computer cube closer to his mouth and spoke into it, "Chief, strange things are going on in Milltown. It's being fortified, have you been informed about this?"
A tired voice replied, "Yes. Moonrise Enterprises are going to start excavating uranium from the deep underground in its proximity. They are building protective walls in case a leak happened. It is not the first time they use such precautions."
"Yeah, but do they construct concrete domes that tower the tallest buildings?" Max stared through the window at a dome raised from the ground, about to cover a dozen of skyscrapers in the center of the city.
"Additional precautions, perhaps. What else do you think would they be doing there?"
"Don't know. But the view makes my insides turn. I feel in my gut that there is something very wrong going on here. What does the time variance graph say today?"
"It's all inside the green limits, nothing extraordinary. Think we should send some people to investigate?"
"No, I will call once I gather more intel."
"Ok."
"Max Bottlemore, out."
As Max got out of the train and looked to the rear cars, he saw construction workers streaming to an exit of the platform, going down the stairway leading outside. Instead of walking through the empty corridors assigned for travelers of the first class that led to the restaurants on the top floor and cabs outside, he followed the last group of workers walking down the stairway.
Not to stand out of the crowd he used the camouflaging function of his suit to replicate the outfits of the workers and blended into the crowd. He did not try to start a conversation with any of the men around him to bring unnecessary attention. He only listened to them talk about the constructions being raised in the city and the construction terms. For the whole length of their walking to the rented fly-busses outside, he followed them, and before everyone was in the bus he had disappeared.
From the chit-chat he heard, he understood three facts: the domes being built were too thick to be protecting the city from radiation, they were making life support vaults underground, and the deadline for construction completion was fifteen years. The management, according to the workers, acted quite inquisitively this time. Their superiors in the construction sites were almost breathing behind their backs forcing them to work more and harder.
Instead of taking public transportation or a cab, Max walked the smoky streets of the ground level.
The lowest levels of the modern cities were slums, rarely checked by the city security agencies. The slums of this city reeked of sulfur and vomit, but still, it was more sanitary when compared to what they had back in Core City.
The place Max searched for was a bar where he could listen to gossip, ask a few questions. Finding a bar in these nearly empty streets proved to be more difficult than he had imagined. Through the smog, he could see no more than ten meters ahead of him. The doors and windows he passed were closed shut or boarded up. Hooded figures in pairs or groups passed him time after time, whenever he tried asking questions he got an awkward silence in return.
As he got nearer to the city center, the street became livelier and soon he could see lights appearing on the entrances of the houses. When one got closer to the dim lights, they focused into signs. Max passed a small oasis of clean, white walls and houses, with inviting signs, such as 'The House of Cards',' 'The Spa of Relaxation,' 'Benny's cupcakes.' Then, he came to a place he was looking for. In front of him, in bright green shone a sign: 'The Lair of Happy Demon.' A contour of a bottle blinked below it.
Max walked into the bar through a cowboys door leaving it swing behind him. He held the right hand behind inside his jacket, close to the gun. Even though the bar was seemingly empty, with only a few drunk figures sitting in the furthest corners, Max's instincts told him that the place was more than meets the eye. Perhaps it was the tidy, massive barman with a wide jaw, or many quotes written on the walls that he had never heard of before that gave the place additional depth. He read one of them, 'There was no one more evil than Chester and no one more virtuous than Leopold.' Another one said, 'Good would not exist if there was no Evil.'
Holding the hand by the gun, Max walked to the bar, and after sitting on one of the chairs, he put hands on the table, then asked the barman, "What's with all those quotes?"
"How 'bout you order something first?" the large man replied.
"Fill me a glass of 'Pirate's Relief.'
"You, an alcoholic?" The barmen twisted his lips.
"Am not. I just have high tolerance."
"Yea, that's what they all say." The man pointed at a figure sleeping by a table in the far corner.
"So, what's with the quotes?"
"You're not local so how would you know?" The barman filled a small glass with transparent liquid.
Max sipped it and said, "Would you be so kind to explain?"
"Religious gangs waged war in the country a long time ago, started in Crossroad, spread through the state. Fun and peaceful days those were. This is a tribute you see on the walls."
"Do you believe in those words?"
"Yes."
"Words are amazing—" Max stared into the man's eyes—"I'm looking to listen to some stories of local life. I'd pay generously."
The barman picked up an empty glass. Cleaning it with a towel, he added, "Ten coins for information and hundred for an extra hand."
"Now we're talking." Max picked out a cigar from an inside pocket, lit it up and let out a cloud of smoke from his mouth. It rolled upwards to the ceiling. He put a bag of jingling coins on the table, drank off the glass, then said, "Give me another one."