A Moment of Perfect Opportunity

Changing the course of history is always a difficult undertaking, even with the ability to travel through time.

My assignment will be in New York City. The crisp blue sky of 11th September 2001 will greet me from the 83rd Floor of the North Tower. I will arrive 34 minutes after the first plane had hit the floors above, and 17 minutes after the second plane hit the South Tower. The people on the 83rd Floor would have watched the second impact from the window. There will be just over an hour until the North Tower collapses. To evacuate successfully, a person would need to begin their descent almost immediately from the moment I arrived. Broadly speaking, this was the central problem I needed to solve.

It is perhaps to be expected that accounts differ of when the Department of Corrections was founded. I’m not even certain which country we work for anymore. Most of us only know two things for sure: that humanity began meddling in time long after it was too late; and that trying to find the right moment for an intervention in time is a tricky business indeed.

Our science is so sophisticated, and yet when compared with the task at hand, so rudimentary. The first of many prerequisites to attempting an intervention is locating a vector of significance. In plainer language; a person who emits the aura of someone who could be the first domino in a chain reaction that would set history on a better path.

I shall not venture into the weeds of explaining “auras” but suffice to say that finding the right one is exceedingly vexing. You can feel certain you are on the right track, only to realise you have spent months tracing the misleading readings of a frog sitting in the depths of his pond, or a pigeon dropping from the sky. In the rare event you succeed in locating a viable candidate, you must hope against hope that their brief glimmer of existence aligns with a moment of perfect opportunity.

A moment of perfect opportunity is a technical term. A brief window of time in which we can intervene. A moment in which we can alter someone’s fate without amending the fates of others. Contrary to popular belief, a butterfly flapping its wings is not that much of a problem – usually – but the metaphor is not far from the truth. A highly promising vector, a man, once died swimming out to sea after his dog. Our intervention seemed simple; make sure the dog never leaves the shoreline. While we can never be certain, due to the nebulous nature of accounting for ripples in time, it is widely believed saving that dog cost us hundreds of potential vectors of significance in subsequent years, including the dog’s owner.

It has even led some to the school of thought that ending lives might be less fraught than saving them. Indeed, a separate clandestine department was set up to explore exactly that, however it was shut down following highly unpredictable and rather ruinous results. Or that is the official story. One does occasionally hear rumours that it is still active, from time to time.

You might be thinking that suicides represent ideal moments of perfect opportunity. Often these will be solitary, with no-one around to muddy the efforts of our intervention. But this overlooks one of the greatest complications of time travel. We cannot transport ourselves back in time in the physical sense. It is only our consciousness, or most of it, that makes the trip, to arrive within a host body.

Unfortunately, this is also very imprecise and poorly explained. In short, some people in the past can serve as hosts for our consciousness, and some cannot. It’s about one in twenty. And both the host and its time traveller inhabitant will die within about eight minutes of first being invaded. I say ‘die’, but it might be more accurate to say, ‘disintegrate from existence’. It is again imprecise and poorly documented, and I try not to think about it too much.

As a final note, we call the potential hosts, ‘hosts of possibility’. We do not use ‘viability’ because there is a chance (about one in ten) that the host is a false positive. If this is the case, then the time traveller’s consciousness will simply impact around the body of the host and dissolve into nothingness. There may be some light and colour, and I am told it can be quite pretty, though I believe that testimony is unreliable, and I also try not to think about it too much.

In any case, the prerequisites for an attempted intervention are as follows:

1. Have located a promising vector of significance;

2. Trace this vector to a moment of perfect of opportunity;

3. Ensure that a host of possibility is also present at the moment of perfect opportunity, and;

4. Ensure that the host of possibility’s natural death coincides with the death that will be caused by time traveller inhabitation in approximately eight minutes from first being invaded.

If you have been paying attention, you may have realised why my assignment will be at the scene of a major disaster. These moments provide a large enough number of people for us to find viable targets, and the imminent death brought about by the disaster allows minimal disruption to the timestream from our elimination of the host.

There is, of course, one more catch. We have to be able to save our target using nothing but the abilities of our host. We cannot transport equipment of any kind. We only have their body, and whatever control we can exert over it. Again, the science is imperfect. My host’s name is Jeremy.

Today I met with my superior to talk about Jeremy and what I plan to do while inhabiting his body. This is the only method of simulation we have. I study all the information about the setting I will be placed in, and my superior does the same. I make a plan to save the vector, and we then meet several times to go through that plan with the clock running down the eight minutes. My superior’s job is to scrutinise my plan, and mine is to adapt and defend it. I include a transcript of this conversation below:

Approximately 15th March 2079, and no later than 21st June 2083

Project Falling Skies

First Scrutiny Meeting between Superior and Analyst

S: This is the first time we’ve met, isn’t it?

A: I believe so.

S: Your suitability for this mission has already been fully assessed: your motivations, capabilities, your commitment. Still, I like to ask my analysts once for myself. Are you prepared for this mission, knowing what it will cost? Are you prepared to make the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good of humanity? Are you ready to do whatever it takes even if your actions, when taken out of context, would appear to others as anything but heroic?

A: I am.

S: And are you aware that after the procedure, a part of your consciousness may linger in the body you inhabit now, and that while you will appear medically dead, science has not yet accounted for the experience of this fragment of lingering consciousness, and that it has been theorised its existence may be extended and extremely painful?

A: It is not my concern. The mission is more important than any suffering I might endure.

S: Then let us now turn to the mission. Tell me about your host.

A: His name is Jeremy Daltry, 23, male, able bodied though not with any notable physical strength. Single. An administrative worker of the Aspin Corporation. He has been working in the North Tower for only two months, and in that time has developed a reputation for being friendly and well-meaning, though has struggled for effectiveness. Some of the older women appear to have some sympathy for him, but his boss is debating whether to dispense with his services at his probation meeting next month.

S: And the vector?

A: Julie Kim, 31, female, petite and slight of frame. Also single. She is a highly competent officer of the Aspin Corporation and is prized highly by her boss. She is on the fast track to becoming an executive and there is some jealousy from both male and female colleagues, though she is generally pleasant natured and grudges struggle to stick.

S: You will have eight minutes to complete the mission. Please map out the current course of events without intervention.

A: The North Tower was struck at 8:16am. After an initial period of panic and confusion, members of the Aspin Corporation called emergency services for guidance on the best course of action. Emergency services were overwhelmed by the unprecedented situation and followed unsuitable protocols. The members of the Aspin Corporation were repeatedly asked to await further instruction and were eventually advised to remain in the building despite evacuation being possible via Stairwell A. It would soon become too late to evacuate due to the length of time a manual descent would take. The tower would subsequently collapse, and no members of the Aspin Corporation would survive. The last moment in which to begin an evacuation and get clear of the building from the 83rd Floor will be shortly after I arrive at 9.20am. The tower collapses at 10.28am following deteriorating internal conditions.

S: Very good. I will shortly start the clock, and we will simulate your inhabitation of your host to alter this course of events. Are you ready to proceed?

A: I am.

S: I am now starting the clock. The consciousness transporter is activated, and your consciousness is sent back in time. You don’t know what you feel, but you feel something. The next image you see is through the eyes of Jeremy Daltry on the 83rd Floor of the North Tower of the World Trade Center. How do you react?

A: I allow thirty seconds to process the experience. I try to blink.

S: You fail to blink. You cannot control Jeremy’s eyelids. Your eyes start to sting.

A: I calm my mind and try again. I remember to breathe.

S: There is smoke in the air. You cough.

A: I keep composure, sinking closer to the floor to gain cleaner air.

S: You find it. You begin to get control, but you still feel distant. You can breathe and make basic movements, but your fine motor skills are lacking.

A: I force stillness, I force calm. I wait to gain full control. I remember to breathe.

S: Six minutes and thirty seconds remain. A colleague shows you concern.

A: I remain focused on gaining control. Showing stress is a normal response to the disaster event. The colleague is not a threat to the mission.

S: You gain full control of your host.

A: I look around for the vector and verbally reassure the concerned colleague.

S: You trip on your words; the host’s mouth feels unusual to you.

A: I do not revisit the interaction. My words will be permitted to slip in the situation. I keep looking for the host.

S: You cannot see her.

A: I know she must be here from the research. I trust it. I stand up and walk away from my colleague to the most remote part of the office where there are functioning telephones. I also check my pockets and surroundings for a mobile phone.

S: You can find no mobile phone, but the desk phone nearby is still operational.

A: I fake an incoming call. I pretend I am speaking to the emergency services. I nod my head and look scared. I call out for the vector.

S: What name do you say?

A: Julie Kim. No, just Julie. I style my mistake as though I was repeating back the words of the emergency services operator. I put my hand over the receiver to address my colleagues. I tell them the advice has changed. We need to evacuate the building via the Stairwell A, but we must stagger the evacuation so that we do not overload the deteriorated structural integrity of the stairs. I trust Julie will be in front of me now.

S: You see her.

A: I look at her directly. I tell her that the emergency services have heard from her mother, and that she is in dire health. They have requested that Julie evacuates first for this reason, and the next person should follow Julie three minutes after she has left.

S: Three minutes and thirty seconds remain. Julie asks to speak to the operator.

A: My eyes widen as though hearing new instructions. “Guys, it has to be now. We can all make it if we start right now. Right now. Julie, go, go!”

S: Julie begins to leave but a senior male colleague begins to challenge you and grabs for the phone.

A: I pivot away, still listening for further instructions. I state loudly that the emergency services recommend the next person on the stairs should be the least able. I ask who we think that should be.

S: The senior male colleague still grabs for the phone, but others begin to debate who should be next to go. Julie enters the stairwell.

A: I tell the male this isn’t about seniority but about saving lives, attempting to stoke further debate in my colleagues.

S: The senior male colleague is persistent and stronger than you.

A: I act as though his interference makes me lose grip on the phone. I make sure the wire is pulled from the receiver in the struggle. I blame him for putting us in more danger and identify a less able-bodied person as the next person to enter the stairwell.

S: Two minutes and twenty seconds remain. You begin to feel faint. Your control on the host slips slightly.

A: I put my hands on the shoulders of the less able-bodied person. I ask them if they are ready to go. I feign concern.

S: Another colleague has contacted the emergency services. They are contradicting your advice.

A: I move to the stairwell door and pick up the nearby fire extinguisher. Before anyone realises my intentions, I bring it down on the less able-bodied person’s head with maximum force.

S: You are rushed by male colleagues.

A: I stand my ground, unleashing the contents of the fire extinguisher to sow confusion.

S: You are tackled to the floor.

A: I bite, I kick, I scratch. I do everything I can to delay anyone from chasing Julie down the stairs.

S: You have little over a minute left. You are restrained. You are fading.

A: I do not seek cover. My hope is that my disintegration will unnerve people enough to be paralysed into inaction. I do my best to roll and thrash into the entryway to the stairwell.

S: You become too weak to struggle.

A: I try to act as though I have something important to say. Something they must hear.

S: Some people are already so unnerved they have fled into the stairwell. You begin to disintegrate.

A: I make whatever noise I can, hopeful that the phenomenon will draw back people from the stairs.

S: You disintegrate fully. You and Jeremy are no more.

A: Then there is nothing left to simulate. I can only hope Julie got out and those that followed her perished.

S: Indeed. A decent first try. We will meet again in two days to re-run the simulation exercise. Reflect on what went well and what could be improved.

That was my first and last meeting with my superior. When I got back to my quarters, a priority communication was waiting. My mission had been brought forward. My consciousness will be transported back to the event known as 9/11 tomorrow. It is not a normal decision. We should have run at least twenty simulation exercises. It would appear the rumours are true. We are getting desperate. We are running out of time.

I have written the above because I am permitted to write something for my next of kin. For you, Jeannie, my wonderful daughter. I know they will redact it. Please forgive me for not trying to pen the depths of my feelings for you instead. I just thought if there was even a chance they would let some of the information through to you, then you would better understand how I gave my life in the hope of a better world for you. It occurred to me that a child might one day want to know how their father died.

Beyond that, I find it impossible to write how I feel for you. How could any words capture the totality of that love. Still, let me say this. Jeannie, you are beautiful. I love you, endlessly. The memory of your smile has sustained me through my every difficult hour, and it will sustain me at my last, and I hope you love whatever life you have in this cruel world as much as I have loved you.

It is my hope you never read this. That my saving a life in the past may yet save my own. Paradoxes are the trickiest explanation of all, but some believe them to be possible. And Jeannie, I believe. I believe just as much as I believe in the power of your smile. I believe that I can die in the past to live with you in a better world tomorrow. Perhaps we can even see your mother again.

But if I can’t do that, Jeannie, then know that even the dark time I lived in was lit by you, and that while you may grow up in a time even darker than mine, trust that love can light your way, and shine your footsteps just a little brighter.