Damage Control

“Look, even damage control in a situation such as this is extremely finicky.”

She paced back and forth in her office, contemplating the suggestion. As much as she was grateful for the opportunity, heading up an entire branch of the Time Bureau had its stressful points. This was one of them.

“The Neo-Akkadian Empire needs to rise from the ashes and consume every inch of the Earth. That’s the only way humanity becomes us.” She motioned between her and the agent, a younger man just barely into his twenties. “Without them …”

She didn’t need to finish her sentence. This was one of those points drilled into every new agent’s head, a harsh lesson about fixed points in time. Things like going back and killing Hitler or stopping the assassination of Abraham Lincoln caused irreversible damage to the timeline, and in a single instant, everything would be wiped out. Not even the Time Bureau—which on an ordinary day would be temporally untouchable—would be safe.

“But you’re telling me we can’t pop in for a few minutes and save some lives? You know, innocent civilians and all that.”

She met the agent’s gaze. In his eyes was a desperation greater than any other. In that moment, a passage in his file came back to the forefront of her mind.

Orphan. Parents lost in the California Nuclear Strikes. Found three days later buried under rubble.

It made sense that he would want to rescue as many people as he could. Hell, she wished she could go back in time to the Empire’s rise and save lives. But she couldn’t, and that meant it was time for another lesson.

“Look.” She forced a deep breath into her lungs and sat, but even then, her nails dug into the arms of her chair. “I know it hurts, but everything needs to play out exactly the way it does.”

“There are children—”

She cut the agent off before he could yell anymore. “And any one of them could rise up to lead a rebellion far sooner than it’s meant to happen.”

“But we don’t know that.”

“And you do?”

The question cut into the agent’s argument, sharper than any knife could’ve ever done. He stared, one finger raised as if he were about to tell her off. Not a single word left his mouth, however.

For several moments, he could only stand there like a statue, trying to formulate an effective response, but he failed, and when he did, he dropped all his weight into his seat.

The despair in his eyes was deep, an ocean of loss hidden beneath a surface roiling with tension. Seeing such conflict brought her back to the first time she’d learned this lesson. It had never gotten easier over the years she’d been serving, and she’d had more than her fair share of new agents questioning the policies. Each time, she’d had to watch as their hopes were crushed, unable to offer anything more than a meaningless platitude.

“There’s a saying the old humans used to have.” She laced her fingers together and stared down at her hands. “A thing isn’t beautiful because it lasts. Just because a sunset ends when it dips beneath the horizon doesn’t mean its beauty wasn’t true. Just because the wonder of a child vanishes when their life is lost, doesn’t mean they weren’t a joy to have around.”

“But …”

This complaint held far less conviction; the agent was unable to meet her gaze. She didn’t blame him. After all, she was telling him to stand by and watch as people were killed, when his entire training had centered around saving lives.

“Not even one?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, fighting back a tear. “Not even one.”