The End

July 15, 1999, Washington, D.C., Earth

11:42 AM

Paul didn’t visit the White House again to get a response to his ultimatum. Doing so would have been redundant. Had the United States accepted, the breaking news on television would have informed him, and he could have moved on to the second phase of his mission: overseeing the actual disarmament. And if they didn’t accept, well, that too would be unmistakable. Because at that stage, they would be at war.

The deadline ended precisely at 11:42:32. The sun shone brightly in an almost cloudless sky.

The streets surrounding the heart of the city had been cordoned off by the United States military forces. Armored tanks were positioned at strategic locations, ready to open fire should Paul approach any of the buildings of government. The chopping sound of helicopter rotors could be heard from all directions, while the sky above was criss-crossed by ground-attack aircraft, poised to deploy their deadly payload at a moment’s notice.

The United States had taken his warning to heart. They had made the wrong choice, but at least they had listened to him.

Paul sat down on a recently repainted park bench just beyond the security perimeter, quietly observing the steady stream of government vehicles passing by. Dignitaries from different levels of government, hidden behind tinted windows, went back and forth in their sleek, black cars - some of them armored for protection, some just fancy. All of them moved under the watchful scrutiny of military guards, nervous from anticipation of the impending conflict, their eyes never losing track of Paul. Despite having been invaded, the United States government continued to churn.

Five hours later, he rose slowly from his spot on the bench and strolled calmly down the street, away from the shadow of the Capitol.

A man walking 40 meters behind him, dressed in a tailored suit, vomited on his very expensive shoes.

July 16, 1999, Washington, D.C., Earth

12:06 PM

William Harrison had lunch in the outdoor section of Cucina Romana, just as he always did during this time of year. A creature of habit, he took comfort in routine. The waiters at the old Italian restaurant knew him well, and since he was a generous tipper, they always ensured he received impeccable service - as befitted a man of his station. As Deputy Director of the National Rifle Association’s Institute for Legislative Action, he commanded a notable degree of respect.

The weather was warm and sunny, and the soft breeze carried with it the subtle sounds of rustling leaves and the faint scent of summer flowers. He was just about to savor his Osso Buco, when he noticed a man seated at a distant table, watching him from the corner of the patio. The man looked to be in his early 30s, shorter than average, and plain in appearance. His face was kind and unthreatening. Still, Harrison still did not like the way he looked at him. The guy was probably just some gun enthusiast who had recognised him from television, but he wasn’t in the mood for conversation.

In truth, Harrison did not feel like talking to anyone at all. Talking was all he had been doing all day. With the recent craziness going on, it seemed as though everyone and their dog wanted to acquire a firearm, and the NRA had been working tirelessly to make that happen. Seeing an opportunity to advance their agenda, the lobbyist organization had worked overtime to meet with politicians at every level. What Harrison craved now was solitude - a chance to clear his mind, head to the gun range, and release his pent-up energy by firing off a few rounds in target practice.

Suddenly, a wave of nausea swept over him, accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation deep in the pit of his stomach. In his mind’s eye, he saw the image of a small child lying on the street, bleeding from a gunshot wound. He tried to shake the disturbing picture from his thoughts.

He hoped he was not coming down with something - he hadn’t even touched his food yet! He did not want to be bedridden; all he wanted was to get some relief by shooting his gun for a while.

In a violent cascade of bile, stomach acid, and remnants of his breakfast, he vomited all over the table.

July 22, 1999, Atlanta, Earth

3:42 PM

The Centers for Disease Control and Prevention never succeeded in figuring out how the epidemic was spreading.

They did, however, know where it had started. On July 15, prominent politicians and gun rights lobbyists in Washington, D.C., began to come down with a mysterious new illness. Whenever they entertained the thought of using a firearm, contemplated letting anyone else use one, or had any kind of positive thoughts about firearms in general, they started to feel a wave of nausea wash over them. If they persisted in thinking about it - or worse, acted on their thoughts - they began to vomit, often violently.

During the days that followed, the disease - or whatever it was - spread to lower levels of the echelon. Mid-level politicians and heads of local NRA chapters came down with it, followed by the owners and operators of target ranges and gun shops throughout the region.

Two days later, cases started to appear in larger cities outside of Washington, D.C., as well. A week after the discovery of patient zero, politicians and gun rights advocates across the entire nation were affected.

Interestingly, the police and military personnel remained completely unaffected, except for when they engaged in target practice during their spare time. And the epidemic never spread beyond the borders of the United States.

July 19, 1999, Las Vegas, Earth

11:55 AM

The invention of telepathy half a century ago had completely transformed the operational methods of Sunguard Special Agents, Paul mused. There was nothing mystical about it: the human brain functioned as a complex circuitry of chemical and electrical signals. That electrical activity could be meticulously measured - in fact, those measurements had been conducted since the early 20th century. The more detailed one could gauge the electromagnetic field of the brain, the clearer the image one could attain of its inner workings. A century later, with the help of rudimentary artificial intelligence, it was already possible to reconstruct rough images of a person's thoughts from electroencephalogram recordings. The more advanced the artificial intelligence and the more powerful the computer employed in the processing, the more detailed the reconstruction could be achieved.

And the biotic brain was exceptionally powerful indeed.

It functioned both ways, as well. Not only could a telepathic biotic Special Agent read the thoughts of another brain - within a certain distance, approximately 50 meters, due to the inverse square law - but it could also influence those thoughts. By emitting a precisely controlled electromagnetic field, it was possible to induce new electrical signals into the nerves of another body. Low-level electricity for inducing feelings and images, higher levels to temporarily or permanently fry the nerves of the target.

That was all well for reading and influencing a biological brain, whose nerve impulses, due to the intricate interplay of chemical and electrical signaling, traveled at a speed of a mere hundred meters per second. A biotic brain, however, freed from the constraints of chemical signaling and solely utilizing electrical currents, operated at speeds approaching that of light. Not even the biotic brain was powerful enough to interpret the electromagnetic field of another biotic brain. That would be akin to attempting to run software emulation of a processor at full speed on another processor of the exact same model.

Still, although he could not read or influence the minds of other biots, he could at least register the electromagnetic field emitted by their brains, even though he was unable to interpret it.

Paul had traversed the expanse of the United States, stopping in the bustling centers of larger cities, where politicians and lobbyists busied themselves. There, he reached out with his mind, planting suggestions deep within their unconscious. It was, in a sense, akin to the hypnotic suggestions that biologicals had been exploring for centuries; however, when performed by a biot using electromagnetic telepathy, it was safer and infinitely more precise.

In the minds of those he had met, he implanted a deep suggestion that whenever they considered firearms in a favorable light, a wave of nausea would wash over them, accompanied by flashes of images depicting the victims of those same weapons. The more favorable the thought was, the stronger the nausea became.

July 23, 1999, Sacramento, Earth

10:49 AM

Paul Williams was en route from the California State Capitol to the airport when he suddenly jolted upright in the taxi, as if an invisible bolt of electricity had surged through him. In fact, that was not far from the truth - the sensitive biotic neurons in his telepathic center had passed through an electromagnetic field of unexpected complexity, inducing a weak current in it. A signature he recognized from past encounters.

It was not the field of a biological brain, as he had expected. This was something else.

It was another biot.

For ethical reasons, he had deliberately chosen to conduct his current training mission on an already existing secondary timeline, avoiding the creation of a new branch of the primary timeline. The existence of the secondary timeline was itself an anomaly. It wouldn’t have existed, unless someone at some point had traveled back in time here. It could have been anyone - perhaps a research team on a field trip, a corporation in need of resources from the past. But not a biot. A biot with a human brain meant only one thing: another Sunguard Special Agent. Biots modeled on humans existed solely within their ranks; the only other use for artificial life was for biotic pets - and this biot was certainly no pet. The electromagnetic field Paul had sensed emanated a sharp intelligence, one that indeed bore all the hallmarks of a Special Agent. There were no signs of telepathy in the other brain, though. Whatever year it originated from, it must have come from a time before Special Agents were designed with telepathic centers.

He flicked on the comm center of his brain, sending a broadband radio signal encrypted with a key hardwired into all biotic Special Agents, past or future.

“This is Sunguard Special Agent Paul Williams, operating on a training exercise from 2347. Unknown Special Agent, please identify yourself.”

May 27, 2308, Newtown, Gloria, Procyon 4

23:05

Cautiously, she leaned forward, peering through the narrow gap above the elevated platform where she crouched. Below, she could clearly see them - dark figures moving in the low light, loading a pallet stacked with their dangerous, lethal products. Well, their operation wouldn't last much longer.

Carefully, she began to unfasten her hand gaser from its holster on her belt, taking care not to make the slightest sound. A quick press around the grip activated the weapon. In less than a microsecond, she felt the subtle signal shoot through her arm nerves, confirming that the deadly device was ready to fire.

A click behind her left ear drew her attention. A man was standing there, but before she had time to move, a thick, muscular arm was thrown around her head, twisting it violently so she was staring into the man’s cold eyes. Her neck throbbed with pain as he forced her head into a position that it was never meant to be in. She dropped her gaser. The man picked it up.

THUD!

Cold, hard steel struck her left cheek. His hard hand around her neck pressed bony knuckles into her flesh. Pain began to spread through her head.

THUMP!

He hit her other cheek. The muscles in it couldn't handle the pressure. Blood slowly began to drip down her face, soiling her ginger-copper-red hair.

More blows, on both cheeks, in the face. The man behind her held her pressed against the wall, towering above her. His laugh was cold, insensitive, as if he was tormenting an animal, and enjoying it. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed two other men standing behind them, as if they didn't trust the first man to handle her by himself.

She heard the sound of cartilage being crushed. A freezing pain pierced the nasal bone as the remains of her nose were mashed across her face by another blow.

Black. Pain that turned the world black. Her left field of vision became a mess of red and black as her eyeball burst from the pressure of another blow. How long would he continue to abuse her? How long would she last?

Eventually, her brain couldn't take it anymore, and she fell into the deep well of unconsciousness.

May 27, 2308, Newtown, Gloria, Procyon 4

23:17

“What did you just do?”

Neil McCarter’s face twisted in fury. They had been on the verge of launching their largest operation yet - millions of dollars’ worth of product, neatly packed in twenty-four metal crates. Each crate held rows of small, white vials, all containing pure, concentrated joy. Well, joy, but only for a short while, at least. He shrugged. He’d never touch the stuff himself. Death by addiction could be cruel, indeed.

And now, those idiots he’d hired for protection had managed to disable a Sunguard Special Agent. Granted, that in itself was a rather impressive feat, but apparently Smythe had somehow managed to catch her off guard, and with his propensity for violence... well, let's just say, if there was anyone McCarter knew who could take down a Special Agent, it was Smythe. He had clearly used excessive force - unsurprising, given his nature - but that was the only way to incapacitate a Sunguard Special Agent.

Incapacitate - that was the operative word. She wasn’t dead, and McCarter knew better than to believe she ever could be. Killing a Sunguard Special Agent was practically impossible. If even a single cell of her biotic body survived, that cell would eventually divide and regrow her body. When she was old enough, she’d make contact with the Sunguard Memory Repository, restore her memories from there, and they’d all be back where they had started. Sure, it might take years, but eventually she’d be there again, hunting him down, relentless in the way only a Sunguard Special Agent could be. She would never let him get away with what he’d done. Never. Staring down an inevitable future where a Sunguard Special Agent would eventually knock on his door was not a thought Neil McCarter liked to entertain.

“What were you thinking?” McCarter nearly spat the words at Smythe. “You know we’re all dead, right? One day, she’ll come back, and then we’ll be finished. Or stuck in some Sunguard dungeon for the rest of our miserable lives.”

Smythe wasn’t happy about being chewed out, especially when he felt he had done exactly what was necessary.

“What did you want me to do? Just stand by and let her waltz in here and politely ask us to surrender?”

McCarter glared at him. Smythe wasn’t wrong, and that was the most irritating part. Smythe had done what needed to be done, but that didn’t mean McCarter had to acknowledge it.

“You’re an idiot, Smythe,” McCarter muttered. “We need to solve this.”

“Alright,” Smythe said slowly, as he began to ponder the problem. “We can’t kill her, because we’ll never be able to destroy her entire body. So we just have to make sure she can’t restore her memory backup. If she doesn’t remember us, she can’t find us again.”

McCarter raised an eyebrow. “And how do you propose we manage that? Wave some incense around and chant magic words? You can’t disrupt her connection to the Sunguard. The data stream is sent through a microscopic hyperspace opening inside her brain. You can’t block that stream because it doesn’t even travel through space. You can’t jam it.”

“I know, I know”, he muttered. Smythe creased his brow, thinking again. After a while, he said carefully, “The Stringer brothers have a ship here. Hyperspace capable. We could dump her a hundred lightyears from Solaris. The Sunguard would never be able to track her down.”

McCarter watched Smythe carefully, as the faint glimmer of an idea began to take shape in his mind. Maybe thinking wasn’t Smythe’s strongest suit, but he was onto something.

“Why would you ever think that could work? Like I said, she’ll connect to the Sunguard through hyperspace. It won’t matter if it’s five kilometers or five hundred lightyears.”

But there was the beginning of an idea there, stirring in the deep recesses of his mind.

“Here’s what we’ll do,” McCarter continued. We’ll destroy her as best we can, and then dump her remains in the past. There won’t be a Memory Repository back there, and she won’t be able to restore her backup. She’ll eventually heal and regrow, yeah, but she’ll be a blank slate. No memories, no recollection of us or what happened. She won’t be able to come after us.”

It wasn’t a bad idea, and Smythe and his team soon got to work implementing it. McCarter chose not to watch. It wasn’t that it turned his stomach; he just didn’t have any interest in watching a human body go through a meat grinder. He’d get to see the result soon enough, anyway.

And that result consisted of a sealed barrel of silicon/titanium mince, which was bright blue, about 80 cm high and 50 cm in diameter. Smythe’s guys grunted as they worked together to push it into the back of the Hellbender’s cargo bay. Once the barrel was secured in place, McCarter followed them on board. This part he had to see for himself - mostly because he didn’t quite trust Smythe to get the job done properly.

The Hellbender’s field generator spun to life, beginning to bend the local gravity field. The small ship lifted into the atmosphere without any sensation of acceleration. Once they were far enough from Gloria to allow for a hyperspace jump without too many complications from nearby gravity fields, the field generator was programmed with its destination, and the jump was initiated. A perfectly spherical region of space around the field generator was instantly ripped from its current coordinates and transferred to another place and time.

September 14, 1985, Eldorado National Forest, Earth

9:21 PM

The Hellbender settled into a small, secluded clearing in the dense forest, the old trees towering above it. To the east, a narrow dirt road wound its way between the tree trunks, tracing a path downhill. McCarter knew the United States Air Force would have picked up the radar signature of the ship as it landed, but he wasn’t concerned. They would be long gone before the authorities of this new timeline could respond. In the end, he mused, it would all be chalked up to another UFO sighting.

Smythe and the brothers carefully maneuvered the barrel out of the ship and opened it up. A metallic smell filled the air. It was tingy, but not unpleasant. Together, they tipped the barrel, allowing its gooey contents to flow out onto the rocky ground, forming a large puddle of minced meat floating in a pool of thick, dark sludge.

In the distance, a lone coyote howled.

Then, without a second thought or concern for what they had just done, the crew of the Hellbender left.

November 6, 1986, Sacramento, Earth

8:53 AM

Roger McBrian held his newly adopted daughter close to his chest, surrounding her in the warmth of his embrace. She was such a tiny bundle, with delicate fingers and a soft tuft of ginger hair peeking out from beneath the thin blanket swaddling her. The little one had already suffered immensely. Someone had callously left her alone in the dense woods, abandoned and vulnerable. A passing car had discovered the naked infant lying helplessly beside the road. Thankfully, the drivers had seen the child and stopped to pick her up, then brought her to the authorities. That was three months ago. Now, at last, the McBrians had finally been allowed to adopt her. She was their daughter now, and Roger vowed to himself that he would never let anyone harm the innocent little person he held tightly in his arms, no matter what challenges might lay ahead.

“Ellie,” he whispered softly into her tiny ear. “You’re my Ellie now.”

July 23, 1999, Sacramento, Earth

10:49 AM

It was Friday, late morning, and the warm rays of the sun filtered through the windows of her classroom. Ellie McBrian sat slumped at her usual desk in history class, her elbow propped on the desk, her head resting in her hand, desperately wanting to be anywhere but here. This was boring. What was happening in Washington, D.C. right now was far more interesting. But here, she was stuck listening to a lecture about the Civil War, fought in a time she had trouble even picturing.

Suddenly, Ellie shot upright in her chair, her back straight and her shoulders squared, as if she had been snapped to attention.

The voice in her head was clear as a bell. It was unmistakably in her head, not something she heard with her ears. Around her, no one else in the classroom had reacted. Despite the bizarre situation, it didn’t even occur to her that she might be losing her sanity. No, the voice was real, it was in her head, and it was addressing her.

“This is Sunguard Special Agent Paul Williams, operating on a training exercise from 2347. Unknown Special Agent, please identify yourself,” it said.

For a second, she didn’t know what to think, or what to do. Then, carefully, she tried to answer with her thoughts. It just seemed like the natural thing to do.

“Hello?” she whispered in her mind. “I’m Ellie. Ellie McBrian. What’s… happening?”

For several seconds, there was only silence. When the voice finally returned, it sounded surprised, almost thrown off by her response.

“My apologies, Miss McBrian. We appear to be having some sort of miscommunication here.”

A couple of seconds passed in silence again. Then, the voice continued.

“I am hazarding a guess you are aware of the events currently unfolding in Washington, D.C., Miss McBrian? I am the person responsible for them.”

Ellie’s mind raced. The alien… or whatever, the one on television, the one who had vaulted over the White House fence and attacked the President.

“You’re him?” Ellie gasped in her thoughts. “Are you… an alien?”

The voice chuckled warmly. It was a kind laugh, and Ellie started to relax. Despite the absurdity of it all, she felt like the conversation in her head was perfectly natural.

“No, “ the voice replied, still amused. “An alien named Paul? Well, maybe in my time, but not in this one.”

The laugh came again, light and friendly.

“No, I’m human, just like you. In fact, exactly like you. I am what is known as a biot - an artificial life form, grown from a single cell. But not a biological cell - a biotic one. They’re made from self replicating, micrometer-sized computer chips, their program code corresponding to the DNA in a biological cell. While I am modeled after the genetic code of a human being, I am, in fact, made from silicon, titanium, and iron. I am stronger and faster than a biological human. Just like you are. Because just like me, you are a Sunguard Special Agent from the future.”

And suddenly, Ellie’s entire life made sense.

July 23, 1999, Washington, D.C., Earth

4:12 PM

The emergency sessions of the Senate and the House of Representatives were ongoing. Some members of Congress were too ill to be present, incapable of controlling their vomiting as they refused to support the ban. Others, who had made a career of advocating for gun rights, conveniently shifted their positions in anticipation of the vote. And then there were the others, those who genuinely believed that allowing a private citizen both to own and to use a tool specifically designed for the singular purpose of killing another human being was morally wrong.

Among those present, the votes for amending the United States Constitution were unanimous in favor. As soon as the vote was cast, ratifications from the State Legislatures began to pour in.

At 8:04 PM Eastern Standard Time, July 23, 1999, on the secondary timeline designated AEW32TR, the United States of America implemented a total ban on private ownership and use of firearms.

July 24, 1999, Sacramento, Earth

3:52 PM

Roger held his adoptive daughter tight in his powerful arms. He didn’t know what was happening. He didn’t understand. Maybe, maybe this was the last time he’d ever get to hold her again. He just didn’t know.

“I’m sorry, Dad,” she whispered softly.

Roger squeezed her even tighter. “No, Ellie. No, you have nothing to apologize for. Whatever has happened to you, and whoever you are, we’ll always be here for you. We will always love you.”

She was crying, producing small, silent whimpers that escaped into his broad shoulder. He stroked her head, like he had done countless times before, when she was a young child.

“I love you, Dad.”

July 24, 1999, Sacramento, Earth

5:13 PM

“You’re one of those… those monsters!”

There was confusion and fear in Sally’s eyes. Fear, and resentment. For close to a decade, Ellie had been her best friend. They had shared laughs together, cried together, endured hardships and learned about life together. Best friends, forever.

Except Ellie wasn’t fourteen. Sally wasn’t even sure how old she was, couldn’t quite understand what Ellie just had told her. But fourteen, she was not. And she wasn’t even human…

“You’ve lied to me! All you’ve said, and all you’ve done, all of it has been a lie!”

Sally was beside herself with shock, as if the very ground she was standing on had collapsed and she was plummeting into a bottomless dark pit. Nothing she knew was true, nothing she had believed was real. And Ellie was at the center of it all.

“I’m… I’m human. I’m sure I’m human,” Ellie said. Paul had said so. But how could she explain it in a way that made sense to her friend?

“I’m just like you. But a little bit different. I’m still the same Ellie.”

Sally just stared at her.

“Go,” she said. ”Just go. You were never my friend.”

July 24, 1999, San Francisco, Earth

8:24 PM

They were sitting on a worn wooden bench at the top of a high cliff, overlooking the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean as the sun set over a calm, shimmering sea. The summer evening was warm and pleasant, and the gentle breeze brought with it the salty fragrance of the ocean. Overhead, seagulls circled, looking for a place to nest for the night.

"I still can’t believe it," Ellie said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “I mean I do believe it, of course. I just… can’t believe it, if you know what I mean.” She was new to this, and didn't quite know the right words to express her thoughts and feelings.

“Of course,” Paul answered patiently. “I wouldn’t expect anything else. Take your time to adjust.”

“I’ve had a whole life before this one,” Ellie continued, her eyes fixed on the horizon, “and I lived it in the future, no less.” She felt frustrated. “It’s mind-boggling. And I can’t remember it, except for fragments and dreams.”

“So little of your brain was intact when you arrived here. Whoever sent you must have been very thorough. All that was left of your memories from your life as a Sunguard Special Agent were scattered pieces of your most intense memories. As you regenerated from those few intact cells, you grew into a child. When your brain started to mature, it tried to make the best sense of those memories, but without context, it all became a jumbled mess of intense feelings and flashes of events from your old life.”

“I wish I knew what happened to me.” Her voice hardened. “Someone did this. They should not get away with it.”

“I completely agree,” Paul responded. “But there’s another aspect of this we should keep in mind as well. We know who you were. We can read your unique identity from the code in your cells. We know you were sent on a mission to the planet Gloria in the Procyon system to dismantle a large-scale narcotics ring. What we don’t know is what you found out - who was running the operation, where exactly they were based, what contacts they had. It was four decades ago, but given the size of their operation back then, I’d wager they’re still around, and probably larger than ever. Your mission still stands. We need to dismantle them, and only you have the knowledge to do that.”

"Except I don’t!" Ellie said, her voice rising in frustration.

“That’s not quite true,” Paul answered calmly. “We do have your memories. We just can’t read them. They’re stored in the Sunguard Memory Repository, a backup of the memories of all Special Agents to safeguard against precisely the kind of thing that happened to you on Gloria. But they’re formatted for your specific, individual brain structure. We can’t just go into the memory repository and read your memory backup. Only Ellie McBrian’s brain can make sense of Ellie McBrian’s memories. Well, you weren't called Ellie back then, but I think you get my point.”

Ellie was dumbfounded. Could her memories still be intact after all these years?

“You mean, I can get my memories back? How?”

“Normally, you’d already have them back. Your brain is designed to automatically connect to the Memory Repository once it’s grown or healed enough to receive the full set of memories. It’s just that when you regrew, you were here, in a secondary, alternate timeline. There’s no Sunguard Memory Repository here, no endpoint for the connection your brain has been trying to automatically establish since you grew up.”

She felt hope slowly fade away again. “So my memories are there. But I can’t get them back since I’m here,” she said, her voice low with frustration.

“Well, almost,” Paul said with a slight smile. “You can’t get them back automatically. Emphasis on automatically. Your brain doesn’t know where you are in three-dimensional time - not the exact coordinates. It can’t find the future point on the primary timeline where the Repository sits.” Paul shifted on the bench to look directly at her. “The backup and restoration process happens through hyperspace. You could do it from here, just as you could from the future. However, without knowing precisely where in time you are, your brain has been unable to automatically perform the restoration process. But I know exactly where we are, and I could easily transfer those coordinates to you. You could then initiate the restoration process with just a thought.”

Elle felt excited. She really would be able to reclaim the memories of her past life! But then, a thought occurred to her.

“What would happen with the memories from my time here, then?” she asked, her voice hesitant.

“I’m afraid you’d lose them all.” Paul sounded apologetic now. “The restoration process is, by necessity, all-encompassing. It just overwrites your current memories with those stored in the Repository. Since we can’t interpret your memories in the Repository, we can’t pick and choose what to restore. It’s all or nothing, I’m afraid.”

Ellie felt a sinking sensation as despair crept back in. “So I’m either a Sunguard agent, or I’m Ellie McBrian. But I can’t be both,” she said, her voice thick with sadness.

“I’m sorry, Ellie. That’s the way it has to be. The only way we could pick out only selected memories from your Repository is one I will not allow.”

Annoyance flared within her. Now she felt not just disappointed, but a little angry, too. Who was he to decide about her memories?

“So there is a way, then?” she said.

“Technically, yes,” Paul answered. “You’re a Sunguard Special Agent. You have the right to know, of course. Hypothetically speaking, we could copy your genetic code, use it to grow a new biotic brain with your exact brain structure, download the memories into that brain, and then ask it to provide the specific memories we’re looking for. It would work, but I will not allow it.” Paul’s tone grew firm, leaving no room for debate. A biotic brain was a living, conscious individual. To him, it was not a tool to be used and discarded.

“So I’ll lose all my memories. My parents, Sally, they’ll all be gone. Do I even have a choice?” she blurted.

“Of course you have a choice. You’re not a slave to the Sunguard. You’re a Special Agent, that’s true, and that can never change, because it’s in your genes; it’s how you were designed. But you’re not a thing - you’re not owned by the Sunguard.” He spoke gently but with conviction.

She scoffed. “What, so it’s just a job? Like, I’m getting paid for it?”

Paul laughed, the sound mixing with the thunder of crashing waves far below. Being a Sunguard Special Agent wasn’t quite like flipping burgers at McDonald’s.

“No. No, it’s not really like that. The Sunguard provides for you. It’s more that you don’t actually need money. If there’s something you need, as a Sunguard Special Agent, you have the authority to simply take it.”

“Stealing for the Sunguard?” she snorted. She had to admit, she found the idea rather amusing, in a ridiculous way.

Paul laughed again, in that kind way of his. “Oh, no!” he said. “As a Sunguard Special Agent, you have the authority to decide what is legal and what isn't. If you take something and deem it legal for you to take it, then by definition, it's not theft.” He realized how foreign the concept must be to her, to empower a being with that kind of authority.

“So if I’m not property of the Sunguard, I can just walk away. They’d allow me to do that?”

“Well, it has happened before. Not often, but it has,” Paul replied, as he remembered friends long gone. “Besides, it’s not like they could do anything to stop you if you did. But… they wouldn’t have to. You would probably never want to leave. Like I said, being a Sunguard Special Agent is in your genes. Think of it like this: a biological person has to breathe. But that doesn’t make them a slave to oxygen. Breathing isn’t their job - it’s just something they do because breathing is part of who they are.”

Ellie tried to make sense of the analogy. “It’s the same thing with us,” Paul continued. “Being a Sunguard Special Agent is something we desire. It’s like we have this Sunguard-shaped hole in our souls, and only by being Special Agents can we fill it. We yearn for order, for control, for justice, for safety, for the law. Haven’t you felt it? The desire to make the world a better place for others. To protect those who can’t protect themselves. To stop those who are about to do wrong before they can even start. The Sunguard is the only place where we can do that, the only place where that yearning can reach fulfillment.”

July 25, 1999, Sacramento, Earth

9:44 AM

For the first time in seemingly endless months, she had slept peacefully. Oh, the vivid dreams had been there. But they hadn’t felt like nightmares, despite their violence and intensity. She understood them now. She didn’t remember more than before, but now she truly understood.

And she had made her choice.

With the slightest flick of a thought, she initiated a direct radio connection to Paul.

“You told me I had a choice.” she said. “A choice between remaining Ellie McBrian in 1999 or becoming a Sunguard Special Agent in the distant future, losing all my memories of Ellie in the process.”

“Well, I am a Sunguard Special Agent. And with the authority vested in me, I declare that I do not have to make that choice.”

“Instead I choose, willingly, to follow you to the future and take on my role as a Special Agent for the Sunguard, to uphold the law and protect the citizens of the Terran Federation from threats, from within and from without. But I also choose to do this without restoring my old memories.”

“I am Ellie McBrian, Sunguard Special Agent. Daughter of Roger and Eva. Best friend of Sally.”

“Bad guys, beware the wolf!”

Author's Note

Thank you for reading Time for Memories! What you've experienced is just one of many stories set in the expansive Lords of the Stars universe I've created over the past 30 years. If you enjoyed it, there are many more tales to explore, where familiar characters and locations might reappear, or you could discover new favorites. Exploring the wider Lords of the Stars universe also gives you the joy of connecting the dots and uncover connections between the stories.

If Time for Memories is the first story from this universe you've read, I think you'll particularly enjoy Conscience of Steel, which is a sequel to this story.

Visit the official Lords of the Stars blog for more information about this hard sci-fi universe: https://lordsofthestars.wordpress.com