“The FTC Oversight Committee authorities are at it again, running more bloody paperwork across my desk. Colin, I am sick of it, to the pit of my stomach.” Ethan plunged his hands deep into the pockets of his trousers, just as deep in thought.

As glaring floodlights came down, saturating the scene of the crash reenactment of Princess Diana’s accident, Ethan LaPierre and Colin Bishop exited the area just beyond the range of the tragic play. For the seventh time, a painstaking process was played out, covering various realms of possibilities and relevant conspiracy theories regarding what actually happened one fateful August night so many years before when a beloved princess perished. Observers and participants alike hoped against hope for a decisive resolution, wishing this would be the last Time Trial regarding a lady long gone but not forgotten. It was traumatic to watch but it was not met with resolve. “Clear and reset” were not welcome words to their weary crew that night. At 1:00 a.m. they intended to run it again.

Ethan was preoccupied with matters of his own, busy looking back in mind over the past few weeks, recalling redundant requests he had received, messages coming from different departments, all pertaining to the same subject.

“Why can’t I answer their questions once then leave it to them to sort it amongst themselves?” Chuckling aloud, rhetorical in tone, the question posed as a statement didn’t require any response. “Doesn’t anyone around here ever compare notes?” It seemed a legitimate inquiry. His friend answered the call with a reason offered, one plausible explanation for the delay.

“Perhaps that is just what they’re doing, cross-referencing your answers to the same questions from different departments, establishing a consistency they require. They’re most likely as cautious as you are, P. They cannot fathom your submission! I think ‘20/20 Hindsight’ boggled their minds! Your project is unlike any other ever proposed. Fuckin’ aye, mate, there’s a reason your submission has been on the table for so long. Bugger! You wrote the bloody thing! You know the complexities, the variables of the proposal. P! Listen to me! They’re still trying to wrap their minds around the concept’s construct. Give them time.”

It was indeed an equally painstaking process for all petitioners like Ethan. From requesting a “Flicker” research project, granting participants rights to the facility all the way from conception to fruition, every nuance was overseen and dissected. These expansive grounds currently had several projects ongoing at once, each more secretive than the last one. “Top Secret / Eyes Only” was the required protocol. All cleared projects possessed the same primary purpose: clarify history.

“There’s a silver lining. I know it! Ethan, listen to me. This is a sign that you’re closer than ever to an approval. Final touches to a masterpiece. It will happen.”

Colin’s encouraging words fell upon a set of recently deafened ears, too much residual sound from the crash still ringing in them, his cluttered mind was too noisy.

“No, mate. They’re too cautious. It is never going to happen. They are too afraid of it.” Ethan tried to apply logic, watching every step on the moist grass deceptively slick, laden with dew. He paused, turning toward his confidant. “They want to know things I can’t tell them until it is all over. Why don’t they understand that?”

“Look, you’re a historian and a scientist. Some of them are, as well. Facts and patterns will make the final decision here.” Colin tried to lighten the mood. “They may reject it just because you’re too bloody ugly to be a hero.”

“I don’t know, Colin, I just don’t know.” Ethan was looking down, literally and figuratively, removing and glancing at the face of his reliable pocket watch as he’d done a thousand times before, ignoring the luminous face of the full moon above, casting its heavenly glow as it danced atop dewdrops beneath his feet. It was too lovely a night to feel so disheartened. Ethan was not paying any mind to the present moment as his mind’s eye remained entirely focused on his project and its future. He had a viable mission, an intriguing scenario being bogged down in bureaucracy, literally wasting time itself.

Secluded, sheltered from the storm of societal knowledge and judgment, these two gentlemen knew they were very privileged to be here. Taking a moment to look back toward the path out into the moonlit night, a spectacular view was breathtaking for both. Although they’d heard it before, for anyone close enough, within earshot, the replay they’d just taken part in left a mark, indelible impressions impossible to erase. Every single time was more shocking than the last, adding insult to injuries, grave mortal wounds. Stopping on the hilltop to take it all in, they silently observed the opulent, sprawling six-hundred-and-forty-eight acre research field before them, providing ample space, privacy necessary for their Flicker test trials. Encompassing the facility, this vast tract of land located northeast of the Oxford University campus was buried within an expanse of lush greenery known as Oxfordshire. Known to all involved, familiar with the project, it was called “The Valley”. Within its confines were docks and hangers, roadways and even a mock-up of an airport. Some areas revealed pristine lawns in suburban settings while others had wild vegetation, tall willowy grassland gone to seed. Left deliberately unkempt, the grassy knoll worn as a clever disguise, The Valley was designated to and definitive of different times and locations from all around the globe, created specifically for acts of re-creation.

There were many entrances to and from this bucolic setting but only one for the staff parking. It was quite a hike up the lengthy staircase, framed by metal handrails on either side, painted multiple times over the years, attempting to cover wear and tear. It was a busy place. Situated beside the steep staircase was a tall, wide tunnel with an ascending concrete ramp providing access for numerous work vehicles that transported stockpiles of odd materials for buildings, technical support and the like. It resembled stadium tunnels football teams come running through onto American playing fields, only much larger.

Just seventeen steps into their trek up and out of The Valley, Ethan’s breathing became labored. Although six feet tall and slender, he was not athletic in any way, shape or form. Ethan had the metabolism of a scared rabbit and the diet of one, too. His earlier years spent with his nose buried in some book or any journal he could get his hands on and wrap his mind around, for all his knowledge the man was not a bit street savvy. Huffing and puffing, he was also clearly out of shape. Colin felt the necessity to state the obvious regarding this condition.

“Fuck me, mate! What was the course level for your fitness requirements?”

“Tier One Level Three.” Ethan forced the answer through in one exhale.

“Good Lord! My Gramms could run that with ‘er knickers down to ‘er knees!” Colin’s thick British accent suddenly assumed a more authentic lilt, almost Scottish brogue, with his use of the well-worn phrase. Ethan just shook his head, visualizing a favorite old Monty Python skit of an old lady in a full sprint. His hybrid ethnicity showed only in his humor. Though Ethan’s English was perfect, as textbook proper as one might expect, during more improper moments, these two gents would resort to their true nature with ease. Colin frequently told his best mate that he could charm like a Frenchman, possessing that certain je ne sais quoi his kind are so famous for, yet he could banter with the best of the Irishmen. Ethan possessed an ideal blend of his parent’s distinctly different cultures.

“So? What’s your point then, smart arse? It is meant to be...a predetermined, objective observation...like a fly on the wall, my good man, a quiet little fly on the wall.” Ethan rationalized.

Between his inhales and exhales, he choked out a response but could not muster enough air to continue on. Winded, Ethan kept account of his steps as Colin teased, deciding to lend support to his companion with a hand under his arm.

“Of course, unless it goes off course, then the proverbial fly has no wings left after that flight!” Colin was suddenly serious. Tugging at Ethan’s arm, both stopped on the stairs. “P. What if you get stuck there?”

They stood, staring at each other in silence. “Nah!” was spoken in unison. Both realized that would never happen, a ludicrous notion, at best. Inconceivable! Their training was meticulous. No room for error. No doubt about it.

Funny, sometimes, how the mind works, especially on the staircase. How many times had Ethan counted the stairs he ascended, but only while ascending? A force of habit, always stunned by the number of steps, he counted silently as he spoke. It seemed to quiet his mind...57, 58, 59, 60, 61, 62, 63 and 64...finally!

Graciously waiting a moment for Ethan to catch his breath, the men stood atop the staircase they’d just climbed, peering out across the magnificent “valley”. Colin couldn’t help but be amused by the sweaty brow of his friend. Ethan couldn’t help but notice the moon illuminating the sprawling facility.

The FTC or “Flicker Trials Consortium” was at full force that night, removing vehicles, resetting the field for yet another reenactment. Their second run had been scheduled prior to the initial one, a just in case block of time reserved for any such scenario, all ready to commence after initial review and assessments were returned. The computer banks spitting out calculations, giving vital course corrections before the next reenactment could commence, from such a distance it appeared more like organized chaos that would, no doubt, continue until morning’s first light. For these two men on the crest of the hill, it was late. Two replacement “Scopes” were already present for the next reenactment, so the time had come for them to go home.

The FTC was comprised of numerous committee-approved videographers and photographers, emergency workers, professional drivers, construction contractors, maintenance, and so forth. Any and all trial participants were subjected to the same intense security scrutiny endured by those in the upper echelon, perhaps more so. As background checks go, this was not a run of the mill, point and click affair, not the standard fare. Drug testing was as thorough as their physical examination was invasive. Intrusions were simply a part of the process. Various clandestine agencies emulated their protocol. It was all quite secretive down in the trenches and tunnels of The Valley. Members of the team knew they were being perpetually scrutinized for any sign of weakness or psychological trauma, watched like a hawk stalking its prey, watched at all times by those who were, in turn, being observed by someone else. That was how it worked and everyone knew it. Here in this form privilege had its lack of privilege. Under severe penalty disclosure agreements, they all collected their hefty “private contractor” salaries and kept their mouths shut. It was just the job.

Ethan and Colin were two of many university professors, scholars, experts and others of proper qualifications who were part of the oversight protocol of every trial conducted at the facility. Their purpose in process allowed them (as electorates and select team members) an opportunity to experience the reenactments firsthand, not from a final report on a desk. One mantra: “The more eyes on the prize, the better”. Each and every trial had its Scopes, those there but not there, taking it all in, giving project directors opinions, different perspectives, angles and approaches, ideas they could also implement for their own pending research projects. They’d seen enough that night to make a few crucial recommendations to the FTC team leader, including the suggestion of a re-training order for one young man who could not seem to curb his carelessness, nonchalantly tossing a loose limb onto the sidewalk.

Every Scope invested much time into these trials as one compulsory element of observation and preparation proficiency, one piece of an overall acclimation to the facility. All future progress of their own proposal was contingent upon completion of the task, rotating observer duties between various reenactments underway. Colin and Ethan attended the only Time Trial operating on site that night, participating as conscientious observers. Job done, they were free to go on their way then file the corresponding incident reports in the morning. In the rising mist, hilltops bathed in the mystical white light from above, two men appeared as ghostly figures floating away, heading home across the moors.

Dozens of advanced stadium lights aligned with distant hedgerows at a natural boundary of The Valley. Utilized during nighttime resets, at other times, to simulate daylight, the halogen halo cast from above illuminated the landscape. These stately, stoic fixtures were particularly useful for the occasional time trials that ran over the allotted time on their schedule, though this happened infrequently. The whole team had it down to a science. Having just walked away from the scene of this deliberate accident, the gentlemen paused to reflect on their mutual good fortune, two among only a few dozen people on the planet who knew what was occurring in The Valley. From their shared vantage point, the landscape suddenly appeared surreal, ethereal in nature, glowing from afar like the moon above.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Ethan murmured.

Colin did not respond in words while they gazed down upon The Valley. There was no need. It was self-evident. Both were overcome by the place in that moment, not only by the lush inviting valley but by all the technology contained inside it, the genius at work within its borders. It was quiet, residual sounds from the crash site unable to carry the distance on the barely perceptible breeze. As they stood on its periphery all video, audio and photographic data was being wirelessly downloaded. Evidence collected from the observation tower at the trial site went straightaway to the secure Flicker database located underground, beneath Fellow’s Garden, hidden in plain sight on the main campus at Oxford University. This was where all of their extensive review occurred. All that remained missing was the Scope reports.

“Dr. LaPierre! Dr. Bishop!” Young Maggie was approaching the men, waving her arms wildly in the air, stirring up the night’s molecules with a manila folder in hand, so to flag them down. “Oh! Bloody! Hell!” She’d blasted out the words. The two found an instant smile, as there was no curbing the amusement seeing the lass in the predicament she’d found herself on a soft sod path, her high heels penetrating, perforating the supple ground. Each step more awkward than the last, her struggling pace slowing due to the unexpected obstacle course she was improperly dressed to navigate. Sporting the standard suit, a professional outfit suitable only for the site’s tall observation platform known as The Tower, it was where she’d come from, her assigned station that night. This young woman was obviously out of her element in the elements. Twisting her ankle, slipping down to the ground on slick grass, knees buried in cold mud, an equally sunken expression on her face was precious for two Scopes observing her stuck in quite a quandary.

“Down she goes!” Colin’s voice projected all the way to the damsel in distress. The green-eyed, platinum blond youngling had been swallowed up, as if eaten alive by the muck and mire of marshland, managing to preserve the integrity of the sealed folder by tucking it in her jacket. She then sunk one hand into the ground, hoisting herself into a more dignified upright position. The next steps brought awareness to the absence of both heels now missing from her regretfully expensive pair of shoes. Each of the nubs protruding up from soggy sod, having snapped off where she fell forward, she was a mortified Maggie. Decorum tossed away in the wind along with the satin heels she tried to pry from her saturated feet, clinging like glue to thickly encrusted hosiery, this was a comedy of errors not lost on an audience of two highly amused men.

“Fuck! Fuckety fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” In the shrillest tones of pure frustration and an impromptu stomp of one foot, humiliated, angered by the ordeal, Maggie could not help herself. Nor could she extricate herself with grace.

“Ah, a woman of unique linguistic talents. English major? Or perhaps zoology, as that just reminded me of a newborn giraffe trying to walk.” Colin quipped in his worst Shakespearean falsetto, “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much!” Sarcasm a strong suit, he had a way about him which disguised this tendency in typical style, a dry wit the British are so famous for, perfected with practice over time.

Poised on the precipice of disaster, bogged down in pasty mud, there would be no escaping the dilemma with her dignity intact, so she sacrificed it along with her fancy footwear. Poor fragile creature, delicate as a daisy, the intern had never been so embarrassed, but for this to occur directly in front of the man she admired, even idolized, added to her awkwardness.

Ethan, always the gentleman, made a sympathetic query. “Are you all right, Ms. Daley?” He called to The Valley review staff member, one of his former students.

“Fine. I’m fine.” Shouting back from still a bit of a distance, she was attempting to master the stretch of less than manicured land yet to conquer.

“Mind yourself, mate. Here she comes! It seems there’s a lady in our midst!” Content in the knowledge that Maggie would never respond in kind, out of respect and a rapport with these men of stature, Colin enjoyed the restrained back and forth repartee between them all, much like a family at the dinner table. Ethan knowingly glanced his way, feigning a parental look of disapproval. He wanted to save the girl from more torture but knew Colin wasn’t done with her yet.

“You know, Magpie, someone will have to go fetch those things!” Colin, a bit of an antagonist, simply could not resist the urge to torment the flustered soul while pointing in the vicinity of the final resting place for her discarded shoes. “Protocol requirement: proper footwear must be worn at all times on the property.”

Ethan promptly came to her verbal aid, taking the argument to Colin with their usual exchange. “Field maintenance will retrieve them. She’s providing job security for the grounds staff.” Ethan was especially fond of Maggie. Bellowing his counter response assured she would hear him defending her honor. She had heard him loud and clear. Chastising Colin in the most jovial way, Ethan continued on her behalf.

“Did it even occur to you to go and help her?”

“What? And get myself stuck in the mud with her? It’s a deathtrap out there!”

Colin grinned as Ethan walked toward Maggie to lessen her embarrassing solo journey through the marsh, taking her hand in his own as added balance for both.

“Ms. Daley, why did you come this route?” Ethan seemed legitimately curious. She had cut across the marshland from the looming control tower constructed near The Valley’s edge, to head them off at the pass. Forced to detour from the delivery road due to incoming vehicles, late night deliveries common in The Valley, she had no choice but to tread upon unpaved terrain.

Still stomping along, each soggy step created that suction cup sound effect with the release of her feet from a saturated sod. Maggie wiped her one free hand on the skirt of her fine linen suit. Disgusted, the look on her face was a priceless keepsake, a still life snapshot of her for the ages.

“Because I didn’t know it was more of a deathtrap out there then stepping into traffic. Beggin’ your pardon, sirs. My language.” Sincere desperation in her meek little voice was evident as she spoke the truth, hoping for mercy, but none would be forthcoming from the devilish Doctor Bishop.

“Guessing you don’t get out much. Nice suit! Perhaps you’ve reconsidered the standard issue fatigues and army boots?” Colin, relentless in his pursuit of banter, the man lived for it.

As the two approached Colin, Maggie wanted to thank her gallant rescuer. She strained her neck to meet eyes with a man she looked up to in myriad ways, literally. As perky as she was petite, Maggie’s stature was, at best, diminutive. Standing only five feet tall barefoot in mud, she was severely eclipsed by Ethan’s height. Delicate, flawless features made all the more attractive by drifting moonlight, a speckled and freckled face splattered in mud, her smile beamed with a genuine innocence. That sparkling gaze so full of wonder, reverence and respect, Ethan could not help but notice her huge, green eyes looking up at him in awe. Maggie Daley was a devoted assistant, a fifth-year student as well as a first-year participant in the program.

“You left without taking your documents, sir. The director requests your report be on his desk by midday tomorrow.” Slipping the manila envelope from her jacket, she politely handed it to him, only then realizing they were still holding hands.

“Thank you, dear.” Ethan smiled sweetly. “As usual, above and beyond the call of duty. We can always count on you.” Releasing his grip from Maggie’s hand, he opened the seal of the folder.

Both men being much taller could not see the momentary expression of loss in her eyes as he broke the connection. She tried her best to hide her crush.

“Where’s my envelope?” Colin whined.

Stunned, petrified in place by the question, Maggie automatically began to tell her tale and cover her tracks, realizing she’d inadvertently grabbed only one of the pre-packaged report forms from the desk as she quickly left the observation tower.

There was an instant, with a devilish look of her own, a glimpse of a grin on her face, Maggie peered at Colin with that “Ya got me, now don’t rat me out!” look.

“Blast! I was certain I’d retrieved both packets from The Tower.” She rebutted.

“Do forgive her oversight, Colin. Besides, technically speaking, she prioritized correctly.” Ethan pumped up his chest in a competitive manner.

“Apparently so!” Colin acquiesced, a disapproving consent. “I suppose I’ll have to suffer the misfortune of going into my office and printing them off the template. It will take such an awfully long time, one, perhaps two full minutes.” The bad actor in Colin, the clown assumed an expression of epiphany. “But wait! Ethan, couldn’t you have done the same thing? And Ms. Daley has made this long, arduous trip for you, special delivery, all for naught. What a pity.” Dr. Bishop had a point. Empathy was not a usual character strength in him.

“Your efforts do not go unappreciated, Ms. Daley.” Ethan was always forthright with her. “As for apologizing for your colorful language, my own vocabulary leaves much to be desired at times.”

“You’re fucking right about that, Ethan!” Colin continued, attempting to engage her in a debate, to no avail. “You’ve quite the gutter mouth for such an intellectual. Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Daley? You’ve worked for him, after all. I’m sure you’ve heard a slip o’ the tongue a time or two, now haven’t you?”

“I couldn’t say.” Maggie hung her head, shifting her gaze at Colin as if to order him with her eyes to stow it before she got painted into an uncomfortable corner of this metaphorical room with a view of The Valley.

“Sure you can! You’re among friends.” Colin was searching for pressure points to bait the younger mind into banter.

“Well, perhaps a time or two.” Maggie regretted the statement the moment she made it. Her face flushing with fire, expecting steam to rise from her porcelain skin at any second as the heat of embarrassment hit the cool night air, Maggie was too overcome with dread to do anything more than smile a shy, sheepish grin.

“Aha! I knew it!” Colin’s wicked wit suddenly kicked into high gear. Pointing an accusing finger Ethan’s way, he reproachfully exclaimed, “Vulgar bastard.”

“Pay no mind to this cretin, Ms. Daley.” Ethan’s concern for her wellbeing was one of the reasons the young apprentice was so enamored with him.

“Well then, I’ll take my leave.” Maggie’s intense desire to flee the scene could not be interrupted. Pivoting in place, she turned away from the professors, preparing to make a more graceful exit than she had an entrance. Slipping again, her stockings slick with the dew, Ethan grabbed her elbow as she stumbled. Having kept her from falling, he held her upright, gently cupping his hand around her arm, hanging on a bit longer than necessary.

“Thank you, kind sir.” Made breathless by his touch, she allowed him to linger. As Ethan released his grasp, sensing his absence once again, she mourned the loss of the moment between them.

“Thank you, Ms. Daley.” Patting the envelope, “You’ll be in my thoughts now as this added work will keep me up half the night.” He followed the statement with a wink of assurance that he was truly appreciative of her efforts. Ethan’s sincerity was touching to the blushing young woman. Unbeknownst to him, the man touched her heart long before that fateful night, thrilled by the all too brief encounter shared with Professor LaPierre.

Maggie knew the intrepid trip continued. Retracing her steps back through the magnetic-like muck, she’d needed to return to The Tower. About twenty paces into her trek a moonstruck lass realized it wasn’t over yet, not by a long shot, as it was Colin’s bad boy habit to throw out the last word, always a final say so in the offing.

“I believe your shoes are in that direction, Ms. Daley! Have a safe trip!”

Her back turned to them, she raised a hand in acknowledgement, receipt of his comment, once again navigating the soft sod attempting to eat her feet. Colin half expected and definitely hoped for one extended finger on that hand directed at him. To his dismay, he was disappointed, but Ethan was not...not ever.

Waiting for his former apprentice to attain a sufficient distance so he would not be overheard, an ever vigilant, always patient Ethan reflected on Maggie’s kindness extended, and at what cost to her wallet as well as her dignity.

“It was good of her to track me down.”

“I still think we should have had her arrested.”

“Arrested? On what grounds?” Ethan took the bait.

“On these grounds, my good man.” Gripping Ethan by the shoulders, pointing him toward the field of evidence. “Her shoes! Those heels are still stuck out there somewhere! ‘Littering’! Hello?”

Ethan, rolling his eyes, broke free of the clutch. Colin stood there, hands on his hips, gazing across the open terrain as his colleague attempted to make his escape, widening his stride with each step.

Turning to see Ethan long gone, Colin had to run to catch up. A rather symbolic act played out as it had many times before in different ways, the proverbial younger sibling in hot pursuit of big brother. Rushing to his side, Colin continued unabated.

“Well, that was quite the chemistry lesson the two of you just had.” Colin added, “And quite the education for me.”

“Whatever are you talking about?”

The two men returned to their walk, heading in the direction of the car park.

“We work quite well together.” Knowing where this was going, Ethan wanted to nip it in the bud before it bloomed fully on his cheeks.

“Oh! To be sure! But she could have grabbed two envelopes, mate. She knew we had left together. Guess I wasn’t on her mind.” With a fiendish grin and taunting tone, Colin had made another astute observation. “She is blossoming into quite the attractive young lady, don’t you agree, P?”

If you think of her as so blossomed then ask her out yourself.” Noticing Colin’s expression, Ethan knew he was equal to the ensuing rhetoric.

“Oh, no, I’d never do that! I like her far too much to ruin her. After all, I’d only break her heart. You know me, P.” Colin flung his arm around Ethan’s shoulders.

“Indeed, I do.”

“Why settle for merely one when there are so many young lovelies awaiting my company? Besides, I wouldn’t go down that road. I would not stand a chance. She’d never pay me any mind, anyway. She’s yours in heart, my good man. I would never presume to cross that bridge.”

“You’re quite off your bloody rocker tonight.” Ethan observed.

“Ms. Daley has been your little understudy for years yet it appears you’ve never made any moves in that direction?”

“Moves? Get a grip! She’s practically a child! She’s half my age and twice my class, at least five times yours!” Ethan sized him up with his eyes, causing Colin to have a moment of pause, scanning himself once over, but only for a moment.

“Thank you, kind sir! It’s so good of you to notice me!” Mocking Maggie, Colin should’ve expected the playful shove he received. Colin knew he’d struck a nerve, nudging him back in an almost Masonic-like ritual of acknowledging one another’s intentions and feelings.

Inwardly, Ethan’s discontent was really for himself, within himself, pertaining to his decided lack of carnal knowledge. Decades spent as a student then a master, from boyhood to manhood, he never pried his nose from those books long enough to behold all the beautiful scenery surrounding him on campus. Abundant examples of the female form on constant display, at his disposal, he’d never looked up. It just wasn’t a focal point for him.

Oh, to be sure, there’d been a few brief encounters, interludes in his past as an undergraduate. He remembered one slightly drunken girl at a frat party. Spurred on by his college brethren, her inebriation had made her the aggressor as she thrust her tongue down his throat. What he most recalled was how humiliated he was for her and how agitated he’d been with his friends. It was not funny or sexy. It was sloppy. Nasty. The smell of hard liquor on her breath and the residual taste of it on her lips repulsed him. Ethan was not enticed by her kind, not in the least.

His desires for romance always seemed fulfilled in mind and heart by those women whose lives and accomplishments were recorded in literature. Fascinated, seduced by their words and deeds in earlier times, women who had captured his imagination through their contributions to history had the most profound effect on him. He had always felt an attachment to those long gone; those who’d once made the world a far more interesting place, even though they were no longer a part of it in flesh and blood. They had remained alive in his mind, immortal, companions he would never have to part with for as long as he lived. Their former existence in time functioned as his mental aphrodisiac, a truly emotional touchstone for an otherwise introverted soul immersed in his own world. He yearned only for the same cerebral intimacy attained while spending time among them, keeping company within the pages of a book.

Looking back on it, Ethan wondered why his path had been a solitary venture, a lonely road traveled through time. The females he had been exposed to during the course of his primary education were generally over-exposed, present in the flesh, present day women too in the moment for a man desperate to find a common past. How many times had fraternity brothers ridiculed him for his social disinterest with the opposite sex? Over time, some of the same guys flunked out, due to those many distractions, no doubt. Others graduated then moved on into high salary corporate executive positions and most of them later became firmly entrenched in politics. Professor LaPierre was unique. A studious, serious sort, a fellow dedicated, devoted to the cause of pure research for the sake of advancing human knowledge, his rather high-minded predisposition had left the gentleman outstanding in the field...alone. Several others like Colin Bishop, as friend and colleague, never left the nest either. Academia provided them a sense of home, a safe haven where the heart was spared the ravages of a cruel world and a new discovery was always around the corner.

“You’ll be getting on to your flat then?” Colin asked, apparently disappointed to see their adventure come to an end.

“Yes, but I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep. This, atop all the other reports I have to do, all due by midday. I expect to be up all night.” Ethan replied.

“I could do them with my eyes closed.” Colin was a cocky sort.

“Well, that rather defeats the purpose, doesn’t it?” Ethan applied logic. “A bad attitude for any Scope to have, I’d say.”

Colin ignored the logic but knew he’d have to delay the pomposity for a future time. “Right then. Meet for tea?” Cajoling, he prompted Ethan to respond.

“Uh, yeah. Should be fine, right, ring me up.” Ethan was obviously distracted, lost in thought. On autopilot once he opened the envelope to begin sifting through its familiar contents, what he held in hand was not a request. Report forms were to be filed promptly, a requirement at the conclusion of every time trial, whether or not the time trial came to a conclusion. No matter how tedious it had become, Ethan could not afford to be anything less than diligent in his approach, as it might reflect poorly on him otherwise, harming his chances for submission approval. This boring routine necessary to cover all the elements of any reenactment, he began composing his answers to the standard fare questionnaire in his head.

“Don’t fall asleep before you finish!” Colin quipped. His risqué double entendre had not escaped Ethan’s notice.

“Yeah, I know...you can do it in your sleep.”

As always, needing to have the last word, Colin took one more stab at Ethan’s cardio-conundrum on the stairs. “Just hoping ol’ Jackie was out of shape...and you don’t have to chase him!” Sharing yet another knowing grin between them, with a wink and a nod, they parted ways for the evening.