A VERY intelligent word escaped her mouth at Gerald's own.

"Huh?"

The two men shared a glance, as if suddenly doubting they had chosen the right person to approach. She tried to recover her wits, but her thoughts seemed to scatter as she tried to grab them. "I don't understand." Amelia stammered. Her eyes were stinging, as were her shins, where the scalded skin and hair decided that then was the time to start alerting her of the pain.

"You're talking about... time travel. Right?" The room, which had previously seemed so cavernous, was now closing in on her. She didn't want to listen any more. But the dark-suited men in front of her showed no indication of leaving.

"The less scientific term, yes," Gerald replied. He suddenly seemed nervous, wringing his hands and looking away from her. Atlas' eyes were unreadable, the darkest of oil hiding his expression. Amelia blinked. She didn't laugh this time.

"You're daggin' kidding me." She blurted, no longer nervous or afraid. This preposition didn't seem so appealing any more — not when Professor Tatumm, and these men, these intruders, took her for a fool. Time travel was impossible. I.O.K. was a prestigious league of Englishmen who would have more fun sipping tea than trying to navigate such technologies; it was hopeless. Even a paleontologist, as lowly as she in economic and government ranks, could see that the future of North America was only going one way — down. And nothing would ever change that.

"You think I'm an idiot, don't you?" Amelia's voice unexpectedly quivered, yet she refused to back down. Anger replaced fear and intrigue. "You want my knowledge. My research. Everything that has taken years to accumulate. You don't care about me, or this country, or anyone but yourselves!" She suddenly found herself standing, fists clenched, looming over even Atlas. The fact that they looked less than impressed only infuriated her further. "Well, if you think that I am that gullible, then you have another thing coming!"

Yet what was she going to do? She realized, pausing for a second. She had no weapons — unless she counted the small table. But Amelia doubted she'd be able to heft it; Daryl was the weight-lifter of the apartment, moving and rearranging furniture when she added another painting or case of fossils to the collection. The men would easily overwhelm her,  and then her tiny rebellion would be over. It was almost laughable. Amelia had no other option than to listen to the raw sewage spewing from Gerald's mouth.

"Miss Doveare, we do urge you to remain calm," Atlas spoke, his guttural tone annoyed, like a mother scolding a young child. Amelia was beginning to wonder if he was the one in charge, even if he didn't speak the most. "Time is critical, and every second we spend trying to appease you is another death we could've prevented."

Although the large man could have been far less blunt, she had to admit that they had a point. With their pale skin and expensive clothing, which wasn't yet layered with the grime that had become the signature uniform of the inhabitants surrounding the dust-bowl once called Lake Michigan, they had obviously traversed across from far, and were way out of their comfort zones. The least she could do was listen, even though Amelia was tempted to curse at them with every swear she knew.

"Alright." She sat back down, making sure that they knew that she was the one in control of this conversation, and that she could walk out at any second. Gerald seemed to have controlled his momentary hesitance, and Atlas once again lapsed into silence.

"Your paleontologic background has its premiums, yes, but we have been working closely with Professor Tatumm for nearly a decade; if he says that you're our prime choice, then you're our prime choice. He declared your documented public background an exceptional one — degrees in science and biology, as well as interest asserted into anthropology and advanced history. All of these skills would be exceptionally handy for this rather delicate mission, one that only the best of the best are chosen for." He paused, then took off his sunglasses. Amelia was stunned at how sincere his gray eyes were.

"To be chosen, or even considered, for the Era mission, is an honor. And, quite frankly, dear Amelia, you're our current best candidate."

She frowned for a moment, noting the hitch in his voice. "Era?" The word held a significance she could not understand.

"ERAA." Gerald confirmed. "Acronym for Epochal Relocation, Additional Assistance." He paused, allowing that to sink in. Amelia rubbed her chin, swallowing this.

These guys are serious.

"Additional assistance?" She was beginning to understand. Not quite grasping it, but the pieces were coming together in her mind — something that she didn't know whether she liked or not. Whatever these men were asking of her was a deeply critical matter. They needed her. Amelia felt something inside her twist. It had been a long time since she had been needed.

"The First Wave," the lean man in front of her explained. "The scientists, biologists, chemists, paleontologists, and anthropologists that will begin to pave the path for safe public relocation. Military forces will have already been stationed — the Epochal Relocation Armed Assistance."

Amelia had to hand it to these guys — they lived for their acronyms. And she was also surprised Gerald hadn't stormed out yet from all her hapless questions.

Before she could ask, he continued; "If you agree, you will be among these men and women, and be the first few people to have ever stepped foot in the Kimmeridgian era, during the —"

"Jurassic Period," she murmured, finally connecting the dots. Her unfocused gaze flitted back up to them. "Age of the Reptiles."

There was silence for a moment, as her proclamation ticked over. They looked at her expectantly, probably waiting for another outburst. Amelia didn't know what to think — or what to make of this situation. She hadn't ever needed assurance that one day she would 'change the world'. The world was past saving, or changing, for that matter. Even as a young girl she had known she would grow up to be nothing special — just another grave among the burnt-out buildings and fractured futures. No need to be nostalgic for a life she would never live.

But now these men were giving her a chance. The last chance they would ever have.

"Tell me everything." Her dark eyes latched on Gerald's. "And I mean everything." What they were proposing was no small matter — time travel, from what she had read in burnt books that had survived the twenties' riots, was a complicated theory. She couldn't believe she was even contemplating going back in time. But normalcy had crashed and burned, even for her, child of a ruined world.

Gerald opened his mouth, and she could already see his words spilling into the air, but Atlas cleared his throat and tapped his wristwatch. Holographic numbers appeared in the air, and the man put his sunglasses back on. "Although I would, Miss Doveare, our time seems to have run out. Your cousin will be home in approximately eight minutes." Her ears burned as she realized that they had known Daryl's true ties with her, and that her previous excuse was invalid. Amelia did not question how they knew all this — she merely stood up, burning with questions, yet swallowing them.

They also climbed to their feet, and Gerald shook her sweaty hand with his own warm one. Atlas gave a nod at her, before she walked back to the front door and opened it for them, the hot air once again pouncing into the cool apartment and forcing its way into her lungs.

"Your agreement to this proposition would be deeply appreciated, as would total and utter secrecy." Simmonns' words were firm. "You can tell no one what we have discussed; not until the fine print has been read."

"We will be in town until next week Monday," Atlas' words were guttural. "That gives you five days to contemplate what we have shared with you." His large hand brushed against her own smaller one as he handed her a small card. "Our private contact number.

"Don't bother trying to report it to the police, either," she had never known sunglasses over eyes could be so intimidating until that moment. "The number listed there can easily be abandoned if you do so, and it is among many."

"Call us," Gerald edged in. "You'll receive instructions, and you'll have to follow them within twenty-four hours. Failure to do so will mean termination of your candidate PB." Amelia swallowed, tucking the card into her pocket.

"I don't know what to say — it's a lot to take in."

"It'll get easier," Gerald responded gently. "Think on it. Call us; follow the instructions. All your questions will be answered."

━━━━

They were less conspicuous than she had thought they would be as they walked away. She took the card out of her pocket, reading the small, professional print across its surface.

Δεν υπάρχει τίποτα μόνιμο εκτός από την αλλαγή

there is nothing permanent, except for change.

PRELIMINARY ACTION, SCIENCE and TECHNOLOGY

"Huh." They really did like their sentimentalism. She turned the card over, and found the number. Ten digits that would change her life, and everyone else's, forever, if only she could dial it.

Memorizing the black numbers, she crumpled the small page up in her hand. "Five days," Amelia murmured to herself. "Loads of time."

━━━━

Daryl Zanderson was her cousin, her mother's brother's only son, who had grown up to be the tinker of the two. Even as they sipped their afternoon coffee — remade, with the hot drinks she had dropped painstakingly cleaned up — he was fiddling with Amelia's PortScreen.

"Let's hope it doesn't glitch anymore," he finally exclaimed, after screwing the screenboard back into place over the circuits. "How'd the interview go?" He met her eyes through her curly brown fringe. She swept it back to think about her answer.

"It went... okay, I guess." Now that she knew that Professor Tatumm had purposefully turned her away for the two men to intercept her unemployed status, she was less distressed about not getting the spot for tenure. But it would be uncharacteristic of her to act happy with that fact. "I don't think I got it," she murmured, her voice lower than before.

Daryl's cheerful expression fell. "But you practiced that presentation for months! We even went down to the Lakes to search for those corals together." (They had only found a few measly rock formations imprinted with the extinct fronds; mineral vultures had dredged the rest of the valuable fossils while tearing open the surface for the more well-known finds beneath the lake beds.)

Amelia felt guilt sink into her gut. She hated lying to Daryl, who was older than her by three months, yet often like the kid brother she'd never had. Making him unhappy for the sake of protecting a secret organization was the last thing she wanted to do. And it wasn't like she was interested in joining the loony-bin; but something about their words had awakened the opposite of a survival instinct within her. Something she hadn't felt in a while.

She wanted to save the human race. Above all — even through her disappoints in life, the hardships, the life-wrecking turmoils, she wanted to fix the world. Or at least dream to. Now that that chance was in her grasp, who would Amelia be by saying no? Certainly not a human being.

And if lies were the price she had to pay, then so be it.

━━━━