AMELIA SHRUGGED off her backpack once she had closed the door, dropping the stained and dirty scrap of material onto the wooden and cheaply carpeted floor, before heading for the kitchen.

Brushing back her brown fringe, she turned on the kettle, its familiar hiss of steam relaxing her somewhat as she put some Insta-Coffee into two cups, before turning up the dial of the old-fashioned, yet effective radio. When the solar flares roasted the satellites to crisps, people had to make do with what they had. Daryl, ever the tinker, had fixed up the small black radio, and, besides from the momentary static every few minutes, it worked as perfectly as a 2020 Phoenix-model Galaxy Receiver. Amelia sighed and leant against the counter, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the wall.

What else could she have done? She wondered. Was Professor Tatumm impressed by her speech and understanding, but not by the content? I should've stuck with Eohippus, she thought miserably. Surely prehistoric horses were far more interesting than old sea anemones? Amelia wasn't sure; but she did know that she had not impressed the professor. The whistling of the kettle woke her from her stupor, and she poured the water into the two cups, blending the Insta-Coffee just the way Daryl liked it before picking them up and carefully walking out of the other kitchen door, into the lounge.

"Daryl?" She called, her gaze focused on the cups as a brown droplet of coffee ran down the mug. "You here?" Amelia looked up and stifled a gasp of shock.

Two men sat in the lounge, their gazes unreadable upon her through their tinted sunglasses. She stared at them for a moment longer before dropping the coffee mugs, the hot liquid splashing over her boots and the bottom of her bare shins. She barely registered the pain as she darted back into the kitchen, her breath frozen in her lungs as she ran, her mind unconsciously flashing to all the reports of rape and kidnapping around the Michigan area after the drought. The rise in crime and the murders --

Amelia screamed as someone grabbed her from behind, and a coarse hand was pressed over her mouth to stifle her shrieks. Her arms were pinned to her sides as she tried to kick the man behind her, but her boots made no contact with any flesh. Tears were running down her face as she tried to pull away, only for the second man to help the first drag her back into the lounge. The coffee stained her boots and the smell of sweat and fear were the only things she could register as she screamed a muffled cry again.

The one man-bigger than the other-spoke in her ear roughly. "We're not going to hurt you, alright? Just stay quiet and don't try and run away again - then we won't have any problems." Amelia was gasping for breath as though she had come up from a long dive, but she nodded, with no other alternative than to obey their wishes. "Okay... I'm going to release you now." She felt the arm around her waist slip away, and she stumbled forward, towards the seats were the men had been sitting in the first place. Amelia's arms were shaking as her eyes trailed over the room. The antique chairs and the glass coffee table, the paintings of flowers she'd never seen and would never see on her walls. They'd witness her death. And Daryl would find her in a pool of her own blood, she knew.

One of the men cleared his throat, and she twisted around, scared once more. "What do you want from me?" She whispered, wrapping her arms around herself under their robotic stares. Neither looked bedraggled from chasing her, and the smaller -perhaps younger -of the two spoke quietly. Amelia was surprised at his gentle tone. She didn't think a rapist would have such a calm, smooth voice. "Forgive us, Miss Amelia Doveare, for frightening you. But this was the only way we could talk in private, without interruptions."

Dread built up in her chest. "My cousin will be home in any minute," she played her only trump card, but neither looked particularly worried about Daryl's impending arrival from the electricity farm.

"Daryl Zanderson? He's taking an extra shift at his job at Bolts and Strikes." Amelia's chest heaved in fear. She was truly on her own.

"Please." She pleaded, unsure of which one to turn to. "Please don't hurt me."

"We wouldn't even dream of that." The younger man replied, seemingly surprised. She couldn't tell through the oily black darkness of the sunglasses. "Quite the opposite, Miss Doveare. We're here to request your services in a particular project my partner," he gestured to the other man, "and I represent."

Amelia's mind buzzed, but she didn't let her guard down. "Why would you break into my home, then? And attack me like that?"

The man looked uncomfortable, and he brushed imaginary lint from his black suit's arm. "We received your address from a Professor A. Tatumm? I believe you had an interview with him regarding the university position." She frowned. Why would the professor share her address with these men? Unless... Amelia's eyes widened as she remembered the professor's final words: "Keep your options open."

Suddenly she didn't feel as alarmed anymore. The professor had given her a clue all along! And if he believed that these men's proposition was perhaps even better then a spot at the university, why would she reject it at all?

Amelia swiped at her cheeks viciously, removing all remaining tears from her face. "Take a seat." She spoke hoarsely. "I'm sure this'll be a long explanation."

"It is indeed." They sat down, and the young man continued. "My name is Gerald. Gerald Simonns. This is Atlas Mayson." She inclined her head to Atlas, the memory of him grabbing her still too fresh in her mind for her to properly greet him. Gerald leant forward, his short blonde hair falling over his sunglasses as he arranged his fingers to form a triangle as he spoke. "We represent a scientific institution that partnered with New England's I.O.K. studies group. You've heard of it?"

"Yeah." Amelia's mind raced as she remembered the political uproar over New England's outreach to take over North America's scientific institutions. The promise of profit and advanced technology wasn't appealing enough for the former president of the USA, and Queen Rae quickly abandoned any partnership with it. But that was eight years ago, before things got really bad almost everywhere, and where any new technologies would've been a blessing for the dwindling population.

"The Institution Of Knowledge led the charge for the Pommie science take-over. But I don't understand... why would they still evoke a partnership with an obviously rebellious country?" Amelia frowned as Gerald nodded thoughtfully, giving her a flicker of a smile. She'd asked the right thing.

"A good question. You see, our institute is not one of any... average means. We joined  forces with I.O.K. for better chances of success with the compromise that they could contribute human labor for the end product."

"Human labor?" She clasped her clammy hands together. "What exactly are you doing? And why did you seek me out for it?"

Gerald straightened and put his hands on his knees, sharing a glance with Atlas. The bigger man nodded slightly. He turned back to Amelia, his mouth a grim line. "We're alone, right?"
Amelia nodded, her throat dry as the tension and seriousness suddenly filled the room like storm clouds. "What you are about to hear is highly confidential," Gerald hissed, as though someone could hear them through the walls. "For selected people of valued skills." He sighed and rubbed his chin, before Atlas spoke, his voice rough and grave. "This could be a matter of life or death."

She couldn't take it anymore. She laughed, a high pitched squeak of an exhalation filled with pent-up nerves and tension. Gerald and Atlas stared at her, perplexed. The silence after her sudden giggle was even more intimidating than the impending news.

Amelia composed herself, looking at the ground awkwardly. "You're kidding, right?"

"Pardon?" Gerald frowned, his pale eyebrows furrowing.

"You're kidding." She lifted her head, speaking louder. Her heart thudded in her chest. "Why would you give me this information? It must be a joke, right?" The last part was mostly to herself. Whatever these men were proposing, whatever they wanted her to do, she would refuse. If lives rested in her hands... she shuddered mentally. No, being a professor would be much safer.

"I am afraid this is no joke," Gerald spoke again, more pityingly. "And we came here in order to - hopefully - recruit you for our highly prestigious team." She stared at Gerald, and the shock must have been written all over her face, because he elaborated, albeit hesitantly. "You, if you agree, will be part of our thirty scientists and adventurers; our 'First Wave', if you can call it that, paving the way for our 'Second Wave'."

Despite her inner doubts, Amelia was becoming more and more intrigued. "Mr Simonns... what exactly are you asking me?"

"I'm asking," Gerald's sunglasses glittered in a way that suggested he knew about her internal struggle. "Whether, if you could, would you go back into the past, to change the future?"

━━━━

what will Amelia do with this new proposition? what would you do in her position?