Time Corps 1

I buy a vanilla hazelnut coffee at the counter, add cream and sugar and find a window seat. I don't bother with one of the magazines, my eyes will get enough of a workout later, researching comparative religion. I'm trying to decide how much of Hinduism to replace with Buddhist thought.
Uninvited a large woman sits at my same table. Something about her catches my eye, but it takes a moment to realize what. See, dressing totally invisibly is usually a male thing, as in gray bureaucrat. Even a woman who dresses plainly, usually brightens it with jewelry, accessories, makeup. This one is totally devoid and it sets my on edge. I have never been in trouble with the law, but I still know a cop when I see one.
"So," she says affably, "ever read science fiction?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Come on, only men do that, white men."
"That makes you guilty of stereotyping. Isn't that every bit as bad as if a white man said you cooked curry into every meal?"
"I don't cook."
"Why not?"
"Why bother? Deli is there, price is reasonable."
"I see, now as I was saying, sci fi. So, even if you've never read it, what is your opinion?"
"Isn't all fiction just lies? Made up stories? Just ways of tormenting poor little school children, calling it literature?"
She laughs, "ok, fair comment. But I do want some clarification. Would you have more disdain, less disdain or the same for sci fi as opposed to literature in general?"
"The same. All lies."
"Good, exactly what I want to hear. Open-minded of a sort. So, actually I'm writing a sci fi novel in my spare time, run into writer's block."
My eyes glaze over - why me god? - why do they always pick on me?
She carries on as if I'm even one iota interested, "now you see, it's set 10,000 years off in the future. By then war has been abolished, but a large peacekeeping force is necessary to deal with various ethnic tensions."
I stare out the window, see the clock across the street, plan my getaway lie. Number 6 bus should be about right to finish this coffee.
"Now as it happens, there's a draft necessary to fill rosters for peacekeeping. But there's one quirk, one exception."
Isn't there always?
"See the Time Corps draft is totally different. Not only are citizens of the times eligible, but anyone from the past, from any of the signatory countries. That includes Canada and Guyana."
And now she has my attention. This is Canada of course, but how did she know I was Guyanese? Could be Trinny, Fijian, or even a real Indian from India.
She smiles uneasily, "now here is the exact stage of the writer's block. How on earth do these futuristic people contact present day ones? You could send email, but they just delete it."
So that would explain those half dozen emails. I feel my shoulders going tense.
"Or you can even talk with them, doesn't work. They just holler for the men in the white suits to come take you away. So now, what advice would you give me?"
"Don't quit your day job just yet. Be a bit before royalties start coming."
A look of weariness comes over her, "ok smart ass, I asked for that. Asked for general advice, not specific. Back to the question, how would you contact present day people?"
"Send two. Old good cop, bad cop routine, just like the movies."
Indulgent smile, "now why didn't I think of that?" Touches a button on a wristband.
A moment later, another woman, similarly dressed joins us.
First one grins, "wanna play good cop or bad this time?"
Second one drawls, "ain't gonna fool her, she has a Masters in history. Lay the cards on the table."
And there it is, two Military Police ID cards and a warrant for my arrest.
Second one shows a tiny blaster, "pal, take my advice. Don't resist. Penny ante charge, just non-appearance at first draft hearing. So attend, your odds become same as anyone else's. 9 chances out of 10 you're back home tomorrow."
Yeah sure and with my luck, they haven't filled their quota with token Indians.

The 2 MP's show me into Colonel Khan's office. I'm guessing she's Afghan. Gotta be 6'6", pumped look that a football linebacker would be proud of.
Col smiles indulgently, "dismiss."
"But Col, we're here for your protection."
She laughs, "go have coffee. I do suppose I can manage."
As they leave, she smiles, "coffee?"
"Yes please."
She pours, I add cream and sugar. It's good, far more tasty than what I'm used to.
"Right, the formalities. You are Indira Ramyar? Born and raised Skeldon, Guyana? Library worker in Canada?"
"Yes."
"So, why didn't you answer our emails?"
I twist a smile, "come on, get real, lotta nutbars on the web. Best if you don't encourage them."
"I must admit to one thing Indira. Curiosity. How can a person such as yourself, well-educated, have such a disdain toward fiction? Surely historical fiction would be a useful way of helping to understand history, would it not?"
"Sources, Col. Anything you put on a term paper or thesis, better be able to back up. Just needs one slip, put in something from historical fiction and you've discredited yourself. Fiction is too close to history to trust."
"My curiosity extends to your choice of Masters thesis topic. Why on earth would anyone opt for circa 1700 New France?"
"Col, one aims to find the uncrowded, easier to make discoveries that way. Outside of Quebec, within English Canada, the field is almost totally vacant."
"So you know French too?"
"Yes, how else would I get the source material?"
"Ever wonder what it would be like to actually visit the past? Not just read?"
"Col, I doubt if a 4'11" East Indian would pass unnoticed in New France?"
She laughs easily, then takes my face in her hands, turns it gently.
"Well now, just about perfect. Could almost pass as white, all those years in Canada, mild complexion. Definitely pass as Hispanic. You could pass in far more times and places in history than I could for example."
I don't reply, feel my shoulders go tense.
"Look Indira, let's get something straight. Law says we can compel you to attend a draft hearing. Law only allows actual draft of those from our time. Any out-of-timers, we merely make our offer, up to you to choose."
I feel one tenth of one iota less tense.
"So, after we talk, you want to go home, fine. Now this salary of yours. You might wish to compare it to a Lieutenant in the Time Corps. Here's a math factor which will translate it into figures you're used to."
I run her calculator. First year starts at equivalent of $423,000 Canadian. About $405,000 more than I'm used to.
She calls up photos of base accommodation. An apartment in BOQ is like a modern-day luxury condo in Canada.
Sardonic smile, "don't ever say I lied to you. Out on a mission, one blends in. So, if you are say in 1849 California, you'll have to make do with spartan."
"Col, why bother? Isn't if forbidden to actually kill anyone and alter history?"
She leans back in her chair, "good, like em with spirit, willing to debate. Ok, so why invent color TV? Wasn't black and white good enough? Why invent Mustangs, SUV's, Hummers? Wasn't the Model T Ford good enough"
"I ah get your point. Battlefield authenticity in your writing as opposed to back shelf research. So, what are my odds of dying on one of these adventures?"
"We do have a variety of devices, such as protection while you sleep. You have higher mathematical odds of being run over by a car in your home city than of dying on a Time Corps mission."
"And illnesses?"
"Taken care of. Join and you get the injection. Totally immune to any disease, past or present. You could actually go back, visit the Black Plagues, research it. Only danger is psychological, not physical. One could come back with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Others would, but you would not."
"And how do you know that?"
Awkward smile, "your variant of autism. Simply don't feel or at best, feel very vaguely, like seeing a grainy old black-and-white photo. You could live through literally anything, research it, become the most famous or infamous of us all."
I don't reply.
"You got one life. Modern research has debunked the old reincarnation myth. Don't waste that one life in a library. Do something earthshaking, real, important."
"Col, if it is such a wonderful thing, why don't your own people do it?"
"How does that chair feel Indira?"
"Way too big."
"Bingo. Those 2 MP's are midgets, who can travel to your time. Everyone else, man or woman, my size. Just imagine me in Canada or Guyana."
"I ah get your point."