My name is Ted Flockman. I’m sure you’ve heard of me. I have set five world records in hunting and fishing. I have been almost eaten, trampled or otherwise dispatched by animals at least 17 times, by my count. I have survived two plane crashes and a shipwreck. Oh, yeah, and I saved the world (possibly the universe) not long ago. But we won’t be getting to that part for a while.

The story that ensues is that of my career as a professional time traveler. So I will start with how I got a job at Naughthenny Moore’s Time Travel Association. My parents were missionaries to the Central American Republic of El Salvador. I grew up there, and I spent half of my adult life there. I avidly followed the development of the time machine (or “Temporal Displacement Device”) since it was announced as a theoretical possibility in 2044. As an imaginative 11-year-old, I dreamed of going back in time and watching the Aztecs build their great temples.

At that time, the government of El Salvador was completing the world’s first anti-matter extractor, the only device that could possibly generate enough power to run a TDD. As of this writing, it is the world’s only anti-matter extractor, thanks to an international ban the UN Council on Science and Technology imposed the next year. I knew that when a TDD was built, it would be in El Salvador, and I spent the next 15 years making sure I had the right resume to ride on it. I decided my best course was to major in anthropology and ecology. To get the best possible credentials, I went to college in the United States, ended up majoring in ecology and minoring in anthropology, and was captain of the rugby team. I should mention that I’m just shy of seven feet tall and weigh 295 pounds. When the U.S. went to war with Indonesia in 2053, I was drafted.

Fortunately, I suffered a “million-dollar-wound” falling out of a sequoia, and by the time I got well, the crisis had blown over. I still had to do military service, but I wasn’t sent outside the U.S. Instead, I spent a couple of years helping the National Guard control forest fires. I then spent five years working as a forester in different parts of South and Central America. One of my jobs was the very hazardous task of spraying cocaine crops with genetically engineered blight in Columbia. In 2061, the news finally came: A working TDD had been built, and a consortium called “Naughtenny Moore” had been established to run it. I sent in a resume before it had even been tested. A month later, I was invited to come to the temporal displacement facility for testing.

I took a cab to the former air base where the time machine was located. The cabbie dropped me off in front of a rickety gate, which apparently hadn’t been painted since the base closed. There was a newly paved road leading to a large airplane hanger. I was walking down it when a Japanese man drove up in a plastic-hulled vehicle called a Thing, after a 20th-century vehicle that it casually resembled. “Hello,” he said. “Are you a job applicant or another journalist? If you are an applicant, you will have to show me the letter inviting you here.”
I gladly pulled out the letter. “Where do I need to go?” I asked.

“Hop in and I’ll take you there,” the Japanese man said. I got in the front passenger seat. A Thing’s steering system is more like an airplane joystick than a steering wheel, and there are two control yokes on the dash. I was already familiar with the system, but it was disorienting to ride without a steering wheel in front of me. As we drove toward the hangar, the driver introduced himself. “I am Louis Tanaka. I’m in charge of security. One part of my job has been screening applicants.” I glanced at him worriedly. “Don’t worry, the police report said you didn’t start that fight.”

At that moment, we reached the hangar I saw that the giant doors had been removed and replaced with a brick wall. The new wall held several normal doors, which we entered through. The vast airplane hangar had been transformed into a museum. The only exhibits so far were a pair of antlers ten feet in span, an animatronic dinosaur, and a pair of dinosaurian arms eight feet long. Lou identified the arms as the only known parts of “Deinocheirus mirificus.” The only other person there at the moment was a black man. “G’day, mate,” the black man said in a jarring Australian accent. “I’m Dr. Carlos Wrzniewski. Who are you?”
“I’m Ted Flockman,” I said. “I take it you’re the competition.”

“Not actually,” Tanaka said. “The Association’s goal is to form a three-person team to manage our expeditions. The team will be composed of a field manager, a field technology specialist and a scientific advisor. The field managers will delegate other jobs to paying members of an expedition. You applied as field manager, while Dr. Wrzniewski is applying to be a scientific advisor. Therefore, you are not in competition with each other. In fact, since the Association wants teams who work well together, you should strive to be polite and helpful to each other.”

“Maybe you can tell me what you have on this guy,” Carlos said jovially.
Lou cheerfully obliged: “Mr. Flockman is a professional forester, with over ten years of experience in his chosen field. He spent a short time in the United States National Guard. He is fluent in 3 languages, and has experience operating planes, bulldozers, heavy trucks and even tanks.” I winced at that last “credential”. Right after I left the National Guard, I had spent a few months with World War 2 Re-enactors’ Society. I quit after a disastrous recreation of the Ardennes Offensive ended in victory for the Nazis.

“What’s your background, Dr. Wrzniewski?” I asked.
“Please, call me Carlos,” Carlos broke in.
“As you may have guessed,” Lou said amiably, “Carlos is from Australia. For the last five years, he has been a Professor of Herpetology at the University of Sydney. He’s renowned for giving his students extensive hands-on training in the Australian outback. Before he received that position, he was a member of Australia’s armed forces.” Carlos grew visibly grim. I could guess why: He had undoubtedly been one of the thousands of Australian troops who fought in the war against Indonesia. Tanaka confirmed that thought: “During the ‘Short War’, Carlos was a corporal in a force sent to flank the defenders of Jakarta. Needless to say, he has a lot of survival skills. He also has several medals.”

“Now that Ted and I know each other’s backgrounds,” Carlos said, “what do we have to do to show that we’re fit for these jobs?”

“There will be a series of four tests,” Tanaka said. “You will take them together. But first, I’ll introduce you to our field technician.” We reached another former hangar, which was clearly being used to store vehicles. Carlos froze when he saw the large vehicle parked beyond the open door. Even I felt a twinge of fear when I realized what it was: an Indonesian Ora 6X6 armored car. The wedge-shaped vehicle resembled nothing so much as an enlarged late 20th-century sports car. This one was almost 15 feet tall, and sported wheels more than 5 feet in diameter. About six feet of its height was a second story added to the standard hull.

“Sweet Mother! It’s a command vehicle!” Carlos exclaimed. “How could they afford this?”

“Actually, it was donated,” someone said in a husky voice. I looked, and saw a red-headed woman descending a retractable staircase at the rear of the vehicle. She was about 5-foot-1 and a little on the stocky side, wearing shorts and a tank top. Suddenly, I felt nervous, and nearly didn’t respond when she held out a hand to shake. “I’m Dr. Dianna Gonzalez. Right now, I’m working on putting a tire on this thing. The big problem is that I have to reset the vehicle’s computerized air-pressure control system. Maybe you two can help.”

“I don’t know much about software,” I said.
Dianna laughed. “I won’t need help with that. I’m a doctor of computer science. I just don’t know much about off-road vehicles, and I certainly can’t install the new wheel all by myself.” She pointed to a giant wheel against the wall. “I’d welcome any feedback on what settings to use. I could also use a little help reading the Javanese instructions.”

The work went very well. Fortunately, we were able to use a forklift to carry the wheel up to the car. Carlos and I still had to manhandle the wheel a little before we could attach it. Once the wheel was in position, we screwed on the massive lug nuts. Then we helped with choosing the pressure settings. At first, I was a little distracted by Dianna, but the attraction quickly gave way to professionalism. Dianna spent most of the time asking Carlos questions about the vehicle. As we were finishing up, she asked him, “What does Ora mean?”

“Ora is another name for the Komodo dragon,” Carlos said. “That was a species of giant lizard that used to live on an island in Indonesia. They were killed off about 20 years ago, by a combination of habitat loss, disease and cannibalism. They were good swimmers and very stealthy hunters, so Indonesia named its line of armored cars after them.”

After the wheel was installed, Dianna gave us a tour of the Ora. The vehicle was 35 feet long. “This version of the armored car was designed as a mobile headquarters for military commanders. It ended up more like a rolling hotel room.” She pointed out different features as we walked through the vehicle. “It has several computers, beds, a shower, a toilet, a refrigerator, a kitchen and a miniature medical lab. It also has a little crane mounted in the rear; that will be handy for bringing big animals aboard. Once we get it running, this will be a perfect mobile base camp. But, we won’t be able to take it on our first expedition.” As I stepped out, I hit my head on the doorframe. It was the third time I had hit my head during the tour.
“It’s a bit cramped for an Anglo,” I complained.

“Well,” Dianna said finally, “you’re the most promising applicants I’ve worked with. Congratulations—you’ve passed the first test! C’mon, don’t look surprised. Did you think the Indonesians would sell us a car without all the wheels on? Or that I wouldn’t know the right settings? We wanted to test your skills with machinery, but we didn’t want you to either stress out over it or to treat it strictly as an abstract exercise. So, we staged it as an impromptu request. If you can do this well on the other tests, I’m sure we’ll be working together on a permanent basis. “You’re entitled to a break before your next test, and I’m overdue for lunch. Would you like to join me on the observation deck?”

I eagerly accepted, and Carlos went along. The observation deck was a kind of porch at the end of the lower balcony. The fridge was stocked with sandwiches. “So, how did you get a job here?” I asked Dianna.

“I got involved in time travel as a graduate student,” she said. “I helped Dr. Julius Werner choose the computer that controls the TDD. On my recommendation, he held up the construction of the TDD for a couple of years until we could get hold of the latest molecular computer. I also helped set up the control room; you’ll see that before the end of the day.” After a pause in conversation she asked Carlos, “Are you a Catholic?”

He seemed surprised by the question. “Ah. No, don’t misunderstand. I say naught against Mary nor Her Son, but the only one I’ll swear by or to is the good Earth Mother. I follow pantheism. Not much of a religion, really, more a set of guidelines for dealing with nature and each other.”

Dianna turned to me. “How about you?” she asked. “You follow any particular faith?”

“I was raised a Protestant,” I said circumspectly. “I haven’t gone to church in a while, though.” Not since my parents died, I added silently.

“Me, I’m a Christian,” Di said. “I grew up in the Catholic church. I don’t really identify myself with any particular denomination. You should go take your other tests. I may drop in to watch.” She walked away, acting nonchalant, but I noticed her glance over her shoulder.