Clemens

Time Travel Crime Division The Adventure of Alex Granger

by Stephanie Clemens

First day as a detective, I smiled. It was hard to believe, but I, Alex Granger, passed my detective test on the first try. And this glorious morning I was reporting for the first time ever to the Time Travel Crime Division of the ATM Police Department. If you haven’t heard of the ATM, that’s good—you aren’t supposed to know we exist. But we do, and I really hope you can keep a secret, because I’m going to tell you just exactly who we are. The ATM is All Things Magical. There’s the ATM Authority; underneath them is the Police Department, and then there’s my division, the Time Travel Crime Division or TTCD for short.

Even though it was only 7AM, the sweltering heat of summer in Southern California was not subtle. What had been a nice couple weeks of the normal June gloom had turned into very bright, sunny, and hot, but beautiful mornings. I stopped by my favorite Taiwanese bakery and grabbed a potato cheese pastry. I was tempted to grab something for the others at the TTCD, but decided against it.

Walking up to the ATM, you would never guess what happens behind the doors. The ATM looked like a used bookstore from the outside. Not just any used bookstore though, but one that specializes in rare first editions. I made my way to the back, not stopping to look around. The shop really did get in a lot of incredibly cool books. Once in the back, I held my hand up for the biometric scan and magic recognition to happen. I felt a slight pinch as the magic was extracted. Our magic was used to power almost everything at the ATM by taking a little bit from us whenever we entered or used specialized equipment. Then the doors to my workplace opened. It was like entering a different world. So many people, so many gadgets, and just a little extra sparkle to help get you through, since police work can be quite a drudgery.

Making my way to my desk, I smiled at the congratulatory balloons that had to be from Tommy, my partner at the

TTCD, tied to as many places as possible. I was surprised my desk was still on the floor since it looked like the home of an amusement park balloon hawker. I sat down, surrounded by my floating congrats!

“Detective Granger, congrats are in order, but this is a bit extreme.” The

Chief Inspector dropped a folder on my desk. “Your first assignment in your new post at the TTCD. We found a photo of a man checking his wristwatch in 1872. We need to find and arrest him for violating Section 11377 of the Anti-Time-Travel Code.”

“On it, sir.” I said.

I opened my work laptop, turned it on, and heard the hard drive whirl as the computer recognized my face and the operating system went into full gear. I felt the pinch of magical extraction again as I opened the department’s wizard-run facial recognition software. I began by

looking at the man in the photo. He was a nondescript type with dark hair, dark eyes, and a light complexion. Grabbing my glasses, I scanned the photo onto my laptop.

Before long I had art from multiple centuries listed as matches to the man with the wristwatch. There was a painting from 1631 by an amazing Italian female artist. One of very few paintings she did of a man. Her work was best known for her detail of the female form and vibrancy of colors used. In the next century, there was a painting by a British artist who preferred landscapes. This painting was one of the few portraits he painted, stunning in the details it included. After that, it was photograph after photograph after photograph starting with the one in 1872. He was spotted in a group of soldiers from World War I and in another from World War II. The next time the software recognized him was in a photo from a Vietnam War protest, then at Times Square in the late ’80s, back when the area was still rather sleazy.

The boss was right, we definitely had a time traveler on our hands.

I ran the photo through the ATM database. Nothing—which couldn’t be possible. Every magical person was in the database. It’s how we kept track of magic, keeping it under wraps so the general population doesn’t know there are magical humans, past what they can explain away like the fortune tellers, magic performers, and meteorologists. The guy in the picture didn’t match any of our people on record, which meant we not only had a time traveler, we had wild magic. Wild magic was a danger to everyone. If this person wasn’t in control of his magic, there’s a good chance he had a record, of some sort, in the human world. So I ran the photo through the normal programs and got a hit. James Smith, age 32, brown hair, brown eyes, 6’2” and arrested for destruction of property a couple of years ago—all of which aligned with uncontrolled magic.

I left the comfort of the office, heading out into the heat to find this guy. I jumped into my Jeep Wrangler and headed over to Central and Orange. Stopping at the address my computer gave me, I walked up to the blue Victorian farmhouse and knocked on the door.

The man in the picture opened the door. My magic source finder scanned him … and … nothing. The man standing before me was not magical at all. He was a normal human.

“Alex Granger,” I said, holding out my hand to James Smith.

“James Smith.” He responded, shaking my hand.

I looked at him, perplexed as to how to continue. The ATM was supposed to keep things like the possibility of time travel secret from normal humans. But this man in front of me had been doing exactly that. Not only did I have no idea how he accomplished time travel, I had no idea how to broach the subject, especially since speaking about it went against everything I was taught I was supposed to do.

“Um … Mr. Smith, I was wondering if I could come inside. I would like to show you some photos.”

I flashed my badge, slowly enough that it looked official, but quickly enough that reading any of it would be impossible.

“Come on in.”

He let me into his house and led me into the living room. Sitting on his leather couch, I spread printouts of all the images of James Smith throughout history on the coffee table. Then I looked up at him, trying to gauge his reaction.

“These all appear to be you, Mr. Smith. And in this one here, you are wearing a wristwatch, creating a potential anachronism.”

“Well Alex, can I call you Alex?” I nodded my consent. “I’m from the future. I’ve built a time machine. I’ve been checking out different important times and events throughout history to help me learn about them through experience, instead of just through books. And it was amazing. But I stopped here, because I ran out of fuel.”

“So, you are a normal human, but from the future?” I asked.

“Are you trying to find out if I have magic or not? Without asking if I have magic or letting me know that magic even exists?”

“Um … yes, that’s exactly what I’m trying to do.”

“Well Alex, the answer is no. I do not have magic. I built my time machine using the technology of my time. I am, as you said, a normal human.”

So many questions ran through my head, and I didn’t know if I should ask any of them. Technically, I had no business involving myself further, since

James Smith was a non-magical human. The TTCD only policed magical humans. The laws only applied to magical humans. But had anyone ever considered there could be a normal person capable of time travel? Could you really call a person normal if they could time travel?

“Do you mind if I ask some questions? Clearly, you are outside my jurisdiction, being both from the future and nonmagical. I wasn’t expecting this outcome when I drove over here.”

“Of course. Ask away.”

“Are there more time travelers?” This was the first concern in my mind, the more people jumping around the timeline, the more anachronisms that could not be fixed.

“When I left, and the few times I’ve been back, I was the only one. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t more now. There just weren’t any when I was there. I

tried to keep my research secret, especially since I didn’t know what would happen as I traveled through time. Thankfully, it appears you have to do something, with at least a little significance, to change the course of history. And undoing that, well, it’s a pain.”

I wanted to hear that story, but at the moment I didn’t think I had the time. I needed to get this information back to the chief.

“Okay, next question. In the future, do magical and non-magical humans coexist together and know about each other?”

“Yes, it took awhile, and there were some pretty bloody battles along the way. But eventually, magical humans realized they had weaknesses that were easy to exploit, and normal humans realized they had the skills to exploit those weaknesses. Once a balance was found, it was easier to work to maintain it.”

“That’s interesting. I wish the bloodshed could have been avoided. It would be so different to live out in the open with magic.”

“The future is very different than life is today, in some ways better, others not so much. Do you have any other questions?”

“I’m sure I do, but I’ve taken enough of your time.”

I gathered my printouts, stood up, and nearly bumped heads with James. We walked to the door. Right before I stepped outside, I turned and said, “Be careful with your watch next time.”

“I will. I promise.”

Getting back into my Jeep, I looked back at the house the strange man lived in, wondering what the chief was going to say. Trees provided a filtered view of the old house, with the sun reflecting off the leaves, sparkling in the distance as I drove away.