It was a dreary Tuesday; skies grey, a constant drizzle, not a rain, which added more and more weight to the spirit. No battles to fight other than boredom. The only thing that could have made it worse; this could have been a Monday.
When I was first approached to join the TSF, I had visions of never ending adventures; little did I know that I had joined Travelers Aid.
The Elite of society, as the Elite have done through the ages, paid dearly to vacation somewhere special. And now those special few, vacation somewhere special in time. I would be there, the Temporal Security Force presence…to direct them to the loo, if there was one (and the looks on their faces when there wasn’t); change their popular cards into coin, and explain why their costumes had pockets and often what coins were.
The Captain called me to her desk, “Charly, you earned a partner.” Her eyes never lifted from the papers in front of her.
This was the point, that moment when you were judged.
I remember last year; fifteen years on the job and Old Sam got this call, got his partner. An Aardvark as it turned out. Pleasant enough but no help with the paperwork. Folks said it was because of the thing with the marshmallows Sam was selling during the Pompeii jump.
“That’s it? When? What is it, her, him?”
“He’s sitting on your desk.” The Captain returned her gaze to the paperwork on her desk.
I turned and looked back at my desk and there, seated next to my Royal typewriter, sitting in a diminutive floral upholstered wing back chair with matching ottoman, was my partner.”
I walked to the desk that I was now, apparently, sharing. He stood and extending his hand that was roughly the size of an acorn, “Charly. Stephen Peerless Quickstep.”
Grasping his hand with my fore finger and thumb, I looked at him quizzically; “Pixie, actually…at your service.” That answered my question, before I asked it. Stephen Peerless Quickstep, Pixie, smiled and his almond shaped eyes, a lively Kelly green color, twinkled.
TSF service was just starting to get interesting.