Standing before the wall of stony faces sitting behind the large desk, Dr. Alvin Wesleyen stood his ground. Rising from his seat, the droop faced man in the middle of the group addressed him with a deep voice soaked in sarcasm.
“You think we should just stop everything and reverse course? After all the money and time, after decades, it is your opinion that we give up? Because you lost a man?”
“That is my finding sir, yes, and I remain unmoved in that belief. Given the evidence....”
“WHAT EVIDENCE,” bellowed the droop faced man, jowls quivering, ”so far all we’ve been presented with are recorded statements from the few men involved in the experiment and even those were vague and unconvincing. I’m afraid we are going to need more than that if we are to approve suspension and reorganization. If you have something to add, now is the time to do it, if not I suggest you find your way back to your laboratory and get back to work. There have been enough delays already.”
“Sir, respectfully, Failsafe has entrusted me to represent the Experimental Department in these matters. As is customary, you are supposed to consider my opinions as evidentiary, simply because you do not enjoy our findings does not mean....”
“As head of both the Budgetary and Tactical Departments I can assure you that my ‘opinions’ matter a great deal more than yours, or even Failsafe’s, so if you want us to approve anything you’ll get on with it and stop this impertinence.”
Sighing, Wesleyen pulled a small device from his jacket pocket and inserted it into the vocoder that sat on the desk.
“What you are about to hear is the only transmission of Commander Clark Fields, the first human traveler in time,” said the doctor, depressing the vocoder’s play button. After several moments of screeching static, a terrified voice blasted through the room’s speakers.
"The Tailors have me. They were waiting with large needles and terrible grins. They say I don’t belong here. They say that to stitch me back into time I must first be unraveled. It is agony. Do not pursue. The Tailors are here.”
What followed was twelve tortuous minutes of the most surreal screams anyone in the room had ever heard, save Dr. Wesleyen. They were paired with wet sounds that collectively flopped every stomach on the panel.
“Communication was cut when Fields’ beacon went offline. We have been unable to find or retrieve him and we have no idea what happened. So you see, it is indeed my recommendation that we suspend any and all research, and move forward with an eye toward global technological suppression, at least until such time as we feel that future results can be safely measured.”
Every head on the panel turned to each other before nodding in unison.
“We are in agreement,” said the deep voice solemnly, commendingly cracking only once.
Nodding curtly, Dr. Wesleyen grunted before turning purposefully and swiftly leaving the room.