Briefings

Bored. Loren and Crait had been told to arrive fifteen minutes early to the meeting. No one else got that memo. They sat opposite one another, as was procedure, making faces. The Hologram entered the room; the door it used was the only way in or out of the room; it had no windows and, with the walls painted black, felt more like a cupboard than a meeting room.

“Why use the door?” Lore walked over and stood with The Hologram.
Lore could have sworn they saw it smile for the briefest of seconds while giving the most minute of shrugs. “Change things up.” It paused. “These next few memories are also rather… delicate so we didn’t want to leave it in the hands of an AI trained off of our collective personalities. I was selected to record an interface especially for all memories pertaining to The Faochite.”
“Are you the same Lore from earlier?” They tried to remember. “From after those memories with Crait?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t have a response prepared for that question.” The New Hologram ducked its head apologetically. Lore nodded and so, it continued with its job. “This meeting room, this briefing, would become the birthplace of the Inquisitoriam… Well, officially at least.”
“I was wondering about that.” Lore paused. “If time travel hasn’t been invented at this point, how come Crait and I exist here? Weren’t we pulled out of our native time zones?”
The Hologram flickered, old replaced New. “Although, at this point The Guild did not possess the capabilities to manipulate time, it did in the future. You were sent from the past, via the future.” The New Hologram returned. “Please try to keep your questions relevant to the current memory.” Lore nodded again.

A second figure entered the room. A mountain of a man squeezed into an incredibly tight and form fitting suit; it looked as though the buttons running down his front were barely holding the shirt together and a cough or sneeze could very easily strip him. His face was a tableaux of repressed anger and professionalism. He set a heavy case on the table and took a seat at its head. “Loren. Crait. Thank you for joining me. The following information doesn’t leave this room. I’ve been put through every test in the book just to meet you but I’ve been told you’re some of the best.”
“Some of the best?” Loren scoffed. “Some? Wonder who else is in the competition?”
Crait was about to continue the joke but their visitor stopped them. “Regardless, its my understanding that you’re the only assets keeping this department from shutting down and you’re both highly effective at your job.” He began. “Do you remember your mission in Tewkesbury?” The case opened slightly and a familiar CD case was produced.
“The Yank in the cafe!” They said in unison. “We never listened to that CD… Jinx!”

The Mountainous Man shook his head. “And I trust you recall what came next.”
“Our mission to Birmingham?” Crait narrowed their eyes as they thought back. “The dead drop CD case contained a rap album but also, when put through stenography detecting software, it found an address for a flat in Birmingham.” They prompted Loren to continue.
“We got there just in time for the meetup and found a bunch of asylum seekers waiting for their papers to be processed. They were taken into Guild custody after we discovered genetic deviation.” Loren paused. “I think they’re still there.”
“They are.” The Mountainous Man confirmed. He opened his case and removed a portable projector. He aimed it at the wall behind him and turned it on. Images of the flat were displayed. “After The Temporal Sciences Guild showed an interest in this flat, other agencies in the United Earth Protectorate did too. We initially found nothing special about it, thought it was just another case of the crazies in Temporal Sci, until we took a chance on the forensic students at the Central Guild University in London. They found traces of extraterrestrial DNA or rather human DNA that had been seemingly mutated by an extraterrestrial contagion. Your organisation sent a gag order to all organisations that knew about the investigation and recruited the students. We didn’t know why until this happened.” A video started to play on the projector.

Everyone was dressed in their finest; black ties, black suits, black shoes, nothing less for the funeral of the first Prime Minister of The Protectorate. They were sat around a table, waiting for the first of their seventeen course meal to arrive. Waiters flanked the table, each bearing a small bowl which they set before their assigned guest. A bell was rung and they began to eat. In near perfect, if accidental, synchronisation, the guests all took a spoonful of their soup at the same time. Most remarked to their neighbour about the taste and the quality of the ingredients however, one guest hastily dropped their spoon and started coughing. When the coughing failed to stop, guests and waiters flocked around them, trying their hardest to look as though they were helping. The projection paused. “The woman choking was Irene Falcore; she was the Councillor of the Exchequer and also, allergic to coriander. Take note of this individual here.” He pointed to one of the waiters and resumed the clip. As everyone crowded around the Chancellor, the waiter in question merely observed her demise before turning away. Their strange reaction only became more out of place as, when they turned back, they bore a striking resemblance to the Chancellor. Two of the waiters removed the real Chancellor, assisted by the waiter-turned-Chancellor before they returned, apologised for their reaction and continued their meal.
“You said the Chancellor was dead.” Loren looked at the image in front of him. “And that’s definitely not the Chancellor?”
“There’s no doubt. The body of Irene Falcore was found last night. I tried to raise the alarm however, my attempts were met with an invitation to The Temporal Sciences Guild.”
“Shapeshifter’s assassinate a high ranking government official so cleanly that no-one notices she died and you’re sent here…” Loren shook their head. “I can’t wait to see what they’re after.” He smiled. Protests.