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   Chapter 8 No.8

The Time Saving Agency By Christina Engela Characters: 4918

Updated: 2018-06-29 12:02


Sending anyone to the Limbo Practicale was considered to be a one-way trip – which was just as well because anybody would be certifiably insane after a lengthy exposure – and that would teach the bad guys to mess with Time in the first place. What the bad guys tended to forget was that the TSA could run through time like it was a b-grade movie on a VCR and find the mooks who messed with Time. (And if they could find them, they could catch them.) Another thing they forgot was that the TSA was protected by the Buffer – and it was practically immune to anything they could do to the time-stream. As he watched the two agents drag the limp figure away, he sighed happily at the thought of a job well undone – and it was before teatime as well. (Well, figuratively speaking.) That would teach the assholes to scratch the Anals of History where they weren't itching. Guy Krummeck was there too, waiting for him at the door wearing an expression that would, with certainty, wipe the smile off the face of a kid on Christmas morning.

"Yes, I know." He muttered tiredly. "Debriefing again."

* * *

The Sheriff's Office in Lugaluru was normally not a very busy place. Today was no different. Sheriff Peggy-Ann Muller was busy booking a perp at the front desk when he arrived. The perp was giving her a wild-eyed look. Peg was looking a little run down. (I.e. there were black tire marks all over her light brown uniform and she was smeared with dirt and grime from head t

of look." She said. "The one you get when you come to collect money."

"What hungry look?" He asked indignantly.

"That one. Anyway, as it happens, there is one particularly good bounty. Come on in."

She led the way to her office, which was a clichéd little wooden partition with windows and blinds and a door standing wide open. Straight out of an old TV cop show. This was the place where he'd first met Mei (who had been masquerading as a Colonial Intelligence agent at the time – and looking to enlist his help). It brought back memories. She reached into a stack-tray on her desk and handed him a thin sheet of freshly printed A4 plastic.

"Space Fleet?" He read in astonishment.

"They asked for the best, so I told them about you." She explained. "If this keeps up I'll have to start charging a finders' fee."

"Two thousand for a deserter?" He continued. "If this keeps up I'll be able to pay you one. What did he do – make a pass at the captain's daughter?"

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