And Time, in our camp, is moving

As you'd anticipate it to

But what is this sample proving?

Anecdotes cannot say what Time will do.


Despite all of Walter's attempts to make him comfortable – soft, loose clothing, a warm bed, a quiet, curtained room with an electric fan – September woke up in tears. He couldn't tell what was more painful; the unfamiliarity of the process itself, or the series of images that triggered it. He gripped the sheets until he tore a small hole in them. It was not long until Walter entered the room.

"September, what is the matter with you?" He asked with urgency in his voice. He paused, acknowledging that he had just finished preparing some food when he heard September gasping for air. He never had an aptitude for performing tasks quietly, and he wondered if he had disturbed the man's currently-fragile senses. "…Have I been too loud?"

September gave no response. Walter put a hand on his back. His muscles were stiff, yet they vibrated. "It appears you are having some sort of panic attack, something along those lines... Don't worry. You stay right here, I have just the thing for you." September turned over to look at Walter through water-clouded eyes. His mind was full of images of his progeny. During his time as an Observer, he constantly thought of him and his abilities. He hid him from the others, keeping an eye on him from a distance and checking on him whenever he could. Without his tech, he could no longer do this. The reality had set in and his mind raced – what had become of him? What would become of him? He opened his mouth to speak, but he could not manage to through his ragged breathing.

Walter squeezed September's upper arms. "I will be right back."

Walter returned with a bottle of pills and a plastic cup of water. He removed two tablets from the bottle and placed them on the nightstand. "September, I'm going to need you to take a few deep breaths so that you will be able to swallow these."

He did as he was told, but it took some time before the muscles in his face and throat loosened at all.

"Here you are," Walter said as he handed September the tablets and the water. "Do it quickly, they are quite bitter!"

Walter had not lied. September tossed the pills back with a gulp of water, but he gagged at their flavor and nearly spat them back up. He clenched his jaw and managed to keep them inside of himself.

"There you go. Four milligrams of alprazolam. You should feel perfectly relaxed in about fifteen minutes. Shall I stay with you until then?" Walter asked.

"Yes," September whispered as he lay back down and faced the wall, still trembling.

The drugs took hold. September's breathing steadied, his muscles relaxed, and he rolled over to face Walter with heavy eyelids.

"Are you feeling any better?" Walter asked as he looked down at the other man.

"We need to find him," September slurred. Though he appeared sluggish, his forehead bore creases of worry.

Walter made a puzzled face and tilted his head. "Find who?"

"My progeny. The most important part of our plan."

"I was under the impression your kind did not reproduce," Walter said.

"We… Well, they don't. Not in the same way as you do. Regardless, we need to find him. He is special, Dr. Bishop," he said.

Walter smiled. "Well…all children are special. Never have I heard of a child who was not special!" His eyes lit up and his smile broadened as he thought of Peter, and of his grand-daughter, Henrietta. He let out an involuntary chuckle.

September nodded. "I know this is a pervasive belief of human parents, even those as objectively-minded as you, Dr. Bishop. But, he is particularly special. What I warned you about… I believe he can prevent it, and I have for some time. I saw him as I slept. I saw his purpose unfold in my mind, as I did before the others discovered what I was doing, but more vividly... I believe you call this phenomenon a dream."

"Yes. A dream. Dreams can be quite meaningful, and shockingly conducive to problem-solving. Though, yours seem to have troubled you." Walter looked down. "Do you love him?" He asked. "Your son, that is."

September closed his eyes and sighed. "I do not know. I am still unfamiliar with such things. I may, but if I do, I have not learned to acknowledge it clearly."

"I think you do. Or, at least, you will." Walter looked at September's face and noted the unmistakable expression of dissatisfaction. "So…" He lowered his voice and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward towards September. "How is it that he can prevent the invasion you warned me about?"

September paused. "…The others have traded emotions for highly advanced logic and the ability to move through time. Without concern for how they are treating the world around them, they will eventually render it uninhabitable and be forced to colonize this era. I imagine they will simply repeat this cycle in perpetuity," he explained. "But, my progeny, with his capacity for advanced logic as well as empathy I believe if he is present at the right point in time, that cycle can be broken. I believe we can make this happen. The two of us," he explained as he struggled to keep his eyes open under the influence of the benzodiazepines.

Walter nodded. "We will find him. I trust that you have kept him somewhere safe. I still insist you focus on your own recovery for now. I will do what I can to find your son in the meantime – perhaps the Division can help us."

For the first time, September cracked a genuine, full-fledged smile.

Walter smiled back, relieved to see September feeling even the slightest bit better and somewhat beguiled by the gentleness he saw in the man's once-blank eyes. "Is there anything I can do for you right now? I just finished making a meal for myself, and I would not mind sharing."

September sat up. "I will have just a bit, thank you."

Walter nodded, left the room, and returned with two plates, each containing half of a vegetable omelet sprinkled with tabasco and a soft buttered roll. He handed one to September, and held on to the other one as he sat down in a chair across from the bed.

September ate the contents of the plate more eagerly than he himself anticipated. "Good to see you're regaining an appetite," Walter remarked. "It could be the work of the sedatives. Sometimes our anxieties have the nasty habit of making us forget our most basic needs. I would recommend you slow down a bit, though."

September complied. "This is very good. You have quite a talent," he said.

"Thank you," Walter replied.