(This is only the second draft of the book Worthless. Expect typos, plot holes, odd subplots and the occassionally wrongly named character, especially minor characters. It is made public only to give people a rough idea of how the final story will look)

Chapter 32

The room was eerily quiet, considering the number of people in it. People who had been with The Embassy for what seemed like forever. It wasn't, of course, but trip after trip across the timeline, staying away for days only to come back and seeing everyone being exactly as they were when you left them, it made it seem as if they had simply been there all that time. In truth, they had been there perhaps a few years, seen from their own point of view.
"How sure are we, are you, of these numbers?" asked Boris, a chunky man in his fourties, skin marked with a life of bad sunburns from living in an open, sunbathed landscape in a future that was not far enough away for comfort.
"They're pretty solid. Aldric has never failed us before."
The quiet returned. Amongst the eight people in total in the room, Kris and Danny were the only ones to whom none of it was news. And even they sat quietly, looking like they were about to break out in a cold sweat.
"This is insane," growled Rita, a young woman near the middle of one side of the table. Like so much other furniture, the table had been the best thing that was at hand, and they all sat a little closely packed. The room was used for meetings quite often, but rarely for more than four or five people.
"I don't even know how we... What are the logistics on this? Can we chain up that many jumps back in time? Do we need to pull in favors from other factions? Because they are..."
"It's possible," Danny mumbled, just loud enough for everyone to hear it. He was looking at the edge of the table, picking at his lower lip, thinking so hard his eyes were flickering, almost like a robot about to short circuit. Everybody looked at him now, and from the look in his eyes when it became apparent to him, that was far from what he had ever wanted.
"I mean," he said, gaining a sudden, but luckily just slight, stutter, "we need to chain together several machines, and there'll have to be layovers to avoid a burnout. But we can probably do... I mean, we can do it. Not easy, but not impossible."
Meeting his eyes as he looked up when mentioning burnouts was chilling. He sounded to anyone like he was talking about the machines, but he wasn't.
"I'm not asking permission."
Everyone looked up.
"I'm asking for any kind of help we can draw on. Any connections you all have downtime will do. Any relay, any downend crew, anyone who knows about TT is a clear in. Anyone trusted, I mean."
There were a few whispers, but not as many as there should have been. People were supposed to be engaged, bordering on frantic. They were supposed to understand the dire circumstances of it all, of the white woman and her plans, of the strange devices scattered across time. They didn't. Or maybe they did but chose not to make show of it. They understood survival, self-preservation. They weighed their own interests against the issues at hand. The question wasn't if they would help, or make any kind of sacrifices. The question was whether they understood what they themselves stood to lose if the mission fell apart before it even started.
"How sure are we about the exact year?" asked Rita, speaking slowly, her eyes fixed on nothing, staring into empty space.
"9500 BC. That's the closest estimate. From there on I'll have to zero in while in the field."
That made a few heads turn. It turned out, for the wrong reasons.
"You?!" asked Gunnar, one of the few local natives present. The rest were there for their strong ties to past ages, the connections they might be able to serve up. Gunnar and Rita were there for their in-depth knowledge of Embassy operations. They knew what pieces were out there and how to fit them together.
"Marie, this is a major operation, are you sure you're the right choice for this?"
The glare he received for that remark was enough  to make him lean back without another word uttered.
"We don't have a full chain set up for teams," Danny intervened, sounding none too thrilled about getting in the mix at that point. "We can string together one operative, or we can piggyback two with some added risk. More than that and we will pop at least one machine on the way."
It all sounded like gibberish at first, but most people in the room understood the basics. Time machines had limits. Going from one to another through time meant the weakest link defined the maximum capacity. Like taking a different car from city to city, the one with the least number of seats decided how many could make the trip. No car, no machine, came back for a second ride.
The meeting ended slowly, people talking amongst themselves, not one of them making a final commitment on the spot. That was to be expected. It was the defining difference of running The Embassy as, well, an embassy, and not a rigid organization like a company, government, or even military unit. People cooperated. They did not take orders.
"Are you #*@!ing insane?" hissed Kris as the bulk of people had left through the newly installed double doors. "You can barely stand, Marie! How the hell are you going to handle a chain jump of over ten millenia?"
The look in his eyes was clearly supposed to be anger. It was meant as a scolding. But all they showed were a painful concern.
"I need a day or two to recover, then I..."
"Then what?" he interrupted. "You really think I can't smell vomit on your breath? You think those ruptured vessels in your eyes don't show? I could push you gently right now and you'd fall flat on your back, taking forever to get back up." His voice was breaking a bit, the concern beginning to force its way through. "You're a mess, Marie. Let someone else deal with this."
Rita was still in the room. She had been part of The Embassy almost from the start, from before even expanding to the secret buildings. Danny was there, too. He had come aboard shortly after the move. They were trustworthy. They were among the very few that could be allowed to hear the things Kris was saying.
"Who, Kris?"
His face went a bit blank. He didn't answer. He wanted to, but he had clearly hoped to avoid the issue, because he wasn't even thinking about an answer. He just went blank.
"Who? Who can take over on this? I've hunted that bitch forever, ever since she first pulled up her freakshow and began to stir shit up here. Who knows how to handle her, Kris? Who knows what to expect?"
"A vacation," Danny said, sounding like it was an accident that he had spoken out loud.
"What?"
He looked up from his pensive stare at the table. "A vacation. We get you somewhere that you can recover. When you come back, you'll be ready to deal with the trip."
"When and where? The 2200s are full, and it might kill me just to try getting there."
Kris folded his arms and nodded silently at that remark. It was an accidental admission, but one that could no longer be taken back.
"Not a medical stay. Not a facility, at all."
"What are you thinking, kid? Spit it out," Kris grumbled, clearly trying to get on the same page as Danny.
"We kit her up, full survival supplies, like we give trainees on their first long stay in outtime. Water, dense food, nutrient supplements, the works. She stays somewhere, surviving on stuff from our time, and after a few weeks, she returns, ready for another fight.
Kris looked a little back and forth, obviously mulling it over.
"Makes sense. No waste of a facility's time, limited resources needed. I could fire up a machine now. But we need something not too far up or down the line. I'd cap it at about fifty years, or we do more damage to you than you'll fix by just resting."
The emphasis he put on the last word showed his disdain for using nothing but the body's own abilities to heal. Medicine had saved him, gotten him ready to escape a living hell in a century plagued by disease. He wanted a medical fix, but he would settle.

The kick from arriving was no worse than so many other trips, but it felt more violent, more powerful, as it added to old damage. The chain of trips to get to Aldric had been carefully coordinated, with actual machines to be caught by. And yet, the sum of the trips was enough to do the damage that Kris had so easily spotted. Or some of it, at the least. Bloody vomit was not a good sign, but he had no way to know about that.
This trip had nobody to catch at the end of it. A thundering boom and everything was spinning, up trying desperately to be up and down to be down. It was in no way what a body worn and damaged by extensive time travel had a need for, but it had one redeeming detail. And despite the dirt and cold, landing in water made it worth it. A single deep breath on arrival and all the water ended up doing was softening the blow of impact and stripping away the unbearable heat of being fired through time.
There were splashes all around as the added luggage landed. Some had landed quickly, but much of it had gone higher into the air, the calculations being so off from having many objects sent at once. It had been crowded on the platform.
The sun was gentle, sending a soft warmth across the flat landscape. There was still some sound of flapping wings, as terrified birds fled from what had no doubt been as loud a boom to them, if not even louder. Witnessing an arrival was a bit of an odd experience, honestly, something most time travelers rarely thought much about. The blast wasn't just a sudden appearance of heat and pressure, like normal explosions were, big or small. No, it was the impact of something across time, so the blast was in both directions, both forward and backwards in time. To an observer, it was a double explosion, but the first one came before the arrival and seemed to run in reverse. Some time travelers fell in love with the sight, often feeling that it was something that was there just for them, something that nature would never give anyone outside that circle of people.
When the dust and steam settled, it was less exotic. With some water boiled away, othreg water rushed in to fill its place, making for a second splash after only a few seconds. More than the initial landing, that second splash threw everything around. Bottles designed to take a beating, meant for elite and extreme sports types, had turned out to be useful soon in the life of The Embassy. They could take a beating and handled the heat well, rarely rupturing. One had, though, a bottle holding some powdered nutrients that now flowed down stream happily, soon to feed protein and vitamins to some lucky fish. The bottles of water were harder to estimate, but enough seemed to have made it through intact. Long, thin leather strings, unlikely to catch fire, tied all of the luggage together into a few bundles, easy to collect, but the slow but steady flow of the water did its best to frustrate the effort, nonetheless.
Grass grew wild along the coast, only half a stone's throw away. The old oak was still there, looking not that much older than the one from memory. It had been a while, but the people here would have barely even noticed time pass. And as the bulk of the luggage blended in nicely in the tall grass, the road started to beckon.
It was perhaps half an hour's walk along the dirt road, beaten flat by decades of feet trodding along it. The first sight of the white spackle, or whatever old farmhouses were made with, was enough to provoke a smile. But the real joy came at the first hints of pipe smoke, a full, thick blend that was impossible to forget!
"Benny!"
The man, standing against the outer wall, leaning so hard to rest that it looked as if he might crash through the wall, looked up from the long, dark brown pipe. For the first few seconds, his eyes showed signs of confusion, but when they cleared, his face erupted in a wide smile!
"Marie? Little girl, is that really you?!" he burst out, forgetting the pipe in his hand as he stood and stretched out his arms wide.
"Sweet girl, how do you always seem to drag half the mud of the world aroud with you whenever I see you?" he chuckled as he ignored the dirt for a warm hug.
"It doesn't matter, Benny. It doesn't matter at all."
 For a moment, it seemed like the world forgot to be horrible, like evil plans all stepped out for a smoke and a cup of coffee at the exact same moment.
"How's your brother?"
Benny's smile shrank, but only a little, and the warm hug became a loving arm around the shoulder. He was a tall, thin man, lean muscles from years of farm work, much of it by hand, and having him reach down to hug seemed like an awkward act of comedy. He could be hugging a child. In his mind, perhaps he was.
"Eric is... he's doing alright. His is an odd life, but he manages. But you should worry about your filthy clothes, little girl," he laughed, making a point of squeezing the shoulder, pressing the dirty clothes against his own and becoming nearly as dirty, himself. "And you need to meet the family, the small ones have been missing you!"

The farmhouse was precisely as it had been. It had been repaired, but beyond that, it looked the same. The weird and oversized potted plant in the corner, the hanging woven ropes, even the odd streaks of faded yellow paint that had been so badly destroyed. It felt like the time away almost evaporated, nothing more than a memory. Everything suddenly felt light, refreshed even before stepping through the door.
"My god, you're filthy!"
The outburst came from out of nowhere, but it was too cheerful to be frightening.
"Sus?"
She came out from the door leading to the kitchen, an old sleeveless shirt on her body and a horrified smile on her face.
"Marie, sweet girl, what have you done to yourself?" she laughed, reaching out to grab both shoulders. "And what have you done to my husband?" she added, looking at Benny's shirt side, full of the dry mud the had transfered to it. Within minutes, she was picking out fresh clothes.
"These will take some time to rinse," she remarked, looking over the old jumpsuit that was the stand-in for better time travel gear. She was likely right. Looking at it from the outside, it looked like something that had been made dirty on purpose. "How long are you staying this time? The little ones missed you. Though I doubt half as much as his brother."
Standing in the washing room of the old farmhouse, trying to fill out simple clothes from a long gone time, made for a woman half a head taller and with shoulders as strong as most men at The Embassy, it felt odd to suddenly remember the other things that were tied to the place. It was one of the earliest missions for The Embassy. At the time, it had seemed as if it would also be one of the strangest. Over time, that had changed.
"He says Eric is doing okay, all things considered."
Sus huffed, a very masculine grunt slipping out of her mouth.
"He says everything is always fine. He sees the world as he wants to."
As she spoke, she looked over. It was a different time, a different culture, the privacy of people being a lesser concern. Even normal people back home said that the past was a different country. They rarely spoke about the future the same way, but the sentiment was hard to disagree with. Standing there in next to nothing, it was impossible to ignore.
"You have scars," she said, trying to not sound frightened. Trying hard, and almost succeeding. "I mean," she added, looking away, "you have fresh scars."
There was very little to comment on her remark. The scars were clear as day, even in the meager light of the small, round window in the wall.
"Marie, I love you like a sister..."
What struck deep was not the strength it clearly took her to speak, or the way she stared at each scar in turn, ignoring any sense of modesty that she might or might not have. What struck deep was how close her voice was from breaking. "But can you promise me that we are out of danger?"
It was a strange feeling, nodding, and thus starting what was to be a relaxing break with a lie.
With a smile, she pulled out an offwhite shirt.
"It fits. How did you find one that fits?"
She smiled again, looking at the shirt as it fit snuggly into place. "It's my nephew's. He's 11."