TWO DAYS.

Two days left to make a decision, after three of faffing and loafing and generally trying to avoid thinking about the crumpled card in her wastepaper bin. Daryl put it down to post-interview-rejection-distress, and mostly left Amelia alone. But that gave her more time to think.

And worry.

And doubt.

"Get a hold of yourself," she murmured as she stared at the clock that ticked on the far wall of the living room. The exact place this whole mess had started. "It's not like lives depend on you agreeing to this."

But what if they did? A traitorous thought snuck into her mind. They want you for your paleontology skills — and if they really are going back into the Jurassic Period, they'll need all the help they can get. Why don't you want to be a part of that?

"But what if I fail?" She asked aloud. The clock only ticked in response. Daryl was once again at the electricity farm, probably cleaning and fixing solar panels at the outskirts of the city, and wouldn't be home until late that night, if his shifts didn't go crazy. Boredom threatened to stifle her now that she didn't have a presentation to practice and applications to hand in for every available position in the city that payed. And there hadn't been a lot.

If you pass this up, the voice was quieter now, you will have missed the opportunity of a lifetime.

Amelia continued staring at the wall.

━━━━

One day.

Amelia's mind burnt with the numbers — stark against the faded card, cheaply made since trees were a scarce consumable, yet still managing to terrify her at every turn.

Washing her thick brown curls and working her fingers into her scalp, she tried to force a decision into her brain as her nails scraped against her skin. Anything. Any certainty — she would take. If only the scale of 'yes' and 'no' could be tipped from 'maybe', and yet it showed no sign of giving. With a sigh, Amelia tightened her mid-back length hair in her hands and squeezed the water and dust from it. Her faded white shirt once sporting a logo that was no longer visible grew wet from the droplets that missed the metal basin, and she paused, gazing into her reflection's eyes as though her mirror image would provide an answer.

"For goodness' sake," she whispered into the already hot air, despite the early morning. Smacking her lips to rid them of their dryness, she wrote a quick note on her PortScreen, timing it so that it would alert Daryl once he got up (if he did; he often conveniently slept through his alarm), before jogging into her room and dressing into more hardy clothing.

Fishing into her wastepaper bin basket for the mostly-destroyed note, Amelia's chocolatey dark eyes quickly memorized the distorted numbers before she ran out the door, her backpack in one hand, and most of her doubts left to fester in her home rather than in her mind.

Even if she wasn't overly eager to go along with the plan of the men who had broken into her home, Amelia was already certain — had always been certain — that she could never be the cause for the deaths of millions. If there was a chance to resurrect the little girl within her who still saw the good in mankind, then she'd gladly grab it and cling to it for dear life. No more uncertainties, even though her self-preservation was screaming at her to stop as she dialed the number into the public phone booth a block from her apartment.

Dinosaurs. Her life's work. How could she ever imagine living beside them?

One step at a time, she told herself. As the dial tone trilled in her ear, she pressed her hand against the side of the booth, light-headedness suddenly belting through her skull, and nerves doing pirouettes in her stomach.

"Terry's Electric Servicing, for all your connecting needs. How can we help you?" a bored voice responded on the line, startling her. She wiped her hand on her shorts while frowning, taking the card's remains out of her pocket.

"I'm sorry, do I have the wrong number?" She examined the card once more, certain that she'd dialed it correctly. But why was she then talking to an electric serving unit instead of a secret organization?

There was a pause on the other line as the woman talked to her superior about a psycho on the other end, or so she assumed. Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose, scratching her cheek with the card. Idiot... they gave you a dummy number. Why would they give you a real one? It had been a trick all along. Idiot, idiot, idiot.

"Please wait," the woman spoke again, her voice seeming to be more interested. Maybe this was her first real customer in a very long time, and immediately she began to process ways on how to — politely — get off the phone.

"I apologize, ma'am," Amelia responded quickly. She doubted she'd be able to afford the electrical services, if she bought some, even if only to give the poor girl some relief that she'd done her job right. "But I really don't want —"

"Amelia!" A familiar voice, slightly hoarse as if he was briskly walking while speaking to her, rebounded in her ear. Amelia winced and pulled the item further away from her face to preserve her eardrum. "I knew you'd eventually decide to call us. Cutting it a bit close, too."

"Gerald?" She was overcome with relief, and the fist in her stomach uncurled. "Terry's Electric Servicing was just a cover, wasn't it?" Now Amelia was sure she was an idiot. Why would PAST or any of its secret organizers respond without some back-up? She blamed it on her lack of interest on spy novels and tapes, preferring documentaries which covered animals and places that didn't exist anymore. Or, at least, not in the way they seemed on the screen.

"You catch on quickly, Miss Doveare. Look, I have to go — planes to fly, an army to convince, and dinosaurs to catch, if you get my roll, but you'll be redirected to one of my superiors. He'll explain everything, I promise." A murmur of voices came from the other end, and Amelia released an exclamation of protest, fearing once more that she'd be caught deeper into this web without really knowing anything about it; "No, Mr Simmonns, please just answer some of my questions —"

"Call redirecting," the same woman responded as she let out a groan of frustration. What was the use of even calling when she wasn't getting any information? "I recommend you don't hang up as we connect."

Amelia wanted to hang up. It was a waste of time, all of it. Her stomach rumbled, and she clutched her torso while reading the slowly descending numbers. Thirty-seven seconds left of the call before she had to insert more coins. Further frustration bubbled to the surface. Amelia, if these people don't give you answers within the last thirty-five, thirty-four, thirty-three seconds of this call — you're leaving, and you will not look back or regret it, she vowed to herself.

"Hello?" A man's voice echoed on the other end, a velvety aura around it. But Amelia wasn't going to be played. She was here for a reason.

"This is Amelia Doveare," Amelia was slightly surprised that her voice sounded so steady. "I was approached four days ago by two men, officials representing an expedition called..." she trailed off as she attempted to remember. Epoch? Era? Era — that was it. "Era."

"Wonderful that you responded so promptly, Amelia." He didn't sound very cheered. "I assume you would like answers to the many questions you may have, yes?" The question sounded rehearsed, and Amelia wondered how many others had been in her position. The thought that she was not alone in her struggles selfishly calmed her a little.

"Right." Her voice sounded less certain, and she cleared her throat to project stronger. She had to assume control; the vow still echoed in her mind.

"Well, you won't find them here, with me.

"I understand if you are upset — indignant," he continued, as she was about to release another growl of anger or a curse or both. "But you have called, unfortunately, at one of the worst possible times for me. Now, you live where, exactly?" Twelve seconds remaining of the call.

"Grayling," Amelia spoke quickly. "Michigan." She wasn't going to pass up the opportunity to learn more, yet she was tired and hungry and irritated with being yanked in one direction, then the other.

The man let out a hum of approval. "Your city has a hover-rail station?" A rhetorical question, really. Petroleum became too expensive for every citizen in the state to use, and magnets proved more useful and time-efficient. "Be at the first one, tonight. Eighteen-oh-hundred. I'll make sure to get someone there."

She wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry. How far was she willing to go for this stupid expedition? "I'll be there —" The tone interrupted her, and the screen blinked angry zeroes at her. Amelia paused and held the phone to her cheek, listening for answers that weren't there. "Daggin' ass."

━━━━

Her wristwatch blinked at her as she padded into the hover-rail station, 001 faded against its metallic side as she stepped over the railway line and into the building, which was significantly cooler than the outside evening air.

The transport vehicles themselves were quiet, yet the hum of the magnetic energy, gathered from a colossal solar array behind the building, bled into the lobby, where small maroon-cushioned chairs were neatly set in orderly rows. She picked the least stained one to sit, and only then noticed the other person — besides the receptionist, who ticked away at a checklist and bustled with papers within her office — in the room.

The other woman gave her a nervous nod of her head. Amelia responded with her own, then tucked any friendliness away, her concerns a more important matter. It'd been a hassle to get out of the house, and she was still furious that Gerald had dropped her. With the stunt he had pulled, it was a miracle that she hadn't pulled out there and then.

Yet she ignored the question of why. Why hadn't she left yet? It was something she was pretty darn certain she'd never quite be able to admit to herself. One thing was for sure; it was either get the answers, or get out.

The woman to her left caught her eye again, as she fiddled with a briefcase. She was dressed casually for a commuter — which Amelia was certain she was (who else, besides she and the receptionist, would have an excuse to be out?) — but the leathered case that she stroked confirmed the fact that Amelia was looking at someone who was not to be underestimated economy-wise. Worry (even more of it) sparked through her veins. Would the PAST officials still speak to her, if someone else was present in the room? Amelia released a silent groan and leant forward on her knees, pressing her fingers to her temples.

This is way too much paranoia. If life ever goes back to normal after this, could I still trust others around me? Amelia didn't know the answer. Didn't want to know.

The sliding doors opened with a hiss, and hot air tumbled in. A man, sharply dressed in grey attire, and wearing a black hat that cast a shadow over his face, stepped into the station. The receptionist dropped a file of papers onto her desk with a heavy thump, mimicking Amelia's lurching heart. Was this the guy she was looking for?

The man's eyes fixed on her, and he dipped his head slightly. The commuter suddenly seemed more nervous, as if sensing the new tension. Then the newest addition to the hover-rail station made his way to a door next to the receptionist's office, labeled faintly in a black plaque as the restroom.

Amelia knew, without a doubt, that this was the man who would explain everything. His strange actions were for a reason, and she quickly got up, following into the room he had vanished into.

Opening the door to the tiled bathroom, with enclosed stalls and sinks on their respective sides, Amelia quickly scanned the room for the man, who was standing in the corner. He tilted his head in acknowledgment of her arrival, before the clacking of more footsteps made her hurry to close the restroom door, before their meeting spot could be discovered.

"Just a second," a hand appeared in the way of the closing door, and she quickly stopped the movement before it closed on the unknown woman's fingers. Looking quickly at the strange man, who gave her no response, she allowed the door to open, revealing the other woman, looking positively confused and just as wary of Amelia as Amelia was of her.

Then it all came together.

"Welcome to PAST's Q and A," the man spoke as if he was amused at their befuddlement. "I suppose you're both here for that, and not to go to the loo, right?"

━━━━

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