Author: James C. Clar

“Europe during the plague is too tame for you?” The Extreme Time-Travel agent could barely conceal his surprise. His quartz desk glowed faintly under his hands. “You realize that package includes rats, mass hysteria, and the very real possibility of dying in a ditch.”

Mr. Donovan smiled in that effortless way only the very rich could. “We’ve done all that,” he said. “The Cretaceous extinction; the fireball was spectacular but the dust was dreadful. The eruption of Vesuvius.” He gazed lovingly at his wife. “You enjoyed Pompeii, didn’t you, darling?”

Mrs. Donovan nodded fondly. “The ash in the sky at sunset rendered the colors exquisite.”
The agent blinked once. “I see. So, I take it you’re looking for something… more challenging?”
“Exactly,” said Mr. Donovan. “We want something truly daring. Something that not only feels dangerous but is dangerous. You only live once, after all.”

The agent hesitated, scrolling through the glowing catalog projected on his desktop. “Let’s see. How about the sack of Rome or the siege of Jerusalem? I can also tell you that the Mongol Invasions always garner rave reviews. I see here that there is still space for the French Revolution as well. The mobs add just the right level of unpredictability and the killing was quite indiscriminate.”

Mrs. Donovan shook her head. “Too historical, too trite. We’re aiming for something, how say I say it … something more immersive, more original.”

“I say again,” Mr. Donovan added with just a trace of frustration, “we want the danger to be real.”

“Ah.” The agent’s expression softened into something between admiration and disbelief. He scrolled for a minute or two more.

“I may have just the thing,” he said, looking up from his desk. “It’s a period of global instability, economic collapse, environmental failure and utter political chaos. You’ll be witnessing a civilization devouring itself in broad daylight, as it were.”

“That’s it!” the Donovan’s exclaimed together.

The agent gave a slow, knowing nod. “Very few request this era. I must warn you, it’s uncomfortable. It was a time of primitive yet expensive medicine, state-controlled media feeding rampant paranoia and conspiratorial thinking.”

“That sounds marvelous,” Mrs. Donovan said. “Just the sort of authenticity we’re after.”

“Indeed.” The agent tapped a few commands, and two shimmering tickets materialized above the desk. “You will need to sign expanded waivers. We can’t guarantee your safety or, for that matter, your return.”

“Perfect,” said Mr. Donovan, scrawling his name with the flourish of someone who’d never known genuine risk.

The agent studied the couple one last time: immaculate, eager, gleaming with the privilege of a century that had forgotten fear.
“Departure is in ten minutes,” he said smoothly. “The coordinates are pre-set.”

The Donovans stood, radiant with anticipation. “At last,” Mrs. Donovan breathed. “Something truly barbaric.”

The agent inclined his head. “Precisely so.”

The teleportation field hummed slowly to life, surrounding the couple in silver light as they prepared themselves. Finally, their outlines shimmered – and then, they were gone.

The agent exhaled, filing their itinerary with a flick of his hand. “Two guests,” he dictated, “Premium Historical Immersion. Destination: high-risk era marked by unrest, predatory capitalism, and moral decay.”

He paused, reading the glowing timestamp on the screen. His lips twitched into the faintest smile. Two more satisfied customers, another job well done.

“Departure … and arrival … confirmed,” he intoned softly to himself.

“Approximate geographical and temporal coordinates logged: United States of America, mid-21st century. Bon Voyage!”