It was supposed to be a simple temporal tourist trip back to the first Bond Con on October 11, 2001. I was supposed to land in an empty Queens, New York,
hotel room five floors above the convention center. I even dressed for it.
But unless I’m mistaken, I’m in what I think is England, in the early 1500s, over five hundred years earlier than that first Bond Con. The
good news was that my temporal transition didn’t kill anyone when I materialized right before their priest during Sunday morning services.
The bad news, my multiphasic cloaking implant failed to work, and everyone in that church could see me, and the church guards dragged me down into the city’s
dungeons to await the Inquisition. And the way I’m dressed, this might further screw up the temporal timelines, causing yet another branch in history.
After all, I’m an atheist in the middle of a religious war that finally ended when the Spanish completed their conquest of Europe in 1572, and the Armada conquered England
in 1588. So, even being a masochistic pain slut, the Inquisition will eventually force me to confess to heresy or witchcraft and burn me at the stake. Of course, if I
resist long enough, they may simply torture me to death. So there’s no need to tell them the truth, not that they’d even believe it.
Exodus 2:18, “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live...”