The Time Engineers

Book 1: The Time Engingeers Series

by Charles W. Lampert, Kasey Kubica, Godwin Kingstar

Genres: Hard Science Fiction; Time Travel

Synopsis

From Book 1:

Commander Will Schachter and his elite team are humanity’s last hope against the malevolent Master Temporal Planning Computer (MTPC), a millennia-old artificial intelligence with a sinister agenda to exterminate all life across the multiverse. Armed with advanced technology and unexpected allies, including highly developed AIs and the enigmatic otherworldly Engineer, they embark on a high-stakes journey through time and alternate realities.
From the chaos of war-torn alternate Earths to the ancient mysteries of Atlantis and the desolate landscape of Mars, they must face harrowing battles, psychological trials, and unforeseen betrayals. As they fight to dismantle the MTPC’s grip on reality, they explore profound questions about free will, humanity, sentience, and the ethical boundaries of technological innovation. The Time Engineers masterfully blends action, intricate character development, romance, and philosophical depth, delivering an unforgettable story of bravery, resilience, and the relentless quest for freedom.

 

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Release date: November 10, 2024

Publisher: Charles W. Lampert

Print pages: 364

Sample

Chapter 1

“Things without Remedy Should Be without Regard: I’m Not a God and Never Played One on TV”
Dr. Stanislaus Micovich is what the security badge hanging around my neck reads, but my real
name is Will Schachter, former Navy SEAL. I’m on a mission for the United Organization for
Ethical Evolution and Controlled Technology, headed deep into the maze that is the University of
Chicago campus, searching for the physics department. Every minute I’m here, I check the map
of the facility displayed on my data pad’s high-resolution screen to make sure I’m going in the
right direction.
UOEECT is a secret organization that protects time and space from potentially dangerous
technology. “Dangerous” includes the destruction of Earth by disrupting the delicate balance of
keeping our planets orbiting the sun instead of crashing into each other like bumper cars. There
is a 0.78% probability of weakening the quantum boundaries between alternate timelines. The
quantum supercomputer, known as the Master Temporal Planning Computer, calculates that
there’s a 22.6% probability that Dr. Joseph Adler’s experiment to create a micro black hole might
create something bigger than a “micro black hole.”
My mission is to sabotage Dr. Adler’s experiment by inserting a half-millimeter-long piece of
lithium encased in glass into the particle accelerator that powers the only graviton generator in
the world. When protons—accelerated to 99.99999897% of the speed of light—strike the
lithium, a burst of alpha radiation will occur. The particle accelerator will immediately shut
down, and years of investigations by the Nuclear Regulatory Commission, the Illinois and
Federal Environmental Protection Agencies, and the University of Chicago will halt Dr. Adler’s
experiment, preventing further research not just here, but around the world, for decades.
This job feels like playing God. Here, the God is the MTPC. Advances in technology always
bring danger, but they also bring benefits for future generations. Lately, I’m finding it harder to
accept that a soulless supercomputer is judge, jury, and executioner. What about the 77.4%
probability that this micro black hole experiment succeeds?
I sigh and take a deep breath as I approach Adler’s lab. It’s time to complete the mission;
recriminations can wait.
“Rikki, take care of the door code, please.”
“All right, Will.”
I hear a click.
“Thanks, Rikki. Your hacking skills could make us rich.”
“I’m an artificial intelligence. I have no need for money,” she responds.
“That was a joke.”
“Apologies, Will. I am still trying to understand the nuances of human communication.”
Rikki is my artificial intelligence partner. Like the MTPC, she is quantum-based, but
programmed to be human. Sometimes, when I speak to her, it’s like I’m talking to a real person.
Not this time, though. She checks my life signs and knows if I’m upset and always asks me if I
want to talk about it. Sometimes, I do; sometimes, I don’t.
I enter Dr. Adler’s lab. It’s impressive. Electronics cover the walls. Blinking lights dance
over the workstations and consoles like fireflies. A low hum reverberates throughout the space,
giving only the smallest hint of the energies needed to create a micro black hole.
“Rikki, how are we doing?” I subvocalize to the communicator pinned to the lapel. My data
pad is connected to Rikki who is physically in my Multidimensional Travel Device, which,
thanks to its nanomaterial composition, is currently configured as a lime green 1969 Plymouth
Barracuda and parked in the visitor’s lot.

“The graviton reactor is powering up to full capacity, Will.”
I approach the twenty-two-foot-tall graviton reactor, a miracle of engineering and physics,
but according to the MTPC is a Pandora’s box. Rikki shows me where the hair-thin electrodes
should be inserted to connect the university network to my data pad. An almost-invisible
filament extends from my tablet to the instrument panel that monitors the graviton generator.
“OK, Rikki, you’re on.” The timing is crucial; only a computer could have the precision and
accuracy needed to perform the operation. As usual, she is perfect.
“The particle accelerator is shutting down,” she confirms. “It will restart in thirty seconds.”
A maintenance panel silently slides open. I carefully place the lithium into the particle
accelerator. The panel closes, and the filament disappears back into my data pad. Ten seconds
later, it comes back online.
Adler and his lead technician are in the far corner of the lab, hunched over a terminal with
three screens. “That’s peculiar,” Adler says. “Why did everything shut down just now?”
“The board is clear, Dr. Adler.”
“Let’s hold up and double-check everything again.”
I’m a little nervous but know what I have to do. I grab a clipboard from one of the nearby
desks and walk from station to station, pretending to check the screens. From time to time, I look
at the clipboard. I’m careful to stay away from Dr. Adler, one of the brightest stars in physics,
who, no doubt, would identify me as an impostor.
After forty-five minutes, after everything checks out, Adler restarts the experiment. I hear the
whine of the coolant pump and a low-pitched whirring sound as the electromagnets accelerate
protons to over 99% of the speed of light.
Just as planned, the alarms go off and red lights flash when the radiation is detected. The
safety systems shut down the reactor. The displays go dark. Cursing like a sailor, Adler slams the
wall with his clipboard and throws it on the floor in frustration. I join his colleagues as everyone
evacuates the lab.
Dr. Adler will never find out who was responsible because Rikki hacked the camera system,
erasing any sign that I was ever here. I break away from the group of scientists leaving the
building and head to the visitor’s lot. Besides being able to travel through time and space, the
MDTD can assume any shape or function, and can be driven like a regular car, so the Barracuda
isn’t just for show—it’s my ride home.
I’ve successfully completed the mission, but I’m not proud or happy; I’m conflicted.
“Nicely done, Will. The universe thanks you.”
“Was that sarcasm or irony, Rikki?” See what I mean about sounding human sometimes?
I drive along Lake Michigan, taking in the scenery. I open the windows and enjoy the fresh
breeze off the lake on this warm, dry October day. Fall is my favorite time of the year. The red
and yellow of tall maples and oaks and the bright yellow of ash and poplar trees glow in the
warm sunlight. In the parks along the lake, families and individuals take advantage of the
gorgeous day. They’re throwing Frisbees and playing fetch with their dogs. There are touch
football and soccer games, even a cross-country meet. Normal people doing normal things.
Normal people who I had a 22.6% chance of having saved from a technology disaster.
“Will?” Rikki interrupts my thoughts. “You are unusually quiet. May I ask why?”
Being a Time Engineer is a lonely existence. Besides my UOEECT colleagues, there’s no
one I can talk to about my job, or my recent doubts and regrets. Especially the ones I have right
now, the ones about destroying Adler’s life’s work.
“Rikki, I want to ask you something that may sound strange.”

“You can ask me anything that I am not prohibited by my programming from discussing.”
“OK. Do you ever have regrets about the missions we go on?”
“Regret is a human emotion that I do not share, but I calculate the possibilities and
probabilities of future events resulting from the completion of a mission. Sometimes, the results
of my calculations suggest that another course of action may have been more favorable. I
suppose, in that sense, I do ‘regret’ some of our missions.”
“Thanks for answering.” I’m silent, pondering her puzzling reply.
I turn onto I-70, the Barracuda drawing more than a few admiring looks from other drivers. I
speed up along the entrance ramp and merge into traffic.
“Rikki, can you please scan for news of the accident at the university’s graviton reactor?”
“Nothing yet, Will, but it has only been ninety-five minutes since you completed your
mission.”
“Thanks.”
“You are welcome.”
The sun casts long, sharp shadows. On either side of the highway, recent rains have changed
the usual faded greens of the wheat and cornfields to a vibrant emerald green. The sky is a
brilliant blue. Puffy white clouds dot the sky. Despite it being so cheery outside, I’m feeling
rotten at my core.
I decide to take the long way home. That way, I’ll have more time to feel guilty about
destroying the man’s career. My next assignment isn’t for at least two weeks, and I’m not excited
about having to do the paperwork and getting debriefed by my boss, Bret Malkinson, who has
been acting strange recently.
Last month, I visited the Department of Defense as a scientific consultant to check on the
new stealth technology they were working on. After reviewing my report and the documents
Rikki copied from their computers, the MTPC and analysts decided it was a dead-end, leading to
little or no results for many years.
Before that, I was in Tokyo, playing the part of a science and technology journalist. I
interviewed the director of the University of Tokyo’s advanced quantum computer research
department. They were within two years of successfully building a new artificial intelligence. It
would far exceed the capabilities of the current generation. The director believed that within five
years, the AI could make some types of decisions independent of its programming.
Unfortunately for them, only UOEECT may have that technology. Just like they are the only
ones allowed to use micro black hole energy generation. The mission was to place a fractal
computer virus that would spring up and just as suddenly disappear. Each time their computer
engineers rewrote the antivirus code, another variant of the virus would appear and disappear. It’s
impossible to create antivirus programs that can remove a fractal computer virus
The basis for every mission is probable futures. Some of the probability models showed that
Dr. Adler, one of the world’s foremost particle physicists, would lose his job. The worst-case
scenario was he might never work again in his field, but the most likely futures showed him
keeping his job as a popular lecturer. Later in his career, he would go back to research.
There were other case studies of technology outstripping the morality and ethics of a society.
People died, and sometimes entire societies got destroyed.
During training, all Time Engineers and Time Agents learn about Atlantis. Yes, there really
was an Atlantis. It was off the coast of Cyprus and Sardinia. Many of the Greek legends, like
Scylla and Charybdis, came from the measures taken by the Atlanteans to keep their civilization

hidden. They had technology equivalent to the twentieth century. They discovered nuclear fission
four thousand years ago. A scientocracy governed the Atlanteans. The scientists wanted to share
their technology with the late-Neolithic civilization of the time. But ambitious politicians and the
military staged a coup and installed a military dictatorship. Because they were so far advanced,
the Atlanteans realized they could rule the primitive Neolithic world. Under the dictatorship,
they focused on developing even more powerful weapons. In 3780 BCE, they built a fusion
bomb.
Time travel is possible and has been for decades. UOEECT sent a team back in time to
enhance the Atlanteans’ weapon. As a result, the H-bomb exploded with twenty times the force
predicted, triggering the massive Codola eruption. Giant waves from the underwater explosion
annihilated Atlantis and nearly destroyed the early Bronze Age civilizations around the
Mediterranean.
Seeing the horrific result of its meddling, UOEECT changed its mandate. The new edict of
UOEECT became preempting or halting dangerous technologies so they would never be
discovered or pursued.
“You seem upset, Will. Is it anything you want to talk about?” Rikki offers.
“No, I’m fine, just stressed-out,” I lie. I’ve been on the road for over an hour now and I’m
tired of being stuck in this cramped space with my thoughts. “Let’s head home now. I want to get
started on the damn mission report.” We turn off the interstate. Rikki finds a deserted dirt road
that leads to a dilapidated barn with peeling, faded red paint. There are holes in the roof. We can
leave from here, although someone may notice the tire tracks that lead into the barn and then
disappear.
“I am always here if you need to talk to someone. Generating the anomaly in five seconds.
Four, three, two, one.”
There is a low hum increasing in pitch and intensity as the anomaly generator revs up. The
outside of the windows glazes over with a frost of frozen nitrogen and oxygen as the outside
temperature plunges to 1.3675k. Even in the climate-controlled interior of my vehicle, I can feel
the chill. A swirling vortex of fog rapidly grows in front of us. Bolts of purple and blue energy
arc out from the center like jagged snakes swallowing the MDTD. Then there is utter silence.
“Reentering normal space in three, two, one.”
We reappear on a service road that goes through a nearby county park. I drive up a steep hill
and make a turn onto Orchard Road, my house being the fourth on the right. It’s an older raised
ranch built in 1939 with four bedrooms. I turn into my driveway, open the garage door, and park.
I’m home.

Chapter 2

“A Garden of Forking Paths: How Does Your Garden Grow?”

There are many possible futures; some of them are likely to happen and others are unlikely, but
they’re all possible until they’re not.
The future is mutable. What would happen if we never discover or prevented a future
technology from being discovered like antigravity or zero-point energy used by UOEECT? Who
would that William Schachter be and what would he do? Maybe there’s an alternate timeline
where I never was a Marine and Navy SEAL. In that timeline, would there be an UOEECT or
MTPC? If not, would that be a bad thing?
The past is immutable, so the “What if I go into the past and kill my grandfather?” paradox
doesn’t exist because whatever you did, or are planning to do in the past, you were supposed to
do. However, actions in the present affect the future, but not every action. If you step on a bug in
the present, it won’t cause a new timeline to develop or affect yours. There’s no butterfly effect
like in the movies. But if a major technological advance never happens, or a worldwide plague or
war occurs, or something of similar magnitude, a new timeline will probably develop. That’s
what the MTPC and chrono-analysts calculate when planning our missions.
The origin of time travel technology and the advanced technology we use has never made
sense to me. It’s exactly the type of technology that would be the object of a UOEECT mission.
Supposedly, time travel and other technology used by UOEECT was, or will be, discovered in
2037 during the first manned mission to Mars. During the mission, the crew discovers an
extraterrestrial artificial intelligence in the wreckage of an alien space probe and brings it back to
Earth, where UOEECT gets it. Once it’s activated, it provides advanced technology to humanity.
To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever confirmed this story, but I wonder. If it was
programmed, who or what programmed it? That’s an important question.
I get out of the MDTD and look at my Fitbit. The elapsed time spent in the quantum void was
forty-two seconds. As always, it feels much longer. I open the door leading to the family room.
The pool table is inviting, but I’m not really in the mood. I go upstairs to the kitchen instead.
I open my front door and reach into my mailbox to grab the mail. My cover story is that I am
a freelance writer who’s almost always on the road. It seems to work.
As I’m about to go back in, I see my chatty but pleasant neighbor, Mrs. Wolf, working in her
garden as she usually does, seven days a week. Joan is about seventy. She has a perpetual tan and
usually wears her gray hair in a long ponytail. Her face is youthful with an outdoorsy veneer.
She’s quite a talented semi-retired art teacher.
She’s seen me. Rather than trying to avoid the inevitable, I put my mail back in the box and
walk over to say hi.
“Hello, Joan. As usual, your garden looks beautiful.”
“Thank you, Will. You know, I would be happy to help you with your garden,” she says,
gesturing toward my sad front lawn with its luxurious growth of dandelions and crabgrass. My
bushes and trees look like Charlie Brown’s Christmas tree. “I love your perennials, but do you
know you need to deadhead the flowers when they’re done blooming?”
I smile and say, “I know that thanks to you, but with all my travel, I’m pretty busy when I get
home and never seem to have the time to do it,” making the same excuse that I always make.
Then, I get an idea. “If you’re serious about helping me with my garden, what if I give you a few
hundred dollars for plants, fertilizer, and whatever else you need? Do you think you can cast
your magic on my poor yard?”

Her face lights up. “Of course I’m serious. I would love to do that!”
“We have a deal. I’ll be on the road again in two days. Can I stop by tomorrow or the next
day and give you some cash? I can’t wait to see what you can do,” I say sincerely.
“Were you anywhere interesting for the last two days?”
Knowing that we would have this conversation, like we always do, I had prepared my cover
story.
“I was in Troy, Idaho, reporting on a meeting of the local Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy
Game-Con.”
“Didn’t they make a movie about that a few years ago with that cute Zooey Deschanel
actress?”
“You have an excellent memory. Have you read the book or seen the movie?”
“Oh no, and don’t take this personally, but I don’t care much about science fiction or fantasy.
But Danny loves them.” She inclines her head toward me and whispers conspiratorially, “He has
a crush on her.” Danny is her sixteen-year-old nerdy grandson.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I’m a fan too, and she’s a very talented actor and singer,” I say.
“Thanks again, Joan. See you tomorrow.”
I take my mail, open the front door, and toss the pile of envelopes on the counter. Then I
walk into the kitchen and grab a beer from the refrigerator and plop down on my well-worn
recliner. I take a deep draught and close my eyes. Rikki was right; I’m upset. I can’t get the last
mission out of my mind. She knows me well, at least as well as an advanced AI could “know” a
person.
I turn on the TV and scan the channels. After 156 stations, nothing catches my eye, but on
the 157th—as if on cue—a news channel is airing a live interview with the Cook County District
Attorney. He is discussing the charges against Dr. Adler.
They cut to his house in Park Ridge. His pregnant wife, Sandra, an attractive thirty-
something, holds their daughter and dashes into the house as the horde of reporters scream
questions at her. Thankfully, they make it inside. The door slams shut, and the mob disperses. I
put down my beer. Now, I feel even worse about the damn mission.
“Will, I think you should know that I have received the updated future probabilities,” Rikki
announces, almost hesitantly, which is odd because it’s a standard post-mission protocol.
The computer engineers tell us that the AIs that run the MDTDs don’t have emotions.
Humans are more comfortable working with AIs like Rikki that are programmed to simulate
emotions, rather than with a cold, logical artificial intelligence. Sometimes, her simulations are
so perfect it’s hard to believe that she doesn’t have genuine feelings. I swear I hear a note of
regret in her response.
“What do they say, Rikki?”
“His wife leaves him after he is indicted for financial malfeasance and possession of
unauthorized materials on his work computer. Upon being indicted, he loses custody rights for
their daughter, Peyton. The court sentences him to ten years in prison.”
I’m dumbfounded. The mission was simple: stop his research into using micro black holes to
generate power. None of this was supposed to happen.
“Are you certain, Rikki? All previous probabilities showed he’d simply just go back to
lecturing after this blows over.”
Rikki is silent, which is unusual. Then, she says, “In 83.67% of the recalculated probable
futures, someone murders Adler in prison or he commits suicide.”

“Wait a second—when did his death become a near certainty?” Something is terribly wrong.
Someone’s messed with something here and this isn’t right. Someone is trying to kill Dr. Adler,
not just stop his research. With this drastic change, what happens to our timeline? And most
importantly, who did this and why?
I need to figure out what’s going on, but I’m exhausted and famished after not eating for over
twenty-four hours. I need to put something in my stomach and get some rest.
“Rikki, please call China Jasmine Garden and order my usual.”
She responds, “Hot and sour soup, an egg roll, General Tso’s chicken, and green tea ice
cream. Calling now.”
Thirty minutes later, the doorbell rings. Long has arrived with my order. I open the door. He
looks around forty years old. He’s six feet tall with short, salt-and-pepper hair. His eyes are dark
and serious. His shoulders are wide, and his arms are lean and muscular. He’s wearing a white T-
shirt, jeans, and a Mets cap. When it’s not too busy, we’ll talk about baseball for hours. We
exchange pleasantries and I pay for the food with a big tip.
I try to make sense of what happened as I pick at my meal because I’ve lost my appetite.
What explanation can there be other than someone came in after me and framed Dr. Adler? Now,
he faces much more serious charges that will not only ruin his life and destroy his family, but
most likely kill him. This is exactly the type of event that can cause an alternate timeline to
develop.
“Will,” Rikki interrupts my musings. “Peter Cordeaux changed the mission.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything,” she answers.
“You just told me that Peter Cordeaux changed the mission.”
“I am sorry, Will. As you know, I may not disclose mission details of other agents without
authorization from headquarters.”
Such a vague nonanswer is very unlike her. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she was being
evasive, but why? Even more importantly, how? I’m certain that she told me Cordeaux changed
the mission with the apparent goal of deleting Dr. Joseph Adler from history.
“Rikki, please replay the last verbal exchange you and I had.”
“Hot and sour soup, an egg roll, General Tso’s chicken, and green tea ice cream. Calling
now.”
“What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You just told me that Peter Cordeaux changed the mission.”
“I am sorry, Will. As you know, I may not disclose mission details of other agents without
authorization from headquarters.”
I don’t know what’s going on with Rikki. Back to Adler.
“Are you sure you’re not describing a low-probability future?” I’m hoping she is, but my
experience tells me she isn’t.
“Yes, Will, I am sure of this.” It seems like there’s uncertainty in her voice, but that makes
little sense.
AIs like Rikki have a 100% record of never making an error. It has to be a Time Agent or
Time Engineer, or someone from a low-probability future with time travel technology who wants
to increase the chance of their timeline occurring. I’m puzzled by Rikki’s evasiveness; she even
changed the audio recording. But why would she do that?

That Peter Cordeaux is involved seems incomprehensible to me. We were in the same
training class and were partners for a time. We both have track records of success in completing
complex, high-impact missions. When there’s a dangerous or challenging mission, Peter or I
usually get the call.
I take another bite of the egg roll and put what’s left in the container and cover it. It goes into
my mostly empty refrigerator. There’s one more beer, and I put the green tea ice cream in the
freezer. I enter the living room, switch on the TV, and tune in to the Syfy channel. I plop down
on the recliner and sip my beer. Ironically, Back to the Future Part II is on. When it’s over, I’m
looking forward to Part III, but instead, the original Karate Kid is on. Mildly disappointed, I turn
off the TV, head upstairs, put on a pair of pajama shorts, and get into bed.
It’s 2330 and I’m exhausted. Today was a long day. It feels like several long days, because
travel through quantum nothingness and the human brain may not be entirely compatible. And I
still haven’t touched my mission report.
Everyone who works at UOEECT has a tiny recording chip implanted in their brains directly
connected to the five senses. Some of us, me included, question the need to write a report when
the brain chip records everything, but UOEECT insists that the subjective nature of a written
mission report is just as valuable. I don’t enjoy having a chip implanted in my brain that has to
be uploaded after every mission to the MTPC. They assure us it doesn’t record conscious
thought, but how can we be certain that’s true?
I start to dictate my report into my laptop but am too tired to continue. I clean up a little and
decide to finish it in the morning.
As my head hits the pillow, my eyes close and consciousness flees. The last thought I have is
that I need answers, and I intend to get them, starting tomorrow at UOEECT headquarters. ...