When someone lets slip the fact that a tour company on a hitherto unheard of world called, Atogenes, is offering "The Time Travel Experience of a Lifetime", well, we at SciFi-Babe just have to check it out.
Atogenes is not an easy place to reach. First off, it's in a poorly charted part of space. Second, you can only reach it by negotiating a really nasty phenomena referred to as the "Bottleneck Nebula" - so called because it's sort of pinched at the center, with plasma storms raging on all sides. That means you have to pass through a very dense, gaseous funnel, which plays havoc with most ships' propulsion and navigational systems.
Anyway, we managed to get there, and made our landing at the spaceport just outside Ravelen, the planet's principle city and location of the Overa Travel Company: the organisation making the claim that it could provide time travel vacations for the masses. The rich masses, of course!
After wasting two days trying to gain an interview with the CEO of Overa, Eser Confir-Maba, we decided to sign up for the tour instead, and made our way to the facility, slap bang in the downtown, financial section of the city.
Confir-Maba has been a tour operator for more than ten years, it seems, catering to the whims of the upper ten percent of the population - in terms of wealth. He's indulged their more unusual - and mostly illicit - desires: including hunting expeditions to the nearby planet of Amada, where everything from endangered species to life-serving convicts were tracked, cornered and slaughtered. There was even an unsubstantiated rumor that the Atogenes Department of Justice underwrote many of these trips as a way of dispensing with incorrigible villains and saving the public purse a not inconsiderable sum of money for their day to day upkeep.
A change of government resulted in legislation banning such expeditions, and awarded Amada the status of an 'official' wild life sanctuary. Never one to let the law interfere with his bottom line, Confir-Maba quickly came up with the Time Travel Excursion, using technology he claimed he had obtained from a foreign trade delegation from Ustra, a world lying on the other [our] side of the Bottleneck Nebula.
So, we, that's me and my bodyguard of the moment, Sausa, paid our entry fee - Alethea will have a fit when she gets the expenses claim - and entered the facility, which stands on a tree lined boulevard in the aforementioned down-town quarter of Ravelen. Let me tell you, nothing has been overlooked. The building is a magnificent construction, in the Atogenes tradition, complete with fountains in the foyer and walls and floor covered in highly polished, brown and white streaked 'urhi' [a mineral similar to marble].
We were whisked up to the first floor on a transparent escalator, once we'd paid the fee for the ticket, of course, and there were armed guards to make sure we had. We found ourselves standing, ankle deep, in plush, maroon carpeting. At the end of this chandelier lit room, with works of art covering the entire wall space (local, mostly, and pretty 'yucky'), was an ornately carved doorway. More guards checked our tickets, then ushered us into a small cabin, fitted out with two-dozen seats. There were only eight other 'travelers': testimony, perhaps, to Confir-Maba's exorbitant prices.
While we were getting comfortable, two stewardesses, dressed in the long flowing, formal style of the Atogenes office assistant, explained that time travel is a risky business. They went through a routine outlining the correct position to adopt in a crash [what would you hit, traveling through time?], where the exit was [we knew that one], and where we might find a life jacket [presumably these cabins have lousy plumbing, too!]. Between you and me, I think 'office assistant' is a euphemism for 'eye decoration'. They certainly weren't intellectually well endowed, but of them was pretty! They finished up by telling us that they'd aready completed a dozen such excursions without mishap. Whether they were saying they had a 100% safety record, or the last twelve of an undisclosed number of attempts had been successful, they didn't say. That was it! I was about to unbuckle my belt when Sausa put his big, strong arm around my shoulder. I love it when they do that. It means you own them: mind, body, hormones... The works!
"Take it easy," he said.
I sighed, looked into his beautiful, peach colored eyes, and breathed, "Don't you dare take that arm away."
He squeezed harder, to show he meant it. Sometimes I'm appalled at how I manipulate men - poor things - but I can't help myself.
The lights dimmed, the cabin started to move - we were being positioned for the launch, apparently - and a couple of seconds later, the whole thing started to shake. It pitched. It yawed. It half-rolled left, then right, then left. I was getting sick and gripping Sausa's arm for real!
Suddenly, it stopped moving. The door opened, and a wall of heat hit us, accompanied by a cacophony of roars, shrieks, whistles and clicks. We had traveled back more than ten million 'ervas' [years], we were told, and we marched outside to find ourselves in the middle of a primeval jungle. A large, overweight and heavily perspiring, 'hunter' type by the name of Rand Noyna stood there smiling broadly, brandishing a large weapon of some description.
Suddenly, there was a spine chilling roar, just off to the right, followed by a crashing sound and a lot of foliage waving - like something big and hungry was running towards us. We waited, holding our breaths, but it moved off. Bird song came from high in the tree canopy. Insects clicked in the long grass, yet, with all that noise, we didn't see a single creature.
We'd been milling about for about half an hour, when the light began to fade. Apparently, sunset came earlier ten million ervas ago. Must be due to a shift in the planet's axis. Phew, sometimes I amaze myself with my grasp of celestial mechanics!
Our 'protector' led us a short distance along a path, cut through the heavy jungle. We cleared the trees and found ourselves in a clearing. Noyna pointed in the direction of a pile of tents, and started a fire while we struggled to erect them. Feet went through the thin material, poles were broken, and fingers holding tent pegs were struck with mallets. It was a farce, but we managed it - kind of. Fifteen minutes later, we were in total darkness - except for the small fire.
We were presented with a field meal of 'chari' on plates that looked far from clean. It's a kind of stew, made from re-constituted meat scraps and root vegetables (from a can, most likely). There was also a salad, of sorts, but it was limp and soggy, having been kept chilled in an icebox. All part of 'roughing it', I suppose. We made a hot drink from 'yava' crystals, dissolved in water boiled in a can suspended over the fire. There was little conversation as we sat sipping the hot, meat flavored drink to the accompaniment of all manner of night noises. We retired to our makeshift abodes shortly after we finished the drink.
I was just falling to sleep, at last, when there was this incredible crashing sound outside. I thought a tree had fallen down. Then the tent collapsed.
I was out there, quick as a flash, one thigh boot in each hand. I don't know why I did that - they are very expensive, mind you. I suppose, in my confused state, I had figured the spike heels would make pretty good daggers.
The 'hunter' type was thrashing about in the undergrowth, and yelling at the top of his voice. He emerged from the trees on the far side of the clearing. "It's safe, now," he announced, with great authority. Retire to your tents, if you please."
I took one look at the disheveled pile of cloth I had crawled out from and opted for a place by the fire for the rest of the night. I was cold, but Sausa helped me get warm, especially after everyone else had gone to sleep.
We had a rushed breakfast as soon as it was light. Heaven knows what it was made from! We clambered back into the cabin, everything shook all over again, and we were back where we started, in present day Ravelen.
On our way out of the facility, we were reminded that the company offered two other destinations: one dated around the dawn of civilization on Atogenes, the other set in the distant future. We shrugged, turned our backs on the Overa Travel Company, and boarded our ship that same afternoon.
As we were heading for the upper atmosphere, 
I thought it would be fun to take a few aerial shorts of the facility for my report. Imagine my surprise when I got the image you see here. A central hub, with three large blocks radiating out from it. That's three: three blocks and three destinations. That lying confidence trickster, Confir-Maba, was still at it. All that shaking and rocking about was designed to conceal the fact that the cabin was rotating to align the single door with the specific block which housed the intended destination.
'Time travel, my thong!' I yelled, just as three customs ships appeared alongside and ordered us back to the spaceport. Well, we had no choice but comply. I mean, my bomagesh [star chariot] is quick, but unarmed, unlike the customs ships, which positively bristled with weaponry. When we landed, we were informed that we had violated the air space over a government building - which is clearly bull biscuits, since the planet is positively bristling with them, so no one could fly anywhere. No, we'd caught Confir-Maba in a lie, is what we'd done, and too many people had their hands in the 'Time Travel Excursion of a Lifetime' scam.
To cut a long story short: because Confir-Maba pays well for what he needs and consequently has a lot of pull with the authorities, they demanded all of our recording media - including the master copy I'd hidden in the top of my thigh boot, which was eventually found by an enormous mud wrestler of a female officer. Luckily, I've got a great memory for detail, so I was able to file my report, but my strong armed hero has no patience with officious little customs people. When one unwisely slipped his hand inside Sausa's pant's pocket and began rummaging about, my well put together and incredibly energetic bodyguard punched him in the nose. Three days later, we paid a huge fine (thanks Alethea!) and left Atogenes in our wake.
So, you've been warned. Don't fall for Confir-Maba's smooth line about "The Excursion of a Lifetime". Keep your money in your pocket, or wherever else you keep it, and don't be tempted to punch out Atogenes custom officials.
