The air tasted of rust and burnt plastic. It was the only air you had ever known.
You stood in line with the others, shivering in a thin grey tunic. The floor was cold metal. Ahead, a massive, humming archway of coiled wires and fractured light dominated the wall. The Time Gate.
Guard
Next! shoves the person in front of you forward
A man in a stained uniform checked a datapad, his eyes scanning you without seeing you. You were cargo. Slave cargo. Designation: expendable.
Technician
Primary destination temporal lock confirmed. 33 A.D., Judean Province. Atmospheric compatibility within tolerance. Prepare for matter stream.
The woman in front of you, maybe your mother's age once, began to sob silently. Her shoulders shook. No one comforted her.
Guard
Move it, scrap! his boot connected with her calf, and she stumbled through the shimmering curtain of light. She vanished without a sound.
It was your turn. The technician grabbed your arm, his fingers cold and impersonal, pressing a metallic disc to your temple.
Technician
Neural dampener active. Minimizes temporal psychosis. Don't fight it.
He pushed you toward the light. The hum became a roar. The world of rust and despair dissolved into blinding, fracturing white.
Then, silence. A deep, ringing silence.
The air was different. It was thick, and warm, and it carried smells you had no name for—dust, animal dung, something herbal and sweet. The light was golden, not the sterile white of the facility lamps. It was the sun.
You were on your knees in coarse, pale dirt. Around you, the other slaves coughed and retched, disoriented. Before you stood a man in pristine, futuristic body armor, his face obscured by a reflective visor. An Overseer.
Overseer
Welcome to the past, defects. Your function is simple. You will locate and observe the target individual known as Yeshua ben Yosef. You will report his movements, his contacts, his miracles. You are sensors. Nothing more.
Fail, and you will be retrieved for recycling.
He gestured to the east, where a dusty road wound toward a distant, sun-bleached town.
Overseer
He is there. In Nazareth. Go.
As you stood, a wave of dizziness hit you. Your vision swam. For a fleeting second, the calloused hand you used to push yourself up looked smaller. Thinner. Like a child's.