Lizzie Mac, 1587 AD

After work, or pleasure, Lizzie MacDougall always had energy. Her rooms, though comfortable, were confining, the sent of works still lingering in the air were a constant reminder of the past moments - moments she needed to leave behind.

Dressing into trousers, a sailor’s tunic and a heavy, coarse navy blue sweater, a skull cap pulled down to her ears, she left closing and locking her door. Four flights of stairs later, out the back entrance she crossed the alley to the deserted warehouse belonging to her family, to a side path leading to the docks.

There were few people out, some passing through walking along to home or work. Those seeking pleasure, even the desperate ones, were either asleep at this hour, or inside, warm.

Which was the favorite time of the day for Lizzie, where she could feel alone and awake for with thoughts.

Placing her elbows on the stone railing she looked out to the ships anchored in the harbor, sails furled, lit with flittering lights on a light breeze. She wanted so badly to leave, but knew it could never be that simple.

She was not ‘poor‘, and despite her longing to leave, she knew why she wanted to leave, but found herself reluctant.

For four nights straight, she came to this very railing to stare at the coming and goings of the great ships, watched its sailors leave and come, watched cargo be loaded and off loaded with fascination.

She rolled tobacco and lit it, letting the smoke linger on the breeze.

She could imagine being a respectable lady, going to some distant voyage. Though Lizzie could look and act respectable, right down to her speech, she knew she was - something else.

She had only forty-eight hours left, and so made her decision....

She decided to talk to the people in the Bubble.

Her family’s warehouse has been in existence for a long time, almost as old as the harbor was built in.

She let herself in.

Inside it was dark, dust on the floor.

A tarp covered lump stood off to the side, it too covered in thick dust.

No one has been here in ages.

Stretching out her hands held high, she called.

“Altaire Prime,” said Lizzie, “ broadcast, #1587, Alpha.Delta- LM.”

The air stirred, where there was nothing there was now a window. On the other side was another woman, an older yet ageless version of herself.

“Received, this is Prime operator. LM, you’re over due for contact, what is your status? Have you acquired your subject?”

Looking down, Lizzie said nothing.

“Answer!”

“I can’t do it,” said Lizzie.

“What do you mean?” , said the operator, “are you talking about your mission, or something else?” The operator did not look it, but if anger were white heat, her eyes as a blazing white dwarf of a star....

“I understand our mission, I know it is necessary....”

“But....”

“....I can’t knowingly kill someone, even the Ancestor.”

The operator could only look at her.

“I’m not a murderer, I won’t do it”, said Lizzie.

“I understand Lizzie, it’s OK. Do you have the DNA?”

“Yes, 247 subjects, 182 males, 65 females”, said Lizzie.

“Good work Lizzie, hand them over please”, said Prime‘s operator.

Lizzie took the vials from her hidden pocket, and stuck her hands through the window. The reached out, only to grab Lizzie by her wrists and pulled her off feet.

If there were observers there other than the curious rat that stood watching, they would scene nothing of Lizzie but her legs disappearing through a square of light. The light, the window grew into a door, and out stepped a woman that looked like Lizzie.

Except that her eyes blazed with the light of a white dwarf.

The operator took her surroundings.

“Dusty”

Placing her feet in Lizzie’s footprints she spotted the door came and stopped. Her right hand on the door she tilted her head, then opened the door - into a parlor.

She turned around and found a closet full of clean linens and a broom. Taking a bronze coin from pockets, she placed it under one of the linens, and crept up stairs.

When Lizzie woke up she was back in her rooms.

“Huh, what happened?”

Could it be day break already?

She sat up.

When did I put these on?, looking down at her trousers and sailors tunic. She remembered inviting sailors under a street lamp to come up to her rooms to play and some drinks, but nothing more.

Maybe some food will help, she thought. She went to a cupboard and pulled down a quarter piece of rye bread. Sitting back on her daybed she tried to piece together her memories, and found that there were too many missing pieces.

Then she a sound coming from the direction of the harbor that she did not recognize, and went down stairs and out the back door.

And stopped.

Because where she would have seen her family’s warehouse was nothing but open space staring out into the harbor.

Worse, where there should have been merchant sailing ships there were now larger ships belching out black sooty smoke from the top of smoke stacks. And with that scene she remembered that she was adducted, and neither this year or the she was most recently a resident of her era, and that she has been marooned in timeline that could not exist.