Time

"What is the priority-one directive of Time Control, Smith?" asks Comptroller Martin, he waits a moment, "... if you could answer, you would say 'To Preserve The Natural Order of Time As Perceived Until Now', wouldn't you Smith?" and he looks at her. "But you can't answer, can you Smith?" And she glares at him (because this is all she can do, restricted as she is) - fuck off- she thinks. "'Fuck off'?", says Martin, " how very 20th century of you." He looks up for a moment, smiles  -for the cameras - thinks Smith. "You understand that we are are in a mathMeme protected sphere of non-time, that anything that happens downstream cannot paradox us?" -yes- she thinks but cannot say. "'yes', that's good, you do understand. So, how did you think you could hide the fact you did not kill Dr. Carrington?" - because you are a fuckwit, Martin - she thinks. Martin frowns for a moment, "You are not in a position to entertain such doubts about my efficacy, Smith. You  are a signature away from complete excision. So I think you should think more quietly" - fuck off and die- "I will ignore that last daydream, Smith." - if you didn't need something from me, I'd be dead already - thinks Smith. "You're right", says Martin, " But I think, " and he pictured in his mind the things he thinks, and Smith, in spite of herself, swallows hard, " you would prefer to be dead". He continues: "So, you failed miserably in your last assignment, and I have to send six agents to re-align time in, not one, but two Regions. Because of your insubordination." - just fucking kill me you limp-dicked parasite - thinks Smith. "I will have you killed Smith, but first I need you to tell me what you did in 1914, and why you hopped to 2064"