Ansel’s Accounting
By Murdok · 2,484 words · 11 min read
The intake room’s terminal hummed, its screen casting a pale glow across the metal desk. Caspian didn’t look at it. He was already dressed—black Bureau-issue shirt, dark trousers, boots laced tight. The folded card sat in his pocket, its edges worn soft from handling. He’d memorized the routing code weeks ago, but he still checked it every time he pulled it out, as if the numbers might have changed.
The knock came at 08:47.
Ansel didn’t wait for an answer. She stepped inside, her expression the same as always—calm, unreadable, the kind of calm that came from having made the same hard calculation many times. She didn’t sit. Neither did he.
“You’re not in the meeting room,” she said.
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel exhaled. “They’re waiting.”
“I know.”
She studied him for a long moment. Then, quietly: “You wanted this.”
Caspian met her gaze. “I did.”
Ansel’s fingers tightened on the doorframe. “You realize what you’re asking for.”
He didn’t flinch. “I do.”
She exhaled. “Then let’s go.”
The corridor was empty. The Bureau’s intake facility was always quiet in the early hours, the amber lights casting long shadows across the tile. Ansel walked beside him, her steps measured, her silence deliberate. She didn’t ask if he was ready.
They turned a corner. The oversight committee’s chamber was at the end of the hall, its door closed.
Ansel stopped. “Before we go in.”
Caspian waited.
She exhaled. “I knew about the committee.”
Caspian met her gaze. “I know.”
“Not everything. Not at first. But enough.”
“When?”
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “After your first jump.”
Caspian’s fingers brushed the folded card in his pocket. “Why?”
“Because the Bureau needed you.” She didn’t look away. “You were the only one who could decode the routing codes. The only one who could see the pattern.”
Caspian exhaled. “And the kill order?”
Her expression didn’t change. “I didn’t know about that until later.”
“When?”
“After Sarajevo.”
Caspian’s jaw tightened. “You let me go back.”
She didn’t answer.
“Why?”
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “Because the Bureau needed you more than the committee needed you dead.”
Caspian didn’t look away. “And the cost?”
She hesitated. “I didn’t know about Nela.”
He didn’t react.
“I didn’t know your jump would close that branch.”
Caspian exhaled. “But you knew jumps had costs.”
She didn’t flinch. “I did.”
“And you made the calculation anyway.”
Ansel met his gaze. “I was wrong.”
The chamber door loomed ahead.
Caspian didn’t move. “Why tell me this now?”
“Because you’re about to walk into that room and demand oversight of the committee.” Her voice was steady. “And I need you to know what that means.”
Caspian pulled out the folded card. The paper was soft against his fingers. He set it on the table beside them, the routing code facing up.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want oversight,” he said.
Ansel didn’t look away. “Of what?”
“Of the timeline.”
She exhaled. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
Ansel studied him. “You realize what this means.”
Caspian nodded. “I do.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What do you want, Caspian?”
He met her gaze. “I want control.”
“Of what?”
“Of the timeline.”
Ansel exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
She stepped aside. “Then take it.”
The chamber door clicked open.
The oversight committee was already seated. Five of them, their expressions tight, their postures rigid. The sixth chair was empty.
Ansel took her place at the table. Caspian remained standing, the folded card in his hand.
The committee member at the far end spoke first. “You triggered the backup.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel exhaled. “The committee’s operations are now embedded in the Bureau’s routing infrastructure. Any station that accesses the archive will see them.”
The committee member’s gaze didn’t waver. “We’re aware.”
Caspian met his eyes. “Good.”
The man’s expression darkened. “You don’t get to speak.”
Caspian didn’t flinch. “I do.”
Voices erupted around the table.
Ansel raised a hand. The room quieted.
She exhaled. “Caspian has a proposal.”
The committee member at the far end didn’t look away. “We’re listening.”
Caspian set the folded card on the table. The routing code faced up.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want oversight,” he said.
The man’s eyes flicked to the card. “Of what?”
“Of the committee.”
The room erupted again.
Ansel didn’t raise her hand this time. She didn’t need to.
The committee member exhaled. “That’s not how this works.”
Caspian didn’t look away. “It is now.”
The man’s jaw tightened. “You don’t get to make demands.”
Caspian met his gaze. “I do.”
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “He does.”
Silence.
The committee member exhaled. “Oversight of what?”
“Of the timeline.”
The room was still.
The man’s expression didn’t change. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “It is now.”
The committee member studied him. “You realize what this means.”
Caspian nodded. “I do.”
The man exhaled. “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“I know.”
The committee member was silent for a long moment. Then: “And you still want a seat at this table.”
Caspian met his gaze. “I do.”
The man exhaled. “Then take it.”
The room was silent.
Caspian picked up the folded card.
The oversight committee’s chamber was quiet when they left. Ansel walked beside him, her steps measured.
They turned a corner. The intake facility’s corridors were empty, the amber lights casting long shadows.
Ansel stopped. “You realize what you just did.”
Caspian didn’t look away. “I do.”
She exhaled. “You just made yourself the most powerful person in this building.”
“And the most vulnerable.”
Ansel didn’t answer.
Caspian pulled out the folded card. The paper was soft against his fingers. He set it on the terminal beside them.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want to see the Compact’s 1923 model,” he said.
Ansel met his gaze. “Why?”
“Because I need to know if they’re right.”
She exhaled. “And if they are?”
“Then I fix it.”
Ansel didn’t flinch. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
She exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel studied him. “You realize what this means.”
He nodded. “I do.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What do you want, Caspian?”
“I want to see the model.”
Ansel exhaled. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
She didn’t look away. “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“I know.”
Ansel exhaled. “And you still want to see it.”
Caspian met her gaze. “I do.”
She stepped aside. “Then let’s go.”
The Bureau’s archival division was housed in the facility’s lowest level, its corridors narrow, its lights dim. The air smelled of paper and dust.
Ansel led the way. Caspian followed, the folded card in his hand.
They stopped in front of a terminal. Ansel tapped the screen. It woke with a soft hum.
She entered a clearance code. The terminal chimed.
A new window opened.
Compact Actuarial Model: 1923 Consolidation Event.
Caspian didn’t look away. “Show me.”
Ansel exhaled. She tapped the screen.
The model loaded.
It was a graph—jagged lines, stark projections. The x-axis was time. The y-axis was probability.
The 1923 event was marked in red.
Caspian studied it. The Bureau’s solution—ending the war early—had produced a different outcome, but not a better one. The Compact’s solution—prolonging the war—had produced a worse outcome in the short term, but a better one in the long term.
He exhaled. “They’re right.”
Ansel didn’t look away. “About the model.”
“About the problem.”
She didn’t answer.
“The Bureau was wrong.”
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “About the solution.”
Caspian met her gaze. “About everything.”
She didn’t argue.
He exhaled. “The Compact’s solution is worse in the short term.”
“But better in the long term.”
“I know.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What’s your move?”
Caspian pulled out the folded card. He set it on the terminal, the routing code facing up.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want to see the Bureau’s solution,” he said.
Ansel didn’t look away. “Why?”
“Because I need to know if it’s fixable.”
She exhaled. “And if it’s not?”
“Then I build a new one.”
Ansel didn’t flinch. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
She exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel studied him. “You realize what this means.”
He nodded. “I do.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What do you want, Caspian?”
“I want to see the Bureau’s solution.”
Ansel exhaled. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
She didn’t look away. “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“I know.”
Ansel exhaled. “And you still want to see it.”
Caspian met her gaze. “I do.”
She stepped aside. “Then let’s go.”
The Bureau’s solution was worse.
Caspian studied the model, his fingers tight on the terminal’s edge. Ending the war early had consolidated power in a way that led to the 1923 event. The Compact’s solution—prolonging the war—had avoided the event but at a greater cost.
He exhaled. “The Bureau was wrong.”
Ansel didn’t look away. “About the solution.”
“About everything.”
She didn’t argue.
“The Compact was wrong too.”
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “About the cost.”
Caspian met her gaze. “About the timeline.”
She didn’t answer.
He exhaled. “There’s a third option.”
Ansel waited.
Caspian pulled out the folded card. He set it on the terminal.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want to build it,” he said.
Ansel didn’t look away. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
She exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel studied him. “You realize what this means.”
He nodded. “I do.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What do you want, Caspian?”
“I want to build a new solution.”
Ansel didn’t flinch. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
She exhaled. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
Ansel didn’t look away. “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“I know.”
She exhaled. “And you still want to do it.”
Caspian met her gaze. “I do.”
She stepped aside. “Then let’s go.”
The intake facility’s corridors were quiet when they returned. The amber lights cast long shadows.
Ansel stopped outside Quarters 4-B. “You realize what you’re doing.”
Caspian didn’t look away. “I do.”
She exhaled. “You’re making yourself a target.”
“Again.”
Ansel’s voice was quiet. “What’s your next move?”
He pulled out the folded card. The paper was soft against his fingers. He set it on the terminal beside them.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want to see Rumo,” he said.
Ansel didn’t look away. “Why?”
“Because I need to know if he’s still with me.”
She exhaled. “And if he’s not?”
“Then I do it alone.”
Ansel didn’t flinch. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
She exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Ansel studied him. “You realize what this means.”
He nodded. “I do.”
She was silent for a long moment. Then: “What do you want, Caspian?”
“I want to see Rumo.”
Ansel exhaled. “That’s not how this works.”
“It is now.”
She didn’t look away. “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“I know.”
Ansel exhaled. “And you still want to see him.”
Caspian met her gaze. “I do.”
She stepped aside. “Then let’s go.”
Rumo was waiting in the intake facility’s common room, his expression unreadable. He didn’t stand when they entered.
Caspian didn’t sit. He stood beside the table, the folded card in his hand.
Rumo exhaled. “You did it.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
“The backup worked.”
Caspian met his gaze. “I know.”
“The committee’s operations are embedded in the Compact’s routing infrastructure.”
Caspian nodded. “I know.”
Rumo was silent for a long moment. Then: “You’re the most dangerous person in this building.”
“I know.”
Rumo exhaled. “And you still want a seat at the table.”
Caspian met his gaze. “I do.”
Rumo waited. “What’s your next move?”
Caspian pulled out the folded card. He set it on the table, the routing code facing up.
082813-SHAD-314.
“I want to build a new solution,” he said.
Rumo didn’t look away. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
Rumo exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Rumo studied him. “You realize what this means.”
Caspian nodded. “I do.”
Rumo exhaled. “What do you want, Caspian?”
He met Rumo’s gaze. “I want you with me.”
Rumo didn’t flinch. “Why?”
“Because I need someone I can trust.”
Rumo was silent for a long moment. Then: “You realize what this means.”
Caspian nodded. “I do.”
Rumo exhaled. “You’re making me a target.”
“Again.”
Rumo’s voice was quiet. “What’s the plan?”
Caspian pulled out the folded card. He set it on the table.
082813-SHAD-314.
“We build a new solution,” he said.
Rumo didn’t look away. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
Rumo exhaled. “That’s not possible.”
Caspian didn’t answer.
Rumo studied him. “What do you need?”
Caspian met his gaze. “I need you to run the field.”
Rumo didn’t flinch. “Why?”
“Because I can’t do it alone.”
Rumo was silent for a long moment. Then: “You realize what this means.”
Caspian nodded. “I do.”
Rumo exhaled. “You’re making me the most dangerous person in this building.”
“After me.”
Rumo met his gaze. “I know.”
He exhaled. “Then let’s go.”
The intake facility’s corridors were quiet when they left. The amber lights cast long shadows.
Caspian didn’t slow down.
Rumo fell into step beside him. “What now?”
Caspian didn’t look away. “We build a new solution.”
Rumo exhaled. “How?”
“By controlling the timeline.”
Rumo didn’t answer.
The door to Quarters 4-B was unlocked.
Caspian stepped inside.
The terminal was dark. He tapped the screen.
It woke with a soft hum.
A new alert blinked at the top.
Operative Vael. Oversight committee meeting: Confirmed. Time: 09:00. Location: Chamber 3.
Caspian read it twice.
The oversight committee was ready.
That was the twenty-first move.
He closed the alert.
The terminal chimed.
A new message.
Sender: Ansel, Petra. Subject: Now.
Caspian opened it.
They’re waiting.
That was the twenty-second move.
He set the terminal down.
The math was getting harder.
The cost was rising.
But the next move was his.
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