The Morning Hatcher Fell

Just another job.

The Morning Hatcher Fell

He woke up. He went to work. He came home. Mark Hatcher crossed another day off the calendar of the dreary existence he called “life.”

Regular. Standard. Normal. OK.

Hatcher didn’t really feel anything special that day. He woke up like any other day, knowing he hadn’t really slept long enough, but also knowing it was time to get up or start looking for a new job.

For much of his life, Hatcher piloted a star-bird, thrush class, a sub-galactic short-distance hopper that rarely made any excursions into the area of time. He would shuffle supplies, and perhaps an extra person from one civilization to another, but always in the same era. Sometimes he would listen to the oldies channel, but that was as radical as the time-shifting got.

His small craft, without the benefit of time-alt circuits, was rather limited in its scope of travel, due to its sub-galactic power architecture. Others he knew with less overall experience were mid- and long-hopping to distant hypergroup sector areas, moving forward and back in time, too, in order to keep the logistics working and running smoothly. CONTINUED…