e Savin
e if y
Time Saving Agency, there is a saying that goes: 'You can't break an omelet without first making eggs'. While this ma
ation stones of the Theory behind it. It's something of a paradox – a mind-boggling annotation in the ever-puzzling and ever growing Anals of H
be the same, but no, not really. Once you start digging a little deeper, you would realize that in order for the hypothetical omelet to exist or be made (or indeed,
tements is this: omelets do not come from chickens – it is eggs which come from chickens. Omelets
ter, and regardless of what eggs there are, unless you have an unusually accident prone chicken, they will not turn into omelets by themselves. In oth
trouble is, they aren't talking – however, you can take it from me – they know. The answer to these and other puzzles are kept safe and secure behind fire-walls and thick
ed egg and whoops, no omelet. In essence, to stretch the metaphor, this point links to yet another which is best illustrated by yet another idiom in us
even far more theoretical than practical, it all come
no matter how seemingly insignificant, plays a part. Sometimes the meaning of every little thing –
rchard. High up in the branches of the tree, a blurry shape seemed to shimmer slightly before solidifying into a male figure that silently mouthed the words: 'Oh, f**k!' before grabbing onto a branch and hanging on
ve invented the A-bomb first – and blown up America and Germany (and probably everybody else too). Alexandre Dumas could have written 'The Three Picadors' and died a poor, unknown writer. As another example, one time, after l
appearance in the 1900's. In another alternative timeline, the Beatles never existed and England invented popcorn and hamburgers in the 1840's. Damn, that's what almost happened last time ag
'd screwed up in only a very small way and people wore those little yellow smiley faces on t-shirts for decades afterwards – and that was just a small screw up. He sighed. Here he sat, in the branches of an apple tree in an apple tree orchard – and without a sin
him. He felt the lump in his pocket and removed it while clinging to the branch with his other hand and knees. It was a bright shiny yellow apple. Not exactly what grew around these parts (or in these times either) – but an apple nonetheless. At
the TSA headquarters, satisfied with the thought of another job well do
?" He asked
e being a smart-ass from behind a console across
at the controls of the Time Jump Motivator – or
ack. "At least you didn't fall o
American War of Independence would've happened in Mexico.
the USA became a pro
ded up speaking French for a while. Sorting that out had been... well, challenging. Mon dieu. Thank the gods for the Buffer. It protected them from unforeseen time events, or UTE's (in other words, screw-ups) and
lized they couldn't afford to have disgruntled employees with too much time on their hands and the power of the gods at their fingertips, so the pay was very, very good. Debriefing was routine. And how he hated routine! His supervisor was a senior agent called Guy Krummeck, a rather drab character
er passed for it. The eerie absence of sound was deafening. It was said that idle hands were the Devil's instruments. The Limbo Practicale had many idle hands. Idle mi
nightmares ad-infinitum. After only a short while, most people's sanity would start unraveling ju
pside down and purple. Dense smothering silence cocooned the inmates, as though it were slowly draining the sound out of them. Yet on
e something like watching re-runs, again. Or re-runs of someone else's home movies. Most people, as has been noted before, would be certifiably mad after j
, still – unconscious in the depths of this plane. But against all known odds, Brad Xyl was smiling. He had just bee