He leaned back in the chair, his thoughts drifting to the myriad complexities of time travel.

In a way, it was sort of funny how the subject is depicted in the popular media. The hero is always wrestling with the big issues: overcoming temporally-placed obstacles and barely skirting by grand paradoxes, usually with the most dire of consequences for the universe hanging in the balance should he — or she — fail.

Yet the smaller problems, the ones deemed “insignificant” in most stories, are rarely addressed, and they’re the ones that turned out to be the most annoying.

Like the one he was faced with now.

“Mr. Wells?”

He looked up, blinking rapidly, the chairwoman’s sharp tone returning him to the present.

A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he considered the irony in that thought.

“Is there something about this situation that amuses you, Mr. Wells?”

The chairwoman had been cool towards him for the entire time he’d known her — about seven minutes — but he already felt the temperature in the room dropping rapidly.

It was going to be a long interrogation, he felt. No, that word wasn’t quite right for what was going on here. “Inquisition” perhaps?

“There is,” Michael Wells told her, “but you wouldn’t understand.”

“I see. Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind answering the simple question this body posed to you.”

“Okay, but it gets a little complicated.”

Another member of the committee leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. A small, rectangular holographic display in front of him read BRAZIL. “I fail to see how ‘For the record, please state your name and age’ is a complicated request.”

“You’d be surprised,” Michael replied.

The Brazilian stared at him like he was a present in his yard left behind by some dog. “Enlighten us.”

Yay, Michael thought. Another friend.

“Look,” he said, “I’m not trying to be difficult or facetious. But regardless of what you think, that question is complex.” He paused, then added, “Everything about this situation is complex.”

The chairwoman’s expression softened. “I understand, but this will go much faster and be much easier for you — for us all — if you just answer our questions to the best of your ability.”

He sighed. “Okay, here goes. Technically speaking, my age can be defined three different ways. The first is –”

“I’m sorry,” interrupted another committee member. “But did you say three ways?”

“I did.” Michael smiled faintly. “And this will be much faster and easier, for us all, if I’m not constantly interrupted.” The man’s face colored slightly.

“Go on, Mr. Wells,” the chairwoman said.

“Like I was saying, three different ways: Subjectively, physically, and temporally.

“Subjectively speaking, I have been alive for forty.” Michael saw the Brazilian open his mouth. “Right, I know — I only look half that old. That’s because physically this body is only twenty-one. Dr. Milo Thorpe of CrossTime can probably explain that one better.”

The silence that radiated from the august committee could be best described as “confounded.” Before anyone could interrupt, Michael pressed on.

“This is where it gets weird. You see, temp –”

He was cut off as murmuring broke out among the committee, and rapidly grew louder. He sighed as he sipped from his own water, and tried to listen to what was being said. He couldn’t make out too many exact words that were being passed back and forth like so many rumors, but it seemed that a number of committee members had reached the conclusion that Michael was a clone.

Partly right, he thought.

The Brazilian turned from one of his colleagues and fired a glare at Michael. “Now see here, Mr. Wells. Do you –” He was nearly quickly drowned out by his colleagues, each demanding answers to their own questions from Michael.

Before he could respond, the chairwoman made a valiant attempt to silence the committee, which made them turn on her instead. Once more he was left alone. It was like being in a kindergarten clasroom.

Things were quickly getting out of hand. Michael really didn’t want to spend the rest of his natural life in front of the committee — especially considering that his lifespan was anything but natural, and that it could theoretically last quite a while.

Maybe he could subdue them with his words? Only one way to find out.

“Anyway, like I was saying, from the standpoint of the passage of time, I’m actually quite a bit older.”

His voice rose in volume as he continued. “I’m sure this will be difficult for many of you to believe, but I was born on April 5th, in the year –”

The members from Canada and Venezuela were engaged in a heated argument, half-rising out of their seats as they hurled retorts at each other.

“– 1987!”

The uproar transformed almost immediately into a funereal silence.

“Which if you do the math, would put me at about 900 years old,” Michael finished mildly. “Give or take a couple of decades.”

The committee members, now quieted, glanced at each other, exchanging looks ranging from confusion and disbelief to outright hostility. Clearly several felt he was just full of shit, while some had probably realized what his being there represented and were pissed off at the future migraines they’d have as a result of it. A few simply looked weary, like they knew this was going to take a while and certainly not be “easy.”

The chairwoman was one of the latter. She regarded Michael once more as she took a sip of water from the glass in front of her and cleared her throat.

“Perhaps, Mr. Wells, you could . . . elaborate for us?”

He sighed, not bothering to hide it. If he was going to be the subject of a witch-hunt, he was going to at least be hunted on his own terms.

“Tell you what,” he said. “Let me start from the beginning.”