Alone

     Cold winds howl through the world, snaking between the towering poles in wild attempts to snatch the lone occupant from her solitary perch on the tallest. The drop to the distant ravine below is enough to make any normal human's head spin. Despite the winds acting against the tall thin poles, the poles stand rigid in their varying heights, as if they were solid ground. The pale blue sky and distant yellow sun fail to provide any real warmth, or even an illusion of such in this desolate world.
 

Dressed in black, with long flowing sleeves and loose pants, the pale figure stares absently out across the vast landscape. This cold, lonely, quiet world was her home, where she remained unless she was called upon. All about her, invisible particles swirl, ready for her to focus them into a physical object. They too waited. Without sentience, the particles were curious, spanning rifts, forming this world where a world should not exist. She was made of such particles, as was anything else, within this world or elsewhere.

A drop of water lands on her black boot. She glances down in mild surprise before glancing up. Rain begins to fall in earnest from the clear blue sky. She sits down and calls upon the particles as the rain begins to pour about her. Not a single drop touches her again as she forms a shield above her head from the particles, binding them together with her will. She leans her head into her cupped hand and sighs as the raindrops blot out the sun.

The wind had died down, as it always did when it rained. It was always either raining or windy, and there was none she could share this lonesome burden with. Time held no true meaning here. The sun never set, was never replaced by a night sky with other celestial bodies. This lonely little world existed all on it's own. There was no point in trying to find a different landscape, the same poles of varying lengths towering above a rocky ravine continued on for infinity in any direction. If this world were a planet, perhaps she might have crossed the same place once or twice.

But this was no planet. This was the Inner World of a being, her master's to be precise. She sometimes caught glimpses of that being's life, little indications within her own world which told her what was happening in her master's world. The wind meant that things were not critical. The rain meant that something tragic had just happened. A storm of lightning and thunder would mean that her master was in grave danger. But there was nothing that she could do. She could only leave this world if her master called her, and her master never did. She had called out to her master, but her master never seemed to hear her, or ignored her calls if they even reached out past this empty, fragile world.

Her shoulders stoop as the first bolt of lightning flashes in the sky, illuminating the world for a brief moment of eternity before fading back and being consumed by thunder. Her master was in danger, and she was unable to do anything. It was impossible for her to force herself out, to manifest herself in her master's world. Only her master's voice, calling out her name, could bring her out. Only then could she protect her master from the danger. She strains her hearing, in the hopes her master would even whisper her name. Her master is in danger. She needs to go and fight off the unknown evil, she needs to go protect her master.

The lightning flashes again, and thunder rumbles across the sky. The pole she sits on stands firm. She gazes down to the ravine far below. What has happened to her master now? Will her master live? The biting cold goes unnoticed as she tries to answer her own questions. When will her master finally hear her name?

She sighs again as the lightning fails to reappear. Slowly, the rain fades away. The event has passed, and she still exists. Her master has survived again, without her help. But how much longer could such a position continue? The invisible particles forming a shield above her head dissipate, returning to their natural state. Her slightly damp clothes cling to her skin as the wind picks back up, sending cold tremors that seem to dig right down into her bones. Slowly, she rises to her feet again and gazes out at the empty blue sky. She tries again to reach out to her master, shouting her name to the nothingness. Her master will be able to hear her soon. They could not continue existing like this, her master needed to know that she was here, that she was waiting. She speaks again, her voice clear and betraying none of the concern she feels for her master, “ Hear me. I am ...”

 

Broken Code

    “... The end of the world, falling asleep when they’re dropping the bomb… this is our dream… that’s what I’ll be singing...” The music blares out of my laptop, perched precariously on the edge of my bed, the only available space in the room besides the floor. I love this song and take a moment from my busy work to listen through the gloom lit only by the flashing lights cube my sister gave me, as well as the glow coming from my laptop on the bed and the green light coming from the Commodore ’64 that I’m sitting in front of. Yes, very gloomy indeed, just like the song.

Sentimental moment over, I turn my attention back to the task at hand, namely hacking into the school system to find my grades and fix any 'misconceptions' before they went on my record forever next week. The key to changing grades so that the ones you make up are the ones recorded takes timing, patience, and a decent way to hack into the school. I have all three- namely buttering up to the Spanish teacher to obtain info, the ability to stare at a blade of grass for hours and not get bored, and my Commodore ’64, a computer so old that I doubt even the FBI is concerned about people hacking into their system with some piece of junk like it.

For a computer as old as the one I use, you have to type instructions into the computer, establishing a dialogue of instructions and responses. Now, if I were to disclose how I hack into any sort of system with this “clunker” I’d probably get sent to a delinquent centre, or even real-time in an adult prison, since I just turned seventeen a few weeks ago- the line always seems to blur once a person reaches that age. But really, I doubt non-tech people would understand a word I say, and the tech people all already know how to hack into some sort of computer system- the ones that know what they’re talking about at least. In short it involves basic knowledge of things electrical. I can't get in trouble for that sort of explanation, can I?

Ready. The computer reads.

I type in commands, getting past the second last firewall. The computer’s speed counters my deft movements; I take a sip of Monster as I wait for it to load. My nerves begin to relax, there’s no way the school’s gonna catch me. I’ve been doing this for a while, and don’t show any real computer skills at school, so I’m not even on the list of suspects. If they notice the grade changes, I can say that I am the innocent victim of someone’s prank, someone who’s out to get me.

The whisper of the door sends me spinning about in my chair, to come face to face with my mom, the most annoying she-beast on the planet. To her face, I call her Mom, but in my head I always think of her as Samantha. She flinches at the sight of my room, perfect chaos for me, and a hurricane for her. “Hey, Brandee, what are your plans for today?” she asks, looking over my shoulder to see what I’m doing.

“I’m just hacking my laptop to make sure that the speakers on the Commodore are up to date,” I lie easily. I’ve used ‘reprogramming the operating system’ too much lately. Besides, I think she knows that you can’t really do that while the computer is in operation. I doubt she knows that there aren’t any speakers on a Commodore.

“Oh good, so you can come with me and your sister shopping.”

I try to hide my look of horror at the idea before trying to set her straight, “Mom, most teenagers don’t go shopping with their parents, besides, I have an online summer course that I’m taking, and there’s a live internet session in,” I pretend to check my watch, “Half an hour or so.” Nope, but I could use this excuse to get out of a lot of things this summer. If I can pull it off.

Mom shakes her head, “I know you didn’t fail any classes, Brandee, and you didn’t use my credit card to pay for any sort of online class. We’re leaving in twenty minutes. And we’re going to an older section of town, I doubt any of your skater friends will be there. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” She turns and starts to leave the room, as if the discussion were ended.

“I’m not going,” I say, “It’s stupid and I don’t feel like it right now. Have fun.”

Something in my tone must have set her off. I can see her body go rigid right before she whirls to face me, “Brandee Elizabeth Taylor, don’t even start with me. I am not letting you waste your summer in your room fiddling about with computers and ruining your eyesight when you can spend time with your family.” On a scale of one to ten on how angry she is, I’d say around six. I can do better.

“If it were with family, then Dad would be coming with us.” I snap back, “I’m not going!”

“Either you go, or I will pour water over every single computer you have, including the one in the attic.” Samantha threatens. I had no idea she knew about that one, and don’t know how to respond. She takes the opportunity to storm out of the room. A perfect ten.

I hiss my frustration through clenched teeth before turning back to my computer. Hacking the school was going to have to be a rush job. I’m just about to type in the next command when a prickling feeling touches the back of my neck. Someone’s watching me from the doorway. It’s not my mom; she probably went to her room to calm down after my jibe about Dad. So that only leaves one alternative. I sigh, “Whadd’ya want, Will?”

Willow, my eleven year-old kid sister, steps into full view, crossing her arms, “You shouldn’t be so hard on Mom,” she scolds, “You’re not the only one missing Dad. He left us all.”

I glare at her, “Shut up. You shouldn’t be eavesdropping either. Go get ready.”

Her eyes brightened, “So you’re coming?”

I roll my eyes, “Did I ever have a choice?”

She bounces away, happy that I’m coming along. Not much is needed to keep the kid happy. I groan and turn back, leaving the world of drama behind as the computer one beckons. If only life were simply scientific, computerized, if only it all made sense. I resume typing commands into the Commodore, peeling back the layers separating me from changing my grades.

Half an hour later finds me slouching along behind my mom and sister in an older section of New York City, annoyed despite the fact that I am now a solid B student. Over the years, the place has been rebuilt to resemble the age before the information one, whatever that was. So signs hang out from above doors, most in curly handwriting, and windows have lace curtains along the bottom edges. Even the names of the stores are different, the stupid kind, like “Ye Olde Bokke Shoppe”. As if adding an “E” at the end of every word is going to make it sound cool.

Dressed in a blue baby T-shirt and black cargo pants with a chain going from the zipper to my hip, I stand out in an old ladies’ place like this. I guess it’s great for tourists, but really? If we’re going to be doing shit like this all summer, I’m going to end up actually TAKING an online course to get out of it. This sucks. And it doesn’t help that Willow’s having the time of her life. I’m going to have to talk to her about attitude adjustments for the upcoming teenage years. If she wants to be able to skateboard, she’s going to have to start being anti-social at some point. And I have to stage a fight between her and Mom somehow, to get Mom off my case about how Will shows more maturity than I do, even though she's four years younger.

Will points out a store that completely doesn't belong. The door is metallic grey , and made of some sort of lightweight metal. Behind the thick window, computers of every shape and age are displayed, and my interest is immediately perked as my eyes fall on a Commodore '65. It's a year off of what I have, but the pieces are still compatible. And I could definitely use some spare parts. I don't even think of Mom and Will as I make a beeline for the shop, open the door and inhale the air conditioned haven of technology in the midst of dusty streets.

As the door swings open, the two clerks behind the checkout counter along the wall on the right glance up. The older one, a man in his fifties, immediately goes back to inventory, but the younger clerk, a college girl with red hair and freckles stares at me, her eyes widening in shock. I shrug it off, by now I'm used to the way that people in this area react to me and my outfit. But you'd think that a joint like this wouldn't be so surprised that someone like me would show up to check out their stash. Maybe they don't get that many customers. This is a weird spot for a computer store, after all.

An unusual shape catches the corner of my eye, and I zone in on it. Mom claims that I must have A.D.D., but I don't really care. Any weird computer piece piques my interest, I automatically want to know what it is, what model it belongs to, what it's role in the machine is. I cross the small shop in a matter of steps, and pick up the awkwardly shaped keyboard, which is split into two separate keyboards, one for each hand. I'm holding the left handed one, with the right handed one nowhere to be seen. I glance up to see a sign at eye level which reads “DSI and other gaming devices along back”. I grin and stride to the back of the store.

Sure enough, along the back wall is gaming heaven. Joysticks, World of War craft secret code packages and playbooks, anything and everything a gamer needs to waste half their life and even more money on the simple addictive pleasure of reaching the next level and unlocking secret ones. I grin like a Cheshire cat, letting my eyes drink in the sight before I force myself to turn away. I don't have the cash to spend on this stuff, much as I would love to. I don't have a job, and Mom doesn't give me much in an allowance- zilch in case you were wondering. We can't really afford any designer stuff, and it took me forever to get the stuff I did- finding loose change lying around the city isn't as fun as it sounds.

I sigh as I inhale the air. Every shop we've come across so far smelled like old clothes and dust. Here, the air is pure, with the sweet tang of hot computer parts. Beauty in its finest scent. I've got to remember this place. The bus ride was half an hour to get to this part of town, but now there's definitely a point in coming back.

A screen in the corner of the room catches my eye, the flickering images calling to the part of me that loves solving puzzles. I cross the floor as if in a dream, my eyes glued to the screen as vibrant flashes of green, pink, and black flicker in seemingly random alternating patterns. Green. Pink. Black. Pink. Black. Pink. Green. Black. Green. Black. Pink. The pattern continues, never seeming to repeat itself. It makes me think of pi, the never ending number used in almost everything geometry- a course I hate with a fiery passion. I can't tear my eyes away from the screen.

Green. Pink. Black. Green. Black. Green. Pink. Black. Pink. Black. Pink. Green. Black. Pink. Green.

A hand descends on my shoulder, causing me to jump. It's my Mom. "You ready to go, yet?"

"No," I scoff, "I barely got here. I still have to look around."

"Brandee, it's already five o'clock. The store's closing."

“It can't be five already" I protest, sneaking a glance at my cheap watch. The digital numbers blink back at me; 2:51. Where had the time gone? I try to go over what I was just thinking about before my Mom jumped me. It's a haze... the TV. I look up at it, but all I see is my reflection in its blue screen of death. Great. I glance around the store as Mom guides me out, the only other occupants are the two clerks. The red head is staring at me, but when she sees that I've noticed her, she quickly drops her head, her curly read hair covering her face. What was that expression I saw on her pale face? Fear? Worry? Maybe she had tuition troubles, like every other college kid in New York.

I start listening to whatever Mom's rambling on about, "... or maybe McDonald's. Dollar drink days are going on, and I could use a fish fillet."

Will grins at this, "I'm sitting as far away from you as possible." Mom laughs.

I sneak a glance back over my shoulder at the college girl. She's watching us go, her gaze alternating between the three of us, but they always dart back to me. I give her a hard stare and she freezes, staring back at me. Now I know what expression she was trying to hide, her eyes say it all. She's afraid. My eyebrows furrow, what could she be afraid of? She bites her lip, just as the other clerk leans over and clocks her across the back of the head. He looks old enough to be her dad.

Maybe she thought I had stolen something. My hands were shoved in my pockets, and that's normally what thieves do when they're trying to cover up the fact that there's something in there not paid for. I pull one hand out and wave at her. She blinks and her head jerks back in surprise, as if I had just given a rude gesture. Far as I know, a wave means the same thing everywhere, it's a universal greeting. I shrug, and shove my hand back in my pocket after scratching the back of my neck. I roll my neck around, it feels all of the sudden really stiff. I shrug again, and the stiffness goes away. I start walking faster to try to catch up with Will and Mom, thoughts of the red head and the computer parts store in the middle of nowhere drifting through my head.

By the time we get home, my head is spinning with conspiracy theories about the computer store so much that it's turned into a huge headache. After a quick supper of burgers at Abby's, Will insisted that we watch a movie. We watched a sappy romantic comedy, and I got a couple pokes in the ribs because I insisted on commentating, annoying Will to no end. I can't even remember half the plot, and eventually started thinking about the store again. What was the deal with that girl? She just stared at me, scared, while the other one acted as if everything was perfectly normal, even smacking her head to try to get her to go back to work. That was what made it so weird. He didn't ask her what was wrong, he just told her to get back to work. You'd figure the guy would have at least asked her what was wrong, most people would have, it was the logical thing to do after all. Unless you already knew what was wrong.

And that was what was really bothering me, I realize, they knew something. Something about me that I didn't know myself. When I first came in, both had looked up. The guy had gone back to work, as if everything were normal, how most clerks react to someone coming in their customer-less store. But she had kept on staring, and now that I really think about it, I could feel her eyes on my back the whole time I was there. Mom insists that I was there for almost three hours, but it felt a lot more like fifteen minutes. I'm not really attuned to time, so I could be off by another ten minutes, give or take, but not three hours off. Even I'm not that bad with time.

So what had I been doing the rest of the time?

The headache gets so bad, I head to my room, Will”s incessant babbling about the movie ringing in my ears, pounding through my skull like a bass drum . The flimsy walls that separate my closet of a room from the rest of the apartment does little to muffle her loud voice. I lie down, close my eyes, and try to tune her out along with the nighttime New York traffic crawling by.

My stomach grumbles, sending pains of discomfort to my brain. I think I might have food poisoning, but I can't seem t find the strength to haul myself to the kitchen to drink some pickle juice. Weird as it sounds, pickle juice actually helps, makes me puke every time without fail. I can't stand pickles, they just smell gross.

Will's voice is getting louder, meaning either she's coming towards me, or mom's stepped slightly away from her. Either or would cause Will to crank up the volume on her voice, making sure the whole world heard her opinions about some stupid movie over half the country won't bother to watch in theatres, or even buy the DVD. I try to summon the strength to yell at her to shut up, but again, I feel way too exhausted to even twitch. It's a miracle that I can grab the pillow beneath me and plop it on top of my head, leaving me to hear Will only as loud as a yowling cat. We really need to talk about these problems she has, babbling nonstop about some stupid movie. My only hope is that mom starts preaching one of her sermons, I don't even care if I hear the recap tomorrow, just please shut the brat up!

My stomach groans in another painful twist. I ball up my fist, squeezing a bit of the pillow as the pain doesn't fade. I drag the pillow off my head, and fling it to the floor. Slowly, flip onto my back, the exertion sending another wave of pain and nausea flooding through my system. I manage to keep my food down, but not before the taste reaches my mouth. I debate whether or not it's worth it to try to drag myself to the kitchen to find something to force the taste out of my mouth. It's not, and I try to fall asleep.

I must have, because pretty soon, I'm surrounded by a desolate landscape, with nothing but water for miles around. somehow, I can stand on the surface of the water, despite the waves that ripple past. I'm still dressed in my cargo pants and baby blue t-shirt, but my feet are bare. the sun above me is cold and distant, and I shiver as spray from the water splashes me. There's a cloud nowhere to be seen, and the air is clean, different from the New York smog-filled air I'm used to.

I can see a form shimmering in the distance. I try to see who it is, but their face is cast in shadow by the sun behind them. They are dressed in black, the sleeves of their shirt flowing in the wind. From this distance, I can't tell if it's a guy or a girl. "Hello?" I yell over the wind that has suddenly picked up, "Who's there?"
It seems like the figure hears me, because it starts moving towards me, long hair flowing out, blowing into it's face.

Suddenly there's a whoosh, and the water beneath me lurches, parting away from my feet, nearly knocking me from my feet. a wooden surface beneath my feet becomes visible, and I'm rising, the wooden deck pushing me higher and higher. the wind becomes stronger, and it takes all of my strength to keep my balance. the figure is standing still, but is rising on a similar platform. We're close enough that I can tell that she's a girl, maybe a few years older than me. Her hair is black, darker than the black shirt and loose pants that she's wearing, and from here I can tell that there's something wrong with her eyes. She tilts her head to one side, and I can see her lips part, but whatever she says is lost in the wind howling about us. I notice that the platforms have stopped rising, a good eighty feet separating us from each other and the surface of the water.

The wind dies down, and she glances up. I follow her gaze to the empty skies, just in time to get a raindrop in the eye. I duck my head and blink rapidly, rubbing my eyes as I turn my attention back to the girl. She is looking at me, and runs to the edge of her platform. What is she doing? She reaches the edge, but runs into some sort of force field that becomes visible ion impact. She is knocked from her feet, and lands on her back a few steps away from the edge. She sits up and stares at me, walking to the edge of the platform and reaching out a hand to me, her lips moving. I think she's yelling at me, but I still can't hear her.

"I can't hear you!" I yell as the rain falls faster. lightning flashes across the sky, followed closely by thunder. I panic, it's one thing to be caught in a lightning storm in New York, it's another thing to be the tallest object for miles around with lightning this close. I try to move closer to the woman, but my feet won't obey me. I can't move, all I can do is talk.

The woman's shoulders slump as she stares at me. She's still trying to tell me something, trying to get through to me. A lightning bolt flashes between us, striking the water. The force and heat of the blast shove me to the edge of wooden platform, further away from the woman. She's yelling something again. The rain slowly dissipates, and the thunder booms further away. Slowly, the sunlight returns, shining pale warmth across the landscape. But instead of returning to the light of before, the light grows more and more, until everything is consumed by light, leaving me by myself.

A quiet voice whispers, "Hear me. I am..." Her voice is swallowed up by the light, along with everything else.

Suddenly, I'm plunged into deep darkness. Too bad it couldn't stay dark. All too soon, I wake up, stomach ache and headache gone, along with my room, replaced by two big blue eyes filled with hatred.

“What the hell do you think you're doing here? How do you get in here?” The voice is livid. I blink rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from the corners of my eyes as I attempt to make sense of what he's asking me.

Rough hands grab my arm and haul me to my feet. I try to protest, but my mouth is dry and I can't seem to make words to come out. My head spins as I try to make myself understand where I am. Everywhere I look, there are beds without sheets, in neat rows, with plenty of walking room between them. I turn my attention instead on the man who's glaring at me, rambling on about something. He's in his late forties by the looks of it, with a bald spot already forming in the middle of his pointy head. His blue eyes are surrounded by wrinkles- in the corners of his eyes, on his forehead, the corners of his lips. His ears are huge, and I can see, with disgust, that there's hair there. He's dressed in a dress shirt and tan pants and shiny shoes. Over his left breast pocket is a name tag declaring him to be the manager, Bob Thornton. The pieces fall in place. He's a salesman, meaning that this is a mattress store.

I must have a blank expression on my face because suddenly his angry forehead creases disappear and he looks at me with something else. “Look, kid, I get it that you're probably homeless like half the city, but that doesn't give you a right to hole up in my store. I'm opening soon, so I'm going to need you to leave before the Law suspects me of housing Curses. I'll let you out the back.” He grabs an object from the bed I had been sleeping on, and I realize that it's a backpack as he gives it to me, “I'm guessing this is yours. Smart.” I take it from him. Despite how full it looks, the bag is actually pretty lightweight, and I pull it onto my shoulders, still unable to speak.

He sighs and starts walking, I lurch and try to keep up. For some reason, my feet aren't working right, plodding slower than I normally walk, and I notice that I'm favouring my one leg. He glances at my gait and mutters under his breath, “ 'Course, it has to be a Fig.” Then, a little louder, “Don't normally see your kind in this area. Darn brave of you to risk coming to a richer section of town. Brave and stupid. Go home, kid, whatever's left of it. No one here can help you, even if they wanted to.”

He glances expectantly at me. I open my mouth, but instead of words, a raspy cough seizes my lungs, causes me to stop in my tracks and bend over, gasping for air. Eventually, the cough fades enough for me to keep walking, and he leads on, shaking his head and muttering under his breath. We walk through storage out the back, passing mattresses wrapped in plastic to keep them safe. He opens the brown door at the very back, peeks around the corner and shoos me out the door. No sooner am I out than it slams shut forceful behind me. I try the handle, but he's already locked the door.

I groan silently as I take in my surroundings. The door at the back of the store leads out into a small alleyway lined with brick walls of the same drab grey as the garbage cans knocked sideways on the ground. Loose garbage scatters as a sudden gust of wind bellows around the corner. The silence is like a physical presence, gripping the walls, the garbage and the sky in a dead embrace.

I try to understand what just happened. I went to bed with a stomach ache, unable to even drag myself to the kitchen. I fell asleep, had a weird dream- which is completely normal for me- and woke up in some random store. That's what I don't get. How did I end up somewhere else in New York City, without even noticing? I sleep walk, yes, but I've never left the apartment while sleeping. Mom set up the place strategically so that every piece of furniture would stand between me and the door, sure to make a noise if I ever left my room.

I dig into my pockets for my cell phone before remembering that I had dropped it on my desk by the Commodore before stumbling to my bed. Just my luck. And I don't think I have any cash either, not even enough for a phone call from a payphone, let alone enough bus fare to get me home. Another blast of wind tears through the alley, scattering the remains of a newspaper across my path. One blows up against my leg and I stare at it before an image causes me to grab the paper and read the article in it's entirety, hardly believing what I was reading. This must be some sort of really vivid dream, that's the only possible explanation I have for what I'm reading. I must have been thinking about school too hard, and somehow my brain drew the connection from school to history class, and from there to history in general, and my subconscious twisted the plot line of history to make a weird dream.

Because there was no way Hitler died of at the ripe old age of a hundred and three at Bethesda Hospital after winning the war in 1944.

Creating a New Home

 According to the article, Hitler died in New York, after attending a gala to commemorate the victory of the war and the peace treaty with America. Since then, it's been a strained alliance, one tested when Russia invaded Germany ten years later and the U.S. refused to come to their aid. But things soon settled over when Russia invaded and conquered Alaska, a feat that took them a total of nine days. The main focus was on the funeral though, with the Canadian prime Minister and the United States president making beautiful speeches about how Hitler was a visionary who saw his dream come true and witnessed a golden forty years of Germany under the banner of the swastika. No mention of Auswitch, or the millions of Jews and other nationalities that were murdered in systematic order. Nothing.

Finally, I find my voice, “Shitheads.” That summed it up pretty nicely. I crumple the paper and throw it as far away from me as I can. It lands a puny ten feet away. I glance around the alleyway. Where am I? I shove my hands in my pockets and start walking, annoyed that I can't remember getting in the store, and that the guy hadn't even bothered to ask how I had managed the feat. “Shithead,” I mutter again before emerging onto the street. It must be morning, because there's not many people out. I glance at the sun, it hasn't even risen past the tallest buildings yet. I freeze, my eyes taking in the sight while my brain refused to compute the images it was receiving. I tilt my head back, taking in the sight, a chill rushing through my body as I try to understand how they could still be standing. They had been destroyed by terrorists when I was five, in two thousand one, September eleven, ending so many peaceful lives, devastating thousands more lives by taking away family members with those two planes.

How could the Twin Towers still be standing?

A man is walking down the street in my direction. “Excuse me,” I try to say, but all that comes out is, “Gwalior sie”. The man looks up, his face freezing in a cold expression as he sees me. Just as quickly, he crosses the street, and continues walking, tipping his hat to keep from seeing me again as he passes on the opposite side of the road.

“Hey!” I try again, but this time not even a garbled sound comes out. Instead, I'm silent, my voice frozen when ever I try to talk. What's wrong with me? I huff silently and keep walking, slumping could probably describe it more accurately.

Every person I see automatically crosses the street the moment they notice me, and keep on walking, ignoring any action I make. For some reason, I have no trouble talking when there's no one there to hear, but as soon as someone is within listening distance, my voice chokes up. My left foot still drags, giving me an awkward pace. For New York, it's very empty, next to no cars, except for a few ancient models that are parked on the side of the road. The streets are eerily quiet, and store windows are dark. More newspapers skitter in the streets, coming apart page from page and flying off in the wind that blows my black hair in my face. Where the heck am I? There's no way that New York, my beloved city, would change this much over night. I would have heard something. Even the buildings all look run down, including the sky scrapers, one of which is sagging at a bad angle. I hope it's as deserted in that area as it is here. That would be a huge fatality. My mind races through possibilities about how this place could have happened. Hitler won the war, so something had gone wrong. Somehow, I'm in an alternate time line, where something changed the outcome of the war.

There's this one kid in my class, Alex, a total smart ass and my best bud, and he does his best to outsmart the teacher. One time he asked Mr. Bryerson, the physics teacher stuck with us AP students, the plausibility of multiple universes existing within the same space. Bryerson had retorted with asking a question of his own, “If multiple universes do exist, why?”

Well, that stumped the nerd, until brilliance hit him like a thunderbolt, “Because maybe history isn't a straight line. Each time a person makes a decision, another universe is created where they chose the other option, instead of chocolate ice cream, they had vanilla.”

“And what good would that serve?”

“Well, when a kid runs into him and knocks him off balance, in the one universe his shirt gets stained with chocolate ice cream while in the other one there's no stain at all because he had vanilla.”

So, moral of the story, if alternate universes do exist, which I think, based on the evidence around me, they do, stick with vanilla ice cream, just to be safe. That and the fact that a single person's actions could change the fate of their world. 

Finally, the streets around me start to look a little familiar. There's a Hitler avenue in the middle of nowhere, but other than that, the street names are practically the same. The same fence borders the edges of Central Park. My limp's starting to kill, my feet hurting from all the walking. I still have only run across a few people, all avoiding me. I cross the street, and suppress a small smile as all the people practically run away from me. My backpack bounces up and down, and something is jutting through the padding and into my back. I enter the park, and sit down on the first bench I see. I didn't even notice the people close by until the little girl complains, “Mommy, what smells?”

I glance in her direction, a thin smile on my face. The girl shrinks back behind her mother, who quickly turns her back on me and walks away, her steps practically breaking out into a run, but always keeping herself between me and her daughter. I sling the backpack down from my shoulders and plop it beside me. It's black, and bigger than a regular school backpack, but definitely smaller than the ones people use in those 'roughing it' camping trips.

There's water bottle pockets on each side, and three other pockets, the smallest one barely big enough to fit a disk man. I open the largest pocket, that has enough room to fit at least one clunker laptop. Pulling things out, I find the source of the sharp edge: a small computer tablet, roughly 14 by 17 centimetres, like a big Android phone or something. The screen's black, and there's no visible buttons that I can see. I tap the screen, but nothing happens. That sucks, the battery must be dead. I look through the other contents of the bag, splaying them out on the bench: a lightweight jacket made of some sort of water proof material, a charger cord for the tablet, a small jack knife that I immediately pocket, a roll of duct tape,a black flashlight, a small first aid kit complete with bandages, tape, and alcohol swabs and scissors, a plastic bag containing a packet of waterproof matches, a large safety pin as well as a few little ones, a couple milk bones, a piece of crayon, salt packets, and a small container of dental floss. Then there's also a shiny silver blanket, a tin can with a lid, a container labelled baking soda, and a small box with the sharpied tag “Halazone tablets”. Whatever that's supposed to be used for.

I dig around for more goods, and pull out a red velvet bag with a drawstring. My now emptied backpack drops to the ground as I open the bag and gape in amazement at what I pull out. Money, currency I've never seen before, gathered in bundles held together with elastics, along with passports and other official looking documents, half of which are in languages I can't even recognize. Quickly, I pull the bag shut and stuff it back into the backpack, glancing around me nervously.

No one seems to have noticed, and before long, I reach into the bag and pull out one of the passports, flipping to the first page. The name of the country on the front declares the passport to be Swiss, and that's about the only word I recognize in the whole thing. I flip back to the picture. It's me, with some crazy Swiss name to the right of the picture. In it, I have blonde hair and blue eyes, but the snub nose and pointed chin are all I need to see to recognize that this is the person I see in the mirror everyday before I go to school.

“I think you grabbed the wrong papers for this neighbourhood.”

I jump as I turn around to come face to face with olive-shaped brown eyes, sun-darkened skin, and smirking lips beneath short, black hair. My mind quickly flips through all the people I've ever encountered in my life, his face doesn't trigger any flashbacks.

“Not one for talking are you? I guess that's a good thing, we've already got Ky to fill that category.” He walks around the bench and sits down on the other side of all the junk from my backpack. He glances at it meaningfully.

“Oh, shit,” I exclaim as I start shoving the stuff back in haphazardly. He watches in amusement as I try to cram all the stuff back in, including the stupid space blanket. I freeze as it hits me.

I look back at him, his smirk spreads into a wide grin. “And now she realizes...” he breaks off, trying not to laugh.

“How? How is it that I can actually talk to you?”

He shakes his head and lounges an arm against the back of the bench, “Because, I'm like you.” He tilts his head to one side, “Although, I can hardly believe it myself. I can't even see any pressure coming off of you, much less sense it. First timers are supposed to leak like a sip, or at least that's what Chase told me. But from you, not even a single drop. Do you know how weird that is?”

“Considering I have no idea what what you're talking about, no I don't know how weird that is. What the heck is pressure?”

He sighs and looks away from me, focusing instead on the abandoned playground, “Every human being has pressure, it's what makes you unique from the others around you. I guess, overtly simplified, it's your soul. Stronger souls can sense other strong souls. Weak souls just bum around in CEO offices and on street corners, controlling Wall Street among other entities like privately owned gas stations, independent grocery stores, and Kentucky Fried Chicken.” He pauses, glancing over, “You're supposed to laugh at that.”

I slump, “Yeah well, I can't find anything really funny right now. Come back in a couple of centuries.”

“Sarcastic,” he notes politically, “I wonder if that's a good point or a bad one in your case?”

“Who are you? And what do you want?”

He launches to his feet, spinning about so that he lands facing a thumb pointing proudly at himself, “I am none other than the Jesse Derke of the city Archipelegroe, sensei of the daigen of the same city, teacher of advanced Drifter techniques, third son of the head of the Derke family Kyo Derke, second in line to the dynasty. But everyone calls me Sensei, so you can call me Jesse.” He heaves a deep breath, “So, who are you?” he glances down at my forged Swiss passport, “And please do not tell me that your name is... Heidi Benziger, because you look nothing like a Heidi.”

“Where'd you get Heidi from?”

His eyes bug out of his head, “Wha... are you dense? On the passport in your hands, the name beside the photo says that the girl in the photo is named Heidi Benziger. Obviously, you are not her, so who are you?” He plops down and looks at me expectantly.

“I'm not going to give my name out to random strangers.”

“Oh no, don't do that, that's a horrible crime to commit, unlike dressing like a Curse and limping like a Fig in the middle of strictly Pure territory. Besides, who else have you managed to talk to yet? Don't say it, I can get it in one guess. Zero. Wanna know what? Because you ain't trying to talk their language, so the restrictive barriers placed on your brain keep you from talking in a forbidden language.”

“How is English a forbidden language?” I wrinkle my nose with the question, “All the newspapers that I've come across are written in it.”

“Just forget it, and stop changing the subject, would you? What's your name?”

“What the heck are you Curses doing here? Private property. Get your shanghaied butts back to the holes you worms crawl out of before I call the cops.” I freeze at the cold voice, but Jesse just smirks.

“You almost got it right,” he calls over his shoulder, “But there's no such thing as cops here, genius. They're called The Law in these parts. Crawl back to the river you crawled out of, Chase, I was having an intelligent conversation over here with a nice young lady who's a bit of a ditz and doesn't even have the good grace of telling me her lovely name, even though I'm the first person she's actually been able to talk back to. You'd think that would give me some brownie points, but no.”

Chase steps into view, all six feet of him, and he sits down between us, hushing Jesse's protests with, “Yeah well, there was a gap the size of the Grand canyon between you two. Doesn't leave much room if a third person wants to sit down on the side of the bench, now does it?” He turns to look at me, “Has that thorn-in-everyone's side been harassing you? Just ignore him, he has an inferiority complex the size of the USSR whenever I'm around.” He holds out a hand, “Chase Blane.”

I shake his hand, “Brandee Taylor.”

Chase shoots Jesse a smug look, who looks away and pretends to pout, “Brandee, eh? Well, do you got a nickname that you go by? Or should we make one up before you meet Dutch? He might get confused if he hears your name while drinking, and once he gets something confused, then neither heaven or earth can correct him, and you will forevermore be known as 'Booze'. It's an okay nickname, I guess, if you're a guy, but there's gotta be something else you go by.”

“My sister calls me 'Dee.'” I don't know why, but something about this Chase guy just sets me at ease, as if I can trust him with anything.

“You've got a sister? How old?”

“She's almost thirteen now.”
Chase and Jesse both shoot each other a glance before they both burst out laughing. Chase doubles over, slapping his knee. “That's a good one,” he manages to croak out, wiping tears of mirth from the corners of his eyes.

“What's so funny?” I demand.

“Oh, nothing,” Jesse wheezes out once his laughter subsides a little, “It's just that, yesterday was July the third, in the twenty-first century, and today's March twenty-eight, nineteen eighty four. So your thirteen year old sister doesn't even exist yet.”

“Wait, what?” My tirade freezes in it's tracks. Both ignore me though, and Chase turns to Jesse.

“I'm curious as to how you figured it out.”

“Easy, I asked someone.”

“That's not what I meant. How did you figure out to look for a Black Hole?”

Jesse shrugs, “Well, looking for Pressure was getting me nowhere.”

“Really? So it just occurred to you, out of the blue, to try to look for the opposite, look for one of them?”

“I figured, worst case scenario, I would actually run into one of them, and they would tell me.”

“Bullshit. Wanna try to think up another excuse? It's not like I don't know what you can do, genius. I can do it too, to some extent. The fact that you suddenly disappeared from the linkup just made it obvious what you had done. You think I didn't notice the black edges around the colours of the Pressure explosion?”

“How long have you known?”

“I had my suspicions, but when you dropped off the map, then I knew for sure.”

They pause, and glance back at me. “Could you at least try to not leak out so much black?” Chase asks.

“What are you talking about?”

Chase looks back at Jesse, exasperation plain in his features, “You didn't tell her what we are? Do you have any brains between those lopsided lunk-headed things that pass for ears?”

Jesse's hand self consciously reaches up to cover his ear, “Shut up. It's not like you can just walk up to the new person saying, 'Jolly good of you to make it, chap. As you can see, you're now in an alternate time line. Don't worry, you're not alone. You are now a member of a team dubbed Sliders for the remainder of your life, whether or not you were supposed to get that job promotion today back at your own time. Oh, by the way, we have several very strange things to show you, but don't panic. And we work for an organization that no one's ever met before...”

“Okay, that 's enough.” Chase interrupts, turning back to me, “Don't pay Jesse any mind, he's just crabby because he hates the colour black.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Only everything,” Jesse snorts sarcastically before abruptly standing up and walking away.

I begin to stand up to go after him, but Chase lays a hand on my arm, “Don't mind him. He's taking this a lot harder than I expected him to, but really, with Jesse, it should almost be guaranteed that he doesn't react the way one would expect him to. Plus, he gets moody, especially around girls. Any ways, let me start over. Like Jesse said, albeit sarcastically, we have travelled through time. Don't ask me how, I'll try to get back to that later. But the thing is, we didn't just travel through time. We travelled over ripples of time, across alternate time lines, and are now in a universe where the future is set on a different path than the time line we just came from.” He pauses, looking at me expectantly.

“Yeah, um, I don't get a thing you just said.”

He sighs, “Jesse wasn't kidding about you being a bit of a ditz, was he? We just time travelled.”

“Yeah, I gathered.”

“Could have fooled me. Anyways, maybe we shouldn't be having this conversation here. After all, this is Pure territory, and I'd rather not have a run in with The Law. Nasty folk.” He stands up and helps me to my feet. He reaches behind the bench and pulls up a black backpack, that looks exactly like mine, except it's a little bigger and looks a lot heavier. He slings it onto his shoulders.

“What d'ya mean 'Pure'?”

“People who have nothing wrong with them. You've studied your time-line’s history right? You know about the concentration camps, and Hitler's regime against Jews, and other races that aren't Aryan?” I nod, but he doesn't even glance behind to check before continuing as we leave the park, “Anyways, here, Japan never bombed Pearl harbour. That's what got the Americans' blood boiling in your time line, after all. So they stayed out of it, the war was over seas and they had no allegiances to any country over there, unlike Canada, who got their butts handed to them at every fight. Americans never showed up, never took part. Hitler succeeded in taking Britain, then made a peace agreement with Russia.”

“How do you know all this? Have you been to this time line before?”

Chase laughs at the question, “That, Petite, is so ludicrous, that I'm already regretting you joining us.”

“Hey, it's not like I signed up for this!” I snap.

He turns to face me, arms raised in surrender, “Take it easy, I'm not making fun of you, or being a hater, or whatever you kids call it these days. It just never occurred to me that you might think that. No, I don't think I've ever visited this time line before.”

“Then how come you know so much about it?”

“Because it's not like there's only a few possible ways the scene could have played out. I'm just giving you a summary that covers over a million different time lines, all very similar with one, maybe two things making them different form one another. The odds of me, or any one for that matter, coming across the same time line twice in a lifetime is like saying the moon is blue all the time- which it isn't, by the way.”

“No shit.”

“Don't get so angry. Sometimes, it is blue.” I shoot him an exasperated look, but he just shrugs it off, “Fine, don't believe me. You'll see one yourself someday. They're mainly in Jesse's division of time lines, but you might get to see one elsewhere too.”

“How did we even end up talking about blue moons?”

“Oh yeah, you wanted to know what Pures are, right? Pures are the blue eyed, blondes, the totally awesome people who don't have an ounce of Jewish blood in them. Of course, Hitler had to change his rules a little bit to avoid conflict with the US so soon after his costly war, so the definition of Pures in the states is mainly- anyone who doesn't belong to a lower class system.”

I try to remember what the guy in the mattress had called me, “And what's a ... 'Fig'?”

He laughs, glancing at my limp, “A Fig is a person who can't walk right, most commonly because of a club foot or other such birth defect. They're just one of the many divisions of Curses. And Curses are just people who have some sort of undesirable characteristic.”

“Why would anyone want to live like this?”

“They don't have much of a choice. Hitler garnered support here, and so it wasn't long before democracy was over ruled in favour of Nazism. The President is still called the president, and they are still elected, but the elections are held behind closed doors in the Senate, which is all just a pile of people who want to keep their positions, so they go with whomever the current president supports. The new president rewards them by letting them keep their positions or even elevate them to something higher. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. I personally, still like it here, even though it gets really dangerous in the wrong sections. Curses are kept to specific areas of every city, and the Pures get the best places. If a Curse goes to court against a Pure, even if the Pure murdered a Curse, the court will side in the favour of the Pure. And the Curses hate it. If you're a Pure and end up in a Cursed sector, you're lucky if they let you out alive. It's gotten so bad that riot police are posted at the border, trying to keep the peace. And that's the only job Curses can get that makes them work with Pures.” He pauses to catch his breath, and grins at me.

“So what are you supposed to be?” I ask, taking in his spotless suit, crisp white shirt, and black tie with a red dot in the middle. Even his shoes are shiny black.

He grins, smoothing the sides of his suit with his hands, “I am a Pure, namely a business man who owns a chain of stores in the neighbourhood. I'm the CEO of the company, and get 52 weeks a year of vacation time. My assistant does all the work for me, as per the rules of business around here. I have a corporate office in the Northern Tower, but I only need to do surprise inspections to keep my people on their toes.”

“Actually? But you said that you've never been here before.”

“I know. I'm just telling you the story I tell every idiot who asks, mainly the Law. Great history, eh?”

“You just like to hear yourself talk”

“Funny, Ky says the same thing every time I see her.”

“Who's Ky?”

He smiles, a small twist at the corners of his lips. Whenever Will smiles like that, she's hiding something. “Oh, I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Let's just say she's quite the unique character.” he chuckles ominously at something He glances at me and hesitates in his steps before continuing. He laughs louder.

“What's so funny?” I demand.

He shrugs, “It's nothing about you, Petite, it's just that you're dressed as a Curse and I'm a Pure, and we're walking down the street like long time friends. If anyone sees us, we'll be automatically be reported to the Law. After that, it's a short wait, a lot shorter than it is in your time line, before the geniuses actually show up to arrest us both. You because you're in Pure territory, me because I'm associating with a Curse.”

“Don't see how that's funny.” I grumble. Chase doesn't reply. “Shouldn't we at least try to hide then, find a place to lie low or something?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Because it wouldn't do us any good.”

His tone implies that he doesn't want me to ask any more questions, but I can't help but ask one final query,

“Why wouldn't it?”

He glances at me, but before he can reply, a pigeon swoops down to land on his shoulder. Chase blinks in surprise as he slips the small paper off of the pigeon's leg. Message delivered, the pigeon takes off to join some other pigeons pecking around the cobblestone path. Chase squints at the paper. “What is it?” I ask after waiting for him to say something.

“Just a message from Skip.” Seeing my confusion, Chase quickly adds, “He's the leader of our little team. Counting you, now there's seven of us. He's the boss since he's been doing this a lot longer than any of us. Although, I don't see why he'd use a blooming pigeon. Where would he even get one?”

“Well, what does it say?”

“He's just blasting me for disappearing. Apparently, Jesse hasn't made the rendezvous yet, either, so he has no idea that you're the reason why our little Link-up won't work.”

“Link-up?”

He waves it off, “I'll explain it some other time. Your brain must be threatening to crash with an overload of information. Mine did. It's a lot to take in at once, so I don't suggest you try. I wonder if that pigeon would be willing to send a message back for me.”

We both look at the pigeon, and Chase mutters something under his breath as another pigeon chases it away. The messenger pigeon takes off, the little band still wrapped around his ankle. “Aren't messenger pigeons only able to take messages one way, anyways?”

Chase smirks, “Yeah, but I thought that I might be able to talk it into making an exception.”

“But messenger pigeons are trained to fly to a specific area, not to certain people.”

“Yeah, Skip messed with it's brainwaves or something. Remind me to never let you be with Skip alone. He's the boss, yes, but he's probably more lethal to your health than even Ky, and when you meet her, you'll know that that's something.”

“How could he do that though, mess with it's brainwaves, I mean.”

Chase laughs, “Nah, I was just kidding about that. But seriously, never be alone with Skip. People get on his nerves easily.”

“Then why is he the boss?”

“Because he hates people so much,” Chase grins at my expression, “It's actually nice to have someone who hates everyone, without having a bias about people. He's not judgemental, he just thinks that everyone is a scammer. I guess he's justified. After all, Jesse is a thief, and I'm something of a smuggler. In fact, what can you do?”

“What?”

“What's your skill? You a ninja? Marksman? Some sort of assassin? You know how to build bombs out of anything? Fly planes?” He runs out of things to list and looks at me expectantly.

“Um... no.”

“You've got to be good at something. That's one of the things all of us got in common. Except for Skip, we've all got some sort of skill that borders on illegal, or can be twisted so that it can be considered illegal if used in certain situations. So, what can you do?”

“I work with computers,” I start slowly.

“Oh.” That sure stopped him in his tracks. “So... you don't have anything else up your sleeve? Any psychic abilities, unusual quirks that set you apart? Are you a gypsy?”

“No?” I end it with a question, “I hack computers. Just regular, binomial systematic hacking.”

“Oh.” He doesn't seem to know what else to say. We walk in silence for a little bit, neither of us sure of how to change the subject. We cross blocks, without coming across a single other soul.

The thought strikes me as we pass another run down car, “Where is everyone? Like, this is New York. There should be people.”

He shrugs, “No one really wants to live in the area. Contamination, stuff like that. This is one of the areas where Curses seem to come out more frequently. Case in point,” he breaks off, nodding towards a subway tunnel, “The rails are one of the things that connect the Cursed territory with the Pures'. No matter how many Laws they send in there, the Curses always break in. The Pures that stick around are here more for the cheap rates than for proximity to anything. Anyways, I guess we've wasted enough time. We might as well track down the others.” He stops in his tracks, looks at the ground, and holds three fingers to the side of his head. His whole body goes rigid, all of the muscles locking up. A moment later he opens his eyes, “Come on,” he says, walking towards the subway entrance.

“Where are we going?” I ask, fast-walking to catch up.

“They're in a stupid underground club. I don't know why, but that's where they are, so that's where we're going.”

“What others?”

He turns to look at me, startled, “The rest of the gang, obviously. Skip and the rest of them. Jesse might be there by now, too.”

“How do you know where they are?”

“Because, I linked up. Linking up gives me the opportunity to find the others, and talk with them. But we're too far away to actually talk to them, so all I can do is find them. You know you're going in the right direction when you can start talking to them. Otherwise, you have to physically link up again. With you around, it doesn't matter how close we are, our little Ghost Network, as we like to call it, won't work except for as a guide to the others. And finding you with it is impossible.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like Jesse mentioned earlier, you're leaking black.” Seeing my expression, he sighs, “This really isn't the kind of thing we should be talking about out in the open.”

“Why not? It's not like we're gonna stay here for the rest of our lives.”

“It won't do us any good either if we end up in separate rooms that are nothing but soft white walls, floor and ceiling. And then the nice men in white will come and give you medication, and then the even nicer doctor in the white coat will ask you questions about your delusion of alternate time lines. That might sound like fun to you, but I've got a reason to live. I like my life, and I like being able to be outdoors in the middle of the night if I feel like it. It's a little thing people call freedom, and most of us take all we can get, because it seems like there isn't enough to go around so that everyone gets the same amount.”

We both stop talking as we descend the stairs to the abandoned subway terminal. Empty vendor's stalls, pieces of garbage littering the concrete, cobwebs and dust inhabiting the cracks and corners greet us as our feet crushing the garbage stirs up the stench of age, mold, and something I really don't want to guess. I wrinkle my nose, but don't cover my nose to try to protect my senses from the smell. Not in front of Chase. I sneak a glance at him, and see with little surprise that the stench doesn't seem to affect him at all. The last thing I want to do is make him think I'm weak. It's bad enough that he doesn't think anything of my hacking skills.

And what was all that about- his little speech about freedom? Everyone getting the same amount of freedom. Obviously that's never going to happen. Criminals deserve to be in lock up, just like people who haven't committed crimes are allowed to keep walking around and getting on with their daily lives. It's the way of the world.

Chase reaches behind him into his backpack, pulls something out, and clicks it on. A small flashlight, but it gives off an enormous beam of light that shines down the steps as we walk to the sides of the tracks. The deserted platform smells of old cement, and a cold wind howls through the tunnels. “No one's been using the subways since the whole Pures vs. Curses got started,” Chase mutters, more to himself than to me, “I don't even know how the whole idea got started in the first place. Dutch started Sliding with us before, in his time line, 1945, so who knows if he was actually a Sixer or from Seven. We just assumed he was a Sixer, because the Americans weren't involved in the fights, but that doesn't means it wasn't actually Seven messed up times ten to the power of six.”

“What are you talking about?”

Chase blinks and jerks his head back, as if awakening from a stupor, and glances at me, as if seeing me for the first time. "Sorry, just thinking out loud again. I tend to do that a lot, so you should only pay half of your attention to me, and worry about other stuff in the mean time. If you drop everything you're doing to hear me, more often than not you're gonna wind up disappointed.”

“Um, okay.” My brows furrow as I try to figure out what he means.

"Heads up, we've got company,” Chase mutters, “Looks like they got tired of waiting.” He hops down form the platform onto the tracks.

I stare at him, “Aren't you worried about the off-chance of a train coming?”

“Nah, like I said, they haven't used this system since they invented hover crafts.”

“What?” I exclaim, hopping down after him, “You never said that. You said that it hasn't been used since the whole Pures vs. Curses fiasco started. They have hover crafts?”

“Flying saucers, if you ask me,” a surly voice rumbles from the darkness ahead of us.

I search wildly for the voice and can see the dim outline of a large man. But Chase's flashight, as it searches the tunnel, shines right through it. “Nobody asked you, now did they?” Chase sallied, “Where's everyone else?”
The voice pauses. “Shit,” He grumbles, “Can't find them. It's like I'm in the dark or something. If you're in my head, smuggler, I'll...” the voice trails off, and I hear some liquid swirl and a loud gulp.

“You'll get piss drunk and forget all about it,” Chase finishes for him. Chase turns to me, “Dee, I would like to introduce you to Dutch. Unfortunately, I can't, because the guy won't make himself visible.”

A larger, burly figure steps into Chase's flashlight beam, illuminating ragged clothing, a dirty beard, and deep-set eyes that blink rapidly in the light. In one hand, he holds a large dark glass bottle, in the other he holds a black back pack like mine and Chase's. “Would you turn off those headlights?” he growls in a deep voice, “Can hardly see with you shining all those watts in my eyes.”

“Just how drunk are you?” Chase asks, angling the flashlight away form Dutch's face.

“Sober enough to walk, not much else.”

“So I take it that this place has been deemed safe enough for you to consume alcohol? We're not going to force it anytime soon?”

“I wouldn't know. No one tells me nothing.” He takes another long swig from the bottle.

“Don't tell me that actually came from your pack?” Chase asks, amazed.

Dutch holds it up proudly, the sudden movement knocking him slightly off balance, “It did. It's the best yet.”

“You say that every time. Do you even remember how the last one tasted?”
“Nope.”
“Do you remember the five beers you drank in the time Amaar drank a glass of water?”
“Don't think so, but there were... seven bottles at the end.”
“You actually are drunk, aren't you? How much do you even have left in there?”
“Not enough to go around. Then again, they never give me enough for even myself. So how can you expect me to share with you, you greedy moocher?”
“Don't start with me, drunk, and don't call me a moocher.”
“Moocher,” Dutch slurs. His gaze slips to me, “Who's this? Nobody said nothing about a new guy.”
“Actually, new girl. Her name is 'Dee.”
“No it's not,” I start, but Chase steps on my foot hard, “Ow! Hey, that hurt!”
“Don't you remember what we talked about earlier? Tell Dutch your real name and he'll call you anywhere from 'Vodka' to 'Fireworks', and any sort of drink in between,” Chase hisses at me. Then, louder, “Dee, this is Dutch. He's our resident drunkard, but on the side, he helps the group out by being our chauffeur. Don't get in a drinking contest with him, because you won't remember anything of the next few days, especially if he gets you to drink any of his concoctions. Those things are so potent I'm surprised Skip lets them slide.”
“Skip controls what travels with us?” Dutch asks, his words slightly slurred, “I didn't know that. Guess that's why he's the boss right? 'Cause he knows what everyone needs to succeed.” He takes another swig.
“Yeah, except in your case it's more like failure,” Chase replies wryly. He turns to me as we start walking again, “Now don't you start following in Dutch's army boots and believing everything you misinterpret. Skip doesn't control what travels with us between time-lines.”
“Dimensions,” Dutch growls from behind.
Chase shoots him a dirty look, “Whatever. Tomato, tomatto.” He turns back to me again, “What I meant by Skip letting Dutch's booze slide is that he actually lets Dutch to have that stupid brew on him. Makes sense. Dutch is bound to get drunk, one way or another, if he doesn't have his bottle with him, though, it's virtually impossible to figure out which bar he's gonna go to, even with the Link.”
“Something I assume you're gonna explain in more depth once we get in a green zone?”
“Actually, they're at a club called 'Blue Zone'.” Dutch interrupts again.
Chase gives him a baleful look, “I thought you couldn't find them?”
Dutch shrugs, “Meh, Jesse's always been a real kicker when it comes to finding him. He's practically yelling about where he is in the Link. The others are kind of muffled, but that's always been the case when Jesse's on the air.”
“Or when you're drunk as a skunk. Ow! Ease up on the brawn, would you?” Chase massages the back of his head. I glance behind me at a grinning Dutch. He winks at me through the wrinkles that surround the corners of his eyes.
The rest of the walk is relatively quiet, and Chase's flashlight makes the dark tunnel a little more creepy. The steady drip of water falling from some unseen pipe into a puddle that's already begun to turn into a small stream that trickles slowly in some unseen direction begins to grate on my nerves, but neither of my new-found buddies feels like breaking the silence, and I don't want to look weak by starting up a conversation. My head's already spinning, just by ideas about what my 'leaking black all over the place' was supposed to mean. I glance at what I'm wearing- the same baby t-shirt and cargo pants I had worn when I had collapsed exhausted on my bed. Black and blue. But that's not what Jesse had meant. My clothes wouldn't bug him and Chase that much that they would stop in the middle of an argument to tell me to not leak out so much. Chase and Jesse seemed like they argued often, and once they got started there was no chance of getting them to stop.
My attention turns to Dutch, a member of the same team as Chase and Jesse and Skip. A Sixer, Chase had called him. What was that supposed to mean? Was he the kind of guy who just hung out all the time at bars, or was there any truth at all to what Chase had claimed? So many questions, no where near enough answers. My shoe kicks through a clump of something. Chase gags, “Good lord, Petite, do you have to kick through every single pile of raccoon waste product?”
The stench reaches me too, and I blanch at the sudden wafts of dung that stink up the all-ready stale air. Dutch takes a few quick steps to match pace with us, and laughs at my expression, “You know you're from the cleaner part of a city when...”
“Knock it off, Dutch,” Chase growls, “Keep sharp, we're on the edges of a Hodge.”
“'Hodge'?” I ask as we near a light glowing from around the next corner.
“Hodge.” Chase nods, “Mixture between 'house' and 'lodge'. Basically, an underground city, but never call it that in public. These people will pick you out as an outsider the minute you open your trap. Speaking of outsiders,” He leans ahead a little bit to catch Dutch's eye around me, “Care to lend me that raggedy old bust of a jacket? I seem to be a little clean for wear.”
“You'll pay the usual?”
Chase sighs dramatically, “The next time I get shotgun, I hand over my claim to you.” Dutch takes off the jacket without another word and tosses it to Chase. Sniffing it suspiciously, Chase puts it on without vocal complaint, but you can tell by the way he wrinkles his nose that he doesn't like the idea of wearing it.
Dutch glances at him, giving him a solid look-over, “Shoes.”
Chase shoot shim an exasperated look, but Dutch ignores it, “And do something else with your hair, that comb over is depressing enough when you have to see Hitler wearing one. We're in the blooming eighties. Spike it, plait it, braid it for all I care, just get rid of the stupid comb over. You're too young to go bald.” He glances at me, “You're fine. You've got a weird taste for what makes the cut as Curse, but you definitely can't be mistaken for a Pure. Maybe claim that you're from Canada. Or better yet, you're a mute, so I'll make up a cover story for you.” His words have slowly become more and more coherent as he keeps on talking, “Although, I've got to ask, where did you get those clothes? You were in Pure territory, so why not go for a Pure target?”
“I woke up wearing this.”
“Don't tell me that's what you usually wear? Not that style of clothes, you must be kidding. She's kidding, right Chase?'
“I'm not.”
Dutch tips his bottle into his mouth and gulps down a huge amount before coming up for air. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, sighs, and walks faster to get ahead of us. I can hear voices coming from around the corner. Chase sighs, running fingers through his hair to loosen up the stiff locks before shoving both hands in the pockets of Dutch's jacket.
“When did he become such a fashion tycoon?” I growl, shivering in the damp air.
Chase takes one look at me before pulling me up short and rummaging around in my backpack to come up with my jacket. I accept it gratefully and pull it on, still cold, but a little better. “It's a hobby of his. He's our master of disguise. If it weren't for that pot belly of his, he could probably pull off a scam as a hot hooker with a short skirt. He could probably even raise his voice a couple hundred octaves so that he even sounds like a woman, if he wasn't drunk all the time. But the bottle always gives him away, so he sticks with telling everybody else how to blend in while he sticks out like a sore thumb on parade.” He sighs, “Anyways, we're almost entering the Hodge. Want some last minute advice?”
I nod, and he continues, his raising his voice as the ruckus from up ahead grows louder, “Don't stare. Don't try to talk, nothing. Stick close to me, keep you're head down. I may look like a Pure, but I've been able to wing it before. Claim espionage, all that stuff. If we do get separated, curl up in an alleyway and don't make a sound. We'll be able to find you, just like me and Jesse did before. Things get pretty crazy down here. And if you hear the words 'Red Hour', run. Run as fast as you can in the same direction as everyone else.”
“What's 'Red Hour'?”
Chase grimaced, “That's when Hitler's army invades, gassing the entire place with strategically placed vents when they've decided that the Curses' 'infestation' has gone on long enough. After all,” he goes on, expounding a hand to the chaos that we come face to face with as we turn the corner, “Hodges are nothing but underground concentration camps glossed over with the illusion of depression era.”
The Hodge begins as soon as we take two steps past the bend, starting as suddenly as a bolt of lightning to the naked eye. Run down hovels of cardboard lean against brick structures. The place starts out as an old station, but I can't even see the end of the place. The track is something of a path, with most of the dwellings on the platform. Some people hawk their wares on boxes opposite the platform, engaging anyone and everyone, no matter what they're wearing. Just because someone doesn't have money to get new clothes, doesn't mean they don't have a spare penny to spend on a few trinkets. And most things are selling for pennies, and they could be anything- scraps of cloth, boxes of Band aids, bracelets, or small portraits that look catholic by the halo around each head. The people swarm around us, the ones closer noticing how much we stand out. Even my not-so-sophisticated look is cleaner than anything these people have ever seen.
The crushing masses push past us as we delve deeper into their home. People yelling at each other, creaks of machinery, the buzz of conversations overlapping each other, all mingle with the acrid smell of diesel fuel and the sweet tang of spices. Butter sizzles on a frying pan somewhere, the rest of the pan giving off a spicy smell that makes my mouth water as my mind tries to guess what it might be.
“Sharp eye,” Chase mutters to me, “These people will rob you blind. It doesn't help that we have these backpacks with us. Just by their size and bulk, people will think we have stuff worth stealing.” He runs a hand through his hair, muffing up the already destroyed comb over in a futile attempt to make himself blend in. He grabs my hand and forces his way through the crowds, making little headway, but at least establishing a steady pace. Nobody reacts in anger when he shoves them out of the way, and he returns the favour by not growling at anyone who comes too close. I use my free hand to hold onto my backpack, wrapping my arm around behind me, effectively covering all the zippers and keeping people from sneaking stuff out. I remember the jack knife now in my possession, can feel its weight tugging at the bottom of my left pocket.
Chase guides us to the end of the station, ducking into a tunnel that opens out into a huge room. Tables line the sides accompanied by worn out chairs and booths, and directly ahead of us is a bar, a couple people sitting on the stools. The overhead lights cut in and out, whether by short circuit or design, as music pounds out of an unseen stereo. Between us and the bar is a dance floor, couples young and old alike dancing to the beat. On the fringes, a few couples are slow dancing, not even close to being in tempo with the fast rhythm. Chase guides me over to one of the booths, already crowded with five people, including Dutch and Jesse.
The other three people are a woman with dark hair, whose presence sets me on edge, a small man with chocolate brown eyes and a slight build, and a middle aged man with a ginger red beard who keeps his gaze on me as Chase introduces me to all three; Ky, Amaar, and Skip. “Don't bother asking for his actual name,” Chase yells in my ear, “Skip's kept that a secret for years. He's not going to bother telling you. According to him, it's need to know, and apparently we don't.”
“How come you didn't link up?” Ky shouts at Chase, more to be heard than anything else, earning her an irritated look from Amaar beside her.
“Because that one's jamming our signal,” Chase shouts back, jerking a thumb at me as he leans towards the center of the table. “I still can't link up, even though we're directly across form each other.” Ky drops her head for a moment before it snaps back up, her eyes gravitating to me. A chill runs down my spine as I see her eyes. They're backwards, white pupils, black irises, and green surrounding the compound. “How's that possible? I can't even sense you, at all. You aren't a member of the Black are you?”
“Since I still don't know what that is, probably not.”
She shrugs, “Well, they do have minions everywhere, so it wouldn't surprise me if they had a few minions who didn't even know they were minions while carrying out the Black's orders.”
“What's the Black?” I holler back.
“Do you two have to include the entire club in this?” Skip demands, casting his angry blue eyes between me and Ky, “Keep in mind where we are. This place knows nothing, but they hate any sort of top secret organization, so everybody stands down. We're leaving for Canada in the morning, so I'd rather not have to make a detour for the local jail to break out any one of you. In the meantime, have a drink, and we'll find a place to lie low and get some shut eye.”
“It's in Canada?” Amaar asks, surprised.
Skip nods, "Yes, specifically in the Prime Minister's private office."
"No way." Jesse exclaims, excited, "You've gotta let me in there, Skip. This is a chance of a lifetime."
"Why do you care? Your time line is nothing like this."
"I just want to see democracy in action, that's all." Jesse's voice is innocent, but the wicked gleam in his eye and the smirk that now spreads across his face speak otherwise.
Skip sighs and shakes his head, "Yeah, we're going to need your skills on this one anyways."
"Yes!" Jesse high-fives Amaar and Dutch, and the reaches across the table to high-five me. I answer halfheartedly.
"Did we have to meet here?" Chase asks.
Skip shrugs, "Seemed like a good idea, considering we always meet up in the exact center of landing, so that everyone has an equal distance to travel and no excuse to be late without a heads up. Don't worry," he interrupts Chase's attempt o speak, “Jesse already explained the situation in full. For some reason, our new member, Brandee here, is a little bit different than the rest of us."
Ky snorts, “A little? Do you hear yourself talking Skip? She's weird, just admit it already. There's no point in beating around the bush when you can just shoot an arrow at the boar that's gone to ground.”
“What does that even mean?” Jesse asks.
Ky shrugs, “How should I know?”
“Because you're the one who said it,” Chase joins in on the attack.
“She's just asking Skip to get to the point already, instead of stating the obvious all the time like he has a habit of doing,” Amaar translates. Dutch nods solemnly before swiping Amaar's untouched glass and choking it down. Amaar doesn't seem to notice, though.
“Now that's that's out of the way,” Skip cuts off any further ribbing, “let's get out of here. We've got to sneak across the border tomorrow, probably using the tube.”
“Subway, Skip. It's called a 'subway'.” Jesse corrects him. Our little group leaves as one, as Skip tosses some red bills on the table before taking the lead. We practically link arms outside the club to keep from losing each other. Jesse sticks close to one side of me, Chase on the other, and Dutch bringing up the rear. Chase glances back a few times at him, as if to make sure he hadn't disappeared, and each time, Dutch just grunts and ignores him.
We end up in a small stairwell, and everyone sprawls out along the steps, with only Chase complaining, “We have got to find better digs than this.” But soon, he's fast asleep with the rest of them. Me? I spend a sleepless night, my eyes taking in the ludicrous scene of the six people sleeping nearby that have somehow become important to my survival as my mind tries to make sense of everything that's happened.
Jesse sits up, only to collapse back against the stairs in a new, equally uncomfortable position. “Welcome to the Slider's world,” he mutters. “Illegal jobs, crappy cribs, and no pay, all a part of the package.” He's sound asleep an instant later, and I'm unable to ask him any more questions until light.

Desperate

How? How could she have not heard me? There must be something interfering, something that refuses to allow me to speak with my master. I know now that it isn't natural to have gone so long without speaking to her. I should have been able to communicate with her before this happened, I should have been able to warn her.
So why couldn't I?
I stand alone, as always, but now the Inner World has changed. I can no longer see the sun, or the cold distant sky that was a constant. Instead, everything is dark, blacks and grays, no real shapes. The Motes move in cloud-like formations, swirling with some unnoticed air current. The wind has disappeared, as has the rain and lightning.
I saw my master. Mistress, I suppose I should call her. I finally, after waiting so long in a place where time has never held much meaning, I have finally seen her, the one to whom I am forever bound to serve and protect. To protect her and thus protect whatever she wills to protect. Her will is now my will, her heart mine, her hopes, aspirations, and dreams have all been integrated into my core. I know they have.
If only I could access them. But that too is regulated by her. First, she must hear my name and call me by it. Then, and only then, will I be able to finally assist her.
But is there anyway to really get her attention? So that it would be impossible to not hear me when I say my name? Humans are fragile creatures, there must be some way to get her to listen, to acknowledge me, so that I can know what it is she wishes, I'm useless if I can't do that.
The Motes swirl about me, hissing in their curiosity, supplying ideas of what I could try. Only one seems to be possible, but again, humans are fragile creatures, easy to mistrust that which they do not understand. How would my mistress react to what they are suggesting? There is only one way to find out. I only hope it is soon, in the relative terms in accordance with her time theory. The sooner the better, I sigh as I focus the Motes about me into the weapon I need for the delicate task ahead of me.

 

Electric Shock

The next few days are all a blur, us getting to know each other as we start to make the trek along the dark subway tunnels on our way to Canada. I learn a few new things about my new crew, as Jesse calls us. He's always talking like that, mixing in familiar terms with stuff so that the whole picture is twisted beyond recognition, from anything of organized drifters to tyrants who are loved by the common people to the normalcy of every son of the head of a family learning some sort of trade that in any other time-line would be considered illegal, but not when it's the Head's son. He's actually applauded for his adeptness at stealing things without people noticing. I don't believe him, but the others take him seriously enough, even though Chase complains that Jesse's only told them about a million times about how he was so much more privileged as a kid than the rest of them. Mainly, the only thing Chase said was to shut up.
But Ky was pretty talkative, explaining about how, unlike Chase, the rest of the gang refers to alternate time lines as dimensions. (“Same thing,” Chase muttered at that. Catching Ky's eye, he added, “Shut up.”) Ignoring Chase, Ky continued to explain how since there was an infinite amount of alternate dimensions, based on the theory that dimensions had been in the make since the beginning of time, or rather, when the first decision was made pertaining to the physical realm. Realm is a broad term that covers the dimensions and beyond, basically if you can go there it is classified under the Realm. In order to not get so easily confused and to give themselves something to do, the gang had come up with a classification of the dimensions based on where they had visited so far.
“There are seven categories, numbered one through seven, in case it wasn't obvious. We have them numbered chronologically, using Dimension Seven's time line as a reference to when-abouts the other dimensions formed. Mainly, the lines between dimensions are blurred, but sometimes it's pretty obvious that you're in Three and not in Four, and blah blah blah.
“Each dimensional category has one particular trait that stands out. Six is a little bit harder to tell from Seven, but the rest are pretty straight forward. One is pitch black, with a neutron star as a sun that casts no light. We don't go there often. Two has Earth covered in water, we're thinking that the flood never receded. Three has Muslims ruling the entire known world, even in their twenty first century they still haven't found the 'Americas'. Four is a little hectic, but suffice it to say we go there even less than One, so don't worry about it too much.
“Five is a big one, we end up there more than anywhere else. Chase is from there, he could probably give you a more in depth description of what exactly makes it unique from the other six, but it boils down to the Brits getting their butts kicked and their land conquered by the French. The French turned out to be the major players in the global domination game, and from Chase's part of the grand scheme of that time-line, English is a dead language and the world is in chaos. I'm not saying anything about the French, but I'm glad that they all got eaten by the Leviathan in Dimension One. Six is where we are now, or at least we're in a sub category of it. Hitler won the war, blah blah blah. Seven is the one you're from, plus it's the one we use to categorize the other ones, so there's not really any point in my explaining it.” She takes one look at my face, “Did any of that make sense?”
“Kinda. The whole idea that the French messed everything up...”
“Don't go dissing France,” Jesse interrupts, casting a glance at Skip's back, “Last time we checked, the French were helping the English underground in Four, and Skip's all about revolutions, being British and all that, so to stay in his good graces, don't mention the French at all.”
“Okay, so what should we mention? The fact that you're the one who's actually in charge of bringing Brandee here up to speed? By the way, you should at least pretend that you're helping. Otherwise Skip might get annoyed.”
“Why should he care?” I ask, feeling left out.
Ky looks at me, “Because the person who brings you up to speed also stays out of the next few missions, until you're actually trained.”
“Basically, she's implying that I'm useless and make no contribution whatsoever to the team,” Jesse interrupts.
“You said it, not me.”
One word stood out from their little banter, “Missions?”
Ky's eyes fly open, and I shrink back form the suddenly really good look at her eyes in the dim light, “Huh? Didn't Chase tell you that yet? He took his sweet time coming last night, so I figured someone had already told you about what we do.”
“I'm guessing something illegal.”
"Shh!” Jesse hisses, looking furtively ahead of us. He immediately relaxes though, and I follow his gaze to see that we've dropped way behind the others. “Illegal is a dirty word. Never use it around Amaar, the poor guy's faith is shaken enough as it is. If you ever refer to the nature of our work, call it something like clandestine operations. Sounds more legitimate."
“Why?”
“He's Muslim,” Ky says shortly, “Don't care for religion, me, so don't bring it up with him when I'm around.” She shoots Jesse a look over my head, “Back on topic, yes, we are in the business of things that are illegal, namely stealing things of immaculate value in one dimension or another. We need to be able to live somehow.”
“So we rob the federal Reserve or the Tower of London?”
Jesse laughs, “Nothing that drastic, but we might end up doing that on occasion. Just to keep ourselves busy.”
“How do you know something's worth a lot in another dimension if you're never to the same dimension twice?”
“We never arrive at the exact same dimension that we left at any point in our lives,” Jesse corrects, “But we still manage to travel to dimensional... branches, I guess you could call them, that have similar interests in say a sapphire diamond, whereas other dimensions hold no sympathy whatsoever for jewels. We steal the stuff that's easy to grab that we can guarantee is worth a lot more in another dimension. For the most part, Dimension Five, Chase's world, is the safest place to unload, but their currency is worthless in other dimensions. And sometimes you end up in an America that is completely like yours with the only difference being that Washington deals in dollar bills of different colours, like their neighbours to the North.”
“Why?”
“Who knows? It's not like we can find out who decided to make the money the way it-”
“That's not what I meant,” I start, cutting him off, “What I mean is, why is Chase's dimension the safest to “unload” the goods we steal?”
“Oh... that's because,” Jesse replies slowly. He shoots a look at Ky, tilting his head to one side in some sort of signal. Ky pretends to be studying the wall beside her, trailing a hand along the dirty exterior. “Because Chase is a smuggler. He knows the lay of the land, who can get him what, call in favours. He's the most likely to run into someone who knows him, so him and Skip handle that aspect of the business.”
“So what do we do for the other dimensional categories?”
“We get by,” Ky interjects stiffly, “Same way we always do. We make it because we need to.”
An awkward silence descends on our little group. I squirm a little bit in the sudden silence as we pace along the tunnel, the dust thick in some spots and fresh air in others. Our path is lit by dying naked light bulbs and holes through which i can see the blue sky. Spots of sunlight dot the floor, but these are few and far between. “So... uh... what's everybody's skills?” I ask, hoping to break the silence.
Ky perks up immediately, “That's safe jungle. I'm the assassin. You need someone dead, I can arrange that for you. You want them to be tortured before they are enabled to embrace the sweet sensation of death, that can be arranged too, for an additional fee.”
“Ky's the hunter,” Jesse says hurriedly, getting a look at my expression, “She's the marksman. Although, she does kill people, it's not on a regular basis. It's only every time we run into Hitler, or Stalin, or any other mucho-macho bad guy from history like Genghis Khan.”
“But wouldn't that just create other dimensions where you didn't?”
“Nope. Far as we can tell, and we can't really, none of us Sliders affect time lines in any way. We just ghost through, steal stuff that is reported missing in any of the closely related branches of dimensions that are created after that point from that particular 'branch'.” Jesse grins lazily, “Anyways, I'm the stunts guy. Any street fighting or deep sea diving expertise needed, I'm your guy. I handle all aspects of Dimension Two interactions, since there's so many rules an nowhere near enough time to teach them to any of you commoners.”
“Don't mind him,” Ky growls, “He always talks like that in relation to his own dimension. Apparently, they still have some sort of Ottoman empire ideal going on over there, heads of families and everything.”
“It's a far cry from the set up you Firsties have, I'll give you that,” Jesse snaps back, “But at least when we do something, we don't just run around in animal hides and hope for the best, with the extent of our vocabulary being 'Ug uggg ugg'.”
“You wanna go, Sticky fingertips?” Ky snarls, stepping around me to be face to face with Jesse. To his credit, he doesn't back down, but glowers right back at her.
“You're stupid,” he sneers.
Ky smirks, “Well, you're dumb.”
“That hurts... but my father's not the one on crack, now is he?” Jesse grins triumphantly in Ky's face.
Ky takes another step towards him, closing the distance. There's a deadly gleam in her eyes, cold and calculating, “Tell me,” she hisses, “They say that underwater, no one can hear you scream. I wonder if it's true?” Her implied threat hangs heavy on the air.
“OI!” Chase yells form up ahead, “Are you'se coming or what? ”
“Yeah,we are, now shut up!” I yell back.
Ky steps away from Jesse, and starts walking stalwartly ahead of us, never looking back. Jesse glares at the wall beside him, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding my gaze.
“Don't mind them, they're always like this,” Dutch says from behind me.
I spin around, “Whoa! When did you get there?”
He raises an eyebrow innocently, “I've been here the whole time. You three were just too absorbed in your own little bubble universe to notice that I've been behind you this whole time. Any ways, you were wondering about everyone's skills, right? Guess you just found mine. When I've a mind to, and I don't necessarily have to be sober, I can sneak up on anyone and everyone, including Ky. Used to be my job before I started sliding, and I've been sliding longer than these two combined by about a year. Chase would know the actual numbers, he's been doing this longer than me even.
“And don't believe a word Jesse said. Yes, he's got some ninja skills up his sleeve, but he'll just as soon rob you blind while giving you one of his innocent baby blue eyes smiles. That's his real skill. And Ky's not alone in her attempts to kill all the dictators, we all chip in when we feel like it.
“Chase can forge things. Letters, birth certificates, notes from your dead aunt saying she doesn't approve of the shoes you're wearing. You name it, he can sell it as legit.
“Skips the strategist. He plans the ins, outs, and all the details in between of any heist we pull off. That's why he's in charge, because he knows what he's doing.
“And Amaar's our bomber slash demolitions expert.”
I freeze, “What?”
“Nice going Dutch, you've just confirmed every notion she had about the radicalism of Muslims that they might possibly be still in the business of suicide bombing even though they run the place,” Jesse growls. His next statement is addressed to me, “It' not what you think. Amaar used to serve in the army, same as Dutch. Amaar was part of a bomb squad. His job was to actually put his life on the line and disarm the bombs.”
“Bombs that other Muslims made.”
Jesse hangs his head and rolls his eyes, “You're not getting it. Amaar isn't one of the bad guys. Most Muslims aren't. Shoot, in Amaar's dimension, the Middle East kicked renaissance Europe's butt, eventually conquering Britain, and exploring the new world. The entire planet is Muslim, and I don't think that there's much opposition. I have no doubt that there's some Christians still somewhere, kept to themselves by force and not by choice, whatever.”
“Do I hear some bias?” Amaar's voice suddenly speaks from the gloom beside Jesse. We both jump and Amaar steps into the dim light, shining a flashlight into his face with a grin. “I thought I heard some religion speak going on. I thought we had already reached an agreement on that, Jesse. You keep your faith to yourself, and I wouldn't quote the Qur'an to point out the many errors of your ways, specifically yours in comparison to the others.”
“Yeah, shut up. If you're gonna blame anyone for breaching our contract, blame Dutch.”
Amaar purses his lips as he steals a glance at Dutch, who towers over him by at least a foot, before shooting Jesse a nasty glare, “You little sniveler, blame it on the big guy.”
“You were going to call me an elephant again, weren't you?” Dutch demands indignantly.
“I was going to do nothing of the sort,” Amaar replied defensively, taking a small sidestep to place Jesse and me between himself and Dutch.
“For the love of cinnamon buns, would you four hurry up?” Chase hollers.
“We're coming!” Jesse yells at the same time as me. We shoot each other a look, and I duck my head slightly.
“Well, would you listen to the two lovebirds?” Amaar teases. In response, Jesse shoves him hard enough that Amaar slams into the brick wall and bounces off, stumbling before he manages to catch his balance.
“Stuff it. Is there's any love going around, you're involved.”
“Would you two shut up? You're giving Dee here the wrong impression,” Dutch growls as he winks at me, “These two will debate anything, be it shoes to date life to religious values. For the most part, when you see the two of them together, just turn around and walk the other way. Heaven nor hell can stop those two once they harp in on each other. Drink?” He offers me his bottle.
I flinch away from the stench of alcohol, wrinkling my nose, “Uh, no thanks. I'm underage.” never actually stopped me before, but there's something definitely off with that stuff he's cradling.
Dutch doesn't seem to take offense, and simply shrugs, "Alright, suit yourself. More for me.” He takes a long draft. He pulls the bottle away from his lips with a sigh of satisfaction, “You know, the others say that I could out drink three Russians if they took turns matching me shot for shot. And I'm a pretty good aim too.” He grins as he pats his waist, where I can see a gun tucked into a holster, "Not necessarily my first choice for a weapon, but little Cassie here does wonders if I need a quick, quiet little job.”
“Little job?”
“He means assassination, but for him, it's more like self defense. The only time he uses it is when people are trying to mug him, and even then, he only uses that little piece if he's trying to be discreet,” Jesse grumbles
“We can't all be spastic ninja warriors who can take out three guys with two punches, now can we?” retorts Dutch.
“I've offered to show you, but no, Mr. German Warrior doesn't need any sort of assistance in the hand to hand combat section, even thought that's why he got his dishonorable discharge and send him on his career path as an alcoholic. What was it that dragged you into this whole sliding affair again? Oh yeah, you grabbed somebody else's drink in response to one of their callous remarks about your past.”
“And how did you end up here, huh?” snarls Dutch, “As I recall, you snatched someone's purse, nicked your finger on a clasp, and hey presto, sent us all spinning off into the middle of a boiling volcano. Thanks for that, I don't think I've ever really said thank you yet, so there, thank you.” Dutch storms off, and Amaar rushes to catch up to him, leaving me and Jesse trailing behind.
We walk in awkward silence for a while, unsure of what to say. I avoid looking at him, focusing instead on the patches of sunlight that are becoming more and more frequent. Dust motes dance in the sunlight, as if that alone was where they were, instead of everywhere in the air. It's kind of funny, unless something is highlighted, we tend to miss it entirely until it comes back later to bite us hard. I blow a strand of hair out of my face, but it falls in another spot that's worse than where it just was. I run a hand through my hair, feeling the grime that's already taken hold.
Beside me, Jesse snorts. I glance at him, and do a double take as I realize that he's trying not to laugh. “What's so funny?” I demand defensively.
“Oh, it's not you,” he manages, “It's just that I find it funny that a little bit of black Pressure gives me a new perspective on things that I originally never questioned.”
“Like what?”
“I don't think I've ever exploded at everyone at the same time like that. You'd think I was pissed at them for something, which I'm not. Chase's probably right, maybe the black Pressure's just a little too strong.”
“What's the difference between black Pressure as opposed to other Pressure?”
“Well, it just is. We aren't exactly experts on this thing, even though it's become a part of our world, but basically, as far as we can tell only a specific group of people has black Pressure. We call them 'The Black', mainly because their Pressure is only black, there's no colour at all. Most Pressure is shown as a colour, and different colours of Pressure develop into skills that are particular to that colour. Blue Pressure is normally personified in doctors and any one else in the medical field, so that includes vets and stuff.
“Black's just there, it doesn't really have any sort of specific skill that is uniquely it's own. We don't interact with the Black that much, so I guess it goes without saying that there's no way we'd know much about them. The whole need of 'a large number of specimens as opposed to a select few'. For all we know, we could only be interacting with members of the Black that have black Pressure, while other members have different colours.
“The others aren't too fond of my conspiracy theories, but I still believe that there's a reason why we Slide. Someone developed the technology to cross dimensions, maybe even got trapped themselves. Somehow, in some dimension that we've never ever been even remotely close to, this sort of technology has spawned a multi-dimensional heist to get better products of specific things from other dimensions to use within theirs. For example, if people wanted sturdy chairs, just go back to the 1920's when quality was still more important than quantity. It's a poor example, I know, but to be honest, I don't know much about your dimension's time line to actually give an example that would make more sense.
“I'm babbling again,” he sighs with a breath, “Sorry, I tend to do that, even if I come off as a little bit grouchy. I'm not normally like this. It must be how your Pressure figures into the general equation of Pressure present. The more colourful Pressure around with you, the grouchier those people become. They can feel that something's off, but most can't actually see the black leaking out from around you. All they know is that someone is interfering with their Pressure, and it gets on their nerves. For some reason, I can be totally at ease with you, despite the fact that I know I have a colourful pressure while yours is black. But as soon as another Slider is around, I get moody. I guess it's about balance.”
“I thought you said that you weren't an expert on this Pressure stuff.”
He grins, “Yeah, most of what I said is pure speculation. It's all theories, and the others don't even bother giving me enough time to explain it. I'm surprised you didn't cut me off somewhere during the Black explanation.”
I shrug, “It sound interesting. Besides, you've got experience on your side.”
Jesse laughs, “Yeah, good one. Just how long do you think I've been sliding for?”
His question throws me off, “Uh... I don't know, a couple of years?”
“Nope. I've only been at it for eleven months, closer to twelve now I think. Chase would have the exact number.”
“Really? How long have the others been sliding?”
“Amaar's been at it for five, Chase for almost ten, Ky's been around for three, Dutch is nine, and I have no idea about Skip. The guy's practically an ancient at this stuff by now.”
“Wow.” Is all I can say to this. These guys have been doing this for years, day in day out, leaping across time, torn from their own lives and trying to make do with the one they've been thrust into. Pangs of guilt flash through me as I think of Mom and Will. They would have reported me missing by now, but how long would they wait? How long would it take them before they moved on with their lives?
Maybe Uncle Jared would fly in, like he did when my Dad just up and left us. He's always been good to Mom, it'd be best to have someone who really knows them around. But how long before he went back to his own family? How long until they were on their own again?
“So, there's no way out?” I ask slowly, feeling very small all of a sudden.
Jesse nods, catching my sudden mood change, “Yeah. None that we can find, anyways.” He stiffens suddenly, freezing in his tracks and pulling me up short.
“Hey! Ow, what's wrong?” I demand.
He holds a finger to his lips, his eyes darting about in the dimness, “Can you feel that?” He murmurs quietly to me.
I pause and try to see what he means. “No,” I whisper back, “I don't feel anything.”
“That's not good,” He murmurs in my ear, “That just means that the Slides will catch you by surprise every single time.”
“Slides?”
“Either one of us triggered it, or there wasn't really anything worth stealing here. I guess Skip kind of gave the game away when he decided to make a pilgrimage to Canada,” Jesse continues, as if he hadn't heard me, “My money's on the latter. Nothing down here would be worth their attention. Then again, they set their sights on the weirdest things.”
“They?”
“The Black. Hold on.” He grabs my hand s and squeezes tightly.
It's like we're suddenly hit by a freight train. One moment, we were standing still, the next, we're hurtling through inky darkness that howls about my ears. Then, instead of hurtling forwards, the roller coaster does a sudden drop, leaving my stomach somewhere high above us as we fall. Somewhere along the line, I realize that I'm still screaming, my voice becoming hoarse and dry. I shut up and cling to Jesse harder. Images and forms start coming at us from all directions, rising up form the black smoke to wail and howl, their mute cries joining the wind in a symphony of horror.
One figure that rises looks almost human, and as it veers closer to us in it's headfirst dive, I recognize who it is. It's the woman from my dream, the one who couldn't leave her post, no matter how she tried. Her lips part, and I can tell she's trying to say something, but the winds to loud. A faint whisper reaches my ears, only one word, “Hiyori”.
She reaches a hand out towards us, and I watch in amazement as a sword seems to grow from the air around us, held in her hand as she accelerates to be closer to us. She sweeps the sword back and it swings back in an arc, guided by her in an attack at my head. I scream and try to curl myself into a ball, but can't move in all the wind that pushes my body apart. The sword slashes across my throat, warm blood spewing from the gash, spattering her black garments as she grins at me triumphantly as I try to breath through the blood filling my lungs...

Fly Far, Fly Fast

...and I wake up gasping for air in the middle of a busy road. A truck slams on it's brakes, the driver swerving in an effort to avoid me. A form suddenly scoops me up and moves me to the side of the street with lightning speed, or at least faster than the truck could stop. Brown eyes wrinkle as Jesse smiles down at me, “You've got to be ready to move the moment you stop falling.”
He lets me sit up, and a hand flies to my throat. It comes away with no blood, even though I can still feel the coppery taste in my mouth. I blink rapidly. Jesse kneels on the pavement beside me, tilting my chin so that I'm looking at him, “Hey, you okay?”
In response, I turn my head to the side and puke. Jesse leans back a little, with a smile, “Well, at least you're normal. If you had gone through a Slide unaffected, I would have been worried.” He helps me to my feet, and I realize that people are staring. “Don't mind them,” Jesse says, “You almost died, I can't see them holding this against you.” He loops my arm over his shoulder. I'm grateful for the help, my legs feel like jelly, more from the near death experience than anything else.
“What happened?” I manage to choke out.
“We just Slid. We're now in a...” he hesitates, looking around, “To be honest, I have no idea. My money's on a Five, but this could be a Seven just as easily. Only one way to find out. Pardonnez-moi,” he begins, addressing a woman close by, “Ou est-que nous?”
“What the heck? Do I look like I speak French, man?” the woman angrily demands, before barging off.
“Well, I guess we're in a Seven. That's weird. We don't normally bounce back here so soon, we were barely in Six for a day. Wonder what year it is?”
Just then some sort of flying saucer zooms by overhead, high above the pedestrians. Jesse smiles as if seeing an old familiar friend. “Speak of the devil. It's a Chaser '95. I thought those were pieces of junk. Must be 1996 or something, judging by the way that it still looks new and yet no one's giving it odd stares. Except for you, anyways.” He grins at me, making the comment non-offensive. “It can't be '96 if there's freaking flying saucers going around.”
“It's a Chaser '95, not a flying saucer from outer space,” Jesse corrects me, “And it's totally legit for it to be around. It's the first public model of such technology. Before the automobile makers got ahold of the plans, it was going to be a first rate fighter jet, until the engineers realized that it wouldn't be suitable for the conditions they were going to send it in for. Plus the war finally ended before the first one could be tested. So these Chasers are used by big tycoons so far. Limo sales went way down, I can tell you that much.”
I withdraw my arm from around his neck. I still feel a little dizzy, but strong enough to stand on my own. “So... we're in one of my dimensions, but not in my time-line?”
Jesse winces at my choice of words, “Yeah, I guess you could say that. But don't say that around the others, or Amaar in particular will be all over you about how it's not your time-line. Your time-line is whatever and whenever you are, blah blah blah. Anyways, you should probably sit down. I'll go grab the stuff you left in the street.” He helps me sit down on a bench before ducking back into traffic.
I shiver and wrap my arms around me. Then it hits me- where's my backpack? That thing's supposed to come with me, right? An instant later, Jesse is beside me, wearing a long black over coat. He takes one look at me before he digs into the pack he's holding.
He pulls out a black jacket, made of some sort of leather, “Here, you look like you're going into shock.” He hands it to me, and I waste no time in shrugging into it. Jesse shoves a bundle of clothes into the backpack, “You aren't a neat freak, are you?” I shake my head. “Good.” He hands me the bag, “Try to hold onto this thing, you've got a computer in there that's top of the line in any dimension. I don't think it's even been made here yet.”
My backpack looks exactly like the one he's got on. “Thanks.” I drop the bag beside me, still not ready to get up. My fingers start playing with the zipper on my bomber jacket, and the texture makes me take a closer look. One first glance, the jacket looks like it's made of leather, but I can see the threads.
Jesse's eyes follow my gaze, “Oh, it's bulletproof. Made of some sort of super Kevlar polymer.”
“Is yours bulletproof too?”
He grins, “Yep, and they found a style I like a lot.” He does a twirl for me. I laugh and applaud him. My breath is moist in the air, leaving a little fog that soon disappears. I shiver and blow some air on my cold hands.
Jesse holds out a pair of gloves and a hat, and I pull them on, gratefully. The gloves and hat are made of the same fabric as the jacket. “Let me guess, these are bulletproof too?”
“Yep. If there's anything good to say about the Black, they take care of their Sliders.”
“You look weird in an overcoat, like you're headed to church or something.”
“Actually, this coat is part of my disguise. When you're not looking, I book it to Tokyo and pretend that I'm the Black Reaper. But my mask smashed recently, so that's kind of out.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Dang,” he sighs, a little deflated at my reaction, “I was so sure that you were into anime.”
“I am, but I just have no clue what you're referencing.”
“Any true fan of the genre would. Oh well, the plots kind of depressing anyways. I watched it during one of my 'funks' as Chase calls them. Speaking of which, we should probably go find the lot of them.” He helps me up and gives me a once over. I tuck some loose hair sticking out from underneath my hat back in place at the nape of my neck. Jesse grins, “You look like you're about to rob a bank or something, with that toque and everything.”
“What's a toque?” I ask, slinging my bag up and onto my shoulders as we start walking down the street.
“This,” he replies, yanking my hat off and dangling it in front of my face. His eyes dart to my hair, “Yikes.” he hands the toque back, “You better keep that on for now. You have a really bad case of helmet hair.”
“But this isn't a helmet,” I retort, shoving the hat back on to hide the messes up hair style.
“It's more bulletproof than the stuff they used during World War Two, so I consider it to be qualified enough to be classified as a helmet. On a different note, what kind of anime are you into, if you've never heard of the Black Reaper, a.k.a. BK-201?” A sudden thought hits him, “Please tell me that you're not into stuff like Sailor Moon, are you? Some shojo I can live with, but not that one.”
“Are you kidding? Do I look like I'm five?” I demand, feeling embarrassed.
“Okay, just checking. It's good that you haven't, otherwise I would start to think that you're a little too fruity for this kind of work.”
“I can't stand animes that can't keep an accent straight for the life of them, changing nationalities with every single word.” I growl defensively.
Jesse breaks out into a grin, “Actually, it's every other syllable. I can't stand that kid either. What's her name? Madison?”
“Molly,” I correct him automatically.
Suddenly, I freeze as it hits me. Jesse bursts out laughing. “Got you good there, didn't I, Brandee?” he teases before singing out, “Brandee likes Sailor Moon, Brandee likes Sailor Moon, Brandee has a crush on tuxedo mask.”
I slug him in the arm, “Ow, hey! That hurt.” He massages the spot, grinning to show that the punch didn't affect him at all. I shoot him the nastiest glare I can, trying not to laugh with him.
“For your information, I watched that one with my sister Will during spring break. We had an anime marathon, and she go to choose the subject matter.”
“We should have our own anime marathon, maybe some of the others in on it. It'd be great,” he suggests. I try to picture Dutch or Amaar or even Ky plopping down on a couch beside us and watching some cartoony show with a crummy plot.
“Yeah, I have a hard time picturing that,” I point out.
Jesse laughs, “Well, a marathon can still be a marathon with only two people. We could alternate between dark and funny.”
“Yeah, sure, maybe.” How could he be talking about this stuff as if everything was normal? We just got attacked by that chic, and she had killed me... “When we slid, did you see anything weird?”
Jesse snorts, “No, you just slide. One moment you're here, the next moment, after a sudden bout of cramps, you end up somewhere completely different. It's normal. Why, did you see anything?” His interest is piqued.
I shrug it off, “No, just wondering.” He hadn't seen anything. Not the forms, not the girl, not the attack, not my death. So that meant that the vision was for me alone, right? But what did it mean? The first time I had seen her, she had seemed excited, pleased to met me, even. Trying to get to me. Was she trying to kill me then too? Why? What did I do? What possible threat could I pose to her? “Do you ever get weird dreams when you Slide?”
Jesse's eyebrows crease, already telling me what I need to know before he opens his mouth, “No. The Slide is an instantaneous thing. You're here at point A and then wham, you're at point B. The only thing that gives away the fact that you just slid was that right before, you get a small sharp pain in your gut, and then afterward you're slightly disoriented. That and the fact that you're suddenly surrounded by a different location and vibe, and the pressure looks different. That's normally a dead giveaway.”
“So there's no in-between stage?”
“Not that I'm aware of.” He glances at my face, “Why?”
“No reason, just curious is all.”
He laughs, “You're a really bad liar. But I won't press you. I'm sure that you'll tell me sooner or later.”
“How do you do it?”
“Hmm?”
“We met just a few days ago, and you're already acting like we've been in the same gang for years, like we've known each other our entire lives.”
“Yeah, Chase claims that I have reverse trust issues- I trust people as soon as I get to know them a little. But that's not true. I trust my team, and you're a part of it now, so I should trust you as much as I trust any one of the others. If you can't trust your team during down-time, then why bother even going on missions with them?”
“Some of that Dimension 2 wisdom?”
“Yeah. You can only leave the city in teams, and it's pretty dangerous outside of our bubbles. That's why it's so important to trust the team you're with. You eat, sleep, and live with each other from a very young age. Learn each others' strengths and weaknesses so that you become stronger as a whole. Your dimension has it all wrong. A team isn't as strong as it's weakest link. A team is as strong as its ability to compensate for the weakest links.”
The rest of the walk is made in silence. A good ten minutes later, we reach some sort of high end restaurant, that spans five levels. Jesse leads me right past it, and guides me across the road to another park bench. “It's nothing personal,” he apologizes, “It's just that I can't find out what identity to use if we're ever gonna find them in there. There's several layers of security, and different stamps on your credentials gain you access to certain levels. I just need to get away from you so that I know what we should use.”
“Make me feel like a spare, why don't you?”
“Hey, it's nothing personal, I said. It's just that your Pressure's somehow growing, so I need to get a little distance before I can even hope of linking up with them in there.” With that, he crosses the street, pulls something from his pocket, sticks it in his mouth, and lights it with a lighter. His eyes close and he dips his head as he lights it, and lingers a little bit longer than necessary. He lifts his head, takes a few puffs, before spitting the cigarette out and stamping it under his foot. He then crosses the street and plops down beside me, “The dumb-asses are gold carding it. I'm not complaining, but we might look a little too young for that lounge. Pull out your bag of I.D., and I'll show you which one it is. Aha, got it.” He pulls out a small booklet from his bag that looks exactly like an ID card, but is a gold colour rather than the white that's generally accepted. I look in my bag, and find the only gold coloured card and pull it out. Slightly curious, I flip it over and am blinded by a quick flash of light. I blink twice to let my eyes readjust, and choke back my surprise at seeing the picture reflecting exactly what I'm wearing.
Jesse leans over, “That's awesome. Yours actually works. Mine always gives me the wrong hair colour, so I always have to come up with some lame excuse about how I dyed it recently and wasn't able to have it updated quite yet.” I shove the rest of the papers back into the red bag, which goes back in the bottom of my backpack. “What happens if someone searches my bag?”
Jesse laughs, “Then you're screwed. Normally, we just run faster than the cops can. In the US though, I can't see us going through any sort of random inspection like they have in my dimension. Now there's a tyrannical government for you. Not allowed leaving the city without special permits and transports, and have to have booked in advance a squad of Drifters if you're nobility, or just plain old Divers if you're not. Even if you yourself are a Diver or Drifter. The only ones allowed to leave without an escort is the escort itself. They need to return to their own city sometime within the next century after all.”
We cross the street together and present our gold cards to the large beefy but well dressed man standing at the base of the steps. He studies first the card, and then us. “You're awfully young to have such access,” he starts slowly. Suspicion oozes from every word he utters, and I shrink back a little bit mentally.
Jesse, however, is as cool as a frozen cucumber, “Yah, well, our dad's one of a kind. He insists that we share some quality family time, since I'm almost due to take over the business, but he's still bursting his breeches from meeting to meeting, getting everything settled for my takeover come December, so the only chance we get is between his meetings. We've got an hour before his next appointment shows up for a brunch, so we're eating now instead of later without him. He's quite skilled with all the meetings now, what with that belly he's putting on. Some of his close friends might have come with him today, I have no idea.” I finally realize that he's talking about Dutch and the possibility that other members of the gang might of also come in at the same time.
The man sighs, “You two just don't look like you should have gold cards.”
“What's it to you? You probably don't even have clearance to get past these steps, commoner.” Jesse snaps back in retort, suddenly adopting the air of a spoiled rich kid.
The man's face turns red, “Sir, you two have different last names.”
Jesse slings an arm around me, pulling me close, “She's my fiance. We've been engaged since I was five and she was born, if it's any business of yours, which I sincerely doubt.” I try not to show my surprise.
The man sighs, hands us back our cards, and presses a button on a stand made especially for it. We hear a faint click from the doors, and Jesse guides me up the steps, his arm still around my shoulders. Once we're inside, he immediately releases me and takes a quick two steps to get some distance, “Sorry but otherwise he was going to find ways to keep us there for hours.
We ride the elevator to the fifth floor. The doors slide open and the sight that greets my eyes is more ritzy than any picture I've ever seen. In one blocked off area, there's clouds of smoke, with doors leading to balconies all along the wall overlooking the street we just came off of. There's also a special small one beside the elevator that overlooks a small garden out back, complete with a few cherry trees in blossom. The paneling is solid wood, with gold trim. The tables vary in size and accommodation, but each and every one offers one thing: privacy. Jesse scans the crowd quickly before grabbing my hand and placing it on his arm. “If you would be so kind as to follow me, m'lady,” he requests courteously.
I shoot him a strange look but don't say anything. The guard downstairs was right. Me and Jesse really do stand out here among the men in their finely tailored suits and the women in their cocktail dresses and skirt suits for the more professional. Even the waiters look crisp in their black clothes and crisp white aprons that cover their chest and thighs. All carry a white towel with a red letter embroidered on them. Jesse steers us towards the small balcony, and I notice a stand that says 'Private Affair'. Jesse breezes past the sign, giving a brief nod to the waiter just leaving the balcony.
It seems we aren't the last to arrive. Only Chase and Dutch are here, seated at the large table big enough to host ten. Probably used more often for business meetings that contain members who don't slip out of this dimension for the occasional smoke. Chase glances up as we sit down. “So much for peace and quiet,” he murmurs, “Didn't you guys see the sign outside? Private Affair, so get out of here, you scoundrels.”
“Nice digs,” Jesse notes, leaning over the railing to get a better look at the garden, “Didn't think we could afford this kind of treatment. What next? A stay at the Royal Albert Hall?”
“That could be arranged, if you like,” Chase replies smoothly, “The Black's paying. Seems they keep an open tab here, and Dutch's name is on the list of whom that tab covers.”
Jesse snorts, “Yeah, this was real nice of them. Almost like saying, 'Oops, sorry, you guys weren't supposed to go to that trash heap called Cursed territory, so we thought we'd make it up to you by giving you a cushy spot to put your feet up before buying something in a pawn shop to sell in another dimension'.”
“Speaking of cushy living, we've got a mansion. No we're not renting it,” Chase replied to Jesse's raised eyebrow, “It's owned by the Black, specifically for when we're in town.”
“Just for us?” I ask, “I mean, we're only here once, right? We never go to the same dimension twice, you said.”
“Oh, did you think we were the only team?” Chase asks, surprised, “Actually, there's other teams too. We never really run into them, since there's literally an infinite amount of places they could be. We ran into one group once. Funny thing, they were all midgets, or dwarfs, if you want to be politically correct, unlike me. It was so weird. Like, they were specifically selected because they were short.”
“Wow, you're not at all judgmental,” Jesse mutters.
“I'm not,” Chase defends himself, widening his blue eyes to emphasize his innocence, “It's not my fault that the Black selects candidates who may join up with specific teams. Besides, according to you, there's someone actually pulling the strings. Maybe that team was just that supposed person's twisted sense of humour come to light.”
“Including the part where that team actually started shooting at us on sight? It's not fun to find out that they might be more efficient with their use of the Link, maybe even capable of cracking into ours.”
“Granted, things got hairy, but what can you do? After all, I'm pretty sure it was you who started the whole mess by trying to steal the sapphire diamond they had just snagged. The rest of us had to come to save your butt.”
“You're memory's failing you, old man. It was you who tried to con them into giving you their intel on practically everything you knew.”
“Actually,” Dutch speaks up, giving us all a start, “You guys both did it. Jesse cornered one of them at the exact same time as Chase played his little mind games with another.” He winks at me, tapping his head, “Memory of an elephant. Whatever I see, I remember for life. It's great to have.”
“Memory isn't the only gift you got from the elephants,” Chase jokes, prodding Dutch in the gut.
“You wanna go?” Dutch asks, sitting up straight and reaching for his giant bottle that stands out against the neatly arranged table.
“Not until the others get here.”
“I'm sorry, did the two of you make other plans? I assumed that we would stay as a group for this one.” It takes me a moment to recognize the crisp, British voice as Skip's.
Chase is the only one who doesn't look up as Skip, Ky, and Amaar sit down. Continuing to stare at Dutch, Chase replies snarkily, “Says the guy who wants Dutch and Amaar to go grocery shopping as soon as we get to the mansion. And is also planning to take off as well... Aw, come on, don't block me out now!”
Jesse leans towards me, “Chase is a little sneaky, he can get in your head if you're close by.”
“Not in yours,” Chase says to me, “Anyone else, no problem. But you are like a black hole, from which there is no escaping. Every time I tried, it felt like I was in quicksand, getting sucked in. It felt like if I didn't try to escape, I would be trapped in your head forever. I tried to read your mind before I introduced myself, because for all I knew, Jesse was just talking to some random girl he had found.”
“Yeah, because I do that all the time,” Jesse snorts.
Chase shrugs, “Always a first time, my friend,always a first time. Anyways, do we eat in or just leave?”
“I'm game for a meal, especially if the Black is paying,” Ky grins, “Do you think they'll have food that isn't nearly as burned as it is everywhere else?”
“That's the beauty of the rich, Ky,” Jesse replies, “They pay the big bucks to have their food almost as fresh as if you had shot it down an hour ago.”
Ky reaches down beside her, “Really, do you think they might need some help getting some fresh game? We haven't been anywhere near the country for ages.”
“Actually,” Chase interjects, “From what I can tell, the mansion we've got is out in the country, with a solid 48 acres of forest full of game.”
“What's the catch?”
“No idea. But if you're going in, at least tell someone. And use the Link to make sure none of us are anywhere near you.”
“Aw, but that takes all the fun out it.”
“Too bad,” everybody choruses.
It seems like they get onto this sort of subject a lot. Looking around the table, I can't help but feel a little left out. Even though Jesse claims that he's only been sliding for a little while, everybody's already gotten used to him.
“It's not like we can't just give them a transfusion of Amaar's blood or something,” Ky protests.
“Yeah, that takes care of shots to the head quite well, don't you agree?” Chase snarls.
“Do we have to talk about this now?” Jesse complains, “I'm starved. Or does everybody forget where we just spent the last five days?”
With murmurs of ascent, Skip signals a nearby waiter to take our orders.

An hour later, with the last plate cleared away, Jesse shoots Chase a sour look when Chase announces how we would be getting to the mansion. “No. Not happening.”
“Come on, Jesse, it's not like it's a flying death trap or anything.”
“Come on Chase,” He mimics his voice perfectly, “It's only a Chaser '95.” He changes his voice back to normal, “Need I even remind you of what happened last time? The thing exploded, while we were inside!” He looks around the table, exasperated. No one shows any sympathy, and his eyes zero in on me, “Come on, Brandee, help me out here, you said you were a computer whiz. Do you think that thing is actually safe?”
I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, “I dunno. It looks pretty cool though. I don't mind.”
“Seriously?”
Amaar laughs out loud all of a sudden. Jesse's head whips around to face him, “What's so funny?” he demands, suspiciously.
Amaar shrugs, “Just remembering how it was you that suggested we take that bucket of bolts in the first place last time. I told you the thing was leaking fumes all over the place, but did you listen? It's your own fault for choosing the death trap of the entire lot.”
“Besides,” Chase interjects, “We're on the fifth floor, on the private balcony. Do you really think they're going to make us ride in some piece of junk they pulled out of the scrapyard?”
“Yes.”
“Overruled. Let's go.” Skip's voice leaves no room for argument. We all get up and make our way to the stairwell located beside the elevator, Skip leading the way. Me and Jesse bring up the rear.
“Thanks for all your support,” Jesse mutters.
“Hey, it's not my fault. I want to see what it's like. You guys have all taken a hovercraft before, right? Well I haven't yet.”
“Really? What year were you from again?”
“Two thousand twelve.”
“Wow, we pulled you out in the nick of time then, right? I mean, what with that Mayan calender thing coming up and all.”
“I don't believe in that stuff.”
“What do you believe in?”
“Doesn't matter. The world's not going to end during my lifetime, let the next sucker deal with it.”
“Wow, do my ears deceive me or do I hear the motto of a cult that will be up and running in a few years?” Chase asks, getting involved in the discussion.
“Huh?”
“Actually,” Jesse grins, “It already exists in the here and now, or at least in some time-line it does. Maybe not in those words, per say, but still, that ideology probably is used somewhere, explaining away anything they might not really care for. Chase, didn't you once end up pretending to be a priest one time?”
Chase snorts, “Yeah, Catholic, not the crap you're spouting.”
“Why were you a priest?” I ask.
Jesse grins, “We got caught in the biggest pile of a mess you could imagine. Picture this, Skip in the hospital, Ky AWOL when she hears that Amaar's in a fanatically anti- Muslim jail, Dutch drunk as a skunk, and me about to be set up in the electric chair. Chase is the only one on the loose, the only one operating in the dark. They strap me into the chair, and call for the person to give me my last rites. Who steps into the door? Not the old man who had taken my last confession yesterday, but Chase, in all his glory, looking like he had graduated from seminary ten years ago and was living it up as a poor priest from a small town nearby. He waddles in, pats my hands, and then suddenly collapses and starts having a seizure.
“Now, you've got to know, that these guys are fanatical with Catholicism. To see one of their priests like this caused all sorts of a ruckus. They were about to kill me on the spot when Chase suddenly sits up, eyes rolled into the back of his head. He stares unseeingly, finding the head guy's face, and says...”
“'Thus says the Lord Almighty. Ye who have not sinned may be the first to pull the lever. Do not lie before the Lord your God, who brought you out of bondage'.” Chase finishes as we reach the top landing. Everybody zips their jackets tight, so me and Jesse follow suit. Skip gives us all a quick glance before yanking the heavy door open.
Gusts of wind howl into the landing, and the seven of us brusquely step outside and make our way to the centre of the roof, where a huge hovercraft remains at rest, with a ramp leading to a large hatch. When it flew above us earlier, it looked a lot sleeker, cooler. Now it just looks like a pile of spare parts someone found lying around and had the brilliant idea of making a flying machine out of it all. As we walk up the ramp, a sudden hiss of steam releases in Jesse's face. Growling, he shoves a hand to protect his face, while taking a quicker step. I get a little bit in my face too, and the steam makes my eyes water. The air is heavy with the stench of diesel and spent fuel, you can almost see the fumes coming out of several ports along the hull. In several places, the steel is darker than the rest of the light gray, no pattern and no name.
“Are we sure this thing can fly?” I ask Chase, walking ahead of us.
Chase shrugs, “See for yourself. We were just dining at a four star restaurant, you know.”
“It''ll fly,” Jesse mutters, “But it's not going to be so much of a picnic lunch as a hold-onto-your-seats-for-dear-life-if-you-want-to-live idea.”
Chase casts a baleful eye at him, “Are you never a pessimist, or is this attitude of yours ingrained so deeply that you can't give us a little flicker of faith?”
“It won't fly,” Amaar states from behind us.

Granted, We Almost Die

Three hours later sees us still stuck on the roof, Amaar helping the mechanics get the Chaser in the air. Even thought the outside looks like junk, and the anti-gravitational force propulsion system, or just an engine if you want to get it overly simplified, isn't working, the place is still pretty cool. Jesse's already taught me the rules of Kagay No Ha, and we've already killed the last hour with pretend battles. Since I actually prefer violent video games- way better graphics and plots- I can actually hold my own. Until we reached the underwater battles that Jesse somehow lead us to. Dimension two, where he's from, is completely covered with water, and everybody lives beneath the surface in giant bubbles. I asked him if he ever ran into any Gungans, but he didn't get it. Anyways, as the son of one of the higher up nobility, Jesse's been trained from a young age to protect the city from giant sea monsters and invading armies.
“You're on the front lines of a group of Drifters. You are the leader, and they don't exactly respect you since you just transferred from an allied city. This is your first real crisis as their leader.”
“Way to put the pressure on,” I growl, “What are Drifters again?”
“The Navy SEALS of your dimension,” Chase calls from a couch on the opposite side of the rec room slash common area.
“Oh, okay.”
“Anyways, it's your first crisis mission. A Ribaiasan has entered the defensive perimeter, and is making it's way towards one of the four cables that keep your city from floating away. Failure is not an option.”
“What the hack is a Ribaiasan?”
“A giant monster that enjoys eating little people for snacks before eating others of its own kind.”
“Have we spotted it yet?”
“No visual confirmation, but it is most certainly headed towards you, according to radar.”
“I wait until it shows up, and shoot it with a harpoon.”
“You just shot the King's beloved mount, Yumichika. Don't be so reckless.”
“Fortunately, the harpoon bounces off of Yumichika's extremely thick hide,” I retort quickly.
“Nice save,” Jesse grins, “But the harpoon bounces off and stabs one of the King's buddies.”
“I decide to apologize later at his funeral and then tell the king that he shouldn't be out during a crisis as dire as the one I'm in in the first place.”
“The Ribaiasan has just appeared, at you six o' clock.”
“I send my squad ahead of me, since I've noticed the mutinous glares they've been shooting my way.”
“They rebel and turn their weapons on you.”
“Then I blast them all with my telekinesis.”
“You're telekinetic?” Ky sits up from where she was lounging on the floor, doing some sort of puzzle, “That's so cool.”
“I was kidding. I don't actually.”
“Cheater.” Jesse chides, “Okay, say that you had a random burst of telekinesis. The rest of the Drifter squad is dead. The Ribaiasan is coming closer. All you have left is you little spear gun. You already shot your harpoon, killing one of the King's buddies. The Ribaiasan smells the blood, notices you, and charges.”
“I use my ability to manipulate the elements to turn the water around him to ice.”
“And freeze yourself in the process.” Jesse laughs as he snaps the trap shut.
“How do you figure? I can keep the water warm around me.”
“Actually, that's impossible. You can't control both ends of the spectrum at exactly the same time.”
“Yeah? As if you would know.” I scoff.
“Actually, I would know, seeing as how that's my ability.”
It takes me a moment to understand what he just said, “Bull shit. That super power stuff is just make believe.”
“Legit,” Jesse protests, “I'll show you.” Chase hands him a glass of water. Jesse sticks a finger in and touches the surface of the water. The water slowly solidifies, top to bottom. I watch, stunned as he reverses the process and it begins to sizzle and steam rises.
A grease-covered Amaar walks in, rubbing his hands on a rag. “What'd I miss?”
Chase looks up, “Oh, Jesse just spilled the beans about how he has a peculiar talent when it comes to the temperature around him.'
The water evaporates. Jesse grins at my expression, “That's my Kiko Hendo, climate change if you don't speak Japanese. It's my special power. I'm not exactly the best at it yet, but it's getting there.”
“By leaps and bounds,” Ky mutters sarcastically.
“Oh, I'm sorry, little miss Chimamire no Butsu. Guess not all of us already know how to use ours the moment we get them.”
“Hey, at least mine isn't some lame-ass excuse of an ability like climate change. Mine even sounds cool.”
“Bloodied boots does not sound cool!”
Chase motions me over, and I leave the two to their bickering. Amaar also joins us, but perches on the edge of his seat to try to not get the white couch too dirty. “Those two will go at it for the rest of the flight, if we ever manage to get this bird in the air,” Chase shrugs, looking expectantly at Amaar
He grins, “My Seitoshi is working wonders.”
“So we're leaving soon?”
“No. Let it take some time. My power's normally used for making bombs or just making things spontaneously combust.”
“Seitoshi?” I ask.
Amaar's grin widens, “Short for Seitoshi no Enjinia, engineer of life and death.”
“How come this is the first I'm hearing about all of this?”
“Well, would you rather us say upon meeting you, “Hello, you just traveled to an alternate time-line. You now have an ability in the incubation state, that will slowly start to manifest itself over the next few months, don't worry, it's all under control, even though we have no idea how a young person like you ended up here, but hey, now that you're here, time to teach you all sorts of stuff, like how to talk the lay of the land, and yadayadayada.” Chase replies snarkily.
“Sorry,” I say, “Didn't know that it was a sore spot.” I turn to Amaar, “Engineer of Life and Death, huh?”
“Yeah, my ability enables me to telekinetic-ally move anything mechanically related, tools or gears or entire machines, but that takes a huge amount of energy to do, so I try to avoid that whenever possible. So no, Chase, I will not move the Chaser for you, so that we can make it to the mansion sooner.”
“What's the point of being able to move stuff with your mind if you can't get this bird off the ground?”
The hovercraft sudden comes alive beneath our feet, a low humming vibrating in the air and causing the ground beneath us to shake. I stare out the window as the city buildings drop away while we rise in the air. “Finally,” Chase mutters, shooting Amaar a look, who simply shrugs it off. The hover craft shivers, tilting slightly before straightening out. I glance over to where Jesse and Ky are still arguing, Jesse's face unusually pale as he glares at Ky while keeping a white-knuckled grip on the couch he's sitting on.
“What about you, Chase? What's your ability?”
“Gizo, forgery. But it's a lot cooler than it sounds. Not only does it make my forgeries exceptionally high quality, but I don't even need to have the right paper in order to make it work. What I do is I get in people's minds and mess with the stuff they see before the synapses reach the part of the brain that translates those synapses into recognizable images. I can also use their minds to figure out what they're expecting to see, and use that knowledge to create the image.”
“Wow, that actually sounds really hard to do.”
“Meh, it used to be, but when you've been sliding around as long as I have, you get the hang of it and move on. I could be arguing with Dutch about something while I forge my way through security. Too bad it doesn't work on telling the metal detectors that I don't have gun, so I always end up getting strange looks when instead of keys and change, I put a single coin from a lost civilization, known to some as Tibet. That's my Kinetic.”
“Kinetic?”
“Yeah, the little doo-hickey thing I use to amplify my powers. Everybody's got one, and it has some sort of connection with what you can do. Amaar, yours is a gear or something, right?”
He grins, “Yeah, nice little metal one. Perfect fit for my hand. People don't know what hit them.” Seeing my expression, he digs in his pocket and pulls out a simple gear that could have come from anywhere. Silently, it floats a couple inches above his hand, slowly rotating. “See? It's my Kinetic, the little tool I use to amplify my abilities.”
“Say, didn't you have some sort of little object?” Chase asks, turning to me, “I hope you didn't lose it, or leave it behind, that would suck.”
My eyes fly open as I remember the rock in my pocket, the one I was about to throw away that first day but decided at the last moment to keep it. I dig into my pockets and pull it out. It's still smooth, and has those weird Japanese characters engraved and filled with gold, but the rock itself is now a solid light gray colour. Chase holds a hand out, and I drop it in his palm.
He turns it over in his hand, studying the characters, “Any idea what they mean?”
“No.”
“Strength, Endurance, Spirit,” Jesse reads from over my shoulder. His voice cause me to jump, “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.” He grins, “You guys just sounded so serious talking about whatever it was, that I just had to investigate.”
“Of course you did, Sticky.”
Jesse's eyes widen innocently as he stares at Ky who's still lying down on the floor with her puzzle, “Whatever have I done to give you the impression that I would actually snoop? I'm not some sort of spy, you know, I have honour.”
“Yeah, honour of thieves,” Chase snidely replies.
“Okay, to be fair, that skill was encouraged by my father, as long as I returned the stuff after it was noticed that it had gone missing. I still haven't given that lady back her necklace. She's convinced she lost it.”
“What I don't get is how you guys could possibly be okay with this.” Amaar mused.
“With what? It's not like we're killing anyone.”
“Wait, what was it that your brother Hai did as a skill again?” Chase asked, an innocent expression masking some ulterior motive.
Both Jesse's and Amaar's faces turned beet red. “That's really neither here nor there, Chase,” Amaar began.
“Besides, odds are we won't run into him,” Jesse finished, “Doesn't really matter, then does it?”
“Why, what does your brother do?” I ask, confused by the turn of the conversation.
"Like I said, doesn't matter. We aren't gonna run into him or anything, so forget it."
Chase just shrugs it off, and starts talking about different ways to tell a convincing lie. Jesse slouches away, joining Skip and Dutch in the pilot “shell” as they call it. Basically, it's cockpit made entirely of glass walls and floor, with the controls projected as interactive holograms. Talk about science-fiction cliche. Amaar's already promised me a tour of the entire craft, if we can find a “half-decent” one, at which Jesse had snorted sarcastically.
The Chaser shudders as it plops on the manicured lawn, nearly clipping a nearby fountain thanks to Dutch's skills behind the hologram. The place is huge, with large green lawns spreading out, decorated with neatly trimmed hedges of varying shapes, statues, and fountains, nearly perfectly symmetrical. Ky grinned at the forest she could see in the distance, and started to walk towards it. The only thing that stopped her was Skip's barked order “Team meeting”. Her shoulders stooped and she shot him a murderous glare, “Didn't think we could have had that on the craft?” but she fell in step with the rest of us as we made out way up to the mansion.
Upon entering, Jesse let out a slow whistle, “It ain't exactly a Five Star Drifter headquarters, but it ain't too shabby.” Dutch saved Chase the trouble by clipping Jesse across the back of the head. “Ow!”
“Try to not spit on the Palace of Versailles on your way out,” Chase hissed, “Some of us don't mind the idea of living in a place above ground. I'm sure there's a basement if you're really that desperate to try to maintain some sanity. Otherwise, it's your turn to cook.”
Yyeah, right, it's Tuesday, you deusch. Amaar's on kitchen duty.”
“Dibs on the queen's room,” declares Ky, still sounding a little miffed.
“Negative,” Skip squashes her hopes, “Take a room close to the kitchen. This place is ridiculously huge. And our mission's not going to take that long. I'd rather not waste more time tracking you down than doing actual work.”
“What kind of mission sets us up in this sort of place?” Jesse complains.
Skip produces a file from his backpack after taking a seat on one of the vintage couches. Ky collapses beside him, but doesn't crane her neck to try to read over his shoulder. Skip flips the file open, “Looks like some paintings in an art gallery.”
“Lame,” Jesse complained before walking away, “I'm gonna go make supper. You probably won't need me on this one anyways.”
Skip glances up to watch him go. He shoots Chase a look, “What exactly did you do?”
Chase's eyes widen as he assumes a look of innocence, “Me? Why is it that every time Jesse's moody, you find a way to pin it on me? How do you know it wasn't that one?” he demanded, jerking a thumb into Dutch's gut.
“Perhaps because he was with me?” Skip suggested, “And you're always in the thick of things, especially when it stinks of trouble.”
“He brought up the older brother fiasco again,” Ky sighs, leaning her head back so that it touched the top of the couch, “And he didn't drop it when Jesse asked him to.”
“That and the fact that the kid's already been moody for at least a week now,” Chase quipped, “If he weren't a guy, I would be inclined to suggest that it might be that time- Ow!” Ky smacked him, effectively cutting him off.
“It's probably just to make up for the monsoon season he's missing out on. Although, if he keeps on wishing for it, New York might actually get to experience one, for the first and only time in its history. It would be interesting to see if we ever come across a dimension that breaks off of this one, especially if he does create a monsoon. It would also help in confirming whether or not we leave behind a ripple effect. Amaar, make sure that if he does you remember the date. Then we could research it every time we come across a Seven.”
“No idea what you guys are talking about, but the only food we've got is spaghetti.” Jesse's voice calls out, “So y'all better be ready to chow down on the real Italian cuisine prepared by yours truly. Someone's gonna need to be the grocer tomorrow and pick up some goods, because if we still don't have anything after breakfast, it's going to be some mouldy food in the back of the nearly empty pantry. And no, Ky, Italian cuisine does not include me making you a pizza. Go climb a tree.” A door slams shut.
Chase bursts out laughing, “Really got all his ducks in a row, that one, doesn't he?”
“Just be happy one of us knows how to cook,” Amaar pointed out, “Otherwise, we'd have to order take out all the time.”
“That would be disastrous. Who'd be on cleaning duty then?” Ky drolls.
“Have you all forgotten?” Dutch slurs, “I can cook too, you know.”
“Yeah, no, sorry Dutch, but you will never be assigned kitchen duty if I have anything to say about it.” Jesse's voice hollers out form the kitchen.
“How can he hear what we're saying?” I ask.
The conversation suddenly takes a sharp turn, and everybody starts talking in a different language, casting short glances my way from time to time. “Yo, guys, I'm still here,” I say, but they just ignore me and my question.
Giving up, I wander back in the general direction that Jesse took. It doesn't take me long to smell the soft aromas of pasta cooking and tomato sauce permeating the air. I follow the scent to the kitchen, where Jesse is busy stirring a pot with a wooden spoon. He glances up and grins, “Hope you like spaghetti.”
“Never had it.”
His eyes bug out of his head, treating the news as if I had just told him the president was assassinated, “Seriously? That's too bad,” he shrugs. “First time for everything, right? You said that you hack computers, so you might get a piece of the action on this one. First plate of spaghetti, first heinous crime committed. Second slide, but hey, can't let you be experiencing everything for the first time at the same time. That would mean you were just born, and even then you wouldn't experience everything right away.” His face turns red, “Sorry, that just sort of came out. Jesse's weirdness shows its true colours once again on the ever changing landscape of life.”
“Can you be straight about something with me?”
His eyes meet mine, “What?”
I take a deep breathe to give me time to gather my thoughts. How to ask? I take the plunge, “Do we ever stop sliding permanently?”
His eyebrows shoot up, “For real?” There's a note of relief in his voice. “Man, I thought you were going to ask about... No, we don't stop. Never. We just keep on going on and on and on. The others think that eventually, we'll be able to, but I think that's just something to say so that you don't get all depressed right away. I mean, they claim that some day we will 'fill our quota' and then...” he breaks off, his eyes widening in horror.
“'Fill our quota'? What do you mean?”
He swallows nervously and turns back to the pot, taking a sample out and tasting it. “Food's almost ready,” he mutters in the quiet that fills the kitchen.
“What did you mean?” I repeat again, “Fill our quota. That makes it sound like we were recruited or something...” I break off as Jesse's body goes rigid. I hit a nerve. The pieces fall in place, “It doesn't just randomly start happening, does it? The sliding. Something starts it. What starts it?”
He takes a step back, “I don't know.”
“Bullshit. You flinched, you know something.”
“No I don't!” He snaps, slamming the spoon back in the pot. He turns away and braces himself on the counter. The silence descends, only to be broken a moment later, “None of us know what triggers that first slide. Why it happens at that moment, and why it never happened before, or why it didn't happen later on in a person's life.
“My appearance blew their previous theory out of the water. They used to think that the slides happen on their own, and people get sucked into it after they pass a specific age. Before me, the youngest in was in their later twenties when they first started, so the theory made sense. I started when I was nineteen. And now you're here, barely seventeen, sliding with the rest of us.”
“And what does filling...”
“Filling our quota is the latest theory. Ky and Amaar cooked it up. They think that maybe, we are selected because of something we all have in common, probably our huge pressures, excepting you, of course.”
“Of course.”
“They think that there's someone out there who's responsible for us sliding. That someone might actually be pulling the strings. If that's that case, then that someone or group of people has developed some sort of catalyst that sets us off on our time traveling escapades. Since Skip always has a file of what we have to steal...”
“I thought we stole anything we could get our hands on to sell elsewhere,” I butt in, “At least, that's what you and Ky told me before.”
He turns to face me, shoving some hair out of his face, “We lied, okay? That's what people do when trying to explain so many things at once. Baby steps.”
“So when were you guys going to share that little tidbit of information? Or were you just gonna keep it from me forever?”
“We were gonna tell you when you were ready. It's only been a week. You can't tell me that you've realized in that time that there's something screwy about the system as we explained it to you. Have you even thought about the linchpins in time?”
“Linchpins? What the hack are you talking about?”
His face goes slack for a second, his eyes blank, almost as if they were dead. He snaps out of it, “Forget it, it's just some ludicrous idea,” he mutters.
“Skip gets a file, and that's what we steal? Where does the file come from?” I demand.
Jesse shrugs as he crosses the kitchen to find plates, “No one knows. It's just there, like your jacket and toque and stuff were by you when you came to. You never questioned the appearance of that too closely. But that stuff just supports the idea that there's someone out there pulling the strings, providing us with the stuff we need to complete a job.”
“And you guys are all okay with that? Just, getting dragged away from the only life you've known to commit crimes for something you've never even seen?”
“No, we're not. But there's nothing we can do to stop it. It's not like we can march up to the trouble makers and provide an ultimatum.”
“Then what's the point of the 'filling quota' idea?”
“Just to give us a little bit of hope, okay? How fast do you think we'd all give up and kill ourselves if it became blatantly obvious that there's no way out but death? The idea is that we're only in for a certain amount of time, or until we steal a certain amount of objects or something. Then we get to go back to our time lines and stay there.”
“Yeah, because that'll work out real well. If they sucker us in, why would they bother with letting us out after a while?”
“Well, excuse us for dreaming. Not all of us just bum around with no purpose in life. Most of us actually had things to live for before we got sucked in. Don't bother trying to fit in, you already stand out with your lack of interest in reality,” he snaps, slamming the plates on the table, “Obviously, you're too wrapped up in your own little selfish world to really think about stuff that's beyond your little bubble with any actual interest.”
I stare at him, slack jawed. He glares right back, fire in his eyes as he dares me to speak, to argue with him. I turn and run, past the others, through the doors and outside, and keep on running, tears threatening to break my limited control over them. I keep on running, past statues and shrubs, tall trees carefully arranged, down one of the paths. I turn into a stretch of woods, my feet pounding the stone beneath me, sending shock wave after shock wave up my spine. I don't feel anything.
Soon, my breathing becomes ragged, and my legs start to ache from the sudden dash. I collapse on a bench positioned beside the path, heaving deep breaths as I try to calm down. Ragged sobs escape my lips, and the tears I struggled to hold back flow freely, tracing little damp trails on my cheeks. How long has it been since I last cried? I drop my head between my knees, gasping for air through the choking tears as my dark hair hangs raggedly about my face.
He's right. I've never really cared about anything or anyone. Sure, I was proud of my skill, but that was just because it was my accomplishment. I had faded into the walls of my room, avoiding Mom at all costs, all we ever got into was fights anyways. But had I ever really tried to connect with her? I can't remember a single time that me and Mom actually agreed on something after Dad left. I blamed her. She should have tried harder to keep us together. Dad had been my universe, and since he apparently loved Mom, do did I. She should have tried harder. I was angry at Dad too. He should have taken me with him, instead of leaving me behind. Jesse's right, I am selfish.
But he's wrong. There is one thing in the world that I would protect, one goal I have in life: to not let Willow cry. When she was born, Mom was still getting over her loss of Dad, and would lash out at random times, unaware of what she was doing. At the age of four, I tried to protect my new sister from the dangers of the world, and would never let Mom be alone with her if I could. I didn't want Mom to scare her away like she did for Dad.
In the middle of the night, when Willow started crying in her crib for the first time, I promised myself that I would protect her. She didn't need to lose everything like I had. That time when she was in fourth grade and I was in eighth, there was this kid in her class who picked on her. Will became really quiet at home, so I knew there was something going on. I snuck out of class once, saw what was happening, barged right in and kicked the kid's ass. I then threatened the entire class, “Pick on Will and you'll get a lot worse than that,” I said, pointing at the kid, “Consider that a warning.” Right then, the teacher walked in, and I got suspended for a few days. But Will perked up, so it was totally worth it.
Jesse's wrong. I do have a reason to get out of this mess, just like the rest of them. Because if I don't come home, Willow will fade away again but this time it will be ALL MY FAULT. I can't let that happen. I have to come home, for her sake. What's the point of becoming strong if you can't even protect the ones you really care about?
But filling some undefined amount of quota isn't going to cut it. Jesse said that some of them have been doing it for years. I need to get home now. I sit up and lean against the back of the bench, staring at the empty blue sky. I need to get home, for Will's sake. I can't just call it quits, or wait around because the others think that maybe if we behave we can go home eventually.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand as I stand up. I start walking back. I'm not looking forward to seeing Jesse again, but it's the only way I can possibly get home. I need to get stronger, need to find out everything they know. And he seems to be the most open person to talk to. I need to learn in order to fight back. If there is someone out there, I plan on finding them and forcing them to send me home. And if they say no, then I'll just have to make them do it somehow.
A twig snaps in the woods on my left. My head swivels to try to locate the source. Is Ky out? Pain flashes through my brain, and I sink to the ground as the black abyss that suddenly appears rushes up to greet me.

Hiyori

Wind tugs at my hair as it whispers past my ear. I'm lying on a smooth, cool surface, my face numb from the absence of any real heat. I smell nothing, and hear nothing but the wind. I open my eyes, but the black that greets me is the same black I saw with my eyes closed. I sit up, squinting into the darkness as I wait for my eyes to adjust. I blink again and again, but the darkness stays just as unreadable as when I first opened my eyes. I start to stand up.
Be still.

I whirl around, trying to pinpoint the source of the echoing voice that fills the world. It's vaguely familiar, like a small case of deja vu.
Stay calm. You are safe.

I know that voice. My eyes widen as I realize who it is. That woman who attacked me. My hand flies to my throat as I remember how the blood poured out from between my fingers as she pulled her sword away from the gash across my neck.
I am not here to harm you.

The voice echoes as if being bounced back and forth between two close mountains. “What do you want?” I call.
To help you.

“Is that what before was too, huh? 'Helping me'?” I demand.
There's a pause. The past is past. We cannot change it, even if we wished to. Before was necessary.

“Killing me was necessary?”
You appear to be in perfect health, but for the bruise forming above your parietal bone.

As she mentions it, I become aware of a throbbing headache bouncing about my skull, the pain focused towards the back of my head. “What happened?”
It appears that you were attacked.

“By what?”
I am uncertain.

“Wait a minute, you didn't bring me here?”
No, you simply appeared.

“How did I get here?”
You were physically forced into an unconscious state.

“Someone knocked me out?”
Yes

.
“So how did I get here? Did someone carry me and drop me off in some sort of black box?”
No. Your body lies where it fell. You are only here in spirit.

“So this is a dream?”
No. This is called Kan Kaku. Sleep of senses. A state of existence within which time has no real meaning. No matter how long you spend here, be it seconds or decades, an hour will be deducted from your conscious world. Except for today. I am unable to determine how much time will pass for this instance. This is the most vital interaction you will experience.

“Why am I here? What do you want?”
You are here to learn. I must teach you if you are to be able to survive life.

“Slicing my throat was teaching me how to survive, huh?”
What has been done is done. It was necessary for me to reach the core of your soul, to understand you more. I need to know you, and you need to know me. We are one.

“What the heck are you talking about?”
In order to survive, you must be willing to learn. To control your Presence, suppress it, you must learn how to control them. Failure is death. Your pressure will eventually overwhelm you and cause you to die from the strain. Those around you will also die, perhaps even before you. You have lived with the Pressure your entire life, and as such, are accustomed to such circumstances. They have only recently been exposed to the large amount you as a single entity release. They are unable to even sense you when you allow your Pressure to leak out in such large quantities. Like the Native Americans, their chances for survival after meeting you are very small.

“Jesse and ... everybody else could... die?”
Yes. And that is why you must train. Learn to contain your Pressure, so that the balance can be maintained. Your Pressure alone is a destructive force. Coupled with any one of those who are now close to you is guaranteeing disaster.

“But they could die?”
Yes.

The news takes a while to really sink in. My Pressure, my black Pressure, which blocks out the Link up the others have otherwise easy access to and keeps me hidden from them, actually exists. I do have Pressure. They just can't sense it. And it can kill them.
“What do I do?”
You are willing? The training is long and tedious. Learning to retain one's Pressure is not a simple task, and will doubtless take a large amount of energy.

“I don't really have a choice, do I?” I manage to choke out, “If I don't, they die. What do I do?”
Pay attention, and I will tell you. Sit down.

I do as she says, the movement slightly disorienting in the dark.
Good. Now close your eyes.

“What's the point? I can't see a bloody thing with them open.”
Just do it.

Her voice, even though it hasn't been raised or the tone altered, leaves no room for argument. I sigh as I close my eyes. “Okay, now what?”
Do not speak, but simply do as I instruct. Take calm, steady breaths. Focus only on the air flowing in and out of your lungs. Feel it as it rises and falls, close and far. Close and far. Feel the air enter your blood, tracing a path along your body as it reaches your heart. Feel the air drift lightly into the vacuum of your soul. Feel it fill your soul.
Cling to that soul that you can now feel. This soul is the core of your being, the nerve centre of your being. This is where your Pressure is. Feel how even now, despite your best efforts, some Pressure continues to leave the soul, to trace its way out of your being to embrace you in a soft glow. Within you burns your Pressure, burning like a fire. You now hold this flame. It is yours to hold.
Take a deep breath, and now release that hold.

I comply, although not whole-heatedly. “What's this going to do?” I snap at her. It feels like we've been at this for years, decades. If I could see myself, I'd probably have skin sagging from my arms, wrinkly and all that other fun stuff that comes from aging.
Silence is all I get. She doesn't say anything, at least not right away. Instead, she softly begins to sing in a quiet, haunting voice,

Sunlight dies by night's eternal blade-
Heaven cries as immortals are slayed.
Infinity becomes a blade to wield,
Night returns to be the shield.
Oceans of blood cry out for more,
Sorrow tears the soul's final core.
Enjoy life, death reigns tonight-
Night swallows the last of light.
Justice defined by one,s demand,
Infinite blades form on command.
Night endures, its fading cry...

Her voice fades away, leaving me feeling strangely sad and hollow. The song made no sense, but the words are burned into my memory.
“Protect the innocent, lest they die,” I finish for her. The line feels right, like it belongs there. Sitting in the dark, cross-legged, I listen as the last echoes of my voice die off.
You can feel it, can't you? The loss?

“Yes.”
Whenever you wish to release your Pressure, you must remember how you feel right now. This is the price you bear, the pain of loss. Channel that sorrow into your hand.

I do as she says, trying to visualize the pain I feel creeping from my chest up to my shoulder and down my arm, like some sort of snake. I allow the pain to dwell in my hand.
Look.

I open my eyes and stare in amazement at my now-glowing hand. Even as I stare at it, the glow begins to fade away. I try to form it into a sphere above my hand, and am rewarded with a lumpy shape.
Release the sorrow, let it flow from you and disappear into the black.

I do as instructed, aiming my palm directly in front of me. I relax my grip on the ball of light, mentally shoving it away from me. The light flies off into the darkness, quickly consumed by the swirling fog I can now see.
Excellent work. Do not tell anyone of where you have been. You may go.

Before I can ask anymore questions, like how I'm supposed to leave, I feel a knife slice the inside of my forearm. The sharp pain shoots up my arm to take root in my core and skull, and I black out from the agony.

In The Dark

Coming to is nothing like blacking out. I know I'm awake, but opening my eyes feels like too tremendous of a feat. I can feel the Pressure in me, the flame that she had described. I try to release it, but nothing happens, the same amount of Pressure is there.
I become aware of sounds, which slowly start to sort themselves out into things I could recognize: Jesse's voice prominent among them.
“Shouldn't she be awake by now? She's been unconscious for hours.” His voice ricochets off the walls of my skull.
“What was she even doing out there, anyways?” Chase. It has to be. No one else can fit that many accents into one sentence. The thought makes my mouth twitch in a small smile.
“Oh, good, she's awake. Hey, Brandee, how you feeling?” Chase asks.
Slowly, I open my eyes, and blink rapidly as Chase's face comes into focus. He grins at me, “Busted.”
I rub a hand against my face as I take in my surroundings. We're in a room, and I'm lying on a bed. That's about as much information as my brain can handle at the moment. I close my eyes again, trying to remember what had caused me to go into the Kan Kaku thing. Something knocked me out, was that right? Yeah, it was something like that, at least close enough to count. “What happened?”
“You blacked out. Someone clubbed you across the back of the head. Which brings me to my next problem: why were you out there anyways?”
I steal a glance at Jesse, who looks away. The sight gives me a little satisfaction. Good. He should feel guilty, the prick. “I just needed some air.” Chase's eyebrows shoot up, so I elaborate, “Too much stuff at once. I mean, you guys have had collectively years to get used to this. I'm an essentials student. You can't just expect me to swallow all of this stuff with one chew.”
Chase nods, considering, “Yeah, I guess that's true. But you had to run out then? We were almost ready to eat, and then Ky asks 'where's Brandee?' So then we all had to get up and start looking for you...” He breaks off as he glances up, towards a door, I'm guessing. “... Okay, I've got to go.” he glances at Jesse and murmurs quietly, as if he doesn't want me to hear, “Make sure you ask...”
Jesse nods and Chase ducks outside, leaving us alone. I pull myself up so that I'm sitting, and pull my legs so that they dangle over the edge of the bed. My head spins from the movement and I feel really light-headed. If I lose a lot of blood in that Kan Kaku state thing, do I feel the effects here? My muscles ache from the strain of what... I know her name. I blink as I try to remember. The time she attacked me with the sword during a slide, she had said something. Her name. Hannah? No, that was way to cute. But her name did start with an “H”, that's for sure.
“How you feeling?” Jesse asks, his hands shoved in his pockets.
I shrug, and wince as the movement causes flashes of pain to shoot down my back, “Sore. As if I had been at the park all yesterday at some tournament. And dizzy. That too.”
“Not so good if you're using a lot of short sentences to get your point across,” Jesse sighs.
“Who clubbed me?”
“The gardener. Thought you were some sort of intruder. He's the only guy on standard employ, and even then he never sees anybody else out here. Chase and the others are talking to him now, trying to find out some stuff.”
“Like how to get home?”
Jesse's face pales, and I regret asking. I don't need to rub it in his face that we're all stuck here. He's probably just gotten used to the idea that he's going to be here the rest of his life, stuck traveling who knows where. And then here I come along, ripping open old wounds, and probably making a couple even deeper than they originally were. “They probably are. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure?” I have no idea what he might be getting at.
“This might sound a little odd, but you've got to be honest with me. Do you remember anything from the period where you blacked out? Did anything happen? Did you have one of your weird... experiences... like when you asked me about the sliding?”
My eyes widen as I realize what he's asking. But Hiyori said not to tell any one. That was her name, Hiyori. It still sounds weird. He's talking about when she attacked me, slit my throat, and we came to in the middle of a road. She said not to tell them, maybe I should listen to her, at least until we get a chance to talk again. “No...” I start slowly, trying to think up something, “Can't remember anything. I was walking back, thought I heard something, and then wham, wake up here with a huge head ache.”
His eyebrows crease, “You sure? Because when we were looking for you, it was suddenly almost impossible to try to find you when I was looking for your customary black. And you're not leaking any more of it now, either.”
“Weird. Maybe my Pressure was a late starter or something?” I suggest lamely.
He doesn't look convinced, “Maybe. We're not exactly experts on this whole thing still, still learning as we're going along. So, I guess that could be the case. It would explain some other things.”
“Other things?” I ask.
He shrugs, “I don't know. I wasn't actually paying attention to pressure on that 'frequency,'” he starts, air quoting, “But Ky and Amaar and Dutch all said that all of a sudden they could feel another person's pressure, and they're pretty sure it's you, because now they can sense you too. It's kind of a rainbow, all sorts of colours, the primary one always changing. It's kind of weird that you black out for a couple hours, and come to as one of us. Apparently, the gardener didn't even hit you too hard.”
I bite my lip, trying to throw him off, “Could have been that I blacked out because my body couldn't stand the strain of trans-dimensional forces at its current level and so kicked it up a notch?”
He thinks about it for a second, and I almost think that he saw through it until he suddenly laughs, “You've been talking to Skip, haven't you? Nobody else can blow my mind that fast by stringing together a couple random words that are all in a language I understand.”
“What? You think I can't make my own theories about stuff?” I ask, teasingly, trying to get him even further away from the topic.
“No, it's just that Skip's a bit of a relative physicist and loves to prattle on and on about this stuff. I don't think even Chase can keep up with him, let alone Ky.” Jesse sighs, “Life was so much easier before you came. Show up, steal the stuff, slide. Repeat, repeat, repeat. The same old cycle day-in day-out. You threw all of that out of sync. I was more crabby this week than even when I started sliding, and I had a lot to be crabby about.”
“What was your life like?” I ask, steering us further away from dangerous waters, “Before the whole sliding fiasco, I mean.”
“Fiasco,” he muses, “Nice way of putting it. I used to train Drifters and other elite troops in combat, normally in small sessions. As a son of the Derke's head, the position of instructor was inherent. I was being trained before I could walk, so I don't know what was all natural and what was ingrained into me by years of constant training. As the third son, I'm basically in exile with my older brother who passed on his claim to the leadership of our clan in favour of training students full time. I was sent to live with him, and he took every opportunity to teach me. It got to the point where every time we saw each other, we dropped everything and immediately engaged in combat. No matter what was going on. Even at the most dignified at functions.”
“So... I guess you didn't see much of your dad then, huh?” I wonder out loud.
He shrugs as he plops beside me on the bed, “Not really. But that's the way it goes. The first in line gets all the attention, the rest of us actually have it pretty easy. Sure, Sora, my brother and future head of the clan, got to see a lot more of my dad, but he also was severely limited in what he was allowed to do. His sole career is to take over when my dad decides he's ready to step down.
“The rest of us kids don't see much of wither of them, but we get to choose what we want to do. Me, I'm an instructor of Drifters mainly, but that's not just because I have to, it's actually fun. Plus, I get to actually go on missions, since it's not just all theoretical stuff I teach, I teach practical applications of everything, so I get to go outside the city a lot more often than even Hei, the brother I live... used to live with. No, I don't get to see much of my dad, but I'm a lot more free than most others. I can go wherever I want without a permit as a son of the head. Because on the off chance that Sora is for some reason assassinated or at death's door, or incapacitated in any way, I assume the responsibilities of being the head of the house, so people still have to be respectful to me, even if I don't need to be on my best behaviour.”
“Sounds crazy.”
He laughs, “Yeah, but that's my life. Or was. In a way, this whole sliding 'fiasco', as you called it, it actually opened my eyes. I used to think that everywhere there was a class system. This whole 'choosing your own career' idea was completely new to me. I think I might have thrown Dutch for a couple loops and roller coaster rides with the questions I asked him. I'm pretty sure you'll be just as lost when you get to see one of my dimensions.”
Ky saunters into the room, flashing me a grin with her filed teeth, “How you doing? It's weird, all of a sudden, I can sense exactly where you are, but still can't get in your head through the Link. How'd you manage that?”
I shrug, avoiding eye contact, “I dunno. Your guess is as good as mine, probably better.” Something flutters in the corner of my vision and I turn my head slightly to stare in amazement at the red Motes swirling around Ky. Hiyori explained that Motes are what make up a person's Pressure. The more Motes a person has near them, the stronger they are. But I can't see my own, same with the rest of the guys, I guess. “Your pressure's red?” I blurt out without thinking.
Ky grins, “Yep. Red like blood. That's me. That's why my ability is Chimamire no Butsu- bloodied boots.” She points at her boots, “These are my kinetics. With them, I can kill anyone with my kicks, or knock you out if I'm feeling gracious.”
“They make her, already some ninja skills, ten times faster. You'd never see it coming if she didn't want you to,” Jesse cuts in.
“Yeah, well at least mine's combat oriented. Remind us again why you ended up with climate change?”
“Somebody has to be responsible for global warming.” He shrugs, “I just figured I'd take the rap for it, instead of the government.”
“Yeah, because you want to protect their precious areas 51 and up from the public. Did they brainwash you or something to make you forget what happened when they caught you? The whole 'Gah! He's an alien invader! We must study them, since they've no doubt been abducting our own in preparation of this attack' problem we had when you first discovered your power?” Ky tilts her head to shoot me a glare, “And don't even think about getting into trouble when your ability first manifests. If we have to go through all the trouble of fighting our way through miles of security just so that at the last possible moment we slide, forget it.”
“Says the one who enjoyed every moment of the raid,” Dutch says, appearing in the doorway, “Team meeting. We need to go over what we are all going to do tomorrow.”
“I vote water park,” Jesse quips.
Dutch takes a sip from his bottle, “Idiots.”
Him and Jesse leave as Ky starts nagging me, “Your clothes are filthy, so I brought your back pack in earlier. Change into the clothes you were actually supposed to wear here, and keep your back pack with you at all times from now on. Jesse says that you can't sense when the Slides are about to happen, so if you don't have your backpack attached to you, you might lose all the goods in there. And with the collective luck of the group, the next dimension that we end up in is gonna be a stupid one where you can't take a shower before showing some goon your card.” With that little tidbit, she flounces out of the room.
I change quickly, savouring the feel of the soft material. No idea what it's called, but it just became my new favourite. The soft, loose white shirt is belted about my waist with a brown woven belt. Skin-tight black pants made of some sort of fabric like spandex leave me lots of room to move. I pull on the hiking boots positioned by my bed, stand up, sit down again and pull them off. I dig around in my backpack until I come up with the missing sock, pull it on, stuff the boots into my bag, shove the tablet into a different pocket, and wobble towards the door bootless.
Hard to believe that I had just spent, according to them, a couple hours training. If they had seen me, would my movements have been a blur, my talking indistinguishable? Or would they be sucked into the same time flow as me, experienced the year I spent with... her.
Hiyori. I can't forget that name. When will I be able to talk to her again? There's so many more things to ask her about. Before stepping out side, I try to focus on the Motes, the little tiny crystals I can now see swirling around the room. Nothing happens. At all, not even a single one changes its course, or colour, or shows any other sign that my will is making an impact on them. “So much for all that training,” I sigh as I pull the door open. Ky is waiting for me, and leads me down the wooden stairs. “Did we move or something? I ask, surprised at the sudden change of scenery from the marble floors and fountains and paintings to this plain hallway.
Ky laughs slightly, “No, we're just in the servants' quarters. Simply because they're closer to the kitchen. Honestly, what's the point of having a place like this if we can't get a little crazy and use it to the max? Sometimes I just don't understand the motivation people have for getting flashy stuff if they never use it. Like owning sixteen cars. First of all, cars are a ludicrous idea. All that gas and vapours and loud noises just to get someone to their next destination faster than they can run. Why would people want to be able to go further than a place they can travel to in a day?”
“Um... I don't know,” I reply slowly, trying to understand what she's trying to get at.
“If it were all up to me, we wouldn't need all the junk stuff people have these days, things that keep them from hunting and gathering.”
“Yeah, well, over the years, we've developed more efficient ways of getting the food we need, like raising livestock and growing plants to eat. That gave us time to explore other things.”
“Should have dedicated that time to finding more food,” she growled, “Either that, or training to fight.” Her tone of voice felt almost condescending.
“Just what are you trying to get at?”
“Oh, nothing,” she shrugs, “Other than the fact that you have no fighting skills whatsoever.” It felt like a slap.
“Hey, that's not my fault. It's not like I planned to get sucked into this whole 'trans-dimensional' mess you guys all seem so comfortable with,” I snap back angrily, “You can't expect me to be the craziest conspiracy theorist out there that believes that aliens are going to abduct me to set me up in some arena where I have to fight for my life, and therefor train accordingly.”
“What did you expect would happen?” Ky demanded, her temper rising, “Don't tell me you never noticed how much Pressure you had? No one can go through life with that much and not know it. You must have had some sort of sense, at the very least, that you weren't going to end up in the normal job places that most people from your generation were headed for. Don't stand there and deny it, you had the sense that you didn't really belong to your time, didn't you?”
“I have no idea what you're talking about!” I snap. “Just because your world has always been insane doesn't mean mine fits the same pattern.”
“Really?” she snarls, “Not at all, eh? Let me take a wild, uneducated guess about your 'sane' world has been like. You kept to yourself, chose one, maybe two, people that you let close. Other than that, you shut yourself off, never let yourself care much for anything. You developed some skills in areas that didn't require any sort of teamwork. You made an appearance of trying to fit in, maybe even with some success, but in the end, you deemed everyone different from yourself.”
“Thanks for the free psycho-analysis,” I bite out, cutting her off, “If I ever care for your opinion, I'll ask for it.”
Ky spreads her hands wide, as if to say 'point in fact'. “Not my fault. It's the way everyone of us was. Each of us cut ourselves off from our worlds, on purpose. We never made an effort to be a part of the bigger picture. It was like we knew that sooner or later, we would just be torn away from it all anyways, so what would be the point of getting too attached?”
“Whatever.” I hitch the backpack higher up on my shoulders, trying to let her know that I wanted her to just drop it.
“Well, fear not, because all of us are like that, so we all have something in common. Social awkwardness.” She grins at me. The sudden mood swing is weird, as if she hadn't flipped out at me at all just moments before.
Skip looks up as we enter the kitchen. The rest are already gathered around the empty table, and all glance up as we entered the room, except for Amaar and Dutch, who were busy arm wrestling. Their arms were tightly locked, their red faces pulsing as each tried to find just a little bit more strength to topple the other, sealing their doom. Amaar was losing, Dutch slowly pushing harder and harder, twisting Amaar's arm further and further.
Jesse grins at me, “The winner gets the better blanket in their room.”
“Seriously?” I raise an eyebrow.
Dutch's head snaps up at the sound of my voice. “The blue one is way better,” he growls, “It doesn't have the stench that the other one carries.”
“They smell exactly the same, Dutch,” Ky chides, “I should know. I've got the best five senses out of us all.”
“That's not what I meant. The one leaks out more black Pressure than the other one. I'd rather not have to deal with that sort of stuff more than I have to.” His gaze flicks to me, but turned back to the arm wrestle so fast that I almost missed it.
“Stuff gives off pressure?”
“It does if it comes from a filthy Black place,” Dutch growls at the same time as Chase chimes, “No. Those two idiots just wanted something to do while they waited for you to show up. Took you long enough, by the way.”
“Well sorry. I'll try to not black out so that you guys don't have to waste time looking for me. It must have been horrible,” I snap.
“Good. As long as I have your word that you won't repeat this sort of incident in the future, I'm content,” Chase smiled, as if he actually meant it.
“Dibs playing winner,” Ky calls out.
Amaar glances up at her, and that's all Dutch needs to slam his arm hard into the table. He grins at Amaar massaging his arm, “Got'chew at last, I did.”
“No fair, I call interference, followed by immediate rematch," Amaar protested.
Skip brought the meeting to order, “Shut up! I don't care when you two sort this mess out, as long as it isn't now. Despite what delusions you may be carrying about in your head, we have actual work to do. If you two want to be a part of it, shut up. And if it really matters to you who gets the bloody blanket, there's the door. Take it somewhere else.”
Dutch just takes a swig of his bottle before passing it across the table to Amaar, who simply passes it off to Chase. Chase shrugs, chokes down a swallow, corks it, and tosses it back to Dutch, who hugs it tightly to his chest as if it were more precious to him than anything else in the world.
I take a seat next to Jesse. Ky wedges a chair in between me and Skip, “Okay, let's get to it, Skip. You're the one holding us up here. Let's get to the part where I get to beat something up.”
“If you would shut that enormous trap of yours, the meeting would be half over already,” Skip retorted good-naturedly, “Here we are, in this beautiful rendition of the Palace of Versailles, albeit on a smaller scale, but that can't be helped. Our objective is to steal the painting “Circ Bleu” from the local museum. Apparently it's something of a little gem of an artwork, then again, how would we know?”
“So, what's security like?” Jesse asks, leaning forward.
Skip shrugs, “Dunno. The idiots in charge left a lot of the details out. Then again, they always try to make it challenging, don't they?”
“So, who's on for espionage?”
“Well, I figured two love birds who were both art students at the local university could benefit from a trip to the local museum after the way their instructor went on about contemporary art being so 15th century.”
“Sweet deal,” Ky grins around me at Amaar, “Hope you studied up. There's going to be a test on it.”
“Actually, Ky,” Skip interrupts, “I was thinking more along the lines of Jesse and Brandee. Jesse needs to go in to get a visual.”
“So? I'll be his girlfriend,” Ky grins.
“I'm pretty sure you look old enough to be my mother,” Jesse chirps, unobtrusively backing away from the table to gain more space between him and Ky.
She glowers at him, “Fine line, Sticky, very fine line.”
“Wait,” I interrupt, “Does that mean that I have to go?”
“Check out the brains on Booze,” Dutch snorts.
“Dang it all,” Chase explodes quietly, “Who told him?”
Amaar guiltily raises his hand, “Sorry. It just sort of slipped out.”
“What else just sort of slips out of that big trap of yours, genius? Don't answer that, I don't want to find out that Jesse is actually a twenty foot brainless monkey with a computer program to make him look smart.”
“Okay, back to business,” Skip cuts them off, “Brandee, you're just going to have to get used to a pile of nicknames. Simply put, if it involves a drink, Dutch is either referring to you or some crazy concoction he cooked up.
“Now, the whole point of this step in the game is to find the weak spots, or strong spots, depending on what we decide to go for.”
“Um, shouldn't someone else go then?” I ask, raising my hand, “I mean, hate to break it to you, but I'm not exactly cut out for this whole spy thing where I look for the weak spots. I'm good behind a computer.”
“You ever play Stealth?” Chase asks.
“Yeah, a long time ago.”
“Basically, we're aiming for the same thing here. Except, you need to actually talk to the people, instead of getting pop-ups of dialogue whenever you get near one of the security guards during the espionage preliminaries of the mission.” He explains.
“Yeah, no, I'm not going to be much help.”
“Hey, don't worry about it too much,” Jesse reassures me, “People tend to open up more to a couple of tourists than a person traveling by himself. If you can't handle it, just let me do all the talking.”
“Sounds good.”
“Alright, while you two go on your all-day date, Dutch, Amaar, you two will go out and get us some grub. Make it last for a couple days.”
“We might not even be here for that long, Skip,” Ky complains, “What's the point in wasting funds?”
“Money doesn't matter. Don't forget, we are here because of our dearly beloved friends, the Black, who graciously filled a drawer in the front foyer chock full of cash. Chase found it earlier. Stuff your pockets on your way out, all of you. But make sure that it isn't a ludicrous amount, in case someone gets in trouble somewhere. If you really need to resupply yourself, the red bags exist for a reason.
“Brandee, Jesse, the hovercraft will drop you off in the Central Parking lot, whatever it's called. The museum's few blocks away, a nice little walk. Dress warmly.
“Everybody else, get a good night's sleep. It's been a while...”
“Try two years,” Chase interrupts. His comment is greeted with knowing laughter.
Skip smiles slightly, “Yeah, try to make the most of this opportunity. Who knows? Maybe we can stretch this out into a little bit of a vacation.”
“I would advise against that,” Dutch speaks up.
“Oh? Care to share your vast depth of knowledge with the rest of us, oh wise and powerful one?” Amaar asks lightheartedly.
“Don't get snarky on me just because you lost,” Dutch scolds him, shaking a finger at him, “This place is going to go sky-high by the end of next week.”
“Okay, then we leave by Friday.”
“Uh, Skip?” Jesse raises his hand, “Today is Thursday.”
Skip shrugs as he stands up, “Do I look like I care? It's Monday somewhere else.”
“Can we just agree to act on the calendar that we find ourselves in?” Chase offers.
“Sure.”
“Sounds like a plan,” Jesse adds, “Amaar, do you agree? Being the self-appointed expert on time travel, I believe that we should consider your opinion with more deference than anyone else's in the group.”
Amaar shrugs, “If I disagree, you guys will just shoot me.”
Laughter erupts at this as the rest of the gang rises from their seats. “With that,” Skip announces, “This meeting is adjourned. Get a good night's sleep, unless you haven't eaten anything yet.” He glances at me, “Eat something and go to bed. Lots of stuff to do, and very little time to do it in.”
The rest of the gang clears out, Dutch's footsteps louder than most as he lumbers up the stairs. A small scuffle breaks out somewhere along the way, but at Skip's bellow, everybody settles down. I grab a plate, fill it with spaghetti, pour some sauce on it, and dig in.
I leave the plate half-finished in the sink, with a note explaining that I would clean it up in the morning. Spaghetti just doesn't taste too good to me right now, maybe because it's cold and almost rock solid. And I don't really have much of an appetite. The whole heist- date thing kind of set me off, not to mention the training with Hiyori. I sit back down at the table and dig out my little computer tablet. I should probably try to figure out what the heck I'm supposed to use it for.
I turn it over in my hand and study the back. There's a small symbol in the center of the back, the symbol for a USB key or port. But, engraved in gold as it is, the symbol looks almost foreign to me, as if I've never seen it before in my life. And above it are the same three characters that are on the flat rock in my jacket's pocket, which I had stuffed in my bag along with my boots. With some effort, I manage to dig it out, and place it on the table, along with the black charging cable.
Another strand of black catches my eye, and I pull out a thin cord, three pieces of string twisted together. It's the perfect length to tie around my neck as a necklace.
At the thought, the stone on the table vibrates. I stare at it, but nothing else happens. Gingerly, I pick it up, feeling the weight and the slight glow of heat now emanating from it. The symbols make it look actually kind of cool. How whack of a necklace would it look like? The stone again vibrates, and I drop it on the table, surprised. Light fills the room,and I flinch away, squeezing my eyes shut against the sudden brightness. Voices start to whisper, chanting something in a foreign language. The tones rise and fall in pitch, sometimes screaming, sometimes barely audible.
It seems like an eternity before the voices fade away and the light disappears. Slowly, I open my eyes. The stone lies still, the part of the table that it is lying on scorched. The tablet stands beside it, the screen now glowing blue with the USB symbol highlighted in white, slowly rotating as a three dimensional image.
Cautiously, I reach a hand towards it, and lightly touch the surface. The tablet comes to life, throwing holographic images into the air, symbols both familiar and unrecognizable, rotating in a perfect orb, as if waiting for me to select one. I lightly touch the glowing red icon of five uneven bars. The holograph changes, and I am left with a search engine for the Internet. A holographic projection of a keyboard scans itself onto the table in front of me. I type in the first thing that pops into my head that seems safe: “Influencing Holographs”.
With faint whirrs, the hologram flickers and is replaced with a list of results. I select the first one, and am introduced to the world of interactive holographic control.

Friends

Numbers. Long, fat, skinny, short, repeating, negative, positive, infinity. Everything and nothing flashes through my mind. I'm swimming in a sea of them, they part as I near them, dividing and multiplying, calculating angles and irrational integers. Repeating, forming patterns, then separating to become meaningless again. None of it makes sense. I try to grab a number with my hand, but nothing reaches out for the number I want. I look at my nonexistent body with fear, I do not exist. I am in the world of math, the abstract universe in which time is nothing but a mirage, where life is not considered as part of the never-ending equation...
A sudden bang causes me to jump, automatically sitting up in my seat. Mr. Bryerson gives me a look as he continues towards the front of the classroom. “Brandee, I know this is terribly dull, but could you at least extend to me the courtesy of not falling asleep in my class?”
The other students giggle at his comment as I gaze around stupidly, trying to place what class this is. Then it hits me, and I wish it hadn't. Detention. What had I done this time? I can't even remember. How many Saturday mornings had I spent like this, stuck with other kids as Bryerson went on one of his power talks, taking full advantage of the fact that we all had to be there for the required three hours. Since it's normally the same people, Bryerson unofficially teaches us some foreign concept, something that pops up on our next test in one of our classes, even if it's an English class and he provided us with the Fibonacci sequence the previous detention. The VP can do whatever he wants.
“If you weren't paying attention, but instead were drooling on your desks...” Okay, that's taking it too far. I may have been sleeping, but there is no way that I would have drooled on the desk. I glance down at my notebook, the papers blank as always for detentions. Instead of my phone on the top corner of the desk, though, the tablet sits nice and prettily. What's that doing here?
I suddenly feel a warmth about my neck. I glance down to see the stone with the three Japanese characters glowing, hanging about my neck by the thin black cord. Tenaciously, I wrap a hand around it, glancing sideways to see if anyone had noticed. Weirdly, everybody is actually paying attention to what Bryerson is saying. I must be dreaming.
“Brandee!”
Chase's voice startles me out of my dream, and I sit up, banging my elbow on the table. “Ow!” I yell as my eyes snap open.
It takes me a moment to recognize the crummy wallpaper, the ancient fridge, and scorched tabletop, along with the person sitting across from me. Chase nods at me, “Had a nice sleep, did you?”
I stare at him, “I fell asleep?”
Jesse steps into view, and hands me a cup of coffee. Chase is nursing a half empty mug, with words proudly proclaiming “You Should See The Other Guy”. I gulp down the coffee before I even stop to think. My face scrunches up at the bitter taste. “You were so far gone, Dutch lumbered right in here this morning, cooked up the perfect drunkard's meal, and clamoured out the door with Amaar arguing with Ky about the merits of meat cooked as opposed to raw meat. Not that that was something you would want to hear discussed in detail.”
“I fell asleep?”
Chase sighs as he snaps back another page of the newspaper in front of him, “Yeah, Petite, we thought you were a goner for sure. Out like a light, snoring, talking in your sleep.”
“I do not snore!” I protest. The rest of his sentence kicks in, “What do you mean, talking in my sleep?” I ask self-consciously.
Jesse shrugs, “The usual. 'No, don't do that! The best way to get past those kinds of walls are to use the Fibonacci sequence' Just what kind of firewall requires knowledge of ancient Greek math?”
“I dunno.”
“Well, to be fair, it was your dream.”
“Maybe my brain's so much on the fritz that I can't even tell the difference between a bit and a Byte.”
“A bit is a piece of machinery used by mechanics to fix insignificant problems and then proceed to charge colossal amounts of money for that action. A Byte is a morsel of food. Honestly Brandee, they aren't that hard to keep separate,” Jesse laughs.
I fling a hand towards him, trying to cause the Motes to move in his direction and knock him off his feet. No luck. The Motes do acknowledge me, though, and begin to swirl excitedly. Happy as they seem to be to see me, they don't seem to be too eager to obey my commands yet.
It will come.

The thought pops into my head, spoken by Hiyori . “Hiyori ?” I silently ask, searching for her. How could she be here? I thought the two worlds were separate entities.
No response. Must have been my imagination. I choke down another swallow of coffee, and can almost feel the caffeine buzz driving through my system, wiring my brain to take on more difficult tasks until the buzz wears off.
Jesse laughs, “What exactly were you trying to do?”
It takes me a moment to realize that he was talking about my failed attempt at telekinesis. “Trying to send some object flying towards you with my mind,” I snap. No lie is better than the truth stated in the right tone, Liars 101, lesson three.
“Right, with another random burst of telekinesis, like when the Drifters turned on you.”
“Exactly.” Let him believe what he wants, the patronizing jerk. First thing I do when I can finally move the Motes in the real world will be to send him flying into a nearby wall, or at least dumping a glass of water on him. Either or seems really appealing right now. I notice the glass of water by the sink, half-full. That would be a great one to use. I close my eyes and imagine the glass floating in the air, drifting up to Jesse from behind, him oblivious until whoosh! I can almost hear the water splash on his head, and his reaction.
“Hey!” I snap my head up from my little revenge daydream to see Jesse drenched. The levitating glass drops suddenly to land on the floor, shattering into thousands of tiny shards.
Chase and Jesse are both stunned. I start to laugh. Jesse's dark hairs is plastered to the top of his head, completely changing his entire appearance from some slacker to a drenched rat. The water drips from drenched spots on jacket, joining the puddles on the floor. “Sorry. Completely random burst of telekinesis.”
I hope you've had your fun. I suggest that you avoid such demonstrations of power in pointless arguments in the future. Using your power takes energy, a commodity that you appear to be extremely lacking at the moment

. Hiyori scolds in my head.
Oh, just shut up. I mutter back in my mind. Maybe now Jesse will stop treating me like such a kid all the time.
“How'd you do that?” Jesse asks, surprised.
Chase gives a low whistle, coming to my rescue, “She's a natural. Figuring that sort of thing out on her own, now that takes some doing. Congrats, Petite, you've successfully completed lesson one without having to listen to any of the boring theory stuff behind it.”
“Huh?” What is he talking about?
“Telekinesis appears to be one of the powers that all of us share,” Jesse explains, pulling off his sweater. His shirt isn't wet, maybe the sweater is waterproof like the jacket is bulletproof.
“But I did it without my Kinetic thing.”
Chase snorts, “I should hope so. If you needed to depend on that thing for getting you out of a jam, it would be kind of hard to break it out if it was across the room and a man was aiming a gun at your head while telling you to not move.”
“We get caught up in stuff like that?”
“No,” Jesse quickly butts in to reassure me, “Chase was just using that as a hypothetical, worst-case scenario. He tends to do that, a lot.” He shoots Chase a hard look at this last bit, a look that Chase just ignores as he goes back to reading his newspaper.
My stomach gives a loud rumble, heard by everyone. Jesse grins, “There's cereal and milk. Our options are extremely limited this morning, but we should have more food by tonight.”
I dig around the kitchen until I come up with a bowl and a spoon, pour myself a bowl, and dig in, gagging at the taste of the first mouthful. “The cereal's kind of stale, but that couldn't really be helped,” Jesse explains apologetically when he sees my face. “The expiration date is set for next week.”
“So the idiots in the cupboard decided that it was safe for consumption,” I finish for him.
He shrugs, “Exactly. And it's like they don't know what flavor is, or that we humans have a knack for wanting a good taste to accompany our meals.”
“Oh, please,” Chase begs, “Not this theory again. Jesse, I don't care if you want to hold to it, but I don't appreciate you trying to indoctrinate everyone to agree with your views. Could you at least save it until I'm out of the room?”
Jesse shrugs, “Sorry. Forgot.”
“Yeah, you tend to forget a lot.” Chase grumbles.
An awkward silence descends on the kitchen. Not one for letting it drag on, I clear my throat, “So if the Chaser is already gone, how are we getting to the museum today?”
Jesse shoots me a grateful glance, “Well, when we're set, I figured we might as well call a taxi and travel the real way.” He glaces at Chase, who's ignoring us, “By car rather than by plane.”
“Guess I won't see you anytime soon in the air force, right?” I joke.
He laughs, “No, definitely not. There's a reason why the first city was built instead of an air plane.” He shoots a quick glance at Chase again, almost guiltily.
I force myself through the bowl of cereal, glad to escape it at last. I approach the sink with some chagrin, remembering the half-finished plate of spaghetti still there. But the sink is sparklingly empty, the plate and leftovers nowhere to be found.
“I'm gonna go take a shower,” Jesse announces, “Don't want to look too ratty when we go.”
“Yeah, I'll probably take one too,” I muse, distracted. I shrug off the oddness, clean my bowl and spoon, and put away the milk and cereal, the milk in the fridge and the cereal in the garbage can that I find under the sink.
I wander up the stairs and find my room back. I dig through the closet, which is chock full of clothes for the average female, ranging from child to adult, from young and hip to old and vintage. I pull out several shirts, none of which are really my thing, until one logo catches my eye- “Speaking is NOT communication”. Perfect.
I take the fresh set of clothes, including black and green striped socks and loose fitting cargo pants, along with a towel, and wander down the hall, opening every door as I go along. Every single room is a bedroom, and I'm about to give up when I reach the very end of the hallway to find a half-decent bathroom. I knock on the door, hesitating before stepping in, but it was pointless. No one's in here. Guess Jesse must have found another one.
Half an hour later, consisting of a solid cold shower, wrestling with tangled hair, and scrambling to fix the shower after accidentally sending the curtain flying with a wave of telekinesis, I emerge, victorious, ready to go. Jesse's waiting for me in the hallway, leaning against the wall adjacent to the door, arms crossed against his chest. I don't feel too under-dressed when I see what he's wearing- the black bulletproof long coat, a black t-shirt with a Greek symbol on it, and jeans. At the sight of me, he peels himself up off the wall, “'Bout time. You are such a girl.”
“Hey, would you rather be wandering around with a girl who has a case of bed head?”
“Please. If you did that, I would have ditched you at the door.” He smirks, “Car's ready.”
We wander through the huge mansion. Chase was just kidding when he called it the palace of Versailles. The place looks great, but it didn't belong to any big-shot like a king. It belonged to a noble family, who had a lot of money, but they mysteriously disappeared. Ownership papers never exchanged hands, so the gang suspects the Black. I'm starting to think that the Black are just a fictitious creation designed so that we have something to blame for what's going on. But then again, there's the whole issue of the file Skip's apparently getting all the time. Why does he always get it though, why not someone else for a change?
A black cab, stretched out sort of like a limo, is parked outside the front door. The wind picks up as we descend the stairs. I take a moment to glance up at the overcast sky. A raindrop slam against my cheek. Perfect, just when I need it. “Is that a limo?”
Jesse laughs, “No, just a more expensive cab than the average Joe. It's even got rear-facing seats.”
I pull on my black jacket, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and follow Jesse towards the back door. Jesse opens the door for us, and slides in after me, taking the seat with the back against the driver's. The driver walks around the front, gets in, ans starts the car. Jesse glances at me again, “Did you happen to grab any cash?”
I purse my lips, “Nope. Completely forgot.”
He shrugs, “No big deal.” He taps the window behind him. The car pulls away. “The odds of us sliding any time soon is extremely low, especially with the gut feeling I've got.”
“Gut feeling?”
“Yeah, the little knot a person gets in their stomach when they're about to get sucked through time and space to an alternate time line without anything done on their part. The rest of the gang feels it too. Don't you feel slightly off?”
I hesitate, “Not really.”
“Dang. I was kind of hoping that when your pressure showed up on a normal scale that it would enable you to sense when the slides were going to happen, or at least give you an idea of how far off they are. We're going to have to persuade the security people at the museum to let you keep your bag with you.”
“Shouldn't you keep yours with you too, then?”
“Nope. See, if you have enough time to prepare, all you have to do is build a link with the object you want to take with you. It's a bit more complicated than Linking up with the others, because at least they're sentient, at least you would hope so. For inanimate objects you need to, overly simplified, imagine wrapping them up in your Pressure. It would be easier if you could actually see your own. What colour is your Pressure?”
“I don't know. I just know I have it.”
“Really? The world doesn't have one colour that kind of stands out more vibrantly than the rest of the spectrum?”
“Not that I've come across yet.”
He nods, looking away as he processes the information. “How'd you manage to do it, by the way?”
“Do what?”
“Control pressure on your own?”
“What do you mean?” It's almost as if he's trying to get me to talk about Hiyori .
“Well, it's just like you pass out and wham, just like that I can feel your Pressure. And I don't buy that story about how it must have been a slow manifestation. You slide because of your Pressure. So something must have deadened our senses, so that we couldn't find it. And since none of us have tried to kill you so far, it's not like one of us is responsible.
“So the only explanation left, even though it is seriously confusing, is the idea that your Pressure is so huge that we couldn't sense it. It would explain the sort of black hole effect that you have, where we can't sense anything within your area, can't link up with anyone in the immediate vicinity. Ever since you joined up, we've had to shout at each other in the Link, as if some unseen filter is trying to jam our signal.”
“Well, if you say so, then maybe. I don't know.”
“Cop out,” he grins, “Seriously, when you were out, did you do any sort of astral travelling?”
“Say what?”
“Astral travelling. The ability of the mind to leave the body for short amounts of time and travel through the realms we normally only partially see in dreams.”
“You are seriously whack, you know that, right? You don't actually believe in that crap, do you? I mean, it's one thing to have powers, but that's taking the joke too far. At least the powers can be explained.”
“Oh, really? When did you become an expert on the paranormal? Last time I checked, you didn't know about the whole super idea until it slipped out.”
“Nice,” I congratulate him sarcastically, “Excellent choice of words there, as if it was something else you guys were hiding form me. Nice going, Professor Loudmouth.”
“Don't you start too,” He threatens, “It's bad enough getting nicknames like Sticky Fingertips. I really don't need the others to come up with a whole new section of nicknames based on that new one.”
“'Sticky fingertips'?”
“Based on the uncanny knack objects have to stick to my fingers. As I brush past you on the street, I can snag your watch, your wallet, and your other jewelry. It's a talent that I've nurtured over the years.”
“Right, because your family is expected to develop criminal tendencies.”
He grimaces, “To be honest, I just told the others that so that they wouldn't be all on my case. Which they are anyways, so it's kind of pointless. The truth is, we're supposed to lead by example. Hei knew about my ways, and although he didn't say anything to me out right about is, I could tell by his face every time he caught me that he didn't approve. But it's not his position to punish me, and I guess he just dismissed it as a spoiled rich kid trying to get some attention from his dad who's too busy to even acknowledge that he has more than one son.”
I have no idea what to say, and just gape at him. He notices my expression and smirks, his eyes belying the hurt he's trying to hide, “Don't worry about it too much. If the others find out, oh well. I'm kind of sick of lying to them. And something about you just makes me want to tell the truth. Is that your power? Compelling others to do your bidding just by looking at them?”
“I have no idea.” I state truthfully. Hiyori and I never really talked about it. Even as she pops into my head again, the little verse she sang rises unbidden, as if the words were burned into my memory. I start humming the tune, remembering how it made me feel- sad, empty, hollow. I can't help it, the tune just cries out in sadness, and the world feels even more oppressive the more I hum.
Something inside of me sparks, and suddenly I can feel the flame. The flame that Hiyori said was my pressure. I glance up to see if Jesse has noticed, but he's staring out the window, watching blankly as we drive through the countryside. I turn my attention back to my Pressure. Hiyori said that there was a way to control it, make it grow larger or smaller, and that by making it smaller, I would make it stronger. That had been the whole point of what we had done for that year in Kan Kaku.
Right now, my Pressure is huge, volume speaking. But it's diluted, since it mingles with other things in the area, including other people's Pressures. Hiyori says that the smaller I can make the surface area, the more pure and concentrated it will become, until it is purely my Pressure surrounding me. That is something I can manipulate, twist into actual physical objects, or use to bend other things around me, like light. It's supposed to be used for stuff, but she never really elaborated on how it would actually help me, just that if I left it in it's standard state everybody else would suffocate.
“Jesse?” He looks up. “What's the deal with Pressure? Can we actually do anything with it?”
He thinks for a moment, “Not sure. Other than being able to focus it to cover our back packs so that they come with, I have no idea. I've never really thought about it before, to tell you the truth. I've just sort of accepted it as always going to be there, something that was a part of us. The fact that everybody has it kind of makes it sort of pointless, right? If everyone has it, then it's not like having more means that it can be used.”
“Do you hear yourself talking? You said that everyone has it. Everything everybody has is present for a purpose. We have arms and legs that we use, so why can't we use Pressure like an extra limb? The fact that we have more than most people should mean that we can use it more effectively. Just like a track star can use his legs more effectively than someone stuck in a wheelchair”
“That's just crazy talk, Dee. You can't do anything with it. The backpacks are programmed to respond solely to the person whose Pressure fits the lock around it.”
“Programmed? Lock? You're not making much sense her, Jess, you know that right?”
He sighs, “We've tried experiments where we take something out of one person's bag moments before a slide, and have somebody else try to take it along with their Pressure. It's never worked. So we've come to the conclusion that everybody has different Pressure, and each backpack and stuff included in them are made for specific people.”
“Seriously? That's the best you guys could come up with? Maybe you just couldn't control your Pressure enough to be able to extend it to objects you're not as familiar with.”
“Since when were you an expert on Pressure? As I recall, you only just showed signs of real Pressure last night.”
“What do you think Black Pressure is then, huh?”
“The absence of Pressure. It's just like the opposite of light is the absence of light.”
“Then how could I be leaking it out so much before?” I press.
“I don't know. It's just like these extremely thin but dense black ribbons radiating from you. Most people have a sort of light surrounding them, that's their Pressure. Your black Pressure was like a spider web swirling out from you, and it felt... heavy.”
“So do you think I can use my newly evolved pressure for stuff like telekinesis?”
“How the heck am I supposed to know? You can't just expect the impossible. I don't know why your Pressure was whack before, I don't have an explanation for why it's suddenly somewhat normal now, and I don't know if pressure can be used for anything important like telekinesis.”
“But wouldn't telekinesis simply be surrounding an object with the Motes and moving them?”
“Motes? What the heck are you talking about?”
My eyes widen with surprise as I realize what I've done. How do I dig myself out of this one? “Sorry, that came out wrong,” I apologize, my mind racing to come up with something, “I meant Pressure, I don't know why I said Motes.”
“What, pray tell, are Motes?”
You may as well tell him,

Hiyori sighs in my head, But no one else.

“That's what our Pressure's made of,” I explain, “Lots of tiny particles called Motes. While you and the others might see a light surrounding a person, I see those tiny particles zipping about, swinging around a person almost faster than my eyes can track them. They're the determining factor in the colour too, the more concentrated or diluted your pressure is changes the colour of your pressure.”
“And where did you get that from?”
Tell him everything. But leave out how huge your Pressure actually is.

“Well, there's this thing called an Inner World. Basically, everyone of us has one, and it's like our core. It's that calm, inner place that the Hindus and Buddhists tell you to find. As far as I know, it sticks with us, even when we slide.”
“A dimensional plane unaffected by the distorting waves we travel through,” he muses, but doesn't try to interrupt me and prompts me to continue.
“Apparently, we all have one. And in that Inner World, normally abandoned, I have this person hanging out in there, like some sort of guardian angel. She told me about the whole Mote idea, and showed me how to control my Pressure.”
“How come none of us have ever encountered a 'guardian angel' or even gone to our Inner Worlds?”
“Well, maybe you guys have, in your dreams. The place is different for everyone. I don't know. We were too busy trying to control my Pressure.”
“What's so bad ass about your Pressure?”
“Nothing,” I protest, almost too quickly, “ Maybe the control of it just isn't as innate for me as it is for the rest of your guys. I don't know. I barely understand this stuff myself. Do you really expect me to be able to explain it to someone else?”
“Well, that's certainly a way to test your knowledge, by teaching it to someone who has no clue what you’re talking about.”
“Yeah, great. Guess we just proved that if there were going to be a test on this stuff, I’d fail.”
“So, what's your guardian's name?”
I hesitate, before replying, “Jinta.” For some reason, I don't want to tell him her actual name. It's not that I don't trust Jesse or anything, it's just that I don't want to share her. Like lying about her name will somehow keep her safe. It's weird, but that's how I feel.
“Jinta, hmm?” he muses, “That's an interesting name. Where I come from, that’s a boy's name, but sounds actually kind of cute for a girl. So, when did all of this Inner world stuff take place?”
“When I was unconscious,” I reply sheepishly.
He grins authoritatively, “Knew it. There was something off when you tried to explain why you were out of it for so long. Why the sudden change of heart of telling the rest of us?”
“Just you, actually. This can't go back to the others.”
“Serious? You do realize that that's like, a felony in the noble houses, keeping a secret like that from the boss.”
“Well, good thing nobody here's too big on rank then, isn't it?” I give him a pointed look, “You can't tell anyone about this, Jesse, not even Chase.”
“Wow, you aren't kidding.” He runs a hand through his hair, “Okay, I'll keep your secret. But you do realize that you'll have to come clean about this sometime with the others, right? Something like this you can't just keep bottled up inside.” He gives me a look, considering something, “You aren't going to randomly just pass out, are you? Get sucked into that place?”
I shake my head. “Good,” He sighs, relief obvious in the way he relaxes against the leather seat, “Imagine you going deep in the middle of a heist, hanging over a roof top or something. That would be one rude awakening.”
“Yeah, that won't happen. I can go in at will. And I doubt she'd put my life in mortal danger, considering the great lengths she's going to to keep me alive.”
“So is she like, a part of your consciousness? Can she talk for herself? Are you schizo?”
“Would you stop acting like I'm some sort of biology lab? I know that this is cool and you want to find out more, but I've already told you everything I know. Can we focus?”
We both glance out the window as we start to enter the city. Rain starts to fall in earnest, pounding the shell of the car. “Just how far out in the country were we?”
“Pretty deep, but this doesn't look like the right place.” The driver steers the car down a narrow road, slowing down. “Sharp eye. I don't think that we're headed to the museum anymore,” Jesse warns.
I try to get a sounding off of the driver's Pressure, but can sense nothing. “Um, Jesse?”
“What? Don't worry, telekinesis should be be to squeeze us through here.”
“Do you sense any Pressure coming from the driver?”
His eyes widen in surprise as he tries to get a read. “Oh, shit.”
“What?”
“It didn't even occur to me that...” He breaks off, talking to himself, “But why? What'd we do?” His eyes go blank, like they do when he's Linking up. He blinks, looking at me. His eyes say it all “This is not good.”
“What's wrong?”
“Everybody has a Black tail.”
“What?”
“Only Chase has noticed so far, but the others all are feeling that weird uneasiness people get around the Black.”
“Wait...” he's not making sense, “You mean that he's...”
He nods, “That's exactly what I mean. We are being taken somewhere by a minion of the Black.”
“Shit. What do we do?” I steal a glance at the driver. He catches me staring in the mirror and smiles toothily. It makes my skin crawl.
“Act natural,” he sneaks a glance outside, “Start telling me a random story, one that doesn't expect much feedback.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“Just keep talking. Normal voice, no matter what happens. Keep him thinking that we haven't noticed.” He gives me a lopsided grin as his hand brushes through his hair again, “Just stay calm. And hold on to my bag,” he says, tossing it to me, “I'm gonna try to force the slide.”
“Force it? How?”
“I'll explain it to you sometime, if I can get it to work.” He glances outside, “Start telling me a story.”
I launch into a tale about how Will in second grade got to go to the zoo, and came home in tears because the animals weren't allowed out of their 'jail cells', even though they hadn't done anything wrong. Mom and her had had huge discussion about the issue, finally agreeing that if the animals were released, they wouldn't know how to survive, and would get sick or even worse, die.
While I'm talking, Jesse's eyes go blank again, but not like before. His whole body goes rigid, and I'm stunned as I watch his blue eyes slowly pale to become almost white irises, with shiny flecks of gold or silver glinting in the light. He stares straight ahead, unblinking.
The car slows to a crawl, and finally stops. The doors lock, and the driver climbs out. I stop telling my story and watch as he approaches a shadowed doorstep. A figure, wrapped in some sort of blanket or cloak, pokes out, their face cast in shadow. Deep down, something feels off, like there's something wrong with them. I shudder as the figure steps out from the shadows to stand in the rain.
The hood on the stranger slips back slightly as the two turn to look at us. I freeze, clinging to both backpacks with a white-knuckled grip. Our eyes lock, and it's like I’ve been turned to stone. I can't move a muscle, frozen in place, forced to stare back. Her lips curl into a smile- she can see me! Invisible hands curl around my throat, like a snake, constricting as they try to squeeze the life out of me. All I can do is stare back, choking for air. Her black curly hair glistens in the rain, and underneath her black trench coat , I can see a patch of blood red cloth. She continues to stare and the hands tighten their grip around my throat.
She takes a deliberate step towards us, panic seizes me- I've got to move! But my body feels like a dead weight, like there's some invisible force crushing me. She crackles with black Pressure, tinges of red hovering around the edges. Her Pressure is different from every other one I’ve seen. If it is made of Motes, I can't see them. She takes another step towards us, never taking her eyes off of me even as she says something to the driver, who walks a respectful two steps behind her. I don’t even try to look at him and see what his response is. She is the threat. The fire within me roars, surging, begging release, forming a wall of it's own accord between me and her.
Her lisp curl back further to reveal perfect, white teeth set in even rows. The sight is more terrifying that Ky's filed fangs.
The world suddenly spins sideways, and I dimly feel myself fall to the floor of the car before the black fills the space, sucking me in deeper and deeper into the pit. All I can feel is gratitude as she relaxes her grip on me, albeit reluctantly, as Jesse forces the slide.

Enemies

Wind tugs at my hair, playing with it, pulling it away from my face. I savor the moment, feel the warm air blowing in my face, the sweet scent of fresh cut grass tantalizing in my nostrils. Standing here, I feel at peace, as if a huge weight I had been unaware of had just been lifted from my shoulders. Even my throat, still sore from the sudden encounter with that woman, doesn't hurt near as bad as it should.
You have an odd taste when it comes to the formations of your Inner World.

Reluctantly, I open my eyes to face her. My stomach twists into knots as I see where we are. All around me are buildings, their roofs pointing to the sky above me. Below me, the rocky terrain that the buildings are built on. Perched on the ceiling of the balcony that I'm standing on, Hiyori stares at me, as if hanging upside down. Except her loose white hair falls naturally around her shoulders, while my black hair sticks up above my head as if I were the one upside down.
I would advise against emitting partially digested food here, she says, It would fall all over me.

“What the hack?”
It is as I said, your Inner World formations are extremely varied.

“How the heck can you be like that?” I sputter, “Why is it that it looks like I'm the one upside down, when there's no blood rushing to my head?”
Because you are the one who is upside down. However, the Motes counter gravity so that you may move freely in any direction

.
“How? If I'm the one upside down, then gravity's out of whack, unless the sky's really the ground and the buildings are somehow hanging from the new sky.”
Perhaps this is a discussion for another time. Your Inner World is bound by no such laws as what exists in the World beyond.

I sigh, rubbing a hand across my face, “Do I come here every time I slide or something?”
Yes.

“Why? None of the others do. Far as I can tell, Jesse's always conscious throughout the whole transition.”
Your Inner World is designed to protect you. It fulfills the task of being a transitory world, so that you are prepared for the new world you arrive in. The others, for some reason, appear to be unable to arrive in their Inner World for any amount of time.

“Why do my worlds always appear so messed up?”
It reflects recent events. What were you engaged in prior to the transition?

“Well I don't know what a messed up upside down world has to do with it, but I almost got choked to death by someone's Pressure.”
Not a member or your group. None of them have any sort of real control over their Pressure. Left unchecked, their Pressures merely exist, causing no harm to any universe they come across.

“No, there was someone else. Jesse had to try to force the slide.”
Jesse? That would be the weather manipulator, correct? He has the most control over his Pressure, so perhaps he could be able to accomplish that small feat. Why would he try to force you out of that world though?

“Because the Black hijacked our car. He parked it in some street, got out and started talking to this woman. She's the one who tried to kill me with her Pressure.”
Hiyori thinks for a moment. Can you describe her?

“It's not so much what she looked like or what she did but the vibe I got off of her. She looked like she wanted to kill me for fun, like I was some sort of mouse for her to play with. Her Pressure was black, but there was red too, a deep crimson red. My Pressure spiked, I couldn't center it. It's like it freaked or something, and was trying to place some sort of shield between me and her.”
Hiyori is silent for a moment, her dark eyes gazing cross the open space to the building across from us. This woman, was she wearing red?

“Yeah,” I reply, surprised, “How'd you know?”
Hiyori sighs as she drops down, flipping midair to land on her feet beside me. You may as well sit down. She waits until I do. The woman you met, her name is Magdalene Telemaris. She is a First Rank of the Annihilation Squadron and head of the Special Task Force in Kay Nam Ish Limye.

“Wait a minute. You actually know her?”
For some inexplicable reason, yes. I know her very well, although I do not know how. She is of nobility there.

“Where?”
In Kay Nam Ish Limye.

“What the hack is Kay Nam Ish Limye?”
She sighs, I was not expecting at all to have to explain these sort of situations to you, certainly not so soon. But it is just as well, there is no reason why you should remain in the dark any longer.
In all of your travels thus far, you have been contained to the inVerse, one of the several realms that exist. There are three other realms, including the outerVerse, which is where Tier Kay Nam Limye is located. It is the home of an organization-

“The Black?” I interrupt.
She shoots me a look of annoyance, but nods, Yes, that is what you call them. They have tasked themselves with protecting the other realms, being the only realm that is completely aware of the existence of the other realms. However, they are unable to visit the other realms for extended periods of time, due to the inability of the other realms to cope with the unusual Pressure that Tier Kay Nam Limye residents, or Shihoin as they are often called, emit despite their best attempts to hold it in.
That is why they take advantage of the beings in the other Realms that have sufficient Pressure to withstand the damages sustained from traveling between time and space within their realms. Beings like yourself and your companions.

“Protect the other realms from what? We just steal stuff for them.”
You obtain the objects that have devolved over time into dark forces.

“Ooh,” I say sarcastically, “Dark forces. So scary. So this is turning into a sort of Star Wars thing? The world's gonna blow up because of the Dark side.”
The glare Hiyori shoots me could kill a tree, Worse. The annihilation of one realm spells the death sentence for the others. Balance must be maintained at all costs.

“You sound like you're on their side,” I point out.
Hiyori blinks in surprise at the suggestion, caught off guard. She stares around the landscape, as if really noticing it for the first time. After a long pause, she turns her attention back to me. I am not. But I agree with their goal. I do, however, take issue with their methods of achieving that same goal

.
She glances at the sky, I have kept you here too long. The time bridge is collapsing, you must leave immediately. She stands up, If you still do not believe me, insist that you assist on the retrieval. Take a moment to really look at the object you have been assigned to recover. Ask about what happens to that object when it has been recovered. Both answers will be all of the evidence you need to understand that what I am saying is true.

Her voice is getting further and further away, as if she's moving away from me. Buildings blur together to form one solid mass of colour with the sky. Hiyori's voice reaches me, as if traveling down a tunnel, The next time we meet will be different. Train hard and never allow another to dictate how you are to live, Brandee. No matter what comes your way, no matter what happens, remember that I am always with you. Use me and you will persevere. What you wish to protect, I will protect.
Farewell.

 

Frenemies

A hand taps my shoulder, causing me to turn around, blinking rapidly. I think the security guard can tell I'm disoriented and, drawing the wrong conclusion asks, “I'm gonna need you to come with me please, miss.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose as I follow him, looking around me to place where I am. People are milling about, gazing at sculptures and paintings. Their clothes are pretty normal. “Must be a seven,” I mutter to myself.

The guard looks behind him, “What was that?'

My eyes widen, “Oh, nothing. I was just thinking.” I look around again, “Could you tell me what museum this is?”

His face scrunches up in confusion, “Museum? Kid, this is the Inner Calling Center.”

I can't help but give a small snort of laughter at the irony. Inner World, Inner Calling. Maybe someone at the switch decided to have a little bit of humor with where they sent me. Those champs. “And uh... where are you taking me?”

“Kid, you're high. I'm gonna call the cops while you go wait in the office.”

I grin at him, “No thanks. I'm not high, I promise. Some people might think that, since I have no idea where I am, but don't worry. I have random bouts of amnesia... I think. This all feels familiar, you know? Like one of those crazy deja vu things.”

“Yeah, no sorry kid, I don't buy it.” He grabs me by the arm.

I yank it away with a little too much force, knocking him off balance, “Thanks man, but no thanks.” I take off, running for the closest door.

The guard shouts at me to stop, for someone to stop me, before pulling out his radio and calling his buddies. I dodge around a group of people to almost collide with another rent-a-cop. Almost instinctively, I surround my feet with Motes to give me an extra boost. I blast past him, widening the gap between me and the other security guards giving chase. I smash head-on into a man carrying a stack of books. We both go flying, the force from the suddenly freed Motes causing the books to fly ten feet through the air before slamming into one of the guards. “Sorry!” I yell as I disentangle myself from the mess and keep on running.

I break free into the sunlight, tearing down the steps and running across the campus. This place is huge! More guards are coming from several directions. If teleporting existed, now would be a good time to use it. The Motes around me swirl, getting my hopes up, but nothing happens. Figures. I tear down the sidewalk, narrowly avoiding more collisions with pedestrians. Finally, I escape the grounds, hopping on the first bus I find moments before it pulls away from the curb. I head to the back of the bus, find an empty seat, and wave at the guards as we drive past.

“Running away?”

I whirl around to find the man across the aisle from me staring. He has dark hair, deep caring eyes, and a warm smile. On his lap is a book he must have been reading. He smiles, glancing behind us at the disappearing center, “They sure don't seem too happy about it.”

I blink, “Oh, I wasn't a member.”

His head jerks slightly at this news, “Really? You came out of one of the more restricted areas. Non-members don't get that far in a tour.”

“You were watching me?”

He shrugs, “It was hard not to. You were running as if the devil himself were on your heels.”

“Yeah well, the rent-a-cop accused me of being stoned. I just wanted to prove that I wasn't.”

He laughs. “I think you got your point across.” He holds out a hand, “I'm Jason.”

I shake it, “Brandee.”

“So, you still haven't told me how you managed to get in there in the first place, Brandee.”

I shrug, trying to think of an excuse. A TV show pops up into my head. It wasn't really popular, so even if it does exist in this dimension, odds are a guy like him won't know it. “I've been having black outs lately, coming to with no memory of how I got where I am. Probably what made the guy think I was stoned.”

“Yeah,” he laughs, easing the awkward moment, “Probably.” We break off into silence for a while. The bus pulls over for a stop. The person in front of me gets up to get off, his seat immediately taken by Jason. We face each other. He smiles again, “So how long have these black outs been happening for?”

I glance up at the ceiling, pretending to try to remember. “At least four times now.”

“And you have no recollection of what happens during those blackouts?”

“Nope, it's like they don't even exist for me. It's as if no time has passed, and yet when I eventually snap out of it, I'm in a completely different place than I last remember.”

“Sounds like you're insane.”

He says it so mildly, so matter-of-factly, that I'm stunned. Noting my expression, he elaborates, “I... that came out wrong.”

“But it's still a pretty big accusation.”

He shrugs, uncomfortably, “guess what I meant to say is that you're normal?” He tries to cover up the gaffe.

I let him off the hook with a shrug, “Whatever dude.” I turn my attention back out the window. I've got to try to figure out some sort of system with the rest of the gang. Obviously, this whole Linking up is going to remain a mystery to me. I try to mimic what I had seen Jesse do, ducking my head as I close my eyes. I give up after a few moments of staring at the back of my eyelids. Why does Jesse have to make everything seem so easy? I steal a glance at Jason, who's still staring at me, his book forgotten. I glance at the title: Finding Your Inner Calling, with the words “Inner Calling” a couple font sizes bigger. A man is featured on the cover, and I blink in surprise as the same caring eyes gaze off into the distance above the same warm smile as the reader. I look between him and the cover, making sure he sees that I've noticed.

In response, he smiles again, “New in town?”

My eyebrows crease, and I'm left feeling embarrass, “You could say that.”

“You still haven't told me how you managed t get into such a secluded spot. If there's a loophole in my security, I should probably know about it.”

“Hey, man, I was serious about not knowing how I got there.” I throw my hands up in protest.

“Maybe the inner you wants you to join the center.”

I snort. “Dude, that has got to be the worst campaign slogan I have ever heard,” I let sarcasm drip into my voice, “It's great that you've got a faith, but don't drag other people into it. It's annoying.”

“You're not a believer?”

I shrug, “I know that there's someone out there pulling the strings. Whether that's God or Allah or Brahman is for you theologists to decide.”

He shakes his head, leaning forward in his seat, placing the book on the seat beside him, “You're wrong. Everyone must choose for themselves what path they will take. No one else can decide for them. And besides, Inner Calling isn't a faith, it's a discipline.”

“Oh, so you guys are into stuff like meditation and breathing exercises. I'm pretty sure Buddhism has dibs on that one.”

He laughs good-naturedly. The guy must have had major anger management issues as a kid, and probably had five psychiatrists on staff. “You sound exactly like my daughter.”

“What does she have to say about your elaborate set up back there?” I wave behind me.

“Not much. She died in a car accident five years ago.”

I blink. I'm such an idiot. “I'm sorry.”

He laughs, a different laugh than the earlier good-natured ones, “It's funny. Whenever people find out, they always say 'I'm sorry', as if it were somehow their fault she died. But it's not.”

I bite my lip, studying the floor intensely, hoping to somehow disappear into it. Why did I have to run on this bus?

“I take it then that you haven't read my book?”

“No. Like I said, the whole 'Inner Calling' thing isn't me.”

He studies me for a minute, “Actually, I think it's more you than you realize.”

“Changing tactics?” I poke back.

“I'm serious. Most people have just a tiny inkling that they don't belong. What the majority of the world doesn't realize is that those who strive to stand out know they're meant for something great.”

“Great, just judge me by my clothes, would you? The way I dress doesn't mean that I'm one of those 'self-aware' people you seem so bent on scamming.”

“I thought you didn't know anything about Inner Calling?”

“Dude, I saw enough of the place to pass a fairly good judgment. The place is  cult. Do you even believe in what you're teaching? It just looks like you shoved a pile of doctrines from other religions and cults together, added a few secret spices of your own, and presto, the 'discipline' of Inner Calling was founded.”

“Actually, Inner Calling serves as a channel to help people find their place in the world. Our mandate is to protect the future by enabling the people of the present to tap into their potential.”

“What gave you the idea that you guys have to protect the future? And what makes you think that  'tapping into your inner potential' is gonna make that happen?” This guy's a whack job. I just want to find out why.

“I had a vision.”

I snort, “Yeah, that's how it always starts.”

“Well, I guess it was more of a sudden clarity of mind than a vision. It happened when Ruth, my daughter was in intensive care. I realized that people were just living, concerned about their own lives, barely paying attention to global affairs, not thinking about the future but simply what was in store for them. Down that path is only the annihilation of our world.”

He proceeds to tell me an in depth description of what it was exactly people at Inner Calling were doing. Before I realized what he was doing, he had pressed his book into my hand, as well as a business card. I heard myself respond to his invitation of a personal tour. I watched in a daze as he left, hopping off the bus as it pulled over for another stop, smiling, saying “See you soon then,” with a wave.

I stay on the bus for another half an hour before stepping off again, filling the time with reading the book Jason gave me. It starts off with a bit of a biography as an introduction, explaining how exactly he had come up with his idea. It was all just a repeat of what he had just finished telling me. I skipped to the good part:

“Our goal is to ensure that every human being comes to grips with the fact that they are unique, and that within them is the special potential to change the world. Our mission is to help people realize and fulfill their Inner Calling.”

Someone clears their throat, and I glance up to see Skip looming over me. I snap to attention, shoving the book beside me. “I... uh, it was just lying there, and I was curious...” I start to stammer out.

Skip waves the excuse away, “I don't care what you were doing. Actually, I sort of do. Why are you on a bus? Jesse's been going nuts about how fast you're moving between locations, we were all convinced that you were running for your life for something.”

He whirls about and stalks down the aisle. I follow, taking the book with me as an after thought. “Sorry,” I mumble.

He doesn't look back until we're on the sidewalk, the bus pulling away from the curb. He glances at me, a frown creasing his eyebrows, “Where's your backpack?”

We both stare at the disappearing bus, losing itself in the sea of traffic. “Shit.” I realize where it is. “It's not on the bus.”

Skip looks at me, confused, “Okay then, where is it?”

I bite my lip, “It's at the Inner Calling center.”

“The what?” He doesn't know what it is, or maybe he's just stunned that I left it there.

“That's where I slid to. And then this guard tried to arrest me because he thought I was high, and I had to book it out of there.”

Skip sighs, “Alright, I'll send Jesse or Ky to retrieve it.”

“Actually, it's not going to be that easy.” I flinch at the next words that come out of my mouth, “I kind of came to in a restricted area, you know ,a  'members only' deal.”

“Which means a separate lost and found, expecting one of their own to pick it up in the end. So basically, what you're telling me is that we have to go steal your backpack back?”

I shrug as I scratch my ear, “I guess so.”

“You guess so?” This whole time, he's had this calm, emotionless voice, but now some irritation slips in, “You know what? We're staying at 5432 Lowden heights on Yorkshire Avenue. I'll tell the doorkeep you're coming. Go get the bag.”

“Huh? How?”

“Figure it out. Call it a baptism by fire. Your mess, you clean it up.” He wheels around and starts to leave. Almost as if it were an afterthought, he turns around, digging in his pocket, “Here's some cash. It won't get you far, so use it wisely.” With that, he walks away, leaving me alone in the middle of nowhere with a couple hundred bucks.

I glance around the city, taking in the sight. Glass-sided office buildings stand beside federal buildings along the one street. The bus had dropped us by a mall entrance, people went in empty-handed and came out with shopping carts and hands loaded, wallets empty. People who hadn't driven were crowding the sidewalk, either waiting for buses or are walking home.

I shove the money into my pocket and head for the bus shelter, grateful to see that the poster on the wall isn't some stupid advertisement but is an actual road map with different colors highlighting the different routes the buses take. My eyes take in the information in a glance, the information zooming through my head as I quickly make sense of the chaotic lines that crisscross each other. I ask a  passerby for the time.  Bus 78 will stop by here in ten minutes on it's way to the Super Dome in the middle of town, passing right by the Inner Calling center.

I sit down with the book, and in almost no time 78 appears. I board and take a seat near the front, hiding the cover. In an hour, I'm going to waltz right back into the building I had  to run away from. Maybe Jason will be there, that would make things go a lot easier. I stare out the window, watching the rest of the world go by.

I snort as I realize the situation. This is the first time in weeks that I've had a break alone. No Hiyori, no Jesse, nobody to disturb this little break. I should probably be trying to figure out what to say once I reach the center, but all I can do is relax against the seat as my eyes glaze over. It feels almost as if I'm on my way home from a day spent at the skate-park. I'm exhausted, my legs ache, and I have a few new bruises. The only  thing missing is my black and green skateboard propped up on the seat beside me so that I wouldn't have to talk to any one who would have sat there. My cheeks feel damp, and I use the back of my sleeve to wipe the tears away.

Normally, riding the bus alone, I'm planning how to annoy Mom and at the same time stay in my room for as long as possible. Sometimes, I'd try to figure out the coolest way to tell what had all happened at the park to impress Will, wonder what was for supper, if Mom would even be home when I finally showed up. Sometimes her second job made her work late Saturdays, leaving Will alone in the house. Mom actually preferred that Will stay home instead of hanging out with me at the park. I guess she caught sight of Alice, my best-friend who had a tiny bit of an addiction to crack for a while and plastered herself with real and ballpoint tattoos, and that kind of shut down any chance Will will ever have of coming with. At least at home, the worst she can do is raid the cupboard of the meager supply of junk food we have.

My thoughts are still wrapped up in memories of home when the bus pulls over outside the center. The sun has started to disappear behind the taller buildings, and the streets are less crowded. I'm the only one to get off.

The bus pulls away from the curb. An old man sitting in the back turns his head as the bus passes, the look of disapproval obvious on his face. I tuck the book into a deep pocket on the side of my pants and descend the stairs that lead to the little plaza in front of the main entrance. A few people are leaving the building, obviously visitors by the stickers that are still attached to their shirts. I zip up my jacket a little bit higher before entering, completely covering the “Speaking Is NOT Communication” slogan on the front as a way to make myself a little more presentable.

I open one of the glass double doors, warm air drifting out to greet me. I step inside, wary of the person who walks up to me, a smile plastered on his face, “Hello, welcome to the Inner Calling Center. I'm Max. Do you have any questions before you begin your path to enlightenment?”

“Yeah,” I reply without even thinking, “Can you introduce me to someone who doesn't follow the script typed out by people who have never seen daylight”

Without missing a beat, he gives me a broader smile, “Let me show you where the front desk is so that you can sign in.”

I follow him to one of the many secretaries positioned along the wall, stopping at one on the phone. She glances up at him, slides a look at me, and holds up a finger, asking us to wait a moment.  I glance at Max, who's busy studying one of the brochures on the counter.

How do I ask to get into the members-only lost and found? That's going to raise some awkward questions. The longer I stay here, the longer people have to recognize me as the kid that ran out of here just a couple hours ago. I shove my hands in my pocket, fingering through the cloth the book. They can't accuse me of stealing that, the thing was well-read.

Finally, after an eternity, the secretary got of the phone. “What can I do for you today?” she asks, leaning in as close as she can.

“I need to speak with Jason.” The words come out before I can stop them. I think about it for a moment, yeah, that's the best I can do.

“I'm sorry, Mister Tuinstra's in a meeting.”

“Just,” I search for a way to let him know it's me, “Tell him that it's Brandee from the bus this afternoon. I'm returning his book. That should send him down.”

“Mr. Tuinstra has been in meetings all day. He hasn't even left the executive floor.”

“No, maybe we're talking about different Jasons. I'm talking about this one.” I dig out the book and point to the guy on the front cover.

The secretary begins to lose interest, “I'm talking about that Jason too. He has been in meetings all day, what with the press conference scheduled for this evening.”

“Look, if he left orders to not let me through, fine. Just tell him that I really need his help.”

The secretary looks past me, her eyebrows shooting up as her mouth twitches in annoyance. I look over my shoulder to see who she's staring at. It isn't hard to pick out who annoyed her more than I could.  A guy who looks nineteen is walking towards us, hands shoved deep in pockets of the baggy jeans he's wearing along with a green shirt with the green lantern symbol on it. He has the same brown eyes as Jason, and has the same set of ears, sticking a little too far out from his head.

“Hey, Natalie,” he says as he sidles up to the counter, “Any chance that Jake's back yet? Jason said that we could just start without him, he probably wouldn't make it.”

“Sorry.” She glances at me quickly before continuing, “I haven't seen him today.”

He turns to me, “Sorry, just had to check. Name's Tyler.” He sticks out a hand, which I shake, “I'm the kid brother of Jason Tuinstra, our leader.”

“You don't say.”

“What's got you all riled up?”

“Your brother has a look-a-like. He told me he was Jason, gave me his book, a card, and left, telling me that I should stop by.”

He's already grinning by the time I've finished, “Seems that you ran into Jake. Him and Jason are identical twins, you know. So he probably was just playing a prank on you. Although you're pretty quick to take him up on his offer. Most people wait  day or two.”

“Yeah, except I left something here.”

“Well, it's probably in the lost and found-”

“Except I left in a members only section. I kind of need my backpack back.”

“Where do you go to school?”

“What? No, it's my backpack, my survival kit. I kind of need it in order to stay at least partially off the streets.”

“Alright, just sign in and we'll go grab it.”

I blink in surprise, “You're serious?” He nods. “Awesome, thanks.” I grab a pen and sign my name in.

Tyler reads over my shoulder, “'Brandee Taylor'.”

“Yep. You got a problem with it?”

He shakes his head rapidly, “Nope. Just curious is all. Let's go get your bag. Maybe Jake will be back by then.”

We start walking, people nodding respectfully to Tyler as they move out of our way, their eyes skimming over me quickly, their faces expressionless. Tyler, to his credit, ignores them all, cutting past security guards as I flinch by each one, wary that at least one of them got a solid look at me. It's not like I've done much to blend in, and it only takes one rent-a-cop to kick me out.

“You know, Jake's odd when it comes to the people that he'll actually talk to. With the majority of us, he just pretends we don't exist. But once in while, he'll run into random people that he meets who-knows-where, and get all excited about them, hoping that they'll come in to the center and join.” He glances over at me as we enter an inner room, the one I had escaped from earlier. “So where did you to meet, exactly?”

I shrug as we head to the far side of the room, past all the sculptures and people, “On the bus. I just happened to sit across form him. Next thing I know, he starts talking with me.”

He nods, “Yeah, that's how it starts.”

“Can I ask you something?”

His eyebrows shoot up, “Yeah, sure.”

“Who exactly started this place? I mean, you guys say Jason runs it, and he wrote the book. But on the bus Jacob was telling me about his daughter.”

He grimaces, “Yeah, that's a little bit messy. See, Jacob's the one who cam e up with this stuff. Jason's the one that actually sold it to the general public. While Jake was more concerned with the 'Elite' as he called them, Jason's more interested in pulling more people in, getting more support.”

“Isn't that the sort of details you want to keep private? I'm not even a member here.”

“Like I said, Jake's basically anti-social. The fact that he talked to you means that you're one of the Elite, so you get an automatic black card, you get to know whatever you want to know.” He smiles at the person behind the desk, “Hi. Is there a backpack here by any chance?”

When no answer is given, I glance up to see the guard from before staring at me, his jaw slack. “Hi,” I say with a smug smile, “How's your day going?”

My voice is enough to break him free of his stupor, but he ignores me and turns to Tyler. “She's the one who escaped earlier, the one I was telling you about.”

Tyler looks at me, then back at the guard, a dubious smile on his face, “Please, you were telling me about some druggie. Brandee ain't a  druggie, Chad. You've got to learn how to tell the difference between a pot-head and a normal kid if you want to be a cop some day, you know.”

“Yeah, sorry.” He shoots me a glare before ducking beneath the counter. He emerges a moment later with my backpack, “This the one?”

“Yeah,” I say as I take it, only to be stopped by Tyler.

“I'll carry it.”  I shrug and let him have the whole weight. It drops to the floor. I try not to laugh as he heaves the bag onto his shoulder, the effort obvious. “What do you all have in here?”

“Like I said, that bag's the only thing keeping me off the streets. I lose that, I lose my ticket out of here.”

“You don't have a place to go? You can stay here if you want. Our doors are always open to the Elite.”

“Would you stop calling me that?” I demand as we leave the inner room behind, emerging on the far side of  where we came in. “I have no idea way your brother started talking to me. That aside, thanks for helping me get my bag back.” I hold out a hand for the back. His shoulders slump and he slips it off, giving it to me. I shrug it one easily. It doesn't feel heavy to me at all. Must be some crazy voodoo the Black did so that we didn't break our backs carrying around our stuff.

“You know, it's funny how Chad had been complaining earlier about a 'teenaged punk' who had somehow appeared in the middle of the Inspiration Room.”

“Is that what you guys call it?” I snort, “I thought I was in some sort of museum or art gallery.”

He laughs, “Yeah, he said you had asked about that. How'd you manage to get past the guard at the door though? You're not in trouble or anything, but if there's  that big a loophole in security, we should probably know about it.” We start walking up  a broad staircase, passing other well-dressed people coming or going from the second floor.

“Believe me,” I start, “It wasn't by the conventional method.”

“So you, what, crawled through a vent or something?”

“That's still under the 'conventional method' category.”

He laughs, “Alright, whatever. Our cameras will probably pick it up anyways. You have to have come from somewhere, right? Nobody just suddenly appears Poof!  out of thin air.”

I duck my head so that he doesn't see the smile I can't stop from spreading across my face. “If only you knew,” I murmur, too quiet for him to hear.

I run my hand through my hair. This morning's shower feels like it's been years, when it's probably been at most sixteen hours. But I'm exhausted. Hanging upside down without any blood rushing to one's head can do that to a person. Suddenly, it occurs to me, “Where are we going?”

Tyler looks at me, a funny expression on his face, “Didn't you want to see Jake?”

I sheepishly scratch the back of my head,  “Actually, I only wanted his help in getting my bag back.”

“And then you would have had to explain to him about how you were fleeing from Mutton-chops and co down there,” he points out.

“Actually, I already did. He saw me running out of the center and onto the bus. He even asked me if I was running away.”

“Tyler!” We both look up to see Jacob at the top of the stairs, “Where have you been? Jason managed to free up some time for a real family meal. The clock's ticking!”

“Yeah? Well where were you when Miss Taylor here came looking for our dearly beloved Jason that she met on the bus?”

Jacob sees me and grins, “Nice to see you again. Wasn't sure if I would.”

“Forgot my bag when I left,” I reply, jerking my thumb over my shoulder to indicate the black mass.

“The thing weighs a ton, Jake, let me tell you. By the way, I invited her to dinner tonight.”

I shoot him a look, “No you didn't.”

But Jacob's already talking, “Alright. It'll be the terrible triple plus someone to keep us in order.”

“I'm sorry, but I can't.” Both stop short and turn to look at me, “The rest of the gang is probably wondering where I am.”

Tyler looks stunned, “You're in a gang?”

“No, but I might as well be. They're just the group of people I travel with.”

Jacob's eyes shoot wide open, “You're kidding.”

“What? Did you think I was some sort of loner? We got separated, I've got to go meet up with them. I've already wasted enough time as it is.”

“You're already in a group?”

“Okay, Jacob, now you're starting to freak me out. Why wouldn't I be in a group, if you think you know so much about me and my life?”

Jacob glances at some bystanders, who are watching curiously, “Not out here. Come, eat with us, and we'll give you a ride home after our little talk.”

I hesitate for awhile, but why not? I have my bag, and Skip didn't exactly give me a time frame, so it's not like he can get me in trouble for not going to the stupid place they're at right away. “Alright. I guess I could stay for a couple more hours.”

I'm led into a room with a larger-than-average coffee table covered in food. A fourth plate is quickly placed on the table, room being made by shoving a plate of rolls closer to the edge. The table also holds plates of rice balls, pieces of chicken, ham, and little sandwiches of cheese and crackers. Little mats are placed on the floor. “I'd pullout your chair for you,” Jacob quips, “Except there aren't any chairs.”

“Where's the idiot in charge?” Tyler asks as we sit down.

A door opens on the far side of the room and Jacob the second steps in, an exact copy of his brother. His eyebrows shoot up as he sees me, and his gaze flicks quickly to Jacob, who ignores him. He smiles at Tyler, “You know what? You should probably not refer to the boss as an idiot. It's not good for PR.” He sits down across from me. “I see we have a guest today,” he remarks, looking directly at Jacob.

He grins, “Brandee, this is the real Jason. Don't mind the grouchy attitude, he's normally like that after a day of slacking.”

“For your information I was-”

“Keeping this place together,” the other two chorus.

Tyler laughs while Jacob responds, “We know, Jason, we know. Don't worry, we get it that someone has to be responsible for the money-sucking.”

Jason just rolls his eyes as he looks at me, “What did you do in your past life to be unfortunate enough to run into these two?”

“Who knows? So this place is into the whole cycle of life idea?”

Jacob gives em a look, “Just how far exactly did you get into the book?”

I shrug, “I was just finishing the prologue and part of the first chapter when I realized that I had forgotten my bag in that room downstairs.”

“So you came all the way back to get it?”

“Kind of need it for my kind of life. Not all of us lead a cult.”

“Don't pay her any mind, Jason, she only read the first few chapters,”Jacob butts in.

I sigh, “Okay, Jacob, we're away from the public eye. Why is it so surprising for you that I travel with a group?”

Jason's head jerks a little bit, the news surprising him too, “You're already-”

“Yes! For the thousandth time, me and six other people travel together.”

“How'd you meet the others?”

“At  an underground club. Actually, I met one at the park, and he introduced me to the rest of them.”

“There are seven of you?”

“Why do you even care? Safety in numbers.”

“Seven's a little low, Jacob, isn't it?” Tyler asks, ignoring my question.

“Well, we've only met two other people who were already in groups, so maybe numbers aren't really important. It's not like we're experts on this stuff.”

I've heard enough, “Okay, somebody tell me what's going on right now, or I'm leaving.”

Strangely, it's Jason who chooses to explain, “A while ago, we developed a sort of... 'awareness' I guess you could call it. We could tell when people entered a room without looking, and could tell when one of your kind appeared.”

“My kind?” Is it possible for these guys to be able to sense Pressure?

“Travelers. People who could teleport themselves between alternate time-lines.”

My expression says it all. “I knew it,” Jacob declares proudly, “I knew it the moment I saw you.”

“How do you guys even know about all this crap?”

“You  all your life crap?”

“Duh. I didn't choose to start sliding, traveling, whatever you want to call it. It just sort of... happened. You guys still haven't told me how you know about all of it.”

“I wouldn't go so far as to say that we know all of it, but over the years we've been able to put the pieces together. It's actually kind of why we started this place.”

“Okay, that tells me absolutely nothing.”

“I wasn't done,” Jacob waved his fork in the air between mouthfuls, “have some patience with us mere mortals, would you?”

“Basically,” Jason continues, “Jacob here ran into a Traveler. They got to talking. And then the Traveler disappeared right before his eyes. Everything red in the area lost it's color for a few seconds, and then returned to normal.”

“And you guys didn't think it was little green men in rubber suits because...?”

“Because me and Jason felt it too, even though we were nowhere near. It was like this sudden drop in a roller coaster ride that we didn't see coming, literally,” Tyler takes up the thread, “Anyways, the encounters didn't stop there. A few months later, I noticed a stronger aura in the crowds at the hospital I was visiting. He was posing as a nurse. I made a scene, and the rest of the group had to come and pull him out. They didn't disappear, so I started to think that maybe I was wrong, but then their group leader came and sat down and talked with me, explaining who they were and what their mission statement was...”

If a team had left behind information or something, would it have been taken care of the same way as a physical object. Skip and the others were always talking about how it was virtually impossible to cause a ripple effect. But since we make stuff disappear, or appear, then something or someone has to be in charge of extraction. So what about information? Were their minds scheduled to be erased or something?

“...and then he knocked me out. When I came to, the group was gone.”

“It was then that the building blocks of this foundation started to come together.”

“So this place is like, supposed to be  haven for us Travelers?” I ask.

All three nod emphatically. “Since we started this place, we've only seen one person, but he comes back fairly often.”

“That's impossible!” I blurt out, “There's no way the same person can visit the same dimension twice. There's over a billion dimensions, and only one person, and they can't even control where they end up.”

“But you guys can 'force it' sometimes, right?”

“Apparently. But what does that have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Jacob says, “This dimension, as you call it, is sort of like a default location. At least, that's how he explained it. If the team is injured, or in serious danger, they can force it and come here. This center provides all the help it can, and we have a fair amount of influence now that our program is actually becoming successful.”

“No thanks to you scrounging the city, trying to find another Traveler. You can't expect him to show up when we need him to,” Jason scolds, “We're just going to have to figure this out on our own.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Jason turns to me, “Well, there's not really anything you can do. We shouldn't be dumping our problems on you, sorry. It just would have been convenient is all.”

“Maybe I can help. What can this other person do that you guys think I can't?”

Tyler shrugs, “Actually, we can't really talk about that.”

“Dude, if it's something illegal, there's not really much I can do about it, now is there? If this dimension is anything like the rest of them, the justice system is slow and unreliable, with more paper getting shuffled than people getting shot.”

“Good point,” he grins, relaxing, “We sort of have a problem that we need to go away. Normally Derek does it for us if he's around. It's sort of an agreement. He scratches our backs, we scratch theirs.”

“Derek?” I ask. The way Tyler says it sounds familiar, but I can't place it.

“Yeah, Derek just makes the problem go away, no questions asked.”

“This is kind of weird, you guys do realize that, right? I mean, what do you do when he's not around to make it 'go away'?”

Jacob's lip quirks, “They actually don't crop up that much. The sort of problems he deals with don't necessarily deal with the center. He focuses more on the dark presences that we notice- they stand out the most.”

“Dark presences? Like the Black?”

“Funny, that's what he called them too. There's one in the city right now, really close by it seems, and it's been driving us up the wall. We may not look like it, but the presences we sense affect us to the point where a blue or green aura will make us feel like we're on top of the world, a red one will make us really irritable, and a dark one makes us feel sick, like there's some sort of virus entering our system. After a few days of exposure, our health starts failing, like we have the bubonic plague or something. Derek explained it as the Black leaking... what was it he called them, again?” he turns to Jason.

“Pressure,” he supplies, “Derek always referred to it as Pressure. Although for the life of me, I can't seem to figure out why.” All three look at me expectantly.

I hold my hands up, “Don't look at  me. I can't sense Pressure if my life depended on it, literally. I can see the Pressure around people, but I can't even see the color that Jesse and the others claim is around them.”

“Maybe we have a stronger 'Pressure',” Tyler air quotes the word, “than you do.”

I shake my head, “No way. You guys have barely any sort of Motes orbiting you, even a member of the Black has more, and theirs is extremely weird at the same time. There's no way you guys have more Pressure than me. You guys would have started sliding for sure.”

“It's not a choice?” Jason sounds surprised.

In response, I give a snort of derision, “You have as much say in whether or not you start sliding as a baby decides whether or not it's going to be aborted. It just happens. Your pressure reaches a specific point, and then *poof! Like that you're off on the journey of the rest of your life. There's no choice. I don't even know how my Pressure spiked enough to ship me off. My pressure didn't register with the others until we had 'traveled' through a couple dimensions. All I know is now I'm stuck trying to figure out a way to stop sliding.”

“Don't you guys choose where you go next at least? There's some pretty scary scenarios you guys can get tangled into.”

I smirk, “If there's a way to control where we go, the rest haven't deemed it worthy to be brought to my attention. Guess it's kind of hard. We slide as a group, so if we all decide or have a different dimension in mind, maybe our atoms would be torn apart.”

“So you guys could end up anywhere during any time period?” Tyler asks, shoving another rice ball in his mouth.

“I guess. I've only been sliding, according to Chase, for a few weeks, so I guess it's possible.” It actually feels pretty good to be talking about all of this with people who don't seem to know more than I do. Bouncing ideas off of them, without the fear of ridicule feels great. I'd be willing to tackle a Black to be able to talk normal like this with at least someone.

Even as the idea enters my mind, I flinch, remembering that woman's Pressure. Magdalene. Hiyori had given a name to the face. She had attacked us, attacked me. Her Pressure and evil smile were directed specifically at me. My Pressure had spiked, I had lost control of it. It had responded to her Pressure automatically, turning black and trying to fight off her attack by it's own volition. She had ripped right through it, as if it didn't even exist. Hopefully the rest of the Black aren't that strong, otherwise I'm in a pile of crap if I think I can pull off an escape.

The rest of the meal switches between questions of the cult/slider's center the three run and questions about time travel. Most of the questions are aimed at me, because all three have different priorities to what they want to know. I try to hold my own the best I can, but several times throw my hands up in the air in exasperation and proclaim, “I don't know” or “That's just the way it is.”

The meal ends with a person coming in and whispering something in Jason's ear. He purses his lips, his eyebrows shooting up as he shoots the ceiling a look of annoyance, “I'll be right there.”

Tyler sighs s Jason stands up, “Knew it was too good to be true.”

Jason's head ducks down as he shoots him a look, “Some day, this will all be yours, and then maybe you'll finally understand all the stress that comes with running this place.”

“Heaven forbid that day ever come,” Tyler rolls his eyes as he murmurs in a quiet tone.

Jason looks at me, “It was nice to meet you, Brandee. Maybe while you're here you and yours can visit. You're always welcome here. See you soon, under more favorable circumstances, I hope.”

He leaves the room, following the messenger. Tyler shrugs and stuffs another rice ball into his mouth, “Yeah, like when we don't have someone from the Black hanging around.”

“Don't look at me,” I throw my hands up, “I just faced off with one, and I'm not going to go head to head with one again any time soon, if I can do anything to avoid it. They're just down right creepy.”

“You fought one?” Jacob's interest piques as people come in and start clearing the table.

I shrug, “We didn't fight. Me and Jesse were on our way-”

“Jesse and I,” Tyler corrects.

I shoot him a look, “Don't remember you being there. Anyways, we're on our way to do recon. We missed our ride, so we called a cab. The cabby goes and takes us somewhere completely off the highlighted route, puling over and getting out of the car to talk to someone hiding in the shadows. He didn't have a stitch of Pressure, which makes me think he was hiding it somehow to make sure we didn't realize he was with the Black.

“But the woman he reported to, she started walking towards the car, her Pressure whipping about her like tentacles. Some reached out and started wrapping around my throat, choking me. It was like she was trying to kill me or something. Jesse forced it then, and I ended up in the middle of your 'Inspiration Room' talking to a rent-a-cop about my supposed drug problem.”

“Ha, Jake. You didn't even need to get on the bus. One showed up in the thick of things,” Tyler jabs a mocking finger in Jake's face.

Jake's brow creases with confusion. “That's not possible.”

“Why not?” I ask, “It's not like you guys could cast some sort of spell to block us out.”

“No, but we can spin a Pressure web between the three of us to at least deflect you guys so that you don't appear in the middle of a television broadcast or something.”

“Yeah, because the odds of that happening are extremely high.”

“You'd be surprised. We have crazy stuff happening all the time, what with the fact that we can sometimes manipulate the auras around us.”

“Yeah, because Pressure manipulation is helpful.”

“Don't be so sarcastic,” Tyler scolds, “We can do stuff. I can heal injuries and illnesses and stuff. All of us can.”

“Okay, yeah, sure whatever floats your boat.” The thoughts suddenly strikes me, “What time is it?”

Jake glances at his watch, “Looks like it's almost nine thirty.”

“Crap. I've got to go. Skip's gonna kill me for taking my sweet time.”

“We'll call you a cab.” He must have seen the fear flash through my eyes, because he changes his mind, “On second thought, I'll call up Mikey. He's the one on shift right now, right?” He turns to Tyler for confirmation.

He shrugs, “I guess. I have no idea. Mikey will do it though. We did save his daughter's life.”

“Yeah, but I hate the idea of taking advantage of people who think they owe us or something.”

Tyler flicks out  his phone, and quickly dials a number. He takes a few steps away from us and speaks quietly into his phone.

Jacob turns to me, “I'm pretty sure I've already said this, but just in case I haven't, you're always welcome here, no matter what's going on. This place was originally made for Travelers. I have a hard time believing that it was just a coincidence that you relocated within our walls. If you ever need help, just give us a shout, okay?”

Then he does something completely unexpected. He takes a step forward and hugs me. At first, I just stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Before I know what I'm doing,  my arms rise and hug him back. It feels good to have contact with someone, human interaction. My throat tightens as I remember how I used to hug my dad or Will. Now they're both gone, and I'll probably never see either of them again. I can almost see Will, standing by the door, ready to ambush me when I came home from school. She always beat me home, and was always waiting for her hug when I got there, even though she was in grade eight.

Tyler clears his throat. We separate quickly, but Jacob throws an arm around my shoulder as if we were long time friends. “Mikey's downstairs.”

“Already? Did he speed or something?”

“Actually, he was about to call it a night. But he's agreed to swing by Brandee's place on the way.”

“Does he even know where I need to go?”

“5432 Lowden Heights on Yorkshire Avenue,” Tyler replies promptly. He grins at my expression, “Healing's not the only thing I can do. Sometimes, I can read people's minds.”

“An extremely annoying habit,” Jacob murmurs, “Anyways, we've kept you long enough. Brandee, have a good night. I'm gonna go see if I can't ease Jason's burden a bit. Sometimes it's convenient to have the two of us looking the same.” He gives my shoulder a squeeze and leaves, the door closing quietly behind him.

I follow Tyler silently down the stairs, amazed at how the center has transformed in the hours we spent over dinner. The only people walking around are a few residents and the security guards, none paying us much attention as we cross the foyer and head outside. Parked at the bottom of the steps is a black car, sleekly designed, idly quietly by the curb. A man in a sharp, blue suit is waiting by the back door. He nods to the tow of us as he opens the door. I sling my bag in and almost dive in after it.

“See you soon, I hope,” Tyler waves as Mikey shuts the door.

I roll down the window, “Yeah, maybe, if I don't get too much of an earful from the gang for staying out all hours of the night.”

He shrugs, “Just say something like 'Hey, I'm a teenager. I need room to grow, dude.' I'm sure no one can argue with that kind of logic.”

We laugh. “Bye.” I glance at the driver and nod. We pull away from the curb and Tyler is soon lost in the night.

The Truce

 

It takes a good ten minutes to reach the address that Skip gave me. Light gleams through windows on either side of the street, showing that people are home for the night, or just forgot to turn off the light before leaving. Mikey pulls over to let me out. Somehow, he manages to beat me to the door, even though he has to walk all the way around the front of the car. He helps me out. I drag my bag out with me, “Thanks.” The heat hits me like a shock-wave, and I try to cope with the sudden change from air conditioning to stifling August weather.

He shrugs, his eyes twinkling as he winks, “It's good to see that not all of you Travelers can teleport. Then I'd be out of  job. Take care, rainbow kid.”

No idea what he's getting at, so I just give a quick little laugh, which seems to be the right response. Before I can think of what to say, he's already back by his door, opening it and getting in.

“See you around,” I call out as he pulls away. A hand pokes out from the window in acknowledgment.

I sigh as I turn to the apartment building. 5432. I hitch the backpack higher up on my shoulder and step across the sidewalk, kicking away loose garbage. I step into the alcove between the two sets of double doors and press the button labeled 5432. Beside it, in bold, type-set letters, is the name of the renter “T. Black.” My eyes narrow at it even as the speaker buzzes, “Who's there?”

“It's me Ky, let me in already.”

“It's about time, Brandee. We were gonna send a search team out for you in a couple more hours.”

“Meanwhile I could be out in an alleyway somewhere, losing blood from a gunshot or 'knife and run' mugging. Nice, Jesse, really nice.”

“Sorry.” His tone leaves no doubt that he couldn't care less, “But we were in the middle of an intense game up here.”

“Just buzz me in already, or I'll kick your ass”

“You can't do that if you're stuck down there, now can you?”

“Shove it. I'll fly if I have to. If I do, though, I'm just gonna take it out on you, you know.”

“In that case, come on up. Eighth floor.”

The buzzer does it thing and the lock clicks open. I swing through the door. “'Bout time,” I mutter as I stalk through the foyer, past the guy on duty and up to the elevator. A little white note is taped to the shut doors, and I press the button with dread, hoping that it's wrong.

With a hiss of frustration, I turn away from the out-of-service elevator and heave the door to the stairs open. I step to the railing and glare at the distance I have to cover. “Why are we so bloody high?” I continue grouching as I work my way up the stairs, my full stomach making me want to stop every five steps. “What if we need to take off because the cops are onto us or something? Forcing it can't seriously be our number one option. Why are we staying in another blooming Black place? I thought the rest of them couldn't stand it.”

The complaints carry me to the third floor. “Flying has got to be better than this,” I mutter, trying again to make the Motes swirl around my feet. Nothing. Instead, a huge mount of energy seems to drain out of my body. I glare down at myself, “Seriously? I didn't even move anything and you're taking a nap?” I freeze as I realize what I'm doing. “I going crazy,” I say out loud to myself, “I'm psychotic now. All because of this Sliding. It's gotta be. I'm not insane, but this crap is messing me up.” I stare at the bottom of the set of stairs above me, “Okay, we've all had our fun. Now let me out. I want to go home. Time to wake up.”

After getting no answer after a few minutes, I shrug and start walking up the stairs again. “Fine, be that way.”

I wander down the hall, searching for the right room, but soon resort to sounds when I hear Ky's laughter shriek through the hall. Muffled voice chatter excitedly, and a collective groan emits from the door in front of me as someone yells something. I test the handle, and enter as it opens in my hand.

Jesse, Ky, Chase, and Dutch are gathered around the table, playing a fast game of cards, stacking different piles of the same colour until ten is reached. The pile is quickly pulled out by whoever laid the last card, and is replaced when someone turns over a one. Between the four of them, it takes only a minute or two before someone hollers blitz, getting rid of their designated stack of ten random cards. Amaar is sitting by the TV, watching the news. Skip's nowhere to be seen.

Jesse looks up as he deals the stack out again, “Hey there.” The others turn and grin at me.

“Have  nice walk?” Chase asks innocently.

“Shove it, Chase, I'm exhausted.”

“Yeah, we can tell. Maybe from now on, you won't forget your bag?” Ky suggests.

“I'll be sure to do that,” I say as I shoot her a glare. She just shrugs and sets up her cards.

“We didn't save you any supper, by the way,” Chase speaks up, “It was just some chow mien and chicken. Nothing too fancy. Jesse said that you got a free meal off of somebody?”

Don't say anything about it. No names, nothing. Jesse's voice is suddenly in my head. He stares right at me, his face unreadable as his eyes bore into me.

I blink in mild surprise at the intensity of his thoughts. Suddenly, I remember that Chase was expecting a reply. “Yeah,” I say, in a quiet tone,  “I did.”

Chase glances between me and Jesse, and shrugs, “Alright, well, you can either join our good Muslim friend over there,” he allows a Middle eastern accent to seep into his words as he gestures towards Amaar, “Or you can team up with one of us for an intense game of Dutch Blitz, having no significant relation to our beloved Drunken Dutch.”

“She can take over for me,” Ky sighs, “I've had enough of these bland colours.” She slams her deck on the table and skids her chair back. She stands up and pats my head, “Have fun, Shrimp.”

“Shrimp? Are you kidding me?” I slap her hand away. She smirks and hops over the back of the couch to land beside Amaar.

“Oh, for crying out loud,” Jesse calls over to them, “Get a room!”

I sit down in Ky's chair, “So, how exactly do you play this game?”

Dutch grins evilly at me, “We've got a rookie, guys.”

“How about we start out with you on a team with Chase?” Jesse suggests, “He's the slowest, so you'll be able to follow his movements more easily than the rest of us.”

For the next hour, the three spin cards back and forth, creating and removing piles, counting how many cards they have left at the end after someone gets rid of their pile of ten and hollers “Blitz!” at the top of their lungs. I join in after half an hour, and the real craziness begins.

I have yet to win a single round, or even get more than three cards off my stack of ten. I roll rapidly through my remaining deck, flipping them three at a time, glancing wildly about to see what's going on. But every time a chance crops up for me to lay a card, one of the others crushes it by laying their own, or yelling Blitz just as my hand rises with a card for one of the piles.

Still, the others make it fun, trash talking each other, calling out for specific cards and colours, pointing out cards on other people's stacks so that they themselves can then lay down three in a row, getting more of their own cards into the pile for  the price of helping out an opponent. Chase and Dutch seem to be alternating rounds of winning with Jesse, who, when he's not winning, is just a lay away from doing so.

I slide a card in just as Dutch reaches the pile with his own, earning me a dirty look as he withdraws his hand and dumps the card back in his pile, reaching for the next card. “Blitzkrieg!” Chase hollers, leaning back in his chair after slamming his last card down.

We all lean away from the tables, shoulders slumping as we let the stress out. Jesse glances suspiciously at the cards in front of Chase. He grins at the look on Jesse's face, “They're all gone, sugar plum, and they're not coming back until we sort out the piles.”

Dutch divvies up the cards of mixed “suits” between us. On the back of each card is one of four pictures, which Jesse has explained to the blue plow, the yellow bucket, the green hand pump, and the red horse buggy. It's a Dutch thing. You flip over a stack and divide the cards into the four suits. The more cards you got into the stacks the more points you get, the aim of the game being to get the most points.

Six blue plows are sent my way, while the rest of the colours have at least twenty mixed in. Chase gives a low whistle as he adds in the new totals, “Petite, if this game went according to Phase ten rules, you'd be winning by a landslide.”

“Shove it.”

Dutch starts laying out his stack of ten, as does Jesse. I just leave my cards where they are, “I'm done.”

Jesse glances up, “Alright, good night then.”

I shove my chair away from the table, grab my bag, and wander through the room. The kitchen slash dining area are set apart from the living room by the different flooring. I turn to the left and make my way down the short hallway. I both doors, and see two rooms decorated exactly the same way, both have two triple bunk beds with an end-table positioned between them. “Oi!” I holler as I exit the one room, “Which room?”

“The one on the left!” Ky hollers back, “The other one's for the guys.”

I shrug and collapse on one of the bunks, dropping the bag to the ground beside me. I glance around the room. Black threads of Pressure seep from the walls, but when I blink again they disappear. A cold chill runs up my spine as I remember Magdalene.

After waiting a few minutes to see if the Pressure reappears, I lie down and try to relax, despite my nerves being set on edge from the idea that one of the Black might randomly appear at any moment and attack me.

How had Hiyori known all that stuff about the Black anyways? I stare at the wood of the bed above me as I try to figure it out. As far as I know, Hiyori can't leave my Inner World. At least, I hope not, because if she can leave that means that she has to be able to get back in somehow, like there's some backdoor, like computer programmers make before selling the program, in case stuff has to be rewritten later or something. And if my Inner World is like any sort of computer program, then that means that it can be hacked; just like any other backdoor, the only thing keeping people out is a password. Get that password and you can do whatever you want in the program.

So maybe the backdoor does exist then. Hiyori always stabs me to kick me out, but maybe there's another way, unless Hiyori stabs herself, like the sword she carries has some sort of magical power to shove people out of that existence and into this one.

For some reason, it seems easier to think about my Inner World and all of the other dimensions as two separate entities, separate existences. My Inner World is like the transition between dimensions, so it can't be classified as just another dimension, especially when the landscapes don't exist in any other  dimensions. Poles that rise out of the water, upside down cities that are unaffected by gravity, that's the sort of stuff you'd find in comic books.

I notice the burning sensation crawling up my leg, emanating from my pocket. I dig out the rock, blinking rapidly as the characters give off a bright light. This rock has something to do with my power. And my power is somehow connected to my Pressure, which is now more concentrated thanks to Hiyori.

I'm insane. I laugh as the thought hits me. Unfortunately, Ky chooses that moment to walk in.

“What's so funny?”

I tilt my head to look at her, “I've finally come to the conclusion that I'm insane. No sane person would accept any of this stuff as reality.”

Ky just shrugs, “Yeah, so?”

“So, I'm insane.”

“So's the rest of the gang, Shrimp. Spouting off theories about time warp, relativistic proportions of anti-matter particles, it's hard to say that you're sane. Sane people are actually the insane ones, believing that nothing greater than they exist.

“On a different note, why are you on one of the bottom bunks?”

“Does it really matter?” I raise an eyebrow at her, my tone suggesting that it shouldn't.

“Only in regards to security. You want to take the highest bunk, so that if any intruders come into the room you can attack them from above if they don't leave. The guys don't have a choice, one of them's gonna have to sleep on a bottom bunk, unless Skip stays out all night.”

“Does he do that often?”

Ky shrugs, “Meh, every once in a while he drops off the grid, only to show up a little while later.”

“Can't you just link up with him?” I ask as I haul myself out from the  bunk.

Ky shakes her head as she tosses her bag up on the opposite bunk, “No, that's  what I  mean by 'dropping off the grid'. He just vanishes. The Link's patchy, so it happens sometimes, like a bad connection or lack of broadcasting points.”

“You make it sound like some sort of cell phone plan.          

“It ain't, but I'm too tired to argue with you.” Ky stretches before launching herself up onto the bunk.

I shove my bag ahead of me before crawling up the frame to reach the top bunk. Ky lifts her head, looks at the light switch and a moment later the room is plunged into darkness with a soft click. Ky shuffles in her bed and gives a loud yawn, “Goodnight. You've got first shift.”

“Huh?”

She turns to face me in the darkness, “First shift. You know, we take turns being awake to make sure that we're not ambushed by some sort of stealth attack.”

“Who would want to attack us in the middle of the night?”

“Boogey-men.” She sounds so serious, as if she's actually convinced of the idea.

I snort, “Yeah, okay, whatever. The boogey-men aren't going to attack tonight.”

“How can you be so sure?” she whispers.

“Because they promised me.”

There's a pause. “Are you in league with them?” Ky asks suspiciously.

I shake my head before I realize that she can't see me, “No, I'm not.”

“Then they were just lying to you,” Ky pronounces confidently, “They never say what they mean.”

“I scared them good,” I assure her, “Backed them into a corner and threatened to burn them alive with pyrokinesis.”

“That would work. I didn't know you were pyrokinetic, though.”

“I'm not, but they don't know that.”

“Oh, good thinking. Goodnight then.”

I lie still in the darkness, listening as Ky's breathing becomes even as she sleeps. Ky's afraid of the boogey-men. The thought makes me smile. The scary hunter with filed teeth and messed up eyes is afraid of something that doesn't even exist. She's always set me on edge, like some sort of invincible warrior who feared nothing. But in the dark, when there was no fight or planning, Ky was just another human being, a kid at heart, still afraid of something. Vulnerable.

“Brandee?” Ky's voice calls out from the darkness.

“Yeah?” I ask softly, ready to set more of her fears at ease.

“You tell anyone about this conversation and I'll make sure the nickname “blood and guts” has a literal meaning for you.”

Black Is The New Red

 

It's not until the afternoon that I manage to get Jesse on his own. Since this is the dimension a person can only 'force it' to, there's no heist, meaning that we have nothing to do. Skip hasn't come back yet, so Chase took command, and went shopping, grocery list written in Jesse's practically Chinese scrawl in hand. Ky and Amaar left too, muttering something about going to the Y. Dutch dragged himself out of the guy's room around lunch time, took in the scene of a nearly deserted room with Jesse hanging upside down from a corner of the ceiling solving a crossword and me sitting at the kitchen table spinning red holographic lights above the tablet's surface, took a swig of his bottle, and left, dumping his bag by the door.

We both look up to watch him slam the door. Jesse drops from his perch, flipping midair to land on his feet cat-like. I deactivate my tablet with a few quick strokes of my finger across the holographic surface before I turn in my chair to shoot him an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks innocently.

“Explanation?”  I remind him.

“About...?” he prompts.

“Last night, when I came in from my little trip around the city, Chase asked me about snagging a meal from some people I had met. All of a sudden, a certain someone's voice is in my head, telling me to not say anything about them.”

“Must have been your buddy Jinta,” he replies, sitting down in the chair across from me.

“Except for the part where Jinta's a girl and the voice was definitely male.”

“Then it could have been your imagination. That sort of phenomena is not unheard of, you know.” He studies his puzzle, writing down a few answers in his quick scribbles.

“I sincerely doubt it wasn't. But, if you're so sure, I guess it won't hurt to ask Chase when he gets back about the three guys I ran into and how they can-”

“Okay!” Jesse explodes, cutting me off, “I get it. You want answers.”

The look in his eye triggers something that causes all the pieces to fall into place. “You're the one they were talking about, aren't you? You're Derek.”

He purses his lips, “They told you about that, huh? I take it they sensed a Black then.” He studies his puzzle.

“Yeah, close by. What exactly do you do to them?”

“Who?” He looks up, his hand moving to fill in the rest of the squares.

“The Black. You freaked out when you realized that the cabbie was one. So does this dimension amplify your powers or something so that you can take on the Black more effectively?”

“They told you that I took care of the Black, right? Pretty sure they made it sound like I kill them. Actually, all I do is walk right up to them, and they take off. Guess we're not supposed to be able to notice them or something like that. Whatever the reason, it's like they're operating under a non-interference policy- they never go anywhere near us.”

“Then what was all the fuss about in the last dimension? Every member of the group was being shadowed, and we even ran into Magdalene.”

“Who?”

My eyebrows shoot up, “Uh, it's just a nickname for that chick the cabbie brought us to.”

“Why'd he do that?”

“You were there too, you should be able to remember that much.”

“I was already trying to force it by that point, remember?”

“I don't know. He pulled over, and started walking towards her. Then you forced it.”

“Did you get a good look at her?” He asks, puzzle forgotten.

The same urge that made me lie about Hiyori causes me to reply: “No. Not really. But she was creepy, like she wanted to swallow me whole or something.” His shoulders slump with disappointment. “Why?” I ask, “Do you know who she is?”

He shakes his head “No. I was just thinking that maybe that she might have been one of the higher ups within the Black.”

“I think she is.”

Jesse nods, “And you're sure that you didn't get a good look at her, right?”

“No, and I still don't get why it would be so great if I had.”

“She's probably the first higher up we've ever come across; we've never had an actual run-in with the Black before. They always disappear whenever me or Chase gets close. And if any of the others had ever come into contact with one, we'd have noticed the bits of black Pressure that had attached themselves to them. This was the first real time that they've ever shown their faces. It's probably not a good idea that we're all spread out again like this.”

“But you said that this was the haven dimension, the one where we all got a chance to rest up and shit.”

“No, that's what those three morons at that stupid cult-center of theirs told you. That's just  a lie I told them so that I could get a freaking private doctor to swing by for Amaar's arm.”

“So why do we end up coming back here then?” I ask, confused.

Jesse flips his puzzle over to reveal the bare backside. He proceeds to draw dots in straight rows and columns as he replies, “It's like a default location. If we ever force it, this is where we end up. The first time, we just figured it was just another dimension, and stole the object in the file. That's also when I first ran into those people.

“The second time, Amaar's arm was pretty beat up. Gunshot, clean through. I don't know if you've noticed, but the tech around here is pretty awesome, bone grafts are 100% successful, and all that lovely stuff. And when I ran into that Jacob guy again, and he recognized me, I realized something else was up. Nobody's supposed to remember us, and we never visit the same dimension twice.

“But still, he did, and I used the opportunity to get into a hospital- did those three ever mention where they got the original funds from? Their dad's some super-high CEO who had just recently died. They liquidated the assets, collected the life insurance money, and lived pretty comfortably. The guy was so excited to see me, and when I let slip that one of my crew was injured, he all but begged me to let him help us. He sent a limo with me, had Amaar picked up and transported to the hospital. The guy even covered the bill for the private room. You would not believe the cost of even getting through the doors of those places.”

He finishes the grid. “Squares?” I guess as he draws a line between two of them and slides the pen to me.

He nods, “Why not?”

“Prepare to get your butt kicked.” I grin even as I draw a line at the top of the second column.

Jesse procures another pen, and we rapidly take turns making lines.

“By the way,” Jesse starts, “Did you mention to them how many people we have in out group?”

I nod. “Yeah, they were kind of surprised by the 'low number',” I air quote the words. “But if they ran into you, wouldn't you have told them that there were only six?”

Jesse laughs, “No. you always want to appear stronger than you are. Makes you less of a target to other groups of Sliders.”

“There are other Sliders?”

He shrugs, “Maybe, maybe not. We don't know. The midgets we ran into might have been just a group of thieves local to that dimension.”

“How are the groups made?”

“Huh? How do you mean that?”

“How did I end up Sliding with you guys instead of a different group?”

He shrugs as he studies the grid. There's still plenty of options left without giving the other  a square. “Well, we were in your dimension when you got sucked in.”

He says it so matter-of-factly, that I can almost imagine it to be perfectly natural that things would turn out that way. I actually have to shake my head to remind myself what's all going on. “How can you be sure of that?”

“Well, the Slide that brought us all together in that Pure-Curse Six happened at night, so I'm guessing that you contracted the virus sometime in the afternoon. It normally takes a couple hours after it gets into your system for it to actually catalyze.”

“Where could I have picked up a virus that causes me to Slide?”

Before he even answers, I figure it out for myself. “You must have gone somewhere new, a place under their control. They've got traps all over the universe, designed to attract people with high Pressure as if we're nothing more than annoying mosquitoes to be caught and shipped off as part of some sort of tour.”

I blink. Not the way I would put it, but yeah, I guess that's what happened.

“Did you notice anything weird that day?”

“Well, I had to do a rush-job of hacking the school because my Mom wanted me and Will to come with her shopping in some part of the Old Town.”

“Hack the school? You fail all your exams or something?”

I shrug, “Guess it doesn't really matter now why I did it.”

“So you hacked the school. Did you use the Internet, get any weird pop-ups?”

I can't help but laugh. “Please, give me a bit more credit as a hacker than that. Hack the school's website to get at my grades using the Internet? Do I look like I'm a noob? I'm old school, man.”

“Just trying to figure out what happened is all,” he says defensively, “No need to get all high and mighty because you know some things that I don't. They got to you somehow, using something that only would be noticed by a potential Slider.”

I try to think of what might have happened, but all that comes to mind is the image of men in black suits and wearing wires following me around, syringes filled with a sort of silver liquid held at the ready as they waited for an optimal time slot to inject me. They look so funny that I start laughing again, unable to stop myself. Tears start to stream out form my eyes as I try to get myself back under control.

Jesse stares at me for a moment before getting up and walking away, slamming the door behind him. I snatch my bag up and race after him, laughter gone as soon as it came, “Hey! Wait up!”

He whirls around to face me, his face livid. “What? You think this all some sort of joke, that it's all fun and games. I'm trying to help you figure out how you triggered the slide, and you go and treat this like it's all one big fat joke. You don't get it! Some of us have been sliding for years. Anything we can figure out, no matter how small, can be useful. We can learn something from it. We can try to understand what's happening to us and why.

“But you. All you do is muck things up. I've dealt with more Black since you came than I have in the entire time I've been sliding.”

“Which is what? Eight months? Sorry mister big-shot, didn't know that I could just tell the Black to leave us alone and they would listen to me, like they listen to you!”

“What?”

“Oh come on. Do you really think I buy the whole 'I just walk up to them and they disappear' crap? Give credit where it's due. If they take off when you show up, why did one of them pick us up in the last dimension, and take us straight to one of their bosses, huh? I'll tell you why, it's because they're not scared of us. We're not just mosquitoes to them, and you guys did something to tick them off enough that they thought it was time to give y'all a talking to. I don't know what it is, and I don't care. But don't try to pin their sudden increase of activity on me.”

I brush right past him, “Don't wait up for me, 'cause I ain't coming back.” I shoulder the back pack higher up onto my shoulder and focus on the Motes around me. Teleport. I picture myself standing by the elevator downstairs, part the Motes around me, and take a step forward-

-walking straight into the elevator doors in the lobby. I blink, rubbing my nose as I turn around. The guy on duty is just staring at me, phone half-raised to his ear, his jaw flapping. Someone on the other end of the wire is yelling at him, but all he can do is stare at me, who had just appeared out of nowhere right in front of him.

I tick my head to one side in a quick jerk, causing something to pop and my neck to stop aching. I storm right past the guy. “Gonna catch a fly like that.”

I don't even look behind me to see his reaction. I walk right through the door, not bothering to open it. The Motes swirl around me, excited, giving off a quiet little hum. “Shut up!” I snap at them, but the whole way to the closest bus stop they continue humming, rising and falling in volume, but maintaining the same annoying pitch, almost as if it's how they express their happiness of being active.

Digging through my bag before I'm even sitting, I liberate the tablet and a bus card that looks like it'll work here. Waiting for the next bus, I turn on the tablet, careful to not use the holographic interface. A quick tapping of keys displayed on the screen grants me access to wonderful Google. I almost smile through the tears- when did I start crying?- at the sight of something so familiar. But it's soon swallowed up as I glare at the screen. In a moment, the tablet is on the pavement behind me with a clatter. It sounds like something might have broken, but I don't care. I kick the bag away from me too.

It's all stuff from the Black. Our own little survival kits, filled with stuff we might need, general stuff along with a few personal items. My tablet, Dutch's drinking bottle, stuff that's supposed to keep us happy. “Piece of shit,” I mutter.

Someone sits beside me, reaching behind him to retrieve the tablet. He shifts his weight as he gets into a comfortable position, studying it for a moment. He gives a low whistle, “You did a real number on this one, kid. Screen 's shot.” He starts to hand it back towards me.

“Keep it.”

He pulls it back to himself, “You don't want it?”

“No.”

“Well, why not sell it then? At least make back some of the money that you paid for it so that it's not a complete wash.”

“Didn't buy it.” I glare at the pavement, wishing he would just leave me alone. Didn't any of these people ever hear of the rule 'don't talk to strangers'?

“So sell it and make some money off of it. The screens cracked, but I'm sure there are people out there who would buy something like this and get it fixed up. I hear that it's a hobby some tech whizzes enjoy, fixing things that most people would either throw in the garbage or ship off to the manufacturer if it's still under warranty.”

“Well, why don't you go find one of those tech whizzes and sell it to them, if you're so for that course of action.”

“Alright.” He turns around, as if he's looking for someone. He turns back to me and holds out the tablet, “A friend of mine doesn't want this anymore, but she thinks it's a shame if it goes to waste just because of the screen. You look like someone who enjoys fixing things, maybe you could do something with it.”

“That has got to be the worst sales-pitch I have ever heard. Now leave me alone.”

“Come on kid, it was fine before you chucked it. What's the computer ever done to you?”

“Reminded me of a pile of crap,” I snap, “Buzz off.”

After a moment he says, “You know the bus doesn't come for half an hour right? Not really popular in this area, and all that.”

I shoot him a look. He smiles, the movement causing wrinkles to form in the corners of his brown eyes. His brown hair, a moppy-looking thing just an inch short of being a full-blown mullet, is a few shades lighter, glinting in the light. “You intend on sticking around for the next half-hour?”

I stand up, kicking the bag further away from me, “Forget it. I'll start walking.”

He stands up too, grabbing the bag and tucking the tablet under his arm as he tries to catch up to me, “What do you all got in here, kid?”

“Fake ID's and C4,” I snap, “Better drop it somewhere, the bomb's set to go in a couple of minutes.”

That stops him cold. “You don't look like a terrorist to me.”

I spin around, arms crossed, “What? My skin not dark enough to qualify? Should I have my face covered? Will that suit your stupid bias that I have to be Middle Eastern in order to blow shit up?”

He raises both hands in the air in mock defense, dropping the tablet in the process. He manages to catch it before it hits the ground again, and raises his hands in the air again, the bag hanging from the other hand. I shoot him a look of disgust before I turn back around and start walking again.

The rattle of equipment makes it obvious that he's following still. We walk in silence for a few minutes. Maybe he'll get bored and leave me alone.

“You know what this looks like? Like you're some rich kid and I'm your escort.”

“No one made you pick up my bags and follow me.”

“Yeah, well, I couldn't just leave the bomb there. Some old lady might die. Besides, you're interesting. I want to find out more about you.”

“You're a creep. Stop following me before I scream at the top of my lungs. And believe me, I can scream pretty loud.”

He rushes so that he's keeping pace with me, shooting me a cheeky grin. “Stalkers follow behind people, right? Then this is okay.”

I groan as I snatch the bag from him, opening it mid-stride, and shove the tablet in. He watches me with some form of amusement. “Now you can leave me alone,” I snap as I heave the bag back on my shoulder, the weight feeling the same as if all I was carrying was a condensed pool noodle.

He shrugs, “Aren't you forgetting to deactivate the bomb?”

“I'm impervious to explosions. They pass right through me,” I snarl.

“What did he do?”

The question is so abrupt and unrelated that I have to pause for a moment, “Say what?”

“You're in a bad mood. And you're cute, so there's got to be a guy involved. So what'd he do?”

“You mean other than keep secrets and be an ass? Not much.”

“Mmm, I know what that feels like.”

I shoot him a sharp look and he elaborates, “She was way above my class, made me feel special, but lately it seems like she's just wrapping more and more cloaks around her to hide her true intentions. I know that that's natural because she was a former assassin, but I mean, come on, really? I've been by her side for years, and here I am, out in the cold again.”

“Assassin?”

He looks at me, “Oops, did I just say all of that out loud? Sorry, we were talking about your guy troubles.”

“Whatever man, just leave me alone.” I turn my attention to the sidewalk and keep walking.

“Maybe there's a reason.” He muses as he keeps pace.

“Yeah, 'cause there's a reason to tell me not to say anything about a group of people I ran into, and later when I ask him why, he just brushes it off, giving me an answer that's absolute bullshit. And then, he goes nuts on me for not taking this crap seriously.”

“What crap? School?”

Before I even know what I'm doing, I'm telling him everything. Sliding, Pressure, our Kinetics, all of it. I leave Hiyori out of it, skipping right over how my Pressure's weird. To his credit, he doesn't interrupt me, even though I know I'm rambling by the time we enter a busier district. We stop at an ice-cream stand, and he buys me a chocolate shake. “... And that's why we're here now. Jesse had to do something he calls 'forcing it' to get us out of there.”

“When you call this woman creepy, what do you mean?”

I take a slurp of the shake, “Creepy, like the faces on the Creepers in Minecraft. I felt like she was trying to kill me telepathicly or something. Her Pressure was moving as if she could actually control it.  And she had this creepy smile while her eyes narrowed to really thin slits, it makes me think of a snake.”

“And what's Pressure, exactly?”

I shrug, “Mumbo jumbo to me. It's like a glow that surrounds a person, if they've got enough of it to show. The gang thinks that everyone has it, some are just stronger than most. They think that when we have enough, we start to slide when we come into contact with a 'catalyst'.”

“And you think that this organization... I'm sorry, what did you call it again?”

“The Black.”

“Right-”

“It's just a nickname, though,” I interject quickly, “It's probably not what they call themselves.”

“Well, these Black also have Pressure?”

I nod, “Yeah, but it's totally different than a normal person's, or even a Slider's. For one, it's black, while most people have a certain colour. And it doesn't move around them the same way. They're like ribbons of Pressure, emanating from them like tails, twisting around as if they were alive. It's really messed.”

He snorts in response, “You're telling me. I'm starting to doubt your sanity a little even.”

“You and me both... sorry, never caught your name.”

“Oh, sorry, I'm Damien Ford, but most people invariably call me Jinx because of some stuff I used to do back in... highschool.” He holds out a hand, and I shake it.

“Brandee, but most people call me Dee.”

“Nice to meet you, Dee.”

“You as well.”

He grins, “I have a serious question for you. If given a choice, would you rather keep on sliding for the rest of your life, or, if it were possible, would you rather go home to your family?”

That's simple: go home. But before I can tell him that, he holds up his hands to keep me from replying. “Don't answer that right away. Think it over. And next time you and your team are in town,” he digs out his wallet and liberates a business card to give to me, “Give me a call to tell me what you've decided.”

“Why?”

He grins a little sheepishly, “I'm a writer, and your story has some real potential to get published. I want to be the one to write it. And right now, I'm not sure about how the story should end. So I figure you should decide it. And when you know, give me a holler.”

“You do realize that I might not come back here ever again. I'm pretty sure we only come here if we force it, and even then we only do it in emergencies, from what Jesse's told me.”

He shrugs, “Well, if I haven't heard from you in ten years from this date, I'm pretty sure I can guess what your answer was.” He glances at his watch, “Aw crap! The missus is gonna kill me.”

“You're married?” I ask as I glance at his ring-less left hand.

“Nah, the missus is my landlady. She makes meals for everyone in the building, but we have to be there by seven sharp else we get an earful from her. She treats us like we're her kids, but it's alright, most of us don't really have anyone else, y'know?” He grins, “Nice talking to ya, Dee. Hope it all works out. And, if you don't mind taking the advice of an old man who you barely know,” he leans closer, covering his mouth so that other people can't read his lips, “It gets better.”

I blink and glance up at him, but he's gone. I spin around, trying to pick out his bright red shirt, but it's impossible in the midst of all the other colours. “Hey!” I holler at the top of my lungs, “Jinx!” All I get are a bunch of stares as people turn to see who's yelling. I shove my hands in my pockets. “Great,” I mutter as I start walking, “Just great. Just what the hack does he mean 'it gets better'? What would he know? It's not like he's...”

One of us.

“Shit!”

I am the biggest idiot on earth. I just told a guy from another group of Sliders everything, our strengths, our weaknesses, how many of us. It's like an open invitation, “Here, come on over and beat us up.” And to top it off, I didn't get a stitch of information in return. Jesse'll freak if he finds out.

What's another group of sliders doing here anyways? Is this place a default for them too, or just another 'pit stop' as Ky calls them? I gotta track them down, find out something about them that we can use, otherwise I'm dead.

I focus on the Pressures around me, but nothing stands out. A drone fills my ears, causing all other noises to fade away. Not so much a drone as an orchestra prepping their instruments all at once, some instruments louder at times than others. A man in a business suit with blue pressure walks by, and a violin plays above the noise, just from the few notes I catch I know that it's a sad song. A boy and his mother brush past me, accompanied by the duet of a flute and some other wind instrument that plays the alto line. A Gothic teen exits a taxi, a guitar ripping a few cords before my attention focuses on the cabbie's saxophone.

“Arrgh!” I yell, trying to drown it all out. I give up trying to sense out his Pressure. Almost immediately, the orchestra disappears, replaced by the everyday sounds of traffic. My shoulders relax as I rub my forehead. Seeking him out on my own is out.

A bright colour in a window catches the corner of my eye and I turn to study it, my eyes widening as I realize what I can do instead. The poster depicts a man, smiling a nice smile, with brown eyes and dark hair. “Find your Inner Calling” it reads in bold letters along the bottom. I grin. Place to crash, and a good chance that I'll be able to track down the other Sliders with these guys' help.

I duck into the closest alley and start focusing on a good place to show up. Teleporting. Maybe that's my power. Sending my atoms somewhere at the speed of light. When it's from one place to another on Earth, that's really fast.

Shouldn't do the bathroom, even though it might seem like a good idea. There's no telling what I'll encounter in there. And I should be more careful when my molecules reassemble, maybe make myself immaterial for a little bit until I get my bearings. That way, if my ankles are in the ground, I can teleport a little bit higher to free them.

I stand still and close my eyes, deciding on the hallway outside the room where we had supper. I might be seen, but it'll be by the higher-ups only, so it won't be that weird. Less disturbance, the better. I imagine my Motes shooting through the air, carrying me with them, to reassemble me in the hallway.

The sudden silence is my first clue that I've either died or arrived. Slowly, I open my eyes, coming face to face with Tyler. He blinks, stunned. Slowly, he shakes his head as he turns away for a moment, “That shithead.”

“Huh?”

He looks back at me, “You wouldn't believe me if I told you that a couple minute sago, Jake told me to stand right here until something interesting happened, would you?”

“After all the stuff I've been through? Is that a serious question?”

He shrugs, “I'm still not used to this.” His nose wrinkles, “You stink of that Black Pressure stuff.”

I roll my eyes, “Deal with it, the rest of the gang has to.”

“Let me rephrase that: 'Why do you stink like Black Pressure'?”

“Beats me, I thought that I had it under control. Look, I've got a question for ya.”

“Under control? What are you talking about?”

“Didn't I tell you guys about that? When I first started sliding, my Pressure was Black. Now it's different, because I'm controlling the output. Okay, so is it okay if I crash here indefinitely?”

He gins, “You bet, but there's a condition.”

“Name it.”

“You've got to stop popping up in the middle of the center. Yesterday, it tore a hole in our Pressure web. We spent a good two hours this morning fixing it, and Jason's exhausted. He's got the least Pressure of us all, but the thing's got to have three contributors.”

“Sorry about that,” I say sheepishly, while at the same time I want to explode at him, telling him off about how I can't control where I show up. Instead, I keep my peace.

“You've got your bag, I see.”

“Yeah, I tried to ditch it, but some guy calling himself Jinx basically stalked me until I took it back.”

“Jinx? You actually talked to him?”

“Not really,” I lie, still feeling ticked at myself for telling some stranger everything I know. “He told me that most people call him Jinx, but his real name is Damien something-or-other. I don't really remember. The talk was more along the lines of 'why are yo following me?' 'because you left behind your bag.' 'keep it.' 'no, it's yours'. 'If I take it back, will you leave me alone?' than anything else.”

Tyler laughs, “Yeah, he's sounds like an odd one.”

“I teleported into the center, by the way, I don't think your web was damaged, because there was absolutely no resistance.”

“How very reassuring,” he replies sarcastically as he starts walking, “Great to know that resistance, and our web-spinning, is futile.”

“So I can crash here, right?”

Tyler nods, “Yeah, no problem. Anybody else coming?”

“Nope.”

“Alright, do you need to keep the bag with you everywhere you go, or can it be ditched in a room?”

“Have to keep it with me,” I sigh, “Survival kit and all that stuff.”

He nods, “Alright, Jake said that Derek might be here after all, that more than one group of Sliders is running around loose.”

“Really? How does he know that?”

“Says he saw that Middle Eastern guy, uh, Amire or something like that, walking around. There was another guy with him, big and bulky. I'd swear he's an alcoholic, though. Never thought that that was possible.”

I try to hide my disappointment. Jake just saw more from our gang. “Can you guys sense us at all?”

He shrugs, “Not really, but our web sometimes detects when people show up here at the center. Normally, they just have abnormal Pressure. They don't know anything about Sliding.”

“Oh, okay.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“Well, I think I might have run into someone from another group, is all. Problem is, my ability to sense people is nonexistent, so if I did meet one I'd have to try to figure out by talking to them.”

“What makes you think he was another Slider?”

I shrug, “Just the way he was acting as he walked.” I need to get off this topic. My lying skills are crappier than my sensory ones.

“Tyler!” Mikey rushes over to us, his eyes darting around even as he stood facing us, “It's happening right now!”

“Oh shit, I thought I told you to call me when they showed up!” Tyler and the guy take off, headed for the stairs. “Come on, Brandee! You're here anyways!”

“What's going on?” I yell as I take off after them catching up in a second as I use the Motes to carry me faster. I grin as I realize how easily I've been able to move the Motes lately, teleporting, telekinesis. Maybe the lessons I learned in my Inner World are actually sticking with me, and I can finally apply them to the real world.

Mikey and Tyler lean over the banister, watching the entrance. I follow their gaze in time to see reporters and news-cameras barge through the doors. Jason and Jacob are standing on a short platform, facing them, Jason behind a podium that has some papers on it. Other people dressed in matching suits and skirt-suits are positioned behind them on the platform. “What's going on?” I ask again in a normal voice.

“Shh!” Tyler hisses, “You'll see.”

The reporters begin shouting questions, but when Jason raises a hand, they all shut up. “Welcome,” he says into the microphone, “Today, history is about to run it's course. We at Inner Calling stand here before you to show you the future.”

“What the hack is he talking about?” I ask. Tyler waves his hand at me to keep me quiet. I turn my attention back to the pres release.

“As some of you may have heard, recently a member of our center was miraculously healed. She and her family has requested that you let them celebrate this miracle by themselves, and ask that you respect their privacy in this matter.

“I have also called this meeting so that people may better understand how this miracle happened. I suppose I shouldn't call it a miracle, because calling it a miracle implies that such an event cannot be repeated.” At this, a murmur rumbles through the crowd.

“Please allow me to finish. We had thought that we were unprepared to make this Cure, as we call it, public knowledge. But now that it is, we no longer see a need to try to keep it to ourselves. A select few of our most highly ranked members have developed an ability to heal any injury or disease that they may encounter. However, this does not mean that we will be able to heal everyone at once.

“We have opened a foundation, which we hereby call Traveler's Society, in light of what we teach, which is made of members who will be able to heal people in moderation. This foundation is without cost or expectation of any sort of reciprocation or payment in exchange for being healed. Donations are still being accepted with gratitude, but will not influence in anyway the process by which we choose candidates. It has been in the makings for years now, and we now stand before you to tell you that it is now open and running. Those who wish to be healed, there is an application to fill out, describing your condition and nothing more, available on our website. Once you have submitted the application, you will be immediately be placed on the waiting list. Importance will be placed on those with life threatening diseases.

“Any questions can be directed to Jacob Tuinstra,” he gestures his brother, “In regards to the foundation. We hope that it will be able to help us make a brighter future for our children.”

Immediately, the reporters roar into questions. Tyler sighs, “So this is how it ends.”

“Huh?”

He looks at me, “I'm one of those select few who have that ability, remember? So now my days are going to be full of healing and resting up to heal some more. I will no longer be able to travel outside of these walls without an escort- instant miracles are all the rage.”

“I barely get what's going on.”

He shrugs, “Basically, someone told the press that we had managed to bring a kid out of a coma, and healed her broken bones. That was roughly a week ago. Now, it's media circus, reporters have been trying to get in here for days, some even trying to pull off the scam that they converted and want to learn more about their new religion.”

“So you admit that it is a religion?”

“This isn't funny. The fact that the event was leaked plus what we actually did means that we can't just keep it under wraps anymore. For better or worse, Traveler's Society is here to stay.”

“Why is it called that anyways? Is that some sort of reference to us Sliders?”

He nods, still watching the media below, “Yeah. I forget the details, though.” He tips his head to one side, “Aw crap, Jace wants me down there. Shouldn't take long, so you can wait here if you want.”

I shrug, “Actually, I think I'm going to go shopping. I feel like I've been wearing these clothes for years.”

He nods, “Yeah, uh, there's a mall a couple blocks down if you use the south exit.”

“Great. What's the currency here?”

He digs in his pocket to pull out a red bill, “This is a five, you can tell by the little dots in the corner. Anyways, the rest of the cash is sort of like it, the dots in the corner. Derek said that this place is the only one that has that sort of stuff, so it's always easy to figure out what he needs to pay with.”

“Okay, thanks.” He raises a hand over his head in greeting as he rushes down the stairs. Jason turns to welcome him. Mikey and me keep on watching. “Hey,” I say as I remember something. I turn to Mikey, “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, probably wont have the answer, though.”

“Last night, when you dropped me off, why'd you call me 'rainbow kid'?”

He shrugs, “Your... Pressure, it made me think of a rainbow, the way it kept on changing colours the longer I looked at it. Extremely distracting when driving, you know. You're like your own little rave party.”

“Cool.” I sigh as I turn my attention back to the media circus, “So you can tell us from the masses, too, eh?”

“Not really, I just see people's Pressures. Luckily, I haven't really developed a knack for healing, otherwise they'd probably try to get me in on the Traveler's Society deal. Not that I hate it, it's real nice, but I just can't stand seeing people in pain. I'm more head on, take-it-or-leave-it kind of person.”

“So what abilities have you developed?”

He shrugs, “I can sense when I'm in danger. Jake's started calling it 'Menace'. He says it makes me the best driver in town.” He runs a hand through his hair.

“How come y'all get the best of both words, huh? You get the stationary life, next to no dealings with the Black, and y'all get these kick-ass powers.”

He shrugs again, “No idea, just the way it is, I guess. I mean, I didn't start seeing people's Pressures until almost a year ago now. Before that, I was just one of the masses in this place, trying to find an answer to the big questions. I almost envy you, though.”

“What part?” I scoff, “The gypsy life, the lack of family outside your team, the inability to hold a job?”

“All of it. You get the chance to explore the world, find out what could have happened. Your powers are way stronger than anyone in here by at least ten times. You get to do stuff, no ties, nothing to hold you back.”

“Yeah, you kind of skipped over the part where none of us chose this.”

“Still, it's something to think about. The world isn't a half-empty glass. I'm not saying that the glass is half-full, mind. I'm just saying that it has  both air and water in it, who cares what the ratio is. Everything exists, why not find out all you can about it?”

“You're nuts.” I wince as a sharp pang shoots through my stomach.

“You okay?” His eyebrows narrow.

I grip my backpack as the pain disappears, “Nothing, must have been something I ate.” I give him the five that Tyler gave me, “Can you give that back to Tyler? I'll figure out what currency the tills'll take. Where's the closest drug store?”

“South entrance, a couple blocks past that.”

“Okay, thanks.” I hitch up my backpack and start walking away from the the railing, away from the cameras, remembering what Jesse had said about how there was a way to know when a person was about to slide.

“Hey wait!”

I double over as another pang shoots through me, “Shit! Little point of pain the gut, Jesse?” It feels like I'm being torn apart. “Shit!” I look up to see Mikey staring at me in shock before the world spins sideways and everything fades to black.

Kicked Out Of My Own Head

 

The wind howls, louder than usual. Slowly, I open my eyes and gape at the sight before me. Tall, thin wooden poles tower over the landscape, some thick ones leaning at odd angles as the tower above the uneven thinner ones. The sky is dark, filled with clouds that threaten to rain at any moment. I can see Hiyori, wearing her black clothes, facing away from me, the wind playing with her white hair. She's focused on something I can't see, crouched in a fighting stance. Lightning flashes.

Gingerly, I hop from one pole to the next making my way towards her. “Hey!” I call out, “I'm here!”

Slowly, she turns to face me. I'm too fa away to read her expression, but there's something wrong with her eyes. Her hands drop to her side. Something tells me to stop moving.

You shouldn't be here.

“Dude, I'm sliding. I always come here. You said that this place is the transitional stage.”

Hiyori vanishes from the pole in a sudden blur of movement. She lands beside me, our cheeks brushing against each other. In that brief instant, lightning flashes again and I see the blood streaming from her eyes. Something glints in the hand she brings across my face even as she launches herself in the air. As she lands ten feet away, the pain registers. I stare at the stream of blood falling into the abyss as my face pulses with pain, my hand going up to apply pressure to the shallow cut. "What?" I whisper, but Hiyori's already jumping further away.

The world blurs, and I feel my self losing my balance, tottering over the edge of the thin pole. Wind flies in my face as my body tumbles to the ground far below. The grey world darkens to black.

Chillax. Armageddon is Tomorrow

 

Wind gets knocked out of my lungs as I slam into the pavement. Slowly, I open my eyes and take in my surroundings. I landed on a sidewalk of a not-to-busy street. There are street vendors, and sidewalk sales, so I must be downtown somewhere. Slowly, I pull myself to my feet, leaning against a traffic light as the world spins. No one seems to have noticed my sudden appearance, except for a little kid leaning out a doorway, staying close to his mom as she talks to a store clerk. He stares at me with wide eyes, amazed by what he saw. He tugs his mom, “Mom! Mom, look!”

My cheek throbs. I press a hand to it, and check for blood, but there is none. My other cheek still tingles from where we had touched.

I grab my bag and start walking. Why did Hiyori do that? What did I do wrong? It was like she just looked at me and decided to ship me off. Why?

Slowly, I start looking around me again. Maybe I should get a fresh set of clothes. I really need to change out of these ones. The sun above beats down, heat rising from the pavement in waves. I shrug off my jacket and stuff it into my bag as I keep on walking, keeping an eye out to see what money the people use. I raise an eyebrow as I see a few coins that look a lot like gold clatter onto a table of an outdoor cafe as a customer pays his bill. I take a seat at the table next to it and start digging into my bag, coming up with the red one almost right away. Keeping it hidden, I pull out a small, brown pouch that jingles. I peer inside to see a pile of silver, gold, and bronze coins.

“What is this?” I mutter to myself as I shove the entire pouch in a pocket, “Diagon alley?”

Nobody answers, but I do get a few odd stares. It takes me a while to figure out why. Every single female is wearing a skirt, varying in length, but  a skirt nonetheless. I shrug, “Not happening.”

I zip up my bag and keep on walking, the pocket jingling slightly. What to do now? Finding the other guys using Pressure isn't even an option, especially after that whole fiasco with the crummy “orchestra”. It was like a radio set on the fritz, changing stations as it moved. So no, no Pressure-hunting. I wouldn't even be able to differentiate between one of the team's and a normal person's Pressure anyways, probably.

Figure out where I am and the date seems like a pretty good idea. “Hey,” I say, stopping a man in a business suit, “What's the date?”

“It's the sixteenth.” He takes off before I can ask him to elaborate.

Okay, I'm asking the wrong question. “Excuse me, what year is it?”

The woman gives me an odd look before she pushes past. A man leaning against the wall straightens up and starts following her, as if he's some sort of protector. He looks back over his shoulder at me, his eyes hardening as they take in my clothing.

“Hey!” A gruff voice growls as a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “What's one of your kind doing out here?” He sneers as I turn to face him. He looks like he's a cop, by the way people start giving us a wide berth, making sure they don't look like they're associated with me.

“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to match his accent, “I got lost, y'know?”

“She's with me.” A clear voice speaks behind us. I look over my shoulder  even as the cop lets me go.

It's Dutch, but he's  not wearing normal-looking clothes. Dressed completely in black as if he were some sort of ninja with a pot-belly, with a black handle poking out from behind his left shoulder, Dutch winks at me before addressing the cop, “Forget about this incident. You never saw us here.”

The cop swallows nervously before he nods, bowing slightly as Dutch grabs me lightly by the arm and steers me past the cop. Once we're out of his hearing range, Dutch starts to chuckle. For Dutch, that's a series of deep-throated sounds in rapid succession, like a car with engine trouble. “Did you see the look on that guys face?”

Chase moseys up to us from his seat on a bench waiting for the bus. “Did the Law give you any trouble?”

Dutch chortles, “Oh Chase, don't ever change. This isn't a Pure-Curse place, just a Hanna.”

“Hanna?” I ask.

“Hanna, the nickname we've given to the dimensions that have wonky, backwards rules in the late 22nd century. Stuff like women must be accompanied by another person who has been trained in combat.”

“Why?”

Chase shrugs, “Different reasons for different dimensions. Who knows why for this one? Anyways, the three of us look pretty bad-ass. We should get off the streets. We've got a real deal going down- we're actually going to go all out on this dealio.”

“Dealio?”

“He means heist,” Jesse says as he pops out of an alley.

“Now we really look bad-ass.”

“Shut-up, Chase.” Jesse turns his attention to me, “So how are all the voices?”

“Annoyed, but I don't know what I did to make it that way.”

“What are you guys talking about?”

“Nothing, Chase, just an inside joke.”

Chase peers at me for a moment suspiciously, “She's not crazy, is she?”

I slug him in the arm, “Don't talk about me in the third person when I'm in the same room as you.”

“We're in a room?” Chase glances up at the sky. I shoot him a dark look. He shrugs, “let me guess, you just quoted an anime, right?”

Jesse glances at me, “Yeah, that's right, from an anime.” He smirks, “It's called Ranbu no Melody.” If that's an anime, it's one that I have never heard of before.

“Right, okay, just don't quote anything from it. I need my brain to remember important things, not stuff  like 'If you're willing to die for someone who's not willing to die for you, what the hell are you doing?' taking up extra bytes. Shit, what one is that even from?”

“Bleach.”

“What kind of anime names itself after laundry detergent?”

“Who cares?” Dutch cuts off further argument.

Jesse ducks his head and whispers, “It's because the original Japanese title described Ichigo's hair, which is orange, the colour it would be if a normal Asian with black hair bleached that black hair, as seen in volume  one of the manga.”

“I heard that!” Chase shoots him a glare, “Anyways, we have to figure out where to go. Apparently, we don't even have so much as a hovel to our name, or at least the Black don't, in these parts. Skip says it's in India.”

“You're kidding, right?” Jesse groans, “Why have the safe house halfway across the globe when the stupid thing's somewhere around here in Washington?”

“Wait, this is DC?”

“Yep, the capital of the United States is about to get heisted,” Jesse announced proudly, earning a hit across the head from Chase.

“Kick it down a couple notches, would you? The last thing we need to do is attract attention before or after.”

“What about during?”

Chase glances at me as he answers my question, “Attracting attention during a heist is good. It's called 'Diversionary Tactics'.”

“So what do we do with stuff when we snag it?”

“'Snag it',” Chase muses, “Now that's a good code word for what we do. Sinisterly innocent.”

“Well? What do we do with the stuff?”

Chase grins, “I'll show you when we get the merch. Promise.”

“So what are we grabbing?”

“No idea. Skip's always afraid that someone will hack our Link, so details like that don't crop up when even a single person is separated by nothing more than a thin wall. So, unimportant stuff like where we're spending the night, and chatting it up during or after a heist is Kosher, also relocating everybody after a Slide, but other than that, everything gets carefully said outside of the link.”

“Yeah, because telling hackers where we are when we're most vulnerable is a brilliant idea.”

“You shared a room with Ky last time, right?”

I shrug.

“So you should know- Ky's a person who doesn't sleep well. She's like a vampire, sleeping is almost something done for kick and giggles, not out of necessity.”

I smile slightly to myself as I remember our  conversation in the dark about the boogey-men and how I had scared them off with my theoretical pyrokinesis.

Oblivious, Chase continues, “If anything planning to harm us thinks that they're getting within a mile of our base, they've got another thing coming. Ky could hear them coming even if we lived by a busy landing strip.”

“Cool. So what's the heist?”

“Like I said, no idea. We'll find out when we join up with the other three.”

“Where?” Jesse asks, “Ky's wondering.”

“The Trek Diner.”

“Aw, come on,” Dutch complains, “The one with the flying saucer out front that you can get your picture taken with?”

Chase grins, “The very one.”

“That thing's popping up so much lately, no matter what dimension we come across that I'm starting to think that it's run by the Black, as an apology that the safe house isn't close by.”

“I think it's more they just want to take good care of their sliders. Nothing wrong with home-cooked meals every once in a while.”

“Shove it, Chase,” Jesse starts, siding with Dutch, “It's creepy, admit it. Something like that should not have the exact same-looking people in the same area. The only thing that makes it obvious that we aren't in the same dimension as the last one that had that place is the fact that there will be  a waitress we don't recognize.”

“I'll admit, it does seem weird, but remember, there are plenty of other places that are inhabited by the same people across thousands of dimensions, it has nothing to do with the fact that their decisions led them there, it just means that they would make the same choice with or without the war. The White House is still in Washington, even though the order of presidents or monarchs in some dimensions changes all the time with the architecture.”

“Why are you even defending it?”

“Why does it matter?” I explode. They all turn to look at me. “It exists, trans-dimensionally or not. There's bound to be some overlap, since dimensions can come from the same branch and have minor differences. I mean, it's not like just one dimension has Abe Lincoln as president in their history, or have World War I end in defeat for the Germans. No offence, Dutch.”

He shrugs, “None taken.”

“So really, it might not be the Black's doing. Y'all make it sound like they control the dimensions, what goes in and out, what happens. If that's true, what do they need us for, huh? They could just take the stuff they wanted, and disappear without a trace.”

There's a moment's silence, and I start to think that I've just made myself look like an  idiot when Chase breaks out into a grin. “You know what, Petite?”

I don't say anything, but rise an eyebrow at him. The grin widens, “You definitely belong.”

After ten minutes of walking, with the streets slowly getting more run-down, we reach a small diner that has a flying saucer painted metallic grey, with a dummy barely visible through the foggy glass of the cockpit.  A sign in blinking lights, some of which have been shot out, reads “Trek Diner”. Chase grins at me as he holds the door open for me, cutting in behind, in front of Jesse who kicks him.

The place is small and quaint. Red leather booths line the window front and sides. In the back corners are circular booths, made to fit up to twelve people it looks like. The walls are decorated with movie posters for sci-fi alien invasion movies, along with “real photographs” of extraterrestrial sightings, with plaques beside each one describing things like the date, photographer, and what the picture was supposed too be about.

“Hey, it's ten o'clock,” Jesse exclaims, “All-you-can-eat pancake breakfast is still on.” Looks like Jesse's a Yo-Yo, swinging between sides and never making up his mind. He got over his suspicions pretty fast.

“Always thinking with your stomach,” Chase chides him before pushing through the virtually empty restaurant to join the red-head at one of the larger booths.

Skip glances up as we all slide into the booth, “This brings back memories.”

Chase grins, “Except we beat the two love birds this time, and made it back the same time Jesse did.”

“And there's no annoying flashing lights,” Dutch adds.

“Hello, did you guys forget the sign outside?” Jesse chirps, “There's plenty of flashing lights, they're just in a different place.”

“So, we're in a booth, there are flashing lights, because the wiring's faulty, and at least one of us already has a drink,” Chase deliberately shoots Dutch a look as he says the last bit. “And yet, so many other things are different.”

“The place we're meeting at still represents a smaller bit of the over-all culture.”

“Oh, so is that why we're here, Skip?” Jesse mocks, “Because it represents a minor culture within the over-all set-up?”

“C'mon, Jesse, you know it's because of the food. It's one of the constants; Trek Diner will always have good food.”

“We didn't come here for the food,” Skip interrupts the light banter, “We came here because it's a safe place to discuss our mission.”

“Which is happening where? Tokyo?” Jesse jokes.

“We're going to Tokyo?” Ky asks as she slides into the booth, followed by Amaar.

“Well, look at who decided to show up,” Chase greets them, “And no, Ky we're not. We're sticking around this area, raiding the- oh, come on Skip! We've been over this! You can't just shut me out like that after a tasty little morsel of information.”

“I can and I did. Don't steal my thunder.”

“Or what? You, Poseidon, and Hades will get together and cause the next war by using mortals as soldiers?”

“No, that happens if his lightning is stolen, not the thunder.” Jesse grins at his clever remark.

“Idiot, lightning causes thunder,” Dutch says, “So stealing thunder means that the lightning bolt was stolen.”

“Are you guys discussing Greek mythology in a modern setting again?” Ky asks. She turns to me, “They did this right after they all went out and watched that movie about the lightning thief. I never understood the point of it. Wars are great, they separate the weak from the strong.”

“Most people want to avoid war.”

“Well then most people are weak.”

“Back to the issue at hand,” Skip interjects, “We've got a target, and a location. Brandee, on a scale of one to ten, how good are you at hacking remotely?”

“That depends on the security of the place. A person's personal computer is child's play, while the FBI have dozens of firewalls and alarm triggers and honeypots.”

“Honeypots? What is this, golf?”

I shoot Jesse a look, “It's a nickname for corners that are built to keep the hacker distracted, thinking they're getting further into the system, when all they're doing is chasing their own tail while the target has ample time to crosscheck where the hack came from, send a team over, and apprehend the criminal.

“It'd be a lot easier to be at the computer being hacked.”

“Alright, we'll see if we can set that in some how. Our target,” he produces a file from his bag, “Is the Dom Pedro Aquamarine on display at the Smithsonian museum of natural history. It weighs approximately four and a half pounds, and could easily fit into any one of our backpacks.”

“Great,” Jesse mutters, “Because crystals are totally worth our time.” He took the file from Skip and started looking at print-outs of floor plans.

“Anyways,” Skip continues, ignoring him, “The crystal is now in the Smithsonian, in storage while a close-matching replica is on display. The problem is, the file doesn't specify which one we need to grab, so-”

“So we're pulling a double,” Chase finishes, “Why not just cut our resources in half?”

Skip shrugs, “It doesn't take a genius to redirect some lasers.”

“But it's going to need to be synchronized,” Jesse mutters. Everyone shifts to look at him. He sighs and elaborates, “Alarm systems. Whichever one you trip, that whole wing gets shut down. The real one's in a storage vault below that wing. We need to time it so that each crew has the maximum amount of time to get out.”

“What if there aren't any alarms?”

“Don't be absurd, petite,” Chase chides, “Of course there are alarms. There's stuff in there worth millions of dollars.”

“Make them not trust the alarms,” I suggest, “The thing runs on electricity.”

“They have a back-up generator.”

“Doesn't matter.  The point is that the system's flawed. They expect it to be wonky once in a while. All we need is a dummy run. If the crystal has it's own independent system, you play with  that. Even if it's a fake, shit hits the fan if  it gets stolen.

“And if it's not independent, then you target something else on the same circuit. That way, security won't tighten unnecessarily on the crystal”

Case raises a hand, “Alright, what are you not telling us about yourself here, petite? You sound like a pro. This can't seriously be your first heist.”

I shrug, “After I watched this one movie, I kind of tried to see if their ideas worked. That you could plan a heist out to the most minute detail without carrying it out, and get a away scott-free theoretically, worst case scenario included.”

“Nerd.”

I punch Jesse. Skips' already nodding, “Sounds good. How do you find out what kind of system it is, independent or open?”

“Grab a security guard and torture him for all the information he knows,” Ky suggests with a vicious grin.

“No, that's plan B,” Chase replies, “Plan A is a trip to the library of Congress, or somewhere equally as useful.”

“Actually, you do a mild hack.”

“Mild? Is there such a thing as a spicy hack?”

“Shut up, Jess, I'm serious. All I need to so is have access to one of their computers, ten minutes of un-rushed time, and presto. The job gets done.”

“Why not just hack the system and shut down all alarms during the heist?”

“Because if the Smithsonian in this dimension is anything like the one in mine, a general hack isn't going to cut it. They'll have trollware and spiderware, the rent-a-cops of the digital world.”

“What happens if you run into those?”

“Doesn't matter. Brandee, you sound more than capable to handle that aspect of this heist.” Skip brings the group back on topic, “As it stands, we need to do some reconnaissance. Checking for exits, counting the windows, timing how long it takes to get from point A to point B and out. Fortunately for us, we don't need to worry about getting caught...”

“Hate to spoil the mood,” Jesse raises his hand slightly, “But-” he stops as the waitress comes  over to us.

“What can I get for y'all today?” she smiles toothily. She's not ugly, but she wouldn't be on America's Next Top Model either. Her blonde hair is pulled away from her face, but a few bangs have sprung loose of the low pony tail. Her cheeks are slightly sunk in, and wrinkles are beginning to form around her eyes and on her forehead. If I had to guess, I'd say she's around 45ish. Her name tag reads 'Melinda Shwartz'.

“Pancake breakfasts for the lot of us,” Skip says quickly before Ky can say anything. She shoots him a dirty look, which he ignores.

“Alright, and what would you like to drink?”

Jesse finger-points a gun at each person as he says what they'll have, “Chocolate milk, Orange juice, water- seriously Amaar, you've got to drink something other than that someday-apple juice, coffee, I'll have a chocolate milk, and Brandee...” he trails off as he looks at me expectantly.

Chase speaks up before I can order, “Be careful, because from now on, whenever we come here, that's what you get stuck with. Russian whiz kid over here-”

“-is not actually Russian, and likes to be on top of things once in a while,” Jesse cuts him off.

“I guess I'll have chocolate milk then.”

The waitress never loses her cool, or writes anything down, “Alright, I'll be right back with your drinks.”

As soon as she's out of earshot, Skip turns to Jesse expectantly, “You were saying?”

“We have to keep on our toes for this one. Forcing it is not an option.”

A collective groan rises from the group. Jesse raises his arms in a placating gesture.“Hey, sorry for saving everybody's butts back there. I'm sure that you'd all rather deal with the Black on your own than be shoved into default mode and having to tread lightly for the next few slides.”

“I still don't think that there were any Black. I think you were just paranoid, as usual.”

“You know what, Ky? My ability, my rules. Rule number one: If there's a Black around, get the heck out of there.”

“I still don't see how it's you who got that particular trait.” Ky grumbled darkly as she looked off to the side.

“Alright, so we pull out all stops on this one," Skip says. "Everybody goes hard and fast, don't let anyone see your actual faces before and during. After's risky, but safer than the other two. Chase, Jesse, Brandee. You three go in on recon, find out what you can, give Brandee enough time to find what she needs. Amaar, you're going in as a intern. We'll pull some strings, bribe the other student by paying his loans to let you in.”

“Nothing like a free education to put people in a giving mood.”

“Shut up, Chase.”

The waitress arrives with two trays with our drinks on them, placing the coffee in front of Skip, the chocolate milks in front of me, Chase, and Jesse, and giving Ky the orange juice. As soon as she leaves, Ky trades with Dutch, who immediately pours some of the alcohol from his bottol into the glass, swirling it around as an attempt to mix it.

"Before that though," Skip continued, "Once Chase gets Amaar in, the three of you need to go shopping. I'll make a list of things we'll need for the job. Your outifit's your own problem, but that should get fixed as soon as possible. Ky can easily be a Guard here, but there's no way that you'd pass that sort of scrutiny."

“What'll the three of us be doing?” Ky asks after taking a sip of the juice and pulling a face.

“We'll be on gear duty once the place has been completely scoured for cover identities and we've come up with an exit strategy.”

“Is that going to involve a military base?” Ky asks excitedly.

“It may, depending on what we need in order to get into the vault. It's a pity telekinesis isn't that strong of an advantage.”

Pancakes are placed in front of us. “Is it just me,” I speak up, “Or is it like some sort of rule that we eat as soon as we get into another dimension?”

“Called 'filling up the tank',” Chase explains, “Sliding is disorienting, so the best thing to do is get your body as adjusted to a new dimension in as little time as possible. Fastest way, for most of us mortals,” he shoots Dutch a pointed look, “Is to get something to eat, preferably something that's virtually a constant, like pancakes. Now, there may be the odd exception where another thing can take the place of food as a familiar thing that the body is accustomed to. For Dutch, that's his concoctions, the stronger the better.”

“Problem is,” Dutch splutters, his words starting to slur, “Is that I can't remember much drinking.”

“The guy has a brain the size of an acorn in there,” Jesse grins, “Most of it devoted to the singular thought 'more booze'.”

“Hey Pina Colada, don't believe a word these two say. They're just jealous that I don't need food as often as they do.”

Chase pats his gut, “Her name is Brandee, and this little fella here begs to differ with your infinite wisdom.”

"i still think that I should be going with you tomorrow," Dutch complains. "Who else is going to be able to find the perfect look for the rookie? We obviously can't let her dress herself for much longer, that's jsut a recipe waiting for disaster."

I open my mouth to snap off a retort, but Skip's already talking. "We need you charged and ready depending on who it is that we're going to be getting the gear we need from. Brandee is just going to have to rely on Chase and Jesse's help for this round."

Jesse, noticing the shade of red that my face was turning, gave me a slight nudge. "They're just messing with you. come on, eat up. Once we're done here, we're going to have the real meeting where ever we crash."

We dig into our pancakes with gusto.

Signal Bad. Connection Good.

Skip lands us a couple of rooms in a motel, and another good-natured argument ensues on who goes where. Apparently, it's a given that me and Ky will share the same bed. The argument is over having one or two guys set up with us, and who it should be. In the end, it comes down to straws when trying to figure out which two guys. Chase and Jesse draw the tallest straws, and so head with me and Ky into our room.

“Let's shoot for some pizza!” Jesse exclaims as he studies the drab, inoffensive decor. Ky claims the bed further away from the door.

“Are you serious, Jesse? We just spent the entire day refueling, and you're still hungry?”

“Yeah, well, the night is young, right Dee?”

“I'm gonna sleep.”

“It's only seven, though.”

“And I have been up for  the past thirty-six hours. And so, I'm gonna go to bed.”

I brush my teeth with a toothbrush and toothpaste Dutch snagged from the drugstore. Apparently, the guy can turn invisible at will, which explains why he randomly appeared in the tunnel, why Chase's light passed right through him. It's pretty cool. I always thought that invisibility was a lame power, but you save so much money if you just take stuff. Anything he touches disappears, including something the size of a grocery cart full of goods. The fridges of both rooms are now full of drinks, snacks, and cheese.  But he said he started feeling guilty ages ago about using his abilities like that, so he always leaves a little gift for the cashier that he would have had to have stood in line for.

I curl up on the side of the bed facing the wall. My exhaustion conquers my inability to fall asleep in the midst of the ruckus the other three are causing.

When I wake up, the room is pitch black and the other three are out cold. Slowly, I pull myself up to see the time: 3:15.  I slept for eight hours. It doesn't feel  like it was enough. I lie back down and close my eye, only a little bit darker than the room.

I feel like it's  summer. It wasn't this warm when I went to bed. Slowly, I open my eyes again and wait for my eyes to adjust to figure out what's going on. Not only am I under all the blankets, but Ky has flipped her half on top of mine, so neatly and precariously that it seems like she did it like some sort of prank. I try to fall asleep.

But my brain won't cooperate and I just lie there for what feels like ages. Eventually, I open my eyes and glance at the clock again: 3:16. I hiss in frustration. I need more sleep than a piddly eight hours.

It soon becomes apparent that I'm not going to fall back asleep any time soon. Instead, I try to slide quietly from the tangle of blankets. If Ky's awake, she doesn't acknowledge me, which is just fine. I dig out my tablet from my bag and feel my way to wards the bathroom.

My toe slams into the wall, and a small yelp of pain escapes my lips. “Shit!” I hiss in the darkness, hopping on one foot while my hand grips my little toe tightly to try to deaden the pain.

I limp into the bathroom, flip down the toilet seat, and get comfortable. There's been something about the tablet that has bothered me since that night at the fancy house where I first entered Kan Kaku and met Hiyori. That was also when I had actually messed around with the tablet.

The crack running along the one side of the screen doesn't seem to have affected the capacity of the tablet to function. The tablet hums as the components whir to life, electrons shooting through silicon parts to send commands telling the operating system what it should be doing. The same screen welcomes me, just like last time.

Except now I know what I'm doing. Quickly, I access a function on the tablet that I hadn't noticed at first last time, represented on the 'desktop' as an eye. The holographic display shifts out of focus before reforming to show a list of files under the heading 'Recently Updated'. Above that is a search engine, to help track down a specific file. My eyes skim over the files listed even as I type my search key into the database.

The files themselves mean nothing to me. Titles like “Operative 67”; “Royal Squadron- Current Assesment”; “Royal Squadron- Branch 32 Mark 654.98 HYTE 7”; “4537- Current Assignment” fill the page, more files about the Royal Squadron than anything else. Any other time, I would probably just click on one randomly, but the holograph shimmers again to refocus on the results of my search.

The keywords were “Magdalene Telemaris”.

It doesn't give me an estimated count of how many results, but there are over a hundred pages of files listed. I select the first one, which turns out to be a dud. The top five are all duds, mentioning her in passing, or making mention of the words “First Rank” or “Annihilation Squadron”.

Finally, I score a file titled “D12-9”. The highlighted text scrolls as my eyes pass over it. All I get is a few lines of text:

Shortly after the night of the birth of Vincent Telemaris as well as the assassination of Magdalene Telemaris, a rogue Lightning team infiltrated the Telemaris household and killed all that lived within the walls of the compound. It is yet to be determined if there are any survivors of the annihilation of the Telemaris clan, one of the remnants of the Dynasty of the Twelve Noble Houses.

I stare at the text, unblinking as I try to understand what it's saying. “Assassination?” I whisper, “If that's what happened, then who did that guy bring us to?”

I click on the link, but an error message pops up, declaring that the file no longer exists. Someone had just deleted it. I feel like kicking myself. If I hadn't waited, if I had just clicked the link, I could have found out more.

I think of another search key to try. Kay Nam Ish Limye. Fingers crossed that I spelled it right, I watch as the text shifts, most of the light disappearing, being replaced by a single line of text:

“Search Key Not Found. Please Refine Search.”

Sighing, I exit the Network. I have no idea whose database it is, but it's definitely connected to the Black. I shouldn't be spending so much time on it anyways.

My thoughts turn to Damien,  or Jinx as he wanted me to call him. How could he know if it all got better, and why make me think about if I'd really rather be home than here? The first part could be dismissed as his trying to comfort a kid he saw on the street. But not his question.

He wasn't a member of the Black, he was too casual, besides the fact that his Pressure was green, a lighter colour than Skip's. The guys have made it really obvious that the Black have black Pressure. So why would he ask me that?

I honestly want to go home. That's the obvious answer. So would he ask me?

Maybe there is a way to get home, but there were strings attached.

“Oi! Brandee, you in there?” Someone knocks on the door quietly.

Quickly, I turn off the tablet and tuck it under my arm. “Turn off the light and move quietly. We've got troubles on the border.”

I turn off the light and creak the door open, my eyes blinking in the sudden darkness. I peer up at Chase, who holds a finger to his lips. He has two bags on his shoulder. “The cops are onto us,” he whispers as an explanation.

The room is already empty, the beds made, the floor swept, with the food nowhere to be seen. It was as if we had never been there. Ky and Jesse are waiting by the door, out of sight of the window. We creep up to them, and Chase silently hands me my bag. I stuff the tablet into a pocket, wincing at the noise the zipper makes in the tense silence.

Red and blue lights dance off the walls, distorted by the window and their movement. We can hear footsteps softly thudding up the staircase, making their way down the balcony closer to our room.

Chase's head jerks up, and he taps Jesse and Ky on the shoulder and jerks a thumb at the wall behind us. They nod and move silently, slipping past us. I watch in amazement as they walk through the wall and disappear.

Chase grabs my shoulder and steers me after them. I stare at the solid wall in amazement. There's a spot roughly the height of a door, and just as wide that bubbles, as if there was a leak in the wall, right where Jesse and Ky walked through. Hesitantly, I start to reach for it, when Chase shoves me from behind into the wall. I flinch and close my eyes, expecting to slam into the wall.

Instead, I fall right through, stumbling over the baseboard. Hands catch me, and move me out of the way. Chase clears the wall, and Dutch steps away from where he was leaning against it.

“What the-”

“We'll explain once we get out of here,” Jesse whispers beside me. Dutch, Amaar, and Skip are already walking through the empty room, opening the door to walk out onto the balcony that overlooks some trees.

We slink down the stairs; Dutch, who had taken up the rear, taking some other route and beating us down. We slip into the forest, leaving the cops behind. Even in the cover of the shadows of the trees, we all flinch as we hear wood shatter and yells as the cops charge the empty room. The noise dies off as soon as it starts, as the cops realize that they just invaded two empty rooms. If the guys left the other room in the same condition as ours, it would look just as if no one had ever even gone in.

Ky's the first one to start laughing, the others soon joining in, except for Skip and me. “Man, I wish I could have seen the look on their faces,” Jesse hoots, “That would have been priceless.”

“We only have a slim lead on them,” Skip cuts in coldly, trying to cut the celebration short, “Let's try to get a little more distance between us and them before we break out the champagne.”

Dutch's face falls as he tucks a green bottle behind his back that he had been shaking. The cork pops, and everyone hears the foaming drink flow out to hit the ground. Chase and the rest keep on laughing, and Dutch takes a swig of the now-opened bottle.

Skip just shrugs it off. Chase punches him the arm, “Come on, Skip, we escaped death again. You know as well as the rest of us that we're way stronger out in the open air than anywhere else. I bet even Brandee could take them all on out here.”

“I don't even know what just happened!” I explode, “What was all that back there? Who were those guys? How'd we manage to walk through a wall?”

“That would be my doing,” Dutch grins proudly, “I can make things change state, so that they can become immaterial. As long as I focus long and hard enough, I can make it stay open enough for other people to use it too.”

“What about the cops? Why would they be coming after us with a SWAT team?”

“Actually, we have no idea.” Chase grins.

“How do you know they were after us?”

“I did a late night scan of people still awake,” he taps the side of his head, “Had trouble falling asleep after someone turned on their TV in the other room.”

“Apparently, they think we're terrorists,” Skip took up the tale.

Chase shoots him a dirty look, “After all the speeches you give me about messing with your head-”

“-you told all of this through the Link, you idiot.”

“And you have to go and steal my thunder by telling the one person who didn't know what was going on.”

“Spare me the theatrics. Anybody have the time?”

Amaar pulls out a gold pocket watch on a chain, “It's five thirty now.”

“Did you subtract the extra five minutes you placed on that thing so that you'd always show up on time?”

“Yes, Ky, I did. Don't worry, I make sure to keep the rest of you to your usual standards of time.”

“Good.”

“So they thought we were some sort of terrorists?”

Chase nods, “Yeah, might have had something to do with what happened earlier, when that cop  came up to you and tried to arrest ya.”

“So what now?”

“Now, we might as well get breakfast.”

“What do we do with all the food? Some of this can't be kept out of the fridge for more than a few hours in the middle of daytime.”

“Alright, we'll grab a bite to eat, split up, and Dutch and Ky can double back and take over that room we skipped through.”

“The seven of us in one room, Skip?” Jesse joins in, siding with Chase, “We got two separate rooms for a reason.”

“We'll only need one for  the day. We were planning on moving on from there by nightfall anyways.”

“Alright, back to the Trek Diner?” Jesse suggests sarcastically.

“No need for a meeting, so no. We split up now and go our own ways.”

“Alright, see y'all later,” Chase replies, already turning away.

“We're not seriously going to spend the entire day at the Smithsonian, are we?”

Chase grins, “We'll stop by there in the morning, grab a bus to the Library, and then head on right back.”

“Why not go to the library first?”

“Because I need to help Amaar get past security and insert him into the anthropology department working with the crystals. Amaar can't just talk his way through those kinds of things, can you?” he turns to Amaar, who's already dressed in a button-down shirt and horn-rimmed glasses.

he shakes his head ruefully, “Nope. Once in, I can handle it, but getting the door open is your specialty.”

An idea starts to form in my head. It'd be a good test run, but I don't say anything, just in case it doesn't work out too well. Besides, I'd be on a tight schedule.

This early in the morning, buses are just starting their routes. We sit separate from each other, as if we're strangers. I start reading the book again. When we pull over at the Smithsonian, only Jesse and me get off. I shoot Chase a confused look as the bus pulls away from the curve. He waves lightly as the bus returns to the mix of commuters.

“Why'd they stay on?”

“Because it'll look better on Amaar's part if he drives to work. Chase is going with to give the guy a blank piece of paper that will look like a cheque.”

“Yeah, well, it's not like Chase will be there for the job interview.”

“Nah, I think he plans to set it up so that all Amaar needs is some credentials.”

“So what are we supposed to do?”

“Sit on a bench and look homeless, I don't know.” He shrugs. “The preliminaries are all just sitting around and waiting.  They'll be back in an hour, when most of the employees start showing up. That'll be normal. It'd be kind of suspicious if he's just waiting outside the gates.”

I follow him to a bench near the entrance and pull out my tablet. “Holographic controls off,” I mutter loud enough for only the computer to hear the command.

I start tapping away, hooking up to the Internet. I don't know how else to hack into the system from here, especially when I don't have my Commodore or the place's phone number. Or access to a Smithsonian computer. An idea strikes me and I dig out a USB from a small pocket on the side of my bag that is chock full of them. I plug it into my tablet, and grin to see that it's completely blank.

“What'cha doing?”

I shove my book at him as I turn back to my hack of the Smithsonian. “I'm busy.”

“With what?”

“Stuff. Don't ask questions you don't want answers to.”

“Fair enough. Why'd you keep this dogma stuff anyways?”

“Because it's the only lit I've come into contact with since I started sliding. Sorry for being bored enough to read stuff. Now leave me alone.”

I open up my command prompt, and type in commands that to most people seem like gibberish, switching from my hack to the empty USB. Creating programs was something I loved even more than hacking.  And it would save us a trip to the library

“And what are the kiddies up to?” Chase asks as he stops in front of us.

Jesse slams the book shut, careful to hide the spine and cover. I turn my attention to Amaar standing beside him. I stand up and hold the tablet in front of me, “Look serious.” I snap a quick picture off, finish the program, and return to the hack.

“What's she doing?”

Jesse shrugs, “Wouldn't tell me.”

Chase shrugs, “Well,  the place will open in an hour if y'all want to wait that long.”

I glance up, “Sure.” They start to walk away, reminding me. “Wait!” I stand up quickly and yank the USB out. “When do we heist it?”

Chase thought for a moment, “I'm guessing in a few days, since there's some massive galeria in the adjacent wing then. Perfect time. Why? Want time off to go shopping?”

Ignoring the jibe, I hand Amaar the USB, “Plug this into a Smithsonian computer not accessible to the public at 3:54 today without getting caught.”

Amaar raises an eyebrow, “Why?”

“So that I can hack through virtually anything inside.”

“That's what you were working on?” Jesse asks.

I shrug as an answer.

Chase and Amaar leave, and I go back to hacking, a small smile playing on my lips as I photo-shop Amaar into a picture for a file. I keep his name, giving him the last name “Cuther Pauli” for kicks since I still don't know what his actual name is.

Before long, Chase comes back, a confused expression on his face. I've already tucked the tablet back into my bag, mischief accomplished. Jesse raises an eyebrow as he approaches. “That was fast.”

“Apparently, they were already expecting Dr. Amaar Cuther Pauli, an honored associate of some bigwig at the Jeffersonian, to visit for the next few days or so.”

“Weird, did anybody get knocked off?”

“No, they recognized him as soon as we entered the building. Apparently, a memo went out to the entire staff this morning, saying that he was coming down as an expert in the field of geology, to study the museum's collection. People were very interested in learning more about him, especially since there's an article online devoted to his work in the theoretical formation process of several high-end crystals.”

“Weird,” I say, “But convenient, right?”

He shakes his head at he grins at me, “You're going to put me out of a job, Petite.”

“Why? What'd she do?”

Chase glances at him, “You mean you sat beside her this entire time, but you don't know what happened?”

“No,” Jesse replies slowly, “But you're suggesting that I should have.”

“Our dear little hacker friend here hacked her way into the system, and set Amaar up with a fake ID and everything. I even Googled him on my way out- over twenty hits that all are dated from a variety of days, with thousands of viewers listed.”

“The Internet can be an ally if you know how to use it,” I grin, “Otherwise it's just a pain.”

“Is he on any sort of social media?”

“Nah, too much hassle, then you have to come up with all sorts of other people's profiles, and I just didn't have the time.”

“But you could have?”

“The world is my oyster when I'm in front of a computer.”

“Cute. So, should we stick around and check out security, or come back after a trip to figure out what sort of tech they have?”

“Raid the place,” Jesse grins, “That way, we've got an idea of what we're getting into.”

“I wasn't asking you.”

I blink. “Doesn't really matter to me as long as we're in a quiet place by 3:53.”

“You told Amaar 3:54.”

I shrug, “Need to leave room for error.”

“What'd you give him that doo-hickey-thing for?”

“All in good time. Let's scope the place out.”

Snakes

 

The only place creepier than a museum is a funeral home, and even then it's hard to tell which one's creepier. People are silent, walking on eggshells for fear of annoying someone else. I smirk at the thought. If people are trying to be quiet, then why are they walking on eggshells? That would just make a bunch of crunching noises with each step.

But seriously, the place is full of people walking around and whispering to each other. Except for the tour groups, especially the little kids. Someone in the back goofs off, the guide raises his voice to try to get their attention, the goof-ball gets louder in response, causing the guide to get louder too. And then they move on to the next display.

The place is massive. Standing three stories high, the building is lit by a sky-light as well as huge chandeliers. The second and third floors rim the sides of the rotunda, with stairs at specific spots  enabling visitors to visit those floors. The walls are made of marble, and marble columns with spiderwebs of grey running through them tower over people's heads, supporting the building and giving it a sort of awesome feeling. People move in groups of  varying number, standing in line to buy their ticket to the first IMAX viewing of the day, or meander up the stairs to view the other floors. In the middle of the rotunda, an elephant stands with its truck raised, yellowing tusks held at the ready to defend its stand of sand and fake brush.

Jesse grabs my arm and starts dragging me along. Yanking my arm free, I shoot him a glare as we walk at the same rate as everyone else- just another part of the crowd. Chase is already half-way up the stairs.

I stop in my tracks. Something's watching us. Some one. Among the quiet, peaceful atmosphere, there's a single Black thread wafting in the air, invisible to everyone else. I watch as it weaves in and out, going through people as it wanders around, like a fish among rocks. It slips to a stop before me, and rises up like a snake. It twists into a black hooded cobra  with glittering eyes. It strikes at me with a hiss. I shriek as I jump out of the way.

In a flash, the tendril of Pressure vanishes, smoke dissipating to mingle with the air before disappearing before.

I can't move, my eyes fixed to where it had just been. Jesse steps in front of me, slouching a little to make eye contact. Before I know it, he's coaxing me over to a bench, helping me to sit down. I keep staring straight ahead of me.

What the hell was that? I start shaking uncontrollably as I think about how close it got before my Motes attacked it.

“What happened?” Chase's voice seems to be coming from far away, even though I know he's right beside me.

“I don't know. She was right beside me, and then all of the sudden she freaked out and froze up.”

“She's not moving still.”

“What do we do?”

“Get her out of here. I'll come back later to measure things out.”

“What about Amaar and the chip thing?”

“If she's not with it in a couple of hours, we'll call him up and tell him to hold off. I've got a feeling that the chip's not something we can leave lying around.”

Hands gently grab each of my arms and bring me out of the room. I can still feel the thread behind us, but it makes no move to stop us from leaving. The sudden warmth on my face tells me that we're back outside.

“You guys wait here, I'll go steal our car back.”

One of them stays beside me and the other leaves. He leans against the bench and sighs, “Dee, you have got to let us know if you're an escapee from a mental asylum. We won't send you back, but we could at least get you some meds you know.”

I'm not crazy.

“Didn't say you were.” Guess I didn't think it. “But when it comes to this sort of business transaction that we tend to make a lot of, it's good to know who's bananas and who's not. Jesse over there, he's just barely gotten his land legs. His dimension has the world still covered in water, y'know, so he's used to swimming door to door when he goes trick-or-treating.

“What happened to you in there anyways?”

I shake my head. “I don't know. There was this... thing. And it attacked me.”

“You seem to be okay now. Did you see it go into your ear or nose?”

I groan and lean forward, losing my balance. Chase grabs me before I can fall to the cement. “Just asking to make sure that whatever it was, it didn't get you. Theoretically, anything is possible, I just want to make sure that you're all right and that it didn't enter your brain like in some horror film.”

“I... I'm fine.”

“Ready to go back in?”

I shudder and he lets up.

“One of us will bring you home and stay to keep an eye on you, alright?”

I nod as Jesse pulls up  to the curb meant for buses in a dark green Ferrari. Chase opens the door for me and gives Jesse a hard stare. Glad that I can't hear them Linking Up, I rest my head on the head rest and shut my eyes. Jesse doesn't say a word the entire ride back. If he did, I didn't hear anything as I settled into a doze. 

Guns and Floral Skirts

 

                Jesse left me alone in the hotel, only to come back a few hours later carrying several mismatched shopping bags that all bulged the same way. His arms were so full that he had to kick the door to get my attention. I turned my tablet off before opening the door, trying keep from blinking too often. Every time I blinked, I saw that Pressure snake. I had already figured out that it belonged to that woman in the red dress, Magdalene, and had been scouring the files on my tablet, trying to find out more about her. But the majority of the files that mentioned her either didn’t make sense, were useless, or both. I was no closer to figuring out why she had tried to kill me than I was right when her Pressure had started to wrap around my throat.

                Jesse dumped the bags onto the closest bed, next to where I had dropped the tablet. His eyes flitted to it briefly, but then he turned his attention back to the bags that he had brought in. He started to dump them out, and low and behold all of them held clothes and a few pairs of women’s shoes.

                “Normally Dutch is the one who gets to arrange outfits for everyone, but since he’s tangled up right now with Skip and Ky and some local terrorist stronghold, I was asked to raid the local thrift shops. And a designer store, but I couldn’t find a suit in Dutch’s size, so I had to order that one to be tailored. Hopefully it’s ready to go for when we pull this mess off.”

                I held out one of the floral-print skirts distastefully, careful to only allow a few fingers to touch it. “Why so many skirts?”

                “Because you’re wearing pants in a no-pants zone. I wasn’t sure what kind you like, and since you don’t use the Network, there was no way for me to ask you. And don’t girls like having options anyways?”

                “And don’t guys always pass out stereotypical judgements based on their limited range of experience with the opposite sex?” I let the skirt drop, eyeing my new wardrobe with a critical eye. “And if you think that I’m going to wear heels, you’ve got another thing coming.”

                “Hate the game, not the player,” Jesse says with a shrug. “And the heels aren’t for you, they’re for Ky. She’s gonna be one of the distractions, since she’s obviously the only female with looks around here.”

                I punch him in the arm. “Ow,” he says, massaging it with a grin on his face. “That really hurt. Please don’t hit me again, I don’t think I could stand another punch like that.”

                I stomp on his foot. Not hard, since he is going to need to be light on his feet soon, but with enough pressure so that he knows that I meant it. He shifts weight to his uninjured foot even as he gives me a pouty face. “Guess I earned that one.”

                “Ya think?”

                He clears his throat and jerks his head towards the heap of crumpled suits, shirts, and skirts. “Anyways, you should probably change into a skirt now, in case we have to make a run for it… No, not that one.” He snatches the midnight blue dress out of my hand that I had picked up simply to see what was underneath. As if I was going to actually wear that monstrosity. It’s covered in sequins and sparkles even in the dim lighting of the motel room. Plus it’s skin tight.

                He handles it as if it were the set of crown jewels from Britain and gently lays it on the bed, apart from the mass of clothes. “This one’s for Ky. It cost me fifty bucks, and that was on sale.”

                “It is the ugliest thing that I have ever seen.” Okay, maybe not the ugliest, but it definitely makes the top ten.

                “Well, unlike you, Ky can actually use the Network, and she picked this one out herself. Although she was a little distracted at the time, since they had just been spotted by some of the terrorists.”

                My mouth starts to fall open before I regain control of it. “Why are they by terrorists?”

                Jesse grins. “It’s this little thing called commandeering. They need to get us some supplies, like surveillance equipment, some sturdy nylon rope- preferably black- and firepower. Even just some tranquilizer guns would be good.”

                “Wait, we use actual guns for these things?”

                Jesse’s lips pinch together, one side lilting up slightly as he gives me a sheepish look. “Well, sometimes we end up going into a hot one. It’s a hard life we’re in, you know? I mean, come on, it’s either us or them, and we’re crappy enough shots that half the time we miss anyways.”

                “And what about the other half?” I demand, my sweaty hand clenching a skirt.

                “Well- careful with that, you’ll wrinkle it. Um, the other half of the time is mostly flesh wounds, you know, like legs, knees, maybe a shoulder. We aim low. Besides, it’s not our fault that we’re stuck in this life, having to steal stuff in the hopes that we’ll get to go home. At least those other people have a home, and a stable job. Nobody forced them into what they’re doing. It’s not like we go out of our way to kill people or get into shootouts. Unless it’s, like, Hitler or Stalin or some other war criminal. And in that case, we’re doing a service, and it’s mostly Dutch and Ky who do it, so you know that the person’s dead and not writhing in agony.”

                “But we’re going to get shot at?”

                “No, not for this one,” Jesse replies, trying to dissolve my worries. “I mean, especially not you, since you won’t even be in a danger zone. There’s no way that we’ll set you up in a spot where you might get shot at. You’ll probably be in the getaway vehicle with Chase or someone else. There’s no way that we’d have you go solo for your first one.”

                “What about for the second? Or third even.” I can actually feel my body start to freak out, my heartrate jumping higher than nearly getting hit by that truck.

                Jesse sighs. “Don’t worry about it. Considering what your skill set is, there’s no way that we’d actually let you in the field. You’ll probably operate from a safe zone.”

                “Great, I feel so much better.”

                Jesse glances at his watch. “I still need to check out the Dom before the museum closes. Tomorrow’s going to be crammed with a bunch of simulations to make sure everyone knows what they’re going to be doing. Amaar will be exempt, of course, since he’s some hoity-toity geologist and needs to keep that cover going for a couple more days. You want to stay here while I go check it out?”

                “Absolutely not. I’m coming with.” I grab a skirt and- thank whoever it was that gave Jesse brains- leggings before spinning around and marching to the bathroom. “Just hold on a second.”

Impressum

Bildmaterialien: photo courtesy of Google images. all rights reserved by the makers of the
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 01.10.2012

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It's not a finished work! But slowly, like a snail murderer, the ending is creeping up. along with all the editing that needs to happen. If you come across a passage that doesn't sit right with you, please message me with the subject line "Haha, you suck at writing" seriously. we're all super nice on this site, so a mean subject line like that will never show up unless prompted. so now, it is prompted :)