Real Life Invasion
Another excerpt from my story Corrupting Paradise. In this scene, we meet Elim for the first time, and we also encounter Client 47 in Pod 109, who will be the team’s problem for the rest of the story.
—
Ano knocked on Elim’s open office door out of habit and stepped in without waiting for an answer. Stepping over a loose cable on the floor, she made her way to the sole occupant of the room, who was perched on his chair in the middle of a nest of wires surrounded by input tablets and a rack of memory crystals. Raising her voice a little to be heard over the chirps and whirring that spilled from the mass of technology around her, Ano put a hand on her Operator’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”
As an Almarian male, Elim shared his employer’s accent, but his physical attributes were similar to Ano’s only in their vividness. His mess of black hair was naturally streaked with silver and his eyes changed color according to his mood. At the moment, his irises reflected purple in the light from the screen he was staring at. Ano winced. Purple meant her friend was severely stressed.
When he spoke, his emotion was confirmed by the strain in his normally flowing voice. “This could be nothing.” She gave him a look that he caught as he glanced up at her. He read the disbelief on her face clearly and sighed heavily, turning back. “Or it could be something so big that we’ll have wished you’d have believed me when I said it was nothing and we hadn’t gone on and talked about it.”
Ano patted him on the shoulder sympathetically. “Fair enough. Now talk about it.”
With all the motivation of a prophet preaching the end of the world to people ignoring the fire raining out of the sky, Elim gestured to the screen in front of him.
For several moments, Ano was nonplussed. “It’s a portion of the roster,” she pointed out unnecessarily.
And indeed it was. Columns of information scrolled by, listing client name, requested reality, the length of the customer’s stay, date of project completion, the names of the team members responsible for the project, the form and amount of payment, and the number of the stasis pod currently holding the customer. Besides the disturbingly low numbers in the payment columns, Ano had never seen anything less like an emergency in her life.
“Yes,” Elim replied patiently, as if he was trying to talk to someone who still refuses to believe the world is ending even though her dog has just been hit by a flaming meteor. “Look at Client 47.”
She looked at Client 47. And then she looked again. And then a third time, just to make sure she wasn’t blinking and looking at the wrong line or just plain hallucinating.
She wasn’t.
There was no name in the “Name” column for Client 47. The information in the “Requested Reality” column flickered, changed from “rainy library” to “wooded beach” and flickered again as it stopped on “ocean vista” and turned into a jumble of code before righting itself and changing one more time, landing on “rainy library” again.
“Client 47,” Ano declared with the quiet dread of a person who gets hit by a flaming meteor, loses a leg and her eyesight and finally admits that maybe, just maybe, something’s wrong with the weather today, “is in a universe that is rapidly disintegrating.”
“Yes,” Elim agreed. There were several moments of silence.
“Elim?” Ano inquired politely.
“Yes?”
“I’d like to go back to that sentence where you mentioned that I was going to wish I didn’t ask and we never had this conversation.”
“Oh? What would you like to do differently?” He watched her face cautiously to make sure her eyes weren’t changing color; Ano’s green irises had a habit of turning gold when she got drastically upset.
Her expression, though, remained very calm as she answered, “I would like to agree with you.”
“This is what you get when you don’t listen to me.”
“Next time I try and disagree with you, hit me and demand a raise.” Ano straightened from bending to read over his shoulder, stretched her neck, tapped her earpiece into place and spoke the nine words that her team dreaded to hear. “We have a Real Life Invasion in Pod 109.”
She was a bit disappointed when no one answered right away, even though she hadn’t expected them to. Finally, Tri broke the silence. “Oh.”
This was followed by Becken’s, “We’re on our way down.”
Ano waited expectantly for Jenny and wasn’t disappointed when her, “Can I stay with my titanium river? Please? Just this once?” came moments later.
“Everybody downstairs. Jenny, wait for us. Elim, if you’d be so kind as to fill the others in while we go?” She headed to the door, hesitating just a second before stepping back into the main office and towards something she didn’t at all want to face.
“Boss!” Elim called, swiveling in his chair at the last second.
She turned expectantly and held his eyes for a moment, taking in the anxious blue color they’d turned. His voice was about as serious as it got. “Accidents happen. It’s just life.”
There were several things he could have said, most of which Ano wanted to hear far more. It would do. With a smile that she couldn’t back up with humor, she left the office.
Springfield Halloween: Getting a Move On, and Other TV Cliches
My second writing prompt for Springfield Halloween: “So, are the two of you going to break out into song at some point?” Carson, Jake and Elizabeth prepare for a night on the town.
—
“For heaven’s sake, get a move on! We’re already late!”
Jake Caster took a second to wonder just how many times he’d heard those exact same words in that exact same Scottish accent over the course of the twelve or so years he’d known Carson Cramer. Once every holiday, at least. Back when they were at school, it had been about once a class period. He had long since gotten used to his best friend being two literal steps ahead of him, trying to walk just a little faster to wherever it was that they were going. Jake was well acquainted with the back of Carson’s head; he could probably draw it with his eyes closed.
Carson surged on ahead and Jake lollygagged behind and watched his back. It was a system, and it worked for them. But Jake was almost sure that this was the first time in the history of their friendship that he was lagging behind because he was being forced to carry a freaking fifteen pound television camera.
“Why did I let you talk me into this?” he wondered aloud to the back of Carson’s head. “I was going to spend the night at home, actually getting things done. Aren’t you always saying that I need to concentrate on my art?”
“No,” the other man replied without hesitation. “Your mother is the one who tells you to concentrate on your art. I’m the one who’s been telling you to get a bleeding social life for the last ten years. What man in his right mind stays home on Halloween, when there are lovely costumed young ladies running about with snacks?”
Not for the first time, Jake was momentarily thrown by his friend’s apparently boundless ability to turn every innocent holiday into an excuse to date someone. “…I’ve never thought of Halloween that way before.”
“And that’s why you’re living in an apartment by yourself,” Carson replied. They finally slowed down to round the corner to the cafe. Carson tossed Jake a wink over his shoulder; the motion made his face twist oddly under the white half-mask covering the right side of his face. Jake would never admit it out loud, but the Phantom of the Opera look worked for Carson like it would for few others. The white shirt and ruffly cravat added drama to an otherwise classic tuxedo, and only someone as ridiculously extroverted as Carson could actually pull off that cape.
Jake forcibly returned his attention to the conversation at hand, mostly because Carson’s ensemble made his own thrown-together ninja outfit seem a little pathetic. “Hey, I have a cat!” he protested weakly. Carson turned back to reply, but Jake already knew what he was going to say, and he was pretty much right, so he capitulated with a sigh and changed the subject. “Remind me again why you don’t have some studio lackey doing the heavy lifting for you?”
It was Carson’s turn to sigh. “Because apparently I’m the only one mad enough to work on Halloween.” The reporter came to a halt outside Stone’s cafe and turned to his friend. He reached out a hand to balance the camera as it rocked with Jake’s sudden deceleration to keep from running into Carson.
For the first time, Jake noticed the dark shadows under the one eye he could see in Carson’s face. The man looked tired. No, more than tired—exhausted. Jake’s eyebrows creased in concern. “The headaches again?”
“Aye,” Carson said softly, and Jake knew that they had to be bad for him to admit it at all. Carson saw his concern and waved him off with studied casualness that would have fooled someone who hadn’t known him inside and out since high school. He probably hadn’t actually slept in days.
Still, now wasn’t the time, and this definitely wasn’t the place. So Jake gave in again, and hoisted the camera to his shoulder with another sigh. “Want to try a spot before Elizabeth gets here?”
“Too late!” a voice said from behind him. Jake turned to see Elizabeth Hollowitz, Springfield’s meteorologist, standing on the sidewalk.
Carson gave a low whistle of appreciation as they took in her appearance, and Jake was inclined to agree, even if Elizabeth still scared the crap out of him a little after their one disastrous date. She looked amazing; the cream-colored dress fit her like it’d been made for her, and her blonde hair was done up in an intricate curly knot thing that Jake had never seen before. If he didn’t know the real Elizabeth, he would have been charmed.
Elizabeth held out a red rose in her hand. “A flower for the gentleman?”
Apparently, Carson didn’t know any better. He stepped around Jake to stand in front of his fellow newscaster with a huge grin on his face. “Well, don’t you just make the right prettiest Christine I’ve ever seen.” He took the flower and neatly tucked it into his buttonhole.
Elizabeth gave him an elaborate mock curtsey. “Why thank you, kind sir.” She straightened with a wink in Jake’s direction. “The station’s due for a ratings pickup. The two shining stars of the evening news winning the couples costume contest should do the trick, don’t you think?”
“That depends on the competition,” Jake replied with a grin.
Carson scoffed. “That coming from the man dressed as a funerary director.”
“You gave me ten minutes to find a costume! This is the best ten-minute ninja costume Springfield has ever seen!”
“Alright, alright,” Elizabeth interceded with an eye roll. “Where are you boys off to?”
“Interviews,” Carson said with a sigh. “I got enlisted for on-the-street.”
She gave him a piercing look. “You mean you volunteered.” When he glanced away sheepishly, she smiled a little. “Well, it hardly seems fair to abandon my costume partner to a night of drudgery. I’ll help you with the interviews, then we can go do something fun with the night.”
Carson opened his mouth to object, but Jake beat him to it. “Thanks!” he said brightly. He hoisted the camera to his shoulder and thumbed it on. “So, our first interview of the evening: Springfield’s star newscaster and mostly-accurate–”
“Hey!”
“–Almost always accurate meteorologist! Carson Cramer and Elizabeth Hollowitz, I ask the question that everyone in Springfield wants to know after seeing you together tonight.” He paused for dramatic effect. “So, are you two going to break out into song at some point? Because if you are, I’m obligated to record it for posterity. And the viewing audience.”
He had to turn the camera off and duck out of the way to avoid Carson’s play punch at his shoulder, but it was worth it to see his friend lose the tired wrinkles around his eyes for a second.
Elizabeth just rolled her eyes again, but this time there was affection there. “Why do I get the feeling I just signed up for babysitting? Come on, let’s go find an unsuspecting citizen to interview.”
“The news never stops!” Carson proclaimed cheerfully, and ignored the groans from his friends as he led them off down the street.
Springfield Halloween: The Pirate Ship and a Horse Named Sid
The first of a series of Springfield Halloween writing prompts, which will eventually connect together! The prompt for this one: “Where on earth did you get a horse?”
What’s going on? Check out the Previous Segment over on The Art of Observation!
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“Hey Trudy, can you come out here for a sec?”
Trudy Hainz looked up from the blood-and-guts sundae she’d been preparing and took the opportunity to wipe some very red sprinkles off onto her apron. She glanced around the crowded soda fountain-turned pirated ship, trying to locate the source of the voice, before she realized it was coming from outside on the street. “Saul?”
Her voice was lost in the chaotic chatter of sugared-up customers and the sound of the door closing. “Brian!” she shouted to the closest costumed adult. “Is Saul out there?”
The math teacher straightened his eye patch miserably and gave a cursory look out the door. Trudy watched with interest as her friend’s shoulders froze, tensed, and then settled into that really stressed hunch that they did whenever their owner was about to lie. “Uh…no?”
Trudy sighed and quickly piled some green whipped cream onto the sundae. There was no reason for it to be green, but she’d had it left over, and she had to use it on something. “Tell him I’ll be right out!” With a flourish, she handed the sundae over the counter to Seth Mercury. “One blood-and-guts deluxe sundae!” She looked at the teen closely. “This really, really sugary desert wouldn’t be for Timothy, would it? Because it’s nearly seven o’clock, and he’ll never sleep.”
Seth’s eyes flickered from Trudy’s face to the sundae to the tiny bit of blonde mop just visible over the edge of the counter at his waist. “Uh…no?”
Trudy pretended not to hear the stifled giggle from under the counter and nodded sternly. “Good. Because any wizard worth his salt is wise enough to keep sugar away from hyper seven year olds after nightfall!”
“He’s a dinosaur wizard!” Timothy Green protested indignantly. His adorably ruffled head appeared from where he’d been ducked down behind the counter, giving up his hiding place out of indignation. The headpiece of his dinosaur suit was askew, and Seth straightened it out of habit with the hand not holding the ice cream.
Trudy nodded wisely. “A dinosaur wizard! Of course, I should’ve seen that. Well, Mr. Dinosaur, you better make sure that your wizard there doesn’t give you too much sugar, alright?”
Timothy nodded solemnly. “You bet, Ms. Trudy!”
The woman smiled affectionately and winked at Seth. “Have a good time.” She received a resigned smile just before Timothy grabbed his sitter’s hand and tugged them both out the door.
She heard the little boy’s voice say, “Hey, Mr. P, that’s awesome!” right before the door shut on the cool outside air again.
Interest officially roused, Trudy dusted off her hands again and swung open the counter partition to get out from behind the register. The sound of laughter from her right distracted her for a moment. She signaled to Brian to mind the register for a second and deliberately ignored the panicked look she got in return. “But Trudy–”
She held up a hand to stall his complaints. “No buts! You promised you’d help if I covered for you! If you don’t want to take the register for a couple minutes, then you can go right over and take your turn in the dunk tank!”
Brian was defeated, and they both knew it. With a belabored sigh, he marched over to the counter. Smothering a smug grin, Trudy carefully straightened the ruffle-trimmed bodice of her pirate barmaid costume and gathered up the ends of her full skirt in one hand before turning to see what the noise was about.
The crowd over in the barber shop had lessened for the moment; Mr. B was entertaining a few people in the apple bobbing line with his authentic pirate accent. He caught Trudy’s eye and winked at her. The huge red cockatoo on his shoulder chose that moment to squak loudly, shake out its multicolored tail feathers, and announce, “Awk! Shiver me timbers, matey!”
It still made Trudy laugh, even after three hours of listening to the bird talk. She made her way over to the barber and gave the bird’s head a stroke. “He really is something, Mr. B. A talking bird! You went all out this year.”
Eugene grinned proudly at her. “That I did, lassie. Whatcha be needin’ from the Dread Pirate Bud?”
Trudy giggled again and mocked a curtsy at him. “Just wanted to come pay tribute, Captain! If you and your first mate need anything tonight, you’re welcome to hop behind the counter and get a drink. We’re doing good business tonight.”
“Speak for yourself, bar wench! No hair’s bein’ cut tonight, that I can assure yeh.”
“Still, the place looks great. You and Ian did an amazing job.”
This much was certainly true. Bud’s Barbery and Trudy’s soda fountain had been converted into an impressive rendition of a pirate ship, wood planks and all. The barber chairs had been cleared away to make room for the apple bobbing barrel, and the far wall was dedicated to an old-fashioned ring toss. It was only then that she realized that she and Eugene were the only pirates in the room. “Where’d Ian go?”
Eugene gave a theatrical sigh and pointed towards the cashier counter. It took Trudy a moment to realize that Ian Rollands, barber assistant extraordinaire, was actually folded up underneath it. Ian was a tall guy, but he’d managed to work his way into the space, and now sat folded in on himself. He had a book on his knees which he studied with feverish intensity. His lips moved soundlessly, and Trudy was pretty sure he was plugging his ears with his fingers. He was using the fake pirate hook on his right hand to turn the pages. She looked over at Mr. B questioningly. “Midterm?”
“Midterm,” Eugene agreed. He lowered his voice, and for the first time all evening he dropped the pirate speak. “His social perspectives class. Worthless teacher gave them the review a week late. Normally I’d make him walk the plank for leaving me with the apple-bobbing mob, but he’s worried about this one. I’ve got him running the ring toss when people ask for it.”
Trudy smiled at him knowingly. “Why Captain! You’re nothing but a big softy!”
“Arr!” Bud growled, waving his parrot-free arm threateningly. “Be gone, yeh scurvy cur, before I make yeh walk the plank!”
“Awk! Walk the plank!”
Trudy laughed and did as she was told, finally making it to the door to step outside. She worried that Saul might have already left because she’d taken so long to get away. For a moment she only noticed the cold October air against her skin and the noise of the laughing crowds moving up and down the sidewalk.
But then she saw the horse.
It was a huge, black thing with slim legs standing patiently in the road outside the shop. Trudy didn’t know much about horses, but she thought that this one was beautiful, all glossy flank and shining hair in the streetlights. For a moment, Trudy could only stand there aghast, staring up at the caped, black-masked man on the horse. He tipped his hat to her, and a little light glinted off the brim that came down over his eyes. She had to admit, it was pretty impressive. “Where on earth did you get a horse?”
Saul Poplar grinned at her and flourished with an arm, showing the red lining of his cape. “Good evening, Senorita,” the man intoned in a bad Spanish accent.
“Hi, Saul,” she said rather weakly. “I mean, Senor Zorro.” She cautiously approached the second grade teacher and his horse.
Saul dismounted with the fluid ease of someone who was naturally comfortable with horses. He patted the beast’s flank affectionately. “He’s really something, isn’t he?” he said in his normal voice. He reached out and grabbed Trudy’s hand, reeling her in until she could touch the horse’s silky mane. “I only have him for the night. Figured Sid here could help me win that couples’ contest, isn’t that right, boy?”
Trudy was now stroking the horse’s neck with reverence. “Sid?” she asked curiously. It seemed like an odd name for such an impressive animal.
“His full name is Black Obsidian,” Saul said with a shrug. “Kind of a mouthful if you have to shout it every time the posse catches up with you.”
For a moment the two of them just stood there smiling goofily at each other, their fingers only a few centimeters apart on Sid’s flank.
“Wow, Mr. P!”
The moment was abruptly shattered as two of Saul’s students rushed up. Their teacher had to reach out a hand to steady the horse. “Woah! Easy, guys. Sid here is a real show horse, you have to be a little quieter around him. Don’t want him spooking from all the noise.”
The boys clustered around the horse excitedly, and Saul and Trudy exchanged an ironic smile. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Look, are you free later? I’d love to take you on a ride.”
Trudy fought down a blush, but just barely. “I’d like that,” she agreed, almost despite herself. “Maybe once the crowd dies down?”
“I’ll swing by,” Saul promised with a grin. Then, with a sigh, he turned to the excited boys. “Alright, who wants to go first? Just one quick ride, up and down the block!”
Over the enthused yelling that followed, Trudy heard Brian’s voice from behind her as someone opened the door to the shop. “Trudy! Help!”
With a sigh of her own, Trudy turned her back on Saul and his horse, and went to go pry Brian’s fingers from the sticky register.
—
Want more? Read the Next Part over on The Art of Observation!
Alone
The introduction to my story Collapsing Paradise, in which we finally discover the answers to many mysteries surrounding the Almarian race.
When the Universe was first brought into existence, it was utterly content. There could by no unhappiness or dissatisfaction because nothing was lacking. This state of harmony and peace lasted a relatively short time (though some would argue that time did not, as yet, exist). In any case, it was shattered in the second that the first sentient being opened his eyes and gazed up at the cosmos. For those first precious moments, all was good—and then that first man asked, “Am I it?”
Something in the universe shook. There had never been aloneness before. The problem was quickly rectified, but the echoes of that voice–“Am I alone?”– reverberate across the background of reality even now. Some words, spoken at a certain time and a certain place, can change the Universe, and these were some of those. No being in the twelve inhabited Galaxies was ever truly alone again.
Until recent Cycles, in any case.
The story of the first man (or cephalopod, or green slime-bug of Graxus VI) is more or less consistent from planet to planet and culture to culture. Variations arise here and there, as they tend to do. Still, some creation myths are truly universal, finding roots and facets in every culture because they ring true to every being who has looked up at the stars and wondered, “Is this all?”
Just one detail has changed from the original tale, which hasn’t been told in so long that no one alive today has heard it spoken aloud. In the first story, the real story, that first being was actually the first Almarian.
The significance of this can only really be appreciated if you happen to meet one of the remaining twelve members of the Almarian race in the Universe. They are infinitesimal pockets of alone in an otherwise occupied cosmos.
If you happen to stop by the space station Paradise near the transwarp that connects the Milky Way to the other eleven galaxies, you can actually meet two Almarians. It is, in official record, the largest gathering of their species in the modern history of the Universe. The mathematical probability of two Almarians being in the same place at the same time is just under 3 x 10-9 percent.
There is no explanation for their impossibly improbable meeting and eventual friendship. Except that if there is one thing that the Universe cannot tolerate, it is that anything—or anyone—should be alone forever. But Paradise is a place in which beings have bent reality because they have discovered that they cannot bend their lives.
For the Almarians known as Ano and Elim, it is somewhere that true loneliness can still be suffered, even in the company of others. This will not be the case for long. The Universe abhors a lonely being. It doubly loathes a pair of them.
First Appearances
An excerpt from my story Corrupting Paradise , in which the Paradise team has to enter the mind of a mentally unsound client in order to keep his virtual world from collapsing.
The first things Tri noticed were the books. This was for the sole reason that there were a lot of them. The endless rows of bookshelves filled the entirety of the massive cathedral-style stone building they inhabited. Triyankast had to squint to see past a few hundred yards because the lighting was so dim. He’d never understood the people who wanted this type of world.
Tri was always the first one to materialize. They’d never been able to figure out why it worked that way, though Elim had made a few comments along the lines that since Tri’s mind was never really wholly on one thing anyway, jumping consciousnesses was a piece of cake. Maybe he was right. In any case, the young man had a moment to look around before the others appeared.
It was raining outside. Not just light, sprinkling rain. This was a downpour of heavy, cold drops that exploded against the windowpanes that made up the top half of the gray stone walls and stretched from floor to ceiling in the curves of massive bay windows farther back. If not for the giant fires that burned eternally in the massive stone hearths every five or six yards along the walls, this place would have been damp and gloomy.
Tri would take a hot beach with plenty of pretty, shallow people on it any day.
With a quiet pop, Becken appeared on his left. A moment later, Jenny materialized on his right with a soft shh that sounded like wind blowing through leaves.
Ano’s voice came from behind him. “Shall we?”
Ano always appeared last; they’d never been able to figure that out either. Tri was relatively sure she could beat even him to get here first if she tried, but she always materialized after everyone else. She was the only one of them that never made a sound as she blinked into someone’s head. Ano moved silently from mind to mind, treading on the quiet feet of someone who had learned to move without leaving any trace of her existence. Tri had seen enough of that on the streets where she had found him to recognize that his boss had learned early on how to make herself disappear.
Becken cast a jaded eye around the shelves. “Not where I’d want to spend forever.”
Jenny shuddered in agreement, her fair skin glowing golden in the firelight. “Does it ever get sunny?”
Ano shook her head. “Never. He was very explicit in his directions that rain be the only sound he hear besides the flipping of dusty tomes.”
“What kind of literature did you stock him with?” Tri did a full turn, taking in the seemingly endless shelves. “At least half the history section.”
“All of it, actually,” she replied easily. “Everything we had in the library.” That earned her a few incredulous looks. She shrugged, nonplussed by their attention. “He paid a lot of money.” She tapped her earpiece into place and the others mimicked her.
Elim’s voice crackled over the channel, barely audible. Tri traded a worried look with Becken at the distortion. The building structure had to be severely strained to interfere with the team’s signal.
“Structure–ting—wor–” the Operator garbled.
It took a moment for Ano to figure out what he meant. “The building structure is collapsing.”
“What–aid!” Elim said indignantly.
“You’re breaking up, Op,” Tri informed him. “We can barely hear you.”
“—ed to—repr—str-re–”
Not even Ano caught that one. Her forehead creased in concentration. “Say again, Elim?”
Only static greeted her request.
The four looked at each other uneasily. There had never been a program so badly damaged that it completely disrupted their line of communication with the outside world. Tri caught Jenny’s hand in his and gave it an encouraging squeeze. There was nothing for it now but to get the place fixed so they could leave.
Ano seemed to come to the same conclusion. “Spread out, teams of two. Jenny, Tri, I want you to find Mr. Zebbanaca. If this really is a programming issue, we may have to remove him and I’d like you there to explain it. Becken and I will do some maintenance. Check-ins every half hour, please. We’ll keep trying to reach Elim.” She paused a moment to make sure everyone was clear. “Right. Move out.”
They did.
Accident
Becken met Ano entirely by mistake on the waterfront of Traxton VI in the Saxic Galaxy. More accurately, Becken met Ano entirely by accident on the waterfront of Traxton VI, because there was just no other word for explaining how she got shoved out of a bar door, tripped by a random passerby and promptly catapulted straight into his arms when he’d only been standing there wondering what all the ruckus was about and where the closest drink was.
Looking back on it, he’d wondered more than once if she’d planned it somehow. She hadn’t acted a bit surprised to find herself leaning back in his arms looking up at him when she’d been standing on her own two feet a moment ago.
The normal etiquette for this kind of situation generally included embarrassed thanks and an awkward parting and nothing more. And that was probably how it would have gone if Ano’s weight hadn’t thrown Becken off-balance and sent them both crashing off the dock into the purple water below. The water was warm and shallow, but being tackled and subsequently soaked by a complete stranger when he hadn’t even gotten his first drink yet was insane enough to make the whole thing seem a lot funnier than it would have been otherwise.
She pushed her damp hair out of her eyes and smiled at him, ignoring the knee-deep water they were standing in. “Hi,” she said easily.
For a moment he just stared at her…and then he started laughing. They stood there for a good five minutes in the water, laughing themselves silly and getting worried looks from passing strangers. Becken couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more fun.
After they both managed to collect themselves, Ano ended up apologizing by paying for drinks at the nearest bar neither of them had been thrown out of. At the time, that was the only kind of apology Becken would have accepted anyway. It wasn’t until their second round of Katlantian gin that introductions were finally made. For perhaps the only time in his history, Becken was the one who initiated them. He held out a giant black hand and looked her squarely in her brilliantly green eyes. “Becken.”
She simply smiled and returned both the handclasp and the gaze and Becken was struck that he was looking at one of the last Almarians in any of the twelve known galaxies as she responded, “Ano. You ever have an idea that just won’t leave you alone, Becken? Something to live for?”
Becken hadn’t had very many ideas that weren’t inspired by the bottom of a glass for what felt like a lifetime. “Can’t say I have,” he rumbled back, not entirely sure why he was being honest.
Ano grinned wryly into her glass and swirled the last of her drink around, which was the exact same shade of blue as her hair. “Well if you’re free, then…” her green eyes came up to lock with his dark ones again and in that moment, Becken realized that he would say yes regardless of what she asked. She tilted her head at him and put her drink down. “Want to help me with mine?”
Becken drained his glass, unaware that it would be the last one he’d touch for close to eighteen Cycles, and set it down. “Sure. I have nothing else to do.” The words were a pact between them, and from the moment he uttered them Becken understood somewhere deep inside himself that his life had changed.
They went for a walk underneath the twinkling green sky. Word by word, Ano painted a picture of a place where dreams came true and the universe was what you made it and where the two of them would become very, very rich. And because he felt completely helpless to ever tell this woman–this Almarian who looked at him instead of through him—no to anything, he told her that they would do it. Together. Somewhere out in the stars, they would create Paradise.
Ano laughed and threaded her arm through his, looking up at the stars. “We need a few more people to help, you know.”
He looked down at her because she was more interesting than the sky. “Who?”
She shrugged and started walking. “We’ll know when we find them.”
Becken looked after her for a second, unfamiliar with the feeling building in his cold chest. He was pretty sure that for the first time in his life, he might actually love something. The black man innately understood that Ano spent more time dwelling on the way things should work than the way things really happened. He knew without being told that this angel who’d just turned his world upside down needed protecting, needed watching after. He had the sudden insight that maybe–just maybe–he’d been destined for the job.
So he looked down at her and smiled; the expression was one he hadn’t used in a very long time; especially not twice in one day. “Of course we will,” he said simply. Ano walked on, and Becken followed.
It had been that way ever since.
Still
Triyankast was never completely sure whether Ano and Becken set him up the day he met them or if some insane coincidence worked it out so that he just happened to get caught pick pocketing from the one being in the twelve galaxies who had the ability to change his life forever. He liked to think it was the first one, because the second one was just too scary to really consider for long without getting a headache.
In any case, it happened. Right in the middle of a crowded, noisy street in Lukka, the second-largest city in the Colona Galaxy, as a matter of fact.
Tri had been leaning casually against a fruit stand as he took his time to find the perfect mark. He needed money for food and a ticket to anywhere but where he currently was, and it took a practiced eye to find just the right person to pinch it from.
The instant she stepped out of the store, he saw her; it only took him a second to choose the woman with the blue hair as his mark, if for no other reason than she’d be easy to spot in the surrounding throng.
She looked nervous and lost, craning her head around like she was trying to find someone. (Looking back on it, Tri knew that it had to be a setup just because of that. He’d never once seen Ano lost or nervous since.)
One of her hands was loosely hovering by her left pocket, which was obviously where her valuables were stored. From her state of dress (classy but not flashy) and the rings on her fingers (understated but rather expensive), Tri figured that those valuables were probably pretty significant. She looked like an easy target.
The accomplished thief pocketed a piece of fruit for later and joined the mass of sentience, putting his head down and blending in with practiced ease. At the nearest corner he stopped and waited until his mark came abreast of him. A bump, a grab, and a seemingly sincere “Sorry!” later, Tri palmed her platinum credit disc and turned, smiling widely, to spend it somewhere.
For almost an entire second, he thought he’d gotten away with it. Then a massive black hand fell on his shoulder and spun him around to reveal an equally massive black man who stared down at him with threatening dark eyes. “Very smooth,” the man rumbled with a voice that matched his stature.
Triyankast’s brain went blank for possibly the first time in his life. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally gave up on excuses and smiled winningly. “I thought so. Feel like rewarding me for my prowess?”
The man plucked the stolen credit disc from Tri’s hand and held it out to his side between two fingers. The blue-haired woman who owned it reached out to take it and pocket it again, sidling up to stand next to her rescuer. It was only as the two exchanged an amused look that Tri realized they knew each other.
The young thief figured he had nothing left to lose and so he smiled brightly at his former victim. “Hi there!” Then he saw her green eyes and made the connection to the blue hair and the money and realized that he’d just tried to rob one of the last Almarians in existence. This was a seriously bad day, even for him.
She cocked her head at him and those bright eyes fixed on him, like she was seeing past his smile into his brain. It struck Tri quite suddenly that she was the only being on the street that looked comfortable standing completely still. She was also one of the only people he’d ever met who looked right at him instead of past him. He found, to his surprise, that he respected that.
She had savvy. Instinctively, Tri knew something about Ano that no one else would ever suspect: she’d been out on the streets, and however she’d managed to live through it, she must have been good at it to end up this confident and to have this massive man follow at her heels.
Suddenly she moved again, her head righting itself and her eyes sparkling like they’d just had an entire conversation and she was pleased with the results. “What’s your name?” Her accent was unusual, and highly cultured.
A hundred phony identities danced across his mind and he almost used every one of them. But for some reason he would never be able to fully explain, Tri looked her square in the eye and told the truth. “Triyankast. Tri, for people who get sick of yelling the entire thing.”
She nodded thoughtfully. “I’m Ano, and this is Becken. We have a proposition for you.”
This was not at all the day he’d expected to be having. “What kind of proposition are we talking about?”
Ano smiled at him again, and it was the kind of smile that said she already knew exactly what was going to happen and she was just humoring him by filling him in. “You’re going to come with us, and I’m going to buy you lunch.”
Tri was downright curious now, but he wasn’t stupid. “Am I going to end up in prison right after that?”
“I wasn’t planning on it, no.”
Becken’s mouth opened, Ano glared at him and he snapped it shut again. She gave Tri a look that was disturbingly sincere.
For some reason he actually believed her. “I can’t argue with that. What’s the catch?”
The Almarian traded a long glance with Becken and then her green gaze shifted back to this new arrival. “I’m going to offer you a job. And you’re going to take it.”
And of course that’s exactly what happened, for reasons Tri still didn’t understand. All he knew was that because of that day, his life changed totally and completely. He never learned to like Becken–mostly because the threatening look in the man’s dark eyes never really went away. He did, however, learn to like Ano straight away. And from the first time he called the Almarian “Boss” Tri realized that he’d follow her to the end of the galaxies and back if she asked him to.
Meeting Jenny a Cycle later certainly didn’t hurt, of course.
But still, from that moment in Lukka onward, whenever he was with Ano, Triyankast would always get the unnerving feeling that he was standing still while the rest of the galaxy rushed past him.
Odds
Elim’s entire life had been ruled by one small, simple, utterly true statement of percentage. It went something like this: There were twelve Almarians in existence, there were twelve known inhabited galaxies, and the sheer mass of sentient beings made the chance of two members of his rare race meeting just under .0000000000000000003%. Actually, the exact number was a bit longer than that, but frankly, another five or six digits just weren’t very important in a number that small.
The thing was, no one knew exactly why there were only twelve Almarians (the history books merely cited different theories, including a bounty hunter and a plague) when there had once reportedly been an entire planet of them. That had been cycles upon cycles ago, so long that no one living could remember it any more. It was one of the greatest mysteries of the twelve galaxies. Even more of a mystery was why no one knew exactly where the remaining twelve Almarians were located, or who they were at all.
But in the grand scheme of things, Elim found it didn’t matter. His adopted parents never treated him any differently than their own biological children and all in all, the young Almarian grew up relatively normally. The only odd thing that ever happened to Elim (besides his eyes changing color every time he had a mood swing, that is) was when he got a message two weeks before his coming-of-age celebration to inform him that he did not need to register in his planet’s citizen database. Apparently, someone somewhere knew who and what he was, and that was enough to put him in the inter-galaxy database. His inquiry was never returned.
Elim’s life was ruled by science and fact. He graduated as the head of his class and went on to excel at neurological reality programming because it was the only career challenging enough to keep him interested for more than a week. Numbers and systems were easy for him. His parents had raised him to see the world for what it was, to understand the equation that made a situation go one way or another. Words like faith and fate and luck were abstracts to Elim, and he was more than happy to keep it that way.
So when he looked up from his normal place in his favorite café just a block down from his house and saw a woman with blue hair and green eyes come in, his neatly structured, comfortably managed world of numbers came screeching to a halt.
So did Ano; she stopped dead in the doorway and made the elderly couple behind her run into her. She didn’t notice. Her eyes were on Elim’s and he found himself wishing he knew what color they were turning, because he had a feeling it was probably embarrassing.
Before he could even figure out what to do with the situation (they’d never taught him how to actually handle reality in school, only to manipulate it), Ano was sitting across from him at the table and holding her hand out, silver rings glittering on her fingers. The thought that this was some kind of elaborate practical joke only flashed through his mind once. Then their hands met, Ano smiled and Elim knew that this was real, and that he’d just beaten the .0000000000000000003% by accident without going farther than two blocks from his house.
“I’m here to interview someone for a position,” Ano said by way of introduction. “But I suddenly find I don’t care.”
She had his accent. Elim was smiling so big it hurt, but he couldn’t seem to stop. “Unless you need a neurological reality programming expert, I’m afraid I can’t be much help.” It was a stupid conversation to have at a moment this big, but it worked for them.
Ano stared at him for a long moment and then burst out laughing. By the time she got done explaining that a neurological programming expert was exactly what she was looking for, Elim was laughing too.
The young Almarian had never done an impulsive thing in his life. But suddenly he wasn’t alone—he wasn’t alone—and that made life different. He took the job, moved out of his parents’ house and got on the next transport out to the Milky Way with her before he even thought to ask her name.
“Ano,” she said easily, swaying with the transport’s takeoff velocity.
“Elim,” he replied. And that was that.
They never talked about it: never discussed how they were a sixth of their entire race, how the chances of a male and a female with complementing skill sets finding each other were so impossible.
All Elim knew about Ano was that she and he were bound by something deeper than mere common interest or ideals. If their meeting wasn’t fate…well, it was an awfully small percentage of probability.
It was really inevitable, then, that he would fall in love with her sooner or later. He took some comfort in that.
He still remembered that first transport ride with crystal clarity. “Where are we going?” he’d finally thought to ask.
“Paradise,” she responded with a twinkle in her eyes.
Somewhere deep inside of him, Elim realized he’d already known that.
Lost
Becken found her sitting in the empty office on one of the corner couches. She didn’t move as he drew closer. Her eyes were open, staring into space, blank with the vision that comes from looking inside your own head. As far as he was concerned, Ano had already seen more of the inside of her mind than was really healthy.
Becken slowly sat beside her, the couch dipping slightly with his weight. He stayed silent, feeling the relief of settling into old rhythms. He’d missed her–more than he’d ever admit, probably even to himself.
For a long time they sat there silent, Ano staring off into the stars and Becken watching her from the corner of his eye. It was a routine that rang familiar from times long ago.
To a man that had never had one before, this felt like home.
Finally, he spoke, quiet enough to be to himself, even though it was to her. “Where were you?”
Her eyes were still vacant, and her voice was distant when she answered, “Remember where we met?”
“‘Course.” The apparent non-sequiter didn’t worry him. She was building up to something, and he let her.
“You weren’t there,” she said.
Becken’s brow furrowed as he half-turned to face her fully on the couch. “I wasn’t there when we met?”
“Not this time.”
He stared at her. “Now you’ve lost me.” That wasn’t an easy task, especially for her. His remark seemed to bring her out of herself a little, and she looked at him for the first time, if only fleetingly.
“I lost everyone,” she sighed. “I woke up in my old place–remember, that terrible room I had in the mining colony when we first met? And I had that awful old haircut. It was like the last 20 Cycles had never happened.”
Becken took a moment to process that. It wasn’t a pretty thought; most days, he tried to forget anything that didn’t have to do with the last 20 Cycles. He had a feeling Ano was the same way.
She continued, her voice getting stronger as she went. “So I went looking for you all. That street we found Tri in, that cafe where I bumped into Elim. Paradise wasn’t here, so I didn’t even know where to look to find Jenny.” At long last her troubled gaze came to meet his, and this time it held as her voice softened. “And then I went to Traxton, to the dock, and I told myself that if you weren’t there, I was giving up.”
She shook her head like she couldn’t believe what she was saying. “I stood right there where we ran into each other, and I just waited for something to happen.”
He knew what was coming now. His head was swimming a little from the implications of what she was saying. “Nothing did.”
“Nothing did,” she agreed. At long last her eyes cleared, and Becken saw her, maybe for the first time. And also for the first time, he saw himself reflected back, and he suddenly understood deep in his chest that this, here with her, really was home. She looked away, slightly sheepish, but her words still resonated in Becken’s chest. “That was all it took. I just…I gave up. It’s a scary thing, to get lost in your own head. If you hadn’t come for me, I don’t know what–” she couldn’t finish the sentence. Becken was glad; he didn’t want to hear what she would have said.
The large man leaned back, absorbing all of this. She’d said more than either of them had ever dared to over the course of their time together. He found himself glad that she had. “Glad it wasn’t me,” he rumbled.
She glanced over at him, understanding on her face. Despite the fact that they never talked about their pasts, Ano knew him better than anyone else. They both knew he would have ended up drinking himself into a virtual oblivion. Even seventeen Cycles of sober wouldn’t have protected him from life crumbling down around him.
Not for the first time, Becken decided that Ano was the stronger of the two of them, no matter how much muscle he had.
Ano’s brain was on a different track. Her eyes traced his face again with evident fondness. “Thank you.”
He tilted his head to look at her. “For what?”
She shrugged a little. “Nothing. Coming after me. Everything.”
For the second time in their history, Becken held out his hand to Ano, this Almarian that looked at him instead of through him. She took it, but this time he didn’t shake it. He just held it.
They sat there in the dark, hands joined, and Becken felt a sense of peace that was so alien is almost startled him.
“Welcome home,” he murmered.
Ano didn’t answer. Her eyes were closed, her breathing even.
Becken held her hand and watched her sleep.
