"First Base on Europa"

Isaac alternately paced as well as he was able and stirred the soup on the range oven with a plastic spoon. The others would be back soon, he knew. He hated being alone in the compound, even though it happened fairly often. Ever since the accident and the loss of his leg, he couldn’t go out with the others. Luckily the compound needed plenty of things done from the inside, and one didn’t need a leg to operate the telepresence rig, or Isaac would be dead weight.

A hissing wind had picked up out there, and Isaac staggered out of the galley to peek out one of the round, pressure-sealed windows. Hutchinson Ridge, a huge wall of broken ice, was only visible as a vague black shape through the wind-blown dust, a storm blowing in from the Gradell Sea. The dust, of course, was tiny ice crystals, not earth-like dust. On Europa, water ice was about all there was to see.

“Mobile to compound.” Alice’s voice came through the radio. ”We’re on the way back with the sample. How’s your day been, Isaac?”

Isaac pulled his radio remote off his belt and held it to his mouth. The actual radio gear was in the compound’s comm spire, but the system still reminded Isaac of old walkie-talkies. “Dull. Thanks for asking. Soup should be done by the time you’re back. Looks like a storm’s coming in.”

“I see it. Right over the ridge. We’ll be careful.” Alice’s voice came back. “See you in a few, Isaac.”

“Yup.” Isaac put the remote back in its holster and went back to check the soup, listening to the hissing of ice-dust pounding the side of the compound grow in intensity. The powers that be had detected that particular hazard of Europa, so he didn’t worry that much - the gentle abrasion would take decades to put the compound in danger.

Then the domed ceiling creaked, and Isaac, startled, looked up. Of course he couldn’t see anything. But it had sounded like there was something shifting its weight up there, something alive. He shook his head and tried to put that out of his mind. Europa was, by all indications and measurements, thus far lifeless, except for the expedition.

The garage, sensing the mobile’s return, started equalizing pressure with the thin Europan atmosphere, a sound that made Isaac jump yet again. He was always like this at the end of the day, he knew - jumpy. He had jumped at the chance to go on this mission because he did well in close quarters with others, but after the accident he often found himself all alone in the cavernous compound for twelve or sixteen hours at a time.

Another creak of the dome spurred Isaac to limp over to the window overlooking the garage entrance. Jupiter’s bulk was only visible as a vague orange glow through the dust blowing over the ridge, and below it the lights of the mobile shone out from somewhere on the Gulf of Blades. The tracked vehicle was slow, but it was designed for reliability and safety, not for speed. As it trundled closer, Isaac saw that its roof bore a pair of oblong, boxy containers, and knew that Ginny and Jorge would want to take their meal to the analysis room.

The mobile inched into the garage, and its outer doors rolled shut. Isaac heard the pumps restoring its air pressure. Leaning heavily on the wall, he stumped toward the entryway, eager to greet the others.

A gust of wind more severe than usual slammed into the dome, and Isaac heard the comm tower’s metal framework creaking audibly. It would be one hell of a storm, he decided, but didn’t worry about it too much. The compound was designed to take it and worse.

The doors to the garage groaned open, and Alice stepped in, sniffing the air. “Isaac, I don’t know what you’re making but it smells delicious.” She complimented him.

“It’s nothing.” He dropped his eyes in mild embarrassment. “But come on, let’s eat, it should be done by now.”

Except for Ginny and Jorge, the rest of the team ate quietly in the tiny mess hall. As they had been in each others’ exclusive company for almost three years now, the silence was not uncomfortable, but instead familiar, comfortable. Isaac did not fail to notice that Alice had taken a seat across from him.

As soon as her bowl was empty, she broke the silence. Though it was spoken quietly, her question was audible to the other four men and women present. “What’s bothering you, Isaac?” She asked. “You seem a little... I don’t know. Shaken.”

“I don’t know, Alice. I just think being in here all day by myself is getting to me.” Isaac clinked his false leg against the table. “I’m happy I’m still useful to you all after this. But the silence, the emptiness... It gets to my nerves sometimes.” Harold and Nischa nodded in solemn empathy. It wasn’t that Alice was prying - Isaac knew that, as mission commander, she was just doing her job.

“I understand, Isaac. We’ll try not to be gone too long tomorrow, only a few hours.” Alice replied.

The wind continued its roar. “Unless that mess doesn’t let up, of course.” Milo pointed out.

“Yeah.” Alice agreed. “This one sounds pretty bad.”

Returning the stack of empty bowls to the galley, Isaac stopped at the window looking over Hutchinson Ridge. He saw nothing out there, and at first he thought the shutters were closed, until he realized that the ice dust had piled up on that side of the compound deep enough to cover the window. It didn’t bother him too much - he wouldn’t be the one to go out there and blow it off in the morning.

The rest of the expedition had wandered down into the lab wing, where Ginny and Jorge would probably be explaining all the amazing things they had learned from the ice samples. Isaac found that sort of thing hideously dry, but he preferred being bored in company to being alone.

“... The concentration of those silicate shards is up thirty percent from yesterday’s sample.” Ginny was saying. “So we’re getting closer.”

“Mean shard size was also up eleven percent.” Jorge offered helpfully. “Bigger and more common.”

“But still no idea what they are?” Alice asked.

“Ah, no.” Ginny replied. “Their structure is highly irregular.”

“Maybe - ” Tricia started to theorize, but was interrupted when the lights dimmed in time with a blast of wind so severe that the compound groaned.

“Never done that before.” Alice pointed out. “Harold, opinions?” Harold pulled out his view slate and punched in some commands to the computer. “Hard to say, but it looks like that mess is too thick for me to talk to the weather sat.” He held up the slate for everyone to see the “signal error” message he had received.

“Do what you can from down here.” Alice told him. “Isaac, have the lights ever done that before?” All eyes turned to the crippled man.

Isaac shook his head. “Um, no. I’d have noticed. Not today, not ever that I recall.”

“Wind speed out there is 180 KPH and rising.” Harold read from his display. “One-ninety. Damn, I’m glad there’s not much atmosphere or we’d be airborne right now.”

“It’s never done this before!” Tricia, looking worried, backed up to the wall. “What if it keeps rising?”

”Relax, folks, the compound is rated for two fifty at this pressure.” Harold spoke to everyone, but he was looking at Tricia. “We’ll be all right.”

“If you say so, Harold.” Alice replied doubtfully. “No way I’m going to be sleeping through that. Anyone up for a game of chess?”

“You’re on.” Nischa replied, rolling the “r” sound, the only remaining trace of her once-thick accent. Close proximity with the other seven members of the group had robbed her of what Isaac had considered a very pleasant-sounding mode of speech. “My skill at that sport is unchallenged among us.”

“Chess isn’t a sport.” Isaac pointed out for the dozenth time.

“Of course it is, dear. You just use a different muscle group.” Nischa replied, her counterpoint as repetitive as Isaac’s argument. The exchange was a common ritual associated with the game of chess, and hearing it seemed to put everyone at ease.

The team retired to the wide, high-domed common room, and Alice pulled a gamepad out and set it on one of the flimsy coffee tables. Fiddling with its settings, she got it to display a chessboard, flipped it so that the white pieces were on her side, and made her first move.

The rest of the group watched the game in silence. Alice, playing aggressively, seemed to be dominating the board early on, but Nischa whittled down Alice’s pieces over time. In the end, Nischa won, but neither had many pieces left on the board.

“Two out of three?” Alice asked as she tapped the “concede” button.

“Okay.” Nischa agreed.

“Umm, guys?” Tricia was sitting in one of the big massage chairs, looking up at the thick glass pane at the domed roof’s apex.

Isaac followed her gaze. At first he saw nothing - the pane showed nothing, and he didn’t understand. Then he understood. The unmoving, grayish-white slate was ice dust. “It usually just blows past. Why is it staying put now?” He asked of no-one specifically.

“Wind speed is... hmm. Thirty-one and falling.” Harold read off his display. “But the sensor up on the ridge is still reading one-twenty.”

“We’re in a snowdrift.” Alice summarized.

“Under.” Isaac pointed out.

“The dome isn’t designed to hold weight! What if - ” Tricia looked hysterical.

“We’d get alarms if the weight was trouble. It’s just ice dust. We’ll be fine.” Nischa pointed out. This seemed to calm Tricia down a little. “Next time the wind picks up it’ll clear us off.”

“I hope that’s before tomorrow, or the garage must stay shut.” Jorge pointed out. “That stuff will flood the garage.” The rest of the expedition nodded in agreement. Damage to or loss of the mobile would mean no excursions to pick up supply shipments, no more science projects, no nothing. There were enough spare parts in the facility to build two more mobile crawlers, but assembly could take days, to say nothing of shoveling out the garage.

“Not keen on a vacation, Jorge?” Isaac asked him. “It might be for the best. What’s it been, three weeks since we took a day off?” His mind grabbed onto the idea that maybe being “snowed in” would mean he would have company all day long for a change.

“This isn’t a resort, Isaac.” Alice pointed out cautiously, moving a pawn on the chessboard to start the second game.

Isaac, annoyed at the mild condescension the expedition commander was giving him, tapped his false leg against the wall. The aluminum rang slightly. “I think I know that, Alice.” Not wanting to say anything he’d regret, he limped out of the common room as fast as he could, and headed for the bunkroom he shared with Harold. “Not a resort?” He repeated under his breath as he navigated the cramped access tube to the dormitory wing. Of all the insensitive...

“Isaac, wait.” Alice jogged up behind him, but he kept going. She could easily keep up with his peg-legged gait, and they both knew it. “I’m sorry, I know - ”

“Alice, save it.” Isaac interrupted her. ”Three years we’ve lived in close quarters, I know it was thoughtless and not malicious, and I know you regret it. In fact, I - ”

He broke off as the access tunnel creaked loudly around him. “What - ”

Alice hit Isaac from behind at full speed, and knocked him over. The pair bowled over the threshold into the dormitory wing, and Isaac’s ill-fitting prosthetic slipped off and rolled away.

“Alice, what the hell - ” Isaac tried to protest, but his sentence started about the same time as a groan from the tunnel. There was a pop, then the frightening hiss of escaping air, and the pressure doors on both sides of the tunnel slammed shut. “...Crap.”

Alice rolled off Isaac’s back and pulled her remote off her belt. “We’re all right, what about you guys?” She spoke into it. Only static replied.

Isaac fished out his own remote and pulled up a diagnostic. “No use, looks like the wind knocked something loose out there. The tower’s not responding.”

“Dammit.” Alice stood up and pressed her face to the glass in the pressure door. “Tunnel just failed.”

“Alarms?” Isaac asked.

“Only in the domes.” Alice pointed out. “The tunnels are supposed to take more than the domes do anyway.”

“Damn.” Isaac looked around for his prosthetic, not seeing it. “Where’d my leg go?”

Alice turned away from the window. “What do you mean?” She saw what he meant. “Oh.” She looked around for a moment. “It might be on the other side of the door.”

“Should have had Harold glue the thing on.” Isaac sat up and leaned on the wall. “I suppose I have you to thank for this.”

“Isaac, I’m - ”

“It was a joke, Alice. You saved my life just now. I’m not going to fault you for losing a bit of aluminum. Help me up.”

She complied. Europan gravity made Isaac’s greater weight no problem, and soon she was easing him into a sitting position on his bunk. “How long do you think they’ll be fixing the tunnel?” Alice asked him.

“Hours, I expect.” Isaac replied. “It’d be easier if I were in the telepresence rig. Milo isn’t as quick.”

“Yeah.” Alice sat down next to him. “And with the tower out we’re - ”

“Useless.” Isaac finished for her. “Get comfortable.”

“You know, ever since the accident we’ve barely spoken.” Alice said after a short silence. “I’ve been avoiding you, I think.”

“And I you, I suppose.” Isaac agreed. “It’s not that I blame you for the - ”

“You don’t have to. I do that perfectly well myself. We knew about all the blind crevasses already, I should have told you.”

“I would have known already if I’d been on the main radio channel like I should have been.” Isaac pointed out. “Rather than listening to the newsfeed again.”

“Everybody knew you were doing that. I knew. I should have - ”

“Alice, don’t blame yourself.” Isaac put his hand on her shoulder. “We can share the blame perfectly equitably.”

She made a sort of sniffing, dejected chuckling sound. “But not the consequences.”

“No.” Isaac agreed. “Count yourself lucky, the rest of us do. I’ve tasted your cooking.”

That elicited a bit more laughter. “I suppose.” She conceded. “It’s just so hard to look you in the eye when I know I was at least partly to blame for your leg.”

“Try it now, then. Get some practice while no-one is looking or cares.” Isaac shifted away from Alice and turned to face her. “I don’t blame you. I did, initially, but I don’t now.”

Alice turned to look at Isaac, but her eyes made only furtive contact with his before darting away again. “You look good, you know.” She said quietly. “You’re doing better than anyone could expect.”

“Yup. I’ve lost weight.” Isaac replied sarcastically. “But I wouldn’t recommend my strategy.”

This proved to be another laugh line for Alice. ”Isaac, how can you do that? Make light of even that?”

“It’s my way. The eye contact, Alice. Where’s the old you? The woman who thought herself God’s gift to spaceflight on the way here? The woman that was large and in charge, the woman who - ” Isaac broke off before he said what he was thinking: “the woman who I thought I loved.” That was all ancient history, and things had changed since the expedition had landed.

She tried again, and this time got a full five seconds before she looked away again. “You really don’t blame me?” She asked.

“Nope.” Isaac shrugged. “You don’t believe that?”

Alice stood up and walked to the other side of the small chamber. “People aren’t like that. Forgiveness isn’t that easy, it’s - ”

The sounds of whirring motors against the outer wall made both look in that direction. “That’ll be the rig.” Isaac pointed out uselessly - Alice would know that too. “They’ll have us out before too long.”

“I know.” Alice paced back toward Isaac. “I... I wish I could believe you.”

“You will, when you forgive yourself.” Isaac moved as if to stand, but stopped when he remembered that he was without his leg. “I wish you would.”

Alice stopped, and made eye contact again. This time, she held it, looking into him for something Isaac couldn’t guess. She opened her mouth as if she were about to say something, but shut it again and leaned in to plant a light kiss on his cheek. Isaac was surprised by this, but not at all unhappy about it. Then she whirled and stalked out the door into the rest of the dome.

“Wait, Alice - ” Isaac called after her, and her footsteps stopped just out of sight. Perhaps, he considered, their real or imagined chemistry wasn’t as relegated to ancient history as he had thought. This idea both excited and terrified Isaac.

“Not sure I’m ready to forgive myself just yet, Isaac. But thanks for being... like you are. I am not sure we’d keep ourselves together without you. I’m not sure I would.”

“I’m glad to help, Alice, any way I can.” Isaac replied.

If Alice heard, she didn’t respond. Isaac didn’t hear her footsteps stomping away, and wondered for some time if she had slunk off or if she was still standing there, just outside the door, waiting for him to say something, and if so, what it was.

This story written based on a prompt from Klazzform's Short Story Competition on rpgcrossing.com.

"No Stranger to War"

I watched the ambush from a tangle of rusted construction equipment, waiting for my opportunity. The Collective anti-infantry patroller was no match for the sniper. First they took out the driver, then the gunners. It was quick, efficient. It was too bad that whoever did it would probably not be having the best of days. I needed the same thing they did.

A figure dashed out of a doorway moments later, feet kicking up the ash that coated the street, and climbed on top of the patroller. The attacker, dressed in a filter mask and dark, ratty coat, pulled the masks from the patroller’s dead crew, then started fiddling with the weapons locker. I sensed my opening - I needed a mask if I was going to maintain my performance for long. Damned brass hadn’t built one in, and the silicate ash here would shred my lungs before long if I went without.

The figure didn’t look at me as I approached, but with an overhand toss lobbed something. Before my organic reflexes could react, my implants had isolated the object, recognized it as harmless, and muted the adrenal response. Trusting them, I caught the object, and couldn’t hide my surprise - I was holding a filter mask, exactly what I needed.

“Let’s just pretend you weren’t about to do what you had planned, stranger.” The sniper called out in a feminine voice. I knew I looked like a desperate scavenger, dressed in dusty, threadbare clothes. She couldn’t see the hundred-odd pounds of metal and silicon implants I carried. She didn’t know I could fry her at a twenty meters with my coilguns.

I nodded, and donned the mask slowly, warily. I didn’t bother to defend my intentions, it would have been a pointless waste of words.

“You’ve got balls if you watched that and still thought you could take me unarmed.” The woman turned around, gun in hand. “You’d have been dead by now if you’d been here since the bombs.” She surmised. “Where are you coming from, stranger?”

“Out there.” I said vaguely. I wasn’t going to go around blabbing what I was about, not that I knew it myself. All I had was an arrow in my HUD and a distance.

“Right.” The woman stood up on top of the vehicle, and gestured to a yawning doorway. “Come on. Let’s get out of the open. They’ll come looking.”

I let her lead, ostensibly. My implants swept the dim interior by radar while she cleared rooms manually, and I knew we were alone before she was even halfway done.

“We’re all clear.” She finally confirmed. “I’m Nix, by the way.”

“That’s a callsign, not a name.”

“Yep.” Nix inspected her new bundle of masks. “What about you?”

“As you like. Callsign, nickname, whatever.” I said simply.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She stopped her inspection to look at me, hand going to the gun again.

“Not everyone has a name.” I replied. For those in the know, that was code - black ops field men like me had no legal name, no history, nothing. We were interchangeable and, if necessary, expendable. “Others don’t like the names they’re given. Take your pick.”

Nix’s eyes narrowed. “Those are words I did not expect to hear, stranger.” To my surprise, she seemed to recognize my meaning. “What’s still here that’s worth your time?”

“Sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I gave the rote answer, communicating that that information was secret. That I didn’t know myself didn’t even factor in.

“Really?” Nix seemed surprised. “Even for a Captain? Must be serious.”

“Captain?” I prompted.

“Yup.” She nodded. “Or I was one. Of the Guiscard.”

My HUD filled me in on what I needed to know from the ship name. Captain Nicole Exaro, trained as a Marine, decorated, wounded, transfer to navy security, promotions, captaincy, ship lost. MIA, presumed KIA. She matched the records portrait. “You’re captain Exaro?” I asked.

“Yeah. Ten of us made it down here, but I’m the only one left.” She gestured up. I knew there’d been a battle here, hence the bombed-out, ash-coated city.

I nodded, and pointed my hand to follow my HUD arrow. “I need to go that way, four klicks. Beyond that, I can’t say.”

“Good luck with that.” Nix shook her head. “That’d be their command complex. Defensive line’s too strong.”

Before I could reply, my implants screamed in my mind, and I rolled to the side, feeling my coilguns charge and extend from inside my palms. Unbidden, my hands pointed the coils toward the door, just as two Collective foot soldiers whirled around and took aim. There was a bright flash, and the soldiers disintegrated to join the ever-present ash.

I turned toward Nix, and saw that she was grimacing and clutching both hands to a burned spot on her leg. One of the soldiers had apparently gotten a shot off just before he died. I left her side, active-sweeping the building with my radar, but found no more soldiers.

I returned to find Nix matter-of-factly tying a strip of wetted cloth around the burn. I let her finish before speaking. “How bad is it?” I asked.

“Flesh wound.” Nix replied quietly. “I think I can walk. How... what did you do? You moved so fast... no weapons - ”

I held up a hand, coilgun still extended. “Weapons.” I said simply. “Someone will have heard that.” Protocol would usually instruct me to leave her and continue on my own, but she had to know her way around, that made her valuable. I had just been dropped to the surface that morning, and needed intel.

She motioned for me to help her to her feet, and I complied, slinging her arm over my shoulder to help take the weight off the injured leg. She was obviously in pain, but didn’t complain, aside from the occasional hissed breath.

Sweeping ahead with my radar, I helped Nix out of the building, and let her direct our movements. She picked turns seemingly at random, but I noticed we were winding closer to the city center.

I kept the pace steady until we were forced to go to ground when a patrol vehicle trundled around a bend ahead. Luckily, I was able to get us out of sight before any of the turrets turned toward us.

“You saved my life back there.” Nix whispered.

“Sneakier than I expected from Colls.” I changed the subject to something more comfortable than thanks.

“Back when some of the others were still kicking we put the fear of God into them.” Nix smiled wistfully. “They were easier prey when we started off.”

“They don’t worry me.” I could tell by the sound of the vehicle that it was moving away now, rather than toward us.

“I don’t want to think about how many creds went into building you, Stranger.” Nix shook her head.

“I don’t know.” I admitted.

“You guys are a mystery to us.” Nix pointed out. “No past. No name. No prints. Just protocol. Where do you lot come from?”

“You don’t want to know.” I assured her, with a wince. Those were memories I was not prepared to relive, squatting in the ash of a bombed-out ghost town. Or ever. “Let’s get moving.”

We stopped once more, to scavenge some canned goods from a store, before we found somewhere to hole up. As Nix set about opening the cans, I swept the building, confirming we were alone.

Without plates or utensils, the fare became for us cold, slimy finger-food. I didn’t complain - nutrients are nutrients.

“You know, this place really disgusts me.” Nix said vehemently a few moments after the food ran out. “The people here didn’t really even resist. We got in just as the last batches were going out, rounded up and shipped off-planet. Saw maybe six resistance fighters in total, none of them lasted long.”

I shrugged noncommittally. The people of this world were probably expecting the Confederate navy to ride to the rescue, but the Confederacy couldn’t manage a battle strategy that was more than half-assed lately. the Collective had been targeting flag officers, and that was taking its toll. “They aren’t soldiers.” I pointed out. “What could they have done?”

“More than they did, Stranger.” Nix looked away. “When you’ve got your checklist of objectives filled out, they’ll come to get you, right?” Nix said. She was looking for hope, and I knew I couldn’t give it to her.

“Yes, but there will be no passengers.” She should have known this already. “Only as many seats as the mission expects, no more.”

“Can’t you call in and ask? I’m a damn destroyer captain, you think I could get an evac.” Nix’s voice was bitter, understandably so.

“Your personnel file lists that you’re presumed dead.” I told her. “Lost with the ship. And no, I can’t. Hypercomms are against protocol. I don’t have one.” Well, the HUD module would probably signal mission-complete to the brass, but that didn’t help her.

“Screw protocol.” Nix thumped her fist against the floor. “I’m not dying on this godforsaken backwater.”

I sighed, and shook my head. “I can’t do much, even supposing I get back. They won’t think rescuing you is worth another op.”

Nix looked about to lose it, but after several struggling seconds she shook her head and settled back down. “Sorry, Stranger. I know you have limits, but you look so normal it’s hard to think about what all they’ve stuck inside you. I keep looking for... I don’t know. Empathy?”

“You think I don’t empathize?” I asked rhetorically, annoyed. “Nix, every place I go is some ‘godforsaken backwater’ that I have no business dying on.” My building annoyance, which surprised even me, and seemed to tax the hormone regulators in my system. “I chose to be who I am, because someone needs to be. Someone needs to do the dirty work for the Confederacy, I just have the stomach for it.”

My outburst, though muted and delivered in a level tone because of the regulators, seemed to take her by surprise. “I... I didn’t...”

I could feel the regulators keeping my anger from turning into rage. “You didn’t know that under all the hardware, all the mods, I’m still human?” By her expression I could see that she hadn’t. “Well, believe it. But don’t think that gives me any power to haul your ass out of here.” I shrugged and lay down on my side of the room. “Get some sleep. I want to be moving before the sun’s up tomorrow.”

Nix made a sound as if she was going to protest, but merely sighed and shifted into the corner, to sleep sitting up. I watched her with my radar as I was priming it to watch over us, then set about following my own advice.

I woke an hour before dawn, and nudged Nix awake. I helped her limp out of the building and back to the streets.

From a vantage point several floors up a vacant building I considered the situation under the pale light of sunrise. In addition to heavy antipersonnel emplacements and a veritable wall of patrolling soldiers, I picked out at least five elite super-soldiers - poor souls who had almost as much implanted tech as I did. They were hard to kill except at close range, and usually better armed than I was. The only way in I could see was surrender, but I couldn’t do that. They’d blast me as soon as they got a decent scan. But maybe there was another way...

As I watched the cordon, my HUD changed, showing the names and portraits of three people, all Confederate admirals, each had at least three stars. I was apparently rescuing three people who each outranked the director of the whole black ops program.

“What are you thinking?” Nix asked after a short pause, as my eyes wandered away from the window and over to her. She looked younger than her thirty-six years, and that even under all the grime and ash she was quite attractive.

“I think it’s high time you gave yourself up.” I said simply.

I received only a curiously raised eyebrow in response, and filled her in on my idea. She agreed hesitantly. The whole thing was distasteful, but kosher under ops protocol, and I hated the protocols for that, but I had little choice. I had to complete the mission.

I helped Nix get to her feet, and down the stairs to the street. “Give me a count of one-twenty.” I told her, and turned to leave.

“Wait.” Nix didn’t let go of my arm, so I turned back. “What if this doesn’t work?”

I turned back, and in my mind I could not tell if what I was about to do was calculated or motivated by something more human. “Nix, trust me.” I pulled my mask down to rest on my neck, so she could see the expression on my face. “I am not throwing away your life.” With one hand I gently lifted her mask off her face, and she did not resist.

“But your protocols. How can I be sure?” She asked.

I met and held her eyes, then leaned in to kiss her on the lips. I kept it gentle, brief. It had been some years since I’d last kissed a woman, but I found it to be something not easily forgotten. She inhaled deeply, in surprise, but not in alarm. I wished I could have enjoyed the experience as much as she did, but the conditioning and the regulating implants kept the feeling muted.

As I drew away, she nodded. “I’m... I’m sorry, it’s just... What they tell us about you lot...” She said quietly.

“I’ll do what I can for you. But the mission comes first.” Again, I turned, but only halfway. “Goodbye for now, Nix.”

“See you in a few, Stranger.” She replied. As I ran off, I heard her start counting.

Nix stumbled out into the street, hands upraised, barely a block from the cordon. “I surrender! For God’s sake, I’m starving, I give up, don’t shoot!” She called, as dozens of weapons and more swiveled toward her. Three of the super-soldiers nearby stepped out and hauled her back behind the line. There was a brief radio conversation, and then those three escorted Nix back towards the dome. I started creeping closer, extending my coilguns. These new odds were far more to my liking.

The klaxons sounded the moment I hit the weakened cordon, but it didn’t matter. By the time anyone came running, I was inside the defenses, and by the time the cordon closed over the gap I’d blasted in it, I was already inside the dome. I went to ground there, and sure enough the three elites that had escorted Nix came running back. Two headed outside, the third stood guard at the entrance, but he was expecting the threat to come from outside. He didn’t even see me coming.

The guards in front of the facility’s holding cells were line soldiers, not elites, and they died rapidly. I stalked inside, and the HUD again showed me the faces of the three I was tasked with recovering, but it was Nix I found first. She was in the first cell. There was a fresh bruise on her cheek, but otherwise she looked more or less as I’d last seen her.

She was alert, watching the door as I looked in. “That was quick, Stranger.” She said. “Gonna let me out?”

I responded by powering up my augments and winding up to punch the metal door. Nix stepped to the side, and I swung. It fell inwards, and I tried not to show how much that hurt to do.

There were only ten cells, and my targets were the only other prisoners. Giving Nix a beam rifle and telling her to watch the doors, I punched their cell doors down as well. The admirals were emaciated and scarred, but alive. As soon as I had all three, one of my implants I hadn’t noticed made a hypercomm call. My HUD displayed a timer, along with the words ‘blast extraction’ - a phrase I liked to see. I had ninety seconds.

Leaving the three admirals in a cell, I ran back to Nix, and arrived just in time to dodge a withering salvo of energy beams - mostly. I got grazed twice, and felt the regulators suppress most of the pain. An elite and a group of soldiers had Nix pinned down, but there was good news - the extraction killbox was painted for my eyes right around the entrance, and the soldiers were standing in it.

As the seconds ticked down, I traded shots with them from around the corner. It was no use - my coilguns’ batteries were not designed for lasting firefights, and their reinforcements seemed infinite. I had only a few shots left.

As my shots became more infrequent, the soldiers got bolder, led by their grinning elite commander. Nix twice took shots at him, but the beam rifle proved useless against his subcutaneous armor. I knew all we had to do was keep him close to the doors, and the extraction shuttle would take care of him on its way down. He was advancing out of its killbox, though, and there were still fifteen seconds left.

I caught Nix’s eye and gestured that we needed to stall them, hoping she understood. I used one of my last four shots on the elite, and it hurt him enough to make him take a step back. Nix used the momentary disorientation to take a shot at his face, which didn’t have any effect but to momentarily blind him. The other soldiers tried to return fire, but Nix was too quick. They only managed to superheat the wall behind her. I drove them back with another shot. Fourteen. Thirteen. Twelve. We had to draw this out more, I knew.

Nix grabbed a piece of rubble that looked vaguely grenade-like and lobbed it over. “Fire in the hole!” She bluffed. The soldiers backed up but didn’t run. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight. The elite seemed to be regaining his senses. “Get them, you fools!” He yelled. I countermanded his order with another coilgun blast. Seven. Six. My heart surged. We were going to make it.

The elite dove forward suddenly, over the desk, and grabbed Nix. I jumped on his back and knocked him over, throwing Nix aside. I remembered the three unarmed admirals behind our meager defenses. “Nix, get them!” I shouted, meaning the admirals. Five. Four.

Nix scrambled to her feet and limped to escort the admirals toward the melee. The soldiers trained their guns on me, but as I was currently choking their elite superior, they didn’t risk firing. Three.

He was faster than I was, and his neck armor made my chokehold rather pointless. I took a supercharged elbow to the chest, which would have killed a normal human. Two.

I tripped the elite, and landed on top of him, left hand around his neck and bashing at his head with my right arm until his hand closed around my fist and forced it to a stop. One.

I watched the tenths of a second tick away on my HUD. “Zero.” I hissed.

The front of the holding area and all the soldiers evaporated in a super-bright haze, and I knew that at the center of the haze would be an extraction shuttle with four seats.

My radar told me as I struggled that Nix was pushing the admirals past my brawl and into three of the four chairs in the craft. As soon as they were secure, she hesitated. “Get in!” I yelled without looking. The elite, recovering from his surprise, managed to get on top of me. I let him think he was winning a moment longer while my coilgun charged up, then released my last shot into his neck. When the flash dazzle cleared from my eyes, the elite’s shoulders were topped by a cauterized stump, and his body was limp.

I extricated myself, stood up, and moved over to the shuttle. The launch controls were keyed to me, and Nix was sitting in my seat. I matter-of-factly reached in to start the launch sequence.

Nix grabbed my hand and pulled me closer, into a deep, urgent, brief kiss. I let her, not because of protocol but because I wanted to, and keyed the launch sequence with my hand as I drew back.

“Goodbye, Nix.” I said simply, and the shuttle’s canopy sealed over her and the admirals. I stepped back and watched it lift up from the ground, accelerating rapidly.

I towards the dome exit, picking a mask off one of the fallen soldiers. In the confusion the shuttle’s explosive entrance and exit invariably caused, I managed to slip the cordon, and retreat into the empty streets. Yes, I’d breached operation protocol by putting Nix in the shuttle, but I suspected the brass would understand. And if they didn’t, then they could go to hell, I knew that she did.

This story written based on a prompt from Klazzform's Short Story Competition on dndonlinegames.com. It was disqualified from the competition due to my inability to make it fall within the word limits set in the contest rules.

"The Once and the Future"

It was midnight on the summer solstice, and though there was much revelry going on, none of it was nearby. The rotunda in front of the gates to the fortress of Camelot was empty, though the sounds from the main square down the road suggested it was a good party.

The old man appeared in a flash of faint purplish light, transit leaving the faint smell of ozone in the air. He knew his opponent would try to sabotage the symbolic sword-drawing. He’d watched that take place months ago and tomorrow, but Morgana could well warp the timeline at this critical point. At noon, Lord Artur, a minor noble, would pull the sword from the anvil in front of Camelot’s gates, and become the first king of this land in a generation.

A quick inspection told Myrlin Ambrosius that the sword and anvil were bonded together by some sort of clear glue. The stuff was old, weathered smooth - he wondered how far back Morgana had gone to pull this off. Probably all the way.

A quick trip back to base got Myrlin a solvent, but he didn’t apply it at midnight. Rather, he skipped forward until the sky was graying and the town was beginning to stir before splashing the clear solvent all over the epoxied sword. A few seconds, he knew, and it would no longer be glued.

The old man waited those seconds then experimentally tugged the sword’s hilt slightly. It slid out a fraction of an inch quite smoothly before he let go. A child could pull the sword out now. Could he be sure Artur would get here first?

Wrinkling his brow as if getting a headache, Myrlin Ambrosius let the monument be and set the device on his left hand. One more button and he disappeared in another brief purplish flash, expression broadcasting the hope that he hadn’t made things worse rather than better.

---

It was a pleasant, clear early fall evening, and the town was just beginning to grow quiet for the night. With her binoculars, Morgan watched the keep intently, focusing on the lights in the king’s bedroom. It was the spring equinox, and Morgan knew that the man wearing the crown would be returning to his bed, inebriated and exhausted. Ambrose was growing frustratingly good at catching up, and it was time to try a more indirect approach, one he’d never think of. Slip a knife in his ribs and Ambrose would come back and stop it, meaning she’d never get to actually sink the knife. No, it was time to be more... subtle. Do something Ambrose wouldn’t notice.

The light in the bedroom went out. Morgan shrugged off the thick cloak she was wearing, leaving her completely naked except for the timeslip handpiece and a thin, revealing thigh-length nightgown. She altered the device, and shifted herself in time and space again.

“Who’s there?” Whispered a worried Artur from behind her. It was dark, the faintest light leaking in through the curtains. Likely, he couldn’t see her, but had heard the timeslip.

“Only a dream.” Morgan whispered, stepping silently to the bedside, internally wondering if she was making the right move. But if not me, she thought, then who? No-one could be trusted. She knew it had to be her.

Artur either believed her, or didn’t care. When she slipped into the bed next to him, he gladly took her into his arms.

To his credit, the freshly-crowned king surprised Morgan with his skill and stamina. What do you know, the big oaf does something well, she thought, fighting against a lethargic desire to fall asleep right there.

As soon as she could tell he was asleep, Morgan, hoping she had what she needed, but not entirely fearing a second attempt, poked at the handpiece, and was gone.

---

 
“Master Ambrosius, you said your name was?” The newly crowned king asked after dinner, when he and Ambrose had retired to a sitting room in the keep.

“Yes. I’m a diviner of sorts.” Ambrose sipped the local liqueur carefully. ”A magician.” He wasn’t, but that explanation would satisfy the locals. ”I have received dire portents about attempts against your rule by another magician, a woman. Morgan is her name.” Ambrose had just come upstream from a falling-out with her, but this man didn’t need to know that.

“A magician. Black magic or white?” The king asked cautiously.

“White, liege.” Ambrose assured him. “Divining the future. Healing. Some personal travel magic. But it has its price even so. But as Morgan aims to misuse our shared craft, and so I will be here to counter her.”

The king nodded. “What proof do you have of these claims?”

Ambrose looked past the man. “I was there when you pulled the sword from the anvil, liege. So was she. There were only a few people there. Perhaps you remember us? We foretold a great event, and had come to observe.”

“Yes. I remember now. The woman next to you was stunning. I thought it was a pity that she was your wife.”

“I trained Morgan, but she is not my wife.” Ambrose corrected. ”And she is dangerous. As much ability as I, but no restraint.”

The king nodded sagely. “I will accept your service, magician Ambrosius. But I cannot make you one of my knight. You are not of any noble family of this land, even if your homeland pedigree is good.” He frowned. “My father once kept the counsel of a woad magician, Myrlin Wyllt, his closest advisor and physician. You, master Ambrosius, will be my Myrlin. Myrlin Ambrosius.”

“As you like, your majesty.” Ambrose nodded. A title wasn’t what he was here for, but if it made King Artur feel better, he would take it.

---

 
Morgan materialized a few hours upstream and a hundred miles from Ambrose, and sat down in the middle of the cold woods to think. She could outsmart the old man, she knew - he never saw the potential of the timeslip. Artur was a menace - he was slowly killing off all the skilled warriors his land possessed on fools’ errands. He was well into middle age, and had no children - whoever survived all the “chivalrous” quests would be left to fight over the scraps when Artur died. It was a mess.

To save the people of Camelot, Morgan knew she had much work to do, but at least all of time was her playground to do it.

Well, not all of time, she realized as she started punching coordinates into her timeslip. The words “UNIT ROGUE: RTB” appeared on the handpiece in red. Ambrose apparently could do that. Dammit. Obviously, a return to the base as requested would result in nothing beneficial, so she ignored the words. It did mean she would have to avoid any time close to modern, the timeslip nets extended well back into the seventeenth century, and they’d pull her back to base for sure.

First things first, she resolved, setting the device. Let’s try this the easy way.

---

  “Morgan, we can’t police Dark Ages warlords. Actually, as warlords goes, this guy’s not so bad.” Ambrose pointed out to his partner.

“Not so bad? You’re kidding, Ambrose.” Morgan spun on a heel and pointed to Ambrose. “We can’t sit idly by and let him destroy these people just because he had the muscles to pull apart that sculpture in the courtyard. You’ve talked to him. He’s a fool!” Morgan was pacing energetically across the stone-floored room, battling against agitation and pent-up energy. Her looks seemed to be unharmed by or even to benefit from the lack of electric lights and modern makeup.

Ambrose scratched at the two weeks of growth on his cheeks, surprised how fast his whiskers had taken advantage of their newfound freedom from razors. He knew his less impressive looks had fared worse than his junior partner’s. “He’s a hopeless romantic, and maybe a hair too trusting of old stories, but I rather like him. Had he been born 900 years from now he’d have become a famous writer or philosopher.” 400 years later still and he’d be doing what Ambrose and Morgan were doing now, for the same reasons Ambrose himself did them, but he didn’t want to say that. “Besides, it’s still not our place to police who they make their leader. Where’s that in the charter?”

“Ambrose, screw the charter. These people have bad enough lives as it is. How many of them will die in pursuit of a magic cup that doesn’t exist?” She flicked a derisive finger toward the crumpled parchment of the notice she had pulled from the town bulletin board. It called for brave men-at-arms to quest alongside the Circle of Knights in Gaul to search for the Holy Grail.

“Would you prefer he be like his predecessor, who tried to invade the next kingdom over?” Ambrose pointed out. “Look, Morgan, even if you don’t like it, we aren’t here to fix it. We’re here to look, not to touch.”

Rather than turning back toward him at the end of her pacing, Morgan hesitated, then dashed for the door.

“Dammit, Morgan.” Ambrose got up and ran out after her, but it was too late. The late fall air outside carried a whiff of ozone, and he knew she had gone. “You would be that foolish.” The new generation of ‘walkers didn’t ever seem to have any sense. History was their playground, they thought.

Ambrose, despite knowing the time was no issue, thought fast, and marked her in the timeslip grid as a rogue actor. That way she couldn’t go home without being held, and any other agents would refuse to help her. Rogues were rare, but they did happen occasionally. He just hadn’t expected it of Morgan.

“Dammit, dammit.” He continued under his breath, setting his timeslip handpiece to a date in the past. It was time to stop observing, and start damage control. 

---

  The new knight was young - maybe seventeen or eighteen, but his equipment spoke of a rich parentage. Ambrose stood behind Artur’s chair, leaning on the gnarled druidic staff Artur had given him, just watching the kid present himself. The other knights seemed to be impressed, for sure. But there was something off about him.

It had been three months for Ambrose since Morgan had lit off, and he’d been in Artur’s service about a “year”. He spent those months jumping around to try to find her. He’d foiled some minor sabotage, but mostly he cleaned up after her. She always ‘slipped away as soon as she saw he was around.

“What’s your name, sir knight?” Artur asked imperiously.

“Mordred, my liege.” The young man replied.

“From where do you hail?” Artur asked again.

“Nowhere, liege. My family’s lands in Brittany were lost three years ago.” The youth replied evenly. Ambrose noted that - not even a hint of frustration, anger, or regret over that loss. Strange. “I had hoped that through service in your court I might earn my family lands in your kingdom.”

“Who has tested this knight’s skill?” Artur asked.

“I, liege.” Gawain stood. The burly Welshman was almost seven feet tall, and towered over the newcomer. “He has much skill, but little strength of the arm. Even so, I vouch for his prowess.”

“Next to you, everyone is weak.” Artur pointed out, and the knights chuckled. Gawain smiled at the compliment. ”Sir Mordred, sit there.” Artur pointed to a seat only three away from his own. “I will have them etch your heraldry into a new chair this very night. Welcome to the Circle of Knights.”

“If I may, sir, Circles are for druids and witches.” Mordred said. Ambrose cringed - Artur was fond of his Circle.

”If that is so, young knight, what would you suggest?” Artur replied. Ambrose could tell from the tone of voice that the boy was on thin ice.

“Nothing drastic, liege, a simple change of name.” Mordred took his seat, seeming not to notice the peril of his words. “I would call this honored group the Knights of the Artur’s Table Round.”

Artur seemed to settle down. “A name change. I will consider this, sir Mordred. But now we have more pressing matters. This peasant revolt in the southern towns must be quelled, and swiftly. I suspect that the witch Morgana will be found at its root.”

Ambrose winced, but didn’t speak. Ever since he’d told Artur about Morgan, the king was seeing her influence in every nuisance and crisis. She had of course been involved once or twice, trying to get people to assassinate the king and such, but she was hardly the source of all of Camelot’s problems. Most of her subterfuge was in the past for Artur, where only Ambrose could undo it.

As Artur started giving out orders to the knights, Ambrose thought he saw Mordred glaring at him, but when he looked that way the boy was watching Artur intently. Perhaps he had a concealed dislike for Ambrose, or for magicians in general? Something to keep an eye on, for sure.

---

 
Mordred stood in his usual spot at the parapet, looking out over the town below. He knew that the kingdom was his by right, he only needed seize it from the idiot he was ashamed to call father.

“Your time will come soon, my child.” Mordred heard the familiar voice issue from behind him. He did not turn to look, because he knew eyes were on him, eyes that could not see his mother lurking there.

“My time is now, I think.” Mordred replied quietly, without moving his lips much. ”The king is in Gaul until Winter Solstice at least, and he left that dolt Lancelot in charge.”

“Lancelot is a womanizer and a fool.” Morgana whispered. ”Apply pressure, and he’s our man.” There was a rustle of cloth from Morgana’s robes as she set something down. ”This letter is signed by Gawain. It says that the king is dead. It is addressed to him, and it says that Artur spoke of you with his dying breath, recognizing you as his son. It also forgives him for sleeping with the queen.”

“False?” Mordred confirmed.

“Of course. The only person who might see through it is Ambrose. The Myrlin.” She scoffed the title, it was a joke to her.

“He has not been seen here in many years.” Mordred scoffed. “The old man probably crawled into some hole and died.”

“Make no mistake, he is still around.” Morgana corrected her son. “He is conserving his resources. Avoid him if you can. Try not to kill him if you can’t.”

“Not to kill him, mother?” Mordred asked. “He is your enemy.”

“I want him defeated, not killed. This is a time for finesse, my son, not bloodshed.”

“No.” Mordred whispered.

“What did you say to me!?” Morgana’s voice rose, building anger.

“I am going to be king. I will not be your pawn. I will kill who I please, and I will spare who I please.” Mordred’s smile vanished, then came back cruelly. “You can’t stop me.”

“You would reject all I’ve done for you!?” Morgana hissed.

“No, mother. I would do what needs to be done to realize it.” Mordred said. “I will not let your magician’s games get in the way. I will - ”

But a metallic smell drifted to him, and knew his mother was gone. Yes, she was the woman that bore him, the woman that paid for the finest tutors to look after him, to train him to be a king. But if even that family tie would keep Mordred from the throne, then it must be severed. It was his destiny to be king. He would be king.

Mordred lingered ten precise seconds, then walked away, ignoring his mother’s false letter. It was time to be King. Time to seize the moment. His way, not Morgana’s.

---

Ambrose appeared on the parapet, gnarled staff in hand, and saw the battlefield below, shadowed by a gloomy, overcast and smoke-tainted sky. What was left of the town was trampled to foundations and ashes, and littered with bodies. It looked fresh - hours old only. Two ragged, broken armies stood on either side of it - one in front of the gates, below him, and the other farther out. Between them, two mailed figures dueled, swords and shields ringing blows through the cold air. One of them was clearly Artur.

Ambrose was spotted in the army below, and the call went out. Belatedly, he realized that they weren’t Artur’s troops - they bore the colors of another. Black on Crimson. Mordred? He ducked in time to avoid the volley of arrows, and set his timeslip to take him back a few hours and out onto a nearby hill.

The battle was almost accidental. Artur’s army, returning early, saw the red flags on Camelot’s towers, and circled round, through the woods, right up to the town’s verge. As soon as the gate opened, they charged up toward it, not realizing that Mordred was impatiently leading his own army out to seek Artur’s force. Mordred had numbers and position, but Artur’s troops had surprise and experience.

Lancelot, still inside Camelot, had closed the gates behind the usurper, letting the armies decide who would be king. Ambrose respected that decision, though it would probably mean whoever won would exile him.

At last, the two armies drew back, and Artur and Mordred came to parley. Ambrose struggled to think of a way to even begin to roll this back. Could it be one of Morgan’s plots? And how could he even begin to unravel this one? How far back did it go?

“Yes that's me, and no, it's not.” Morgan, wearied-looking, was at Ambrose’s side. “It wasn’t supposed to be like this. That’s my... my son.”

Ambrose’s guard rose, but as soon as he saw her wearied, defeated demeanour he relaxed some. “Mordred?” She didn’t look like she’d spent enough years here to raise a child to Mordred’s age. “Why, Morgan?”

“You were winning. I had to try something new.” She admitted. “But even he is against me now. Bloodthirsty.”

Below, the two men stepped back and took combat stances. Morgan gasped. “A duel! Disagreements aside, we’ve got to do something, Ambrose.”

“Morgan, you’ve done enough.” Ambrose waved his gnarled walking-stick in front of her.

“But he’s my son!” She started to claw at her timeslip. ”I have to do something!”

Ambrose waited until she was absorbed in her frantic struggle with the device, then hit her over the head with his heavy druidic staff. Morgan fell to the ground, out cold. “Sorry, Morgan. This one’s out of our hands now.” He muttered, picking her up.

Below, the fight raged on. Mordred was faster, but Artur was, even at sixty years of age, stronger and more skillful. It was an even match.

“I’m sorry, my liege. I cannot help you any longer.” Ambrose whispered as he set his own timeslip for home. He knew he wouldn’t be coming back. With one last look at the duel below, Ambrose activated the handpiece, and he and his errant junior partner vanished in a purple flash of light.

This story written based on a prompt from Klazzform's Short Story Competition on rpgcrossing.com.

"The Forest World" (Part 5 of 5)

Part 4 to this story posted previously (here)

“Stay with me to the end.” She asked, having to speak in a normal tone to be heard through the wind, even though her face was leaned against my shoulder.

“I will.” I agreed. “The war will end, you know, at least for now. I think this will be its last battle.”

She nodded, and swallowed. “That’s something.” The leaves were whipping about in the air, but none of them came within a foot of us, as if we were in a bubble. I noticed that the wind seemed to be moving to the right no matter where I looked - as if it was circling the two of us. “Matt, do you think I have a soul?” She asked suddenly.

“What?” I asked.

“I mean, do you think there will be an afterlife for a person you imagined?” Her voice was brittle, like the slightest touch would shatter its composed veneer.

I squeezed my eyes shut. The simple question deserved weeks of thought, and I had probably ten minutes before the question was answered for her, one way or the other. “I don’t... I don’t know.” I admitted. “But I hope so.”

“Oh?” She looked up to me hopefully.

“You are genuine. You are more a person, more human than I ever learned to be.” I replied as the wind again gusted. In the distance there was a crashing sound, as if a tree had fallen.

“You’re human, Matt.” Laura’s head again fell to rest on my shoulder. “I think you just want to think you aren’t, it makes things make more sense to you.”

“I just killed you.” I replied, and my voice cracked considerably. “I was able to do it. I’m a monster, Laura. Have been for some time.”

The wind was now an even roar, as loud as the gusts had been, though it didn’t seem to touch us. The branches of trees just at the edges of my vision were all being shaken and pulled, and the leaf litter around them was blowing into the air. “No.” She replied. “You cared enough about me to let me choose.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back. I could feel that sensation cascading down to the baseline world, where I became conscious of the fact that it was dark, and that I was alone, so no-one would notice. As soon as I had verified this, though, I dived back in to be with Laura. I didn’t answer her, I just held her in what I hoped was a comforting way, as the blowing wall of dead leaves and sticks grew closer to us, closer to the bole of the great ash tree which we both stood below. As trees vanished behind this maelstrom, there were crashing noises, as if they were being shredded by the wind. “Not long now.” I finally said numbly. For some reason, my words carried over the sounds of the world’s oncoming end.

“Will you be okay?” She asked shakily.

“When this world is gone, I will be left in a void in my mind, which is full of voids.” I offered the explanation to console her. “The destruction of this world will not harm me in that way.” I had to use that caveat - I already suspected what would become of me and my war.

“Okay.” She breathed into my shoulder. The wall of wind was now only a dozen yards away, closing at a steady rate of a few inches every second. “Did you plan this show out for me, Matt?”

“I didn’t.” I admitted. “Ending in a windstorm, though, seems fitting.”

“The birds knew before we did.” Laura gave a breathy, dry laugh. “I don’t envy that knowledge.”

I nodded silently. Now the wind was beginning to spiral around us, too, swirling up from the ground, lifting Laura’s hair to brush against her face and mine. Some leaves, too, were lifted, but only a few of the lightest, driest ones.

I watched the wall of wind and debris close to five yards, then four, neither of us speaking. What could I say to her? The raw emotion that was coursing through my veins in lieu of blood was wordless, soundless, hopeless. I couldn’t possibly begin. I didn’t want her to be destroyed, but that was already done - I had already murdered Laura by pulling the ruling thread out of her reality. I wanted to tell her so many things, but my mouth stayed closed - I didn’t want to make this last span of her existence as much a heartbreak for her as it was already going to be for me. Heartbreak, of course, is the correct term - I realized then that I bore inexplicable, unbounded love for this person, who was about to cease to exist, to leave no trace in the world, in any world.

The wall of wind was mere feet away now, and I could see that it was not flat - it was curved, the edges of a contracting sphere of chaos. As the top of this sphere drew down, the light itself faded out, leaving Laura and myself clinging to each other in an ever-smaller space surrounded, I knew, by intellectual void.

“Will it hurt?” She asked quietly. Despite the cacophony, I could still hear her perfectly.

“No more than drifting off to sleep, Laura.” I replied, unsure but trying to sound confident in my suspicions. “Sleep well, Laura, and dream of better worlds than I could ever have shown you.”

She looked up at me for a brief moment, and I saw a single tear break free from one eye and trickle a jagged, wind-blown path down her cheek. “Thank you, Matt. I - ”

I felt the touch of the debris vortex on my feet and head, and drew back, out of the world, into the baseline. I found myself next to a guard-rail overlooking the decorative pond on the north side of campus. It was late, perhaps two in the morning, and the cool air was painting me a very clear picture of where the tears had tracked down my face, and dripped onto my collar. I gripped the guard-rail, leaning on it for support, and took a few breaths, before diving back into my mind and entering The Room. The fire was far lower than its norm, and a very deep shade of blue.

You promised her you would end this. The words of my second pattern rang out immediately. To suspend her in that state is...  Wrong.

“I can’t do it, my friend.” I whispered, shaking. “I can’t go back there and feel her dissolve from my arms. I can’t. It will kill me too.”

Doubtful. The parts of the whole that are most at risk are those that cause the most conflict anyway. Came the reply. You must be strong. I cannot enter worlds without you, you know that.

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” I managed to get in. “Imagine, this is your fault.” I called out lamely, not that Imagine was conscious.

Imagine’s usually confident, cock-sure female voice was broken, shaky in my mind. “I did not want this, my old friend.” It seemed to say. “This was not supposed to happen. You were supposed to choose her over the world that so hurt you, and instead look at what you have done. You could probably have preserved that world from the madness, and lived there for all time. Do not place blame for this tragedy upon me.”

“I could not choose that world over the baseline.” I shouted back. In the baseline, this shout escaped my lips as a loud whisper. “I couldn’t.”

I could tell that my mind’s impression of Imagine was accurate - it was weak, perhaps dying. “Why not?” These two words came unbidden into my consciousness, barely a broken whisper, a dying breath.

“Because...“ I started, but trailed off. “Because it would be wrong...” I lamely finished, after a few seconds, clinging to morality out of the same desperation that a drowning man clings to the lifeguard saving him.

There was no reply. Imagine, in my mind’s self-generated impression, did not have a retort for this argument.

Finish what you promised, and our war is over. My second pattern said after several minutes of silence. Then we can rest, we can learn to live in our worlds in peace.

“But no matter how much I look in those worlds, I’ll never find her again, or anyone like her.” I pointed out.

The baseline holds many real people like yourself. Perhaps even like her.

“And I hope they never have the misfortune of crossing paths with me.” I replied angrily. “Don’t you see? Imagine’s way would have saved everyone! It would have put me out of the position to bring any harm to any person, except Laura. My friend, what have we done? At what cost have we come to win our war?”

At great cost, my friend. The second pattern’s voice never held tone or inflexion, it was only words, but this time I thought I detected a hint of pain in it then. But we have preserved the integrity of our being, and we need not maintain the moral contradiction of keeping an intelligent prisoner in a fabricated world.

I nodded. “Was it worth it?” I asked.

Let us live, friend, and in years to come you can answer that for yourself.

I moved to stand over the dying fire - I could tell now that it was dying - and stared into the flickering blue abyss. “Is Imagine right?” I asked. “Could I have made that world proof against the storm of madness?

Unknown. However, it was unknown until recently that worlds could be destroyed by force of will, so the possibility exists. Would you willingly live in a world of lies, and deceive someone you love into accepting it as truth? Could you do that forever, my friend?

“I don’t know.” I admitted.

Then let us not speculate further.

“Let me at least sleep through the night, I will re-enter The Forest tomorrow and end this.”

That compromise seems fair.

Rather than respond, I pulled out of The Room and hurriedly wiped my face with the sleeve of my sweatshirt, then headed for the dormitories, checking the time as I went on my watch. It was three fifteen, give or take, and I had class at nine.

Rather than bother with conventions like a shower or changing into the loose athletic shorts that passed for my sleeping garb, I merely snuck into the room, under the light-blocking curtain, and up into my bed. I thought I would have trouble sleeping, but sleep came in an instant.

---

It was not the next day, or the day after, or the one after that, but I eventually did feel the strength in me to take on the daunting task of seeing my intellectual and emotional murder through. None of my friends or room-mates knew it, but that unseasonably cold early fall day was my birthday. They didn’t know because I didn’t tell them, and no-one felt they were close enough to me to ask when it was that my age changed its numbering. My parents called and wished me a half-hearted ‘happy birthday’ at lunch, but the call quickly devolved into snooping into my personal life, asking if I had a girlfriend yet, that sort of thing, so I lied to them, claimed I had remembered I was late to a study session, and ended the call.

In truth, it was their snooping that reminded me that Laura, suspended in time, was still waiting for my presence to finish dying. For some days I had avoided letting my mind be idle enough for my second pattern’s voice to become apparent, and I had not made use of any of my worlds save the baseline. I didn’t want to think, I just wanted to buy time, but I knew that day that I could not begin to heal those hurts until I was done inflicting them.

The blue fire in The Room was barely sufficient to see my usual chair by, it had gone down to the point of being only bluish-black embers glowing on the hearth. Occasionally, the embers would shift, and there would be a flash of brighter light.

You have not fulfilled your promise. My second pattern greeted me. But I sense that you plan to, today.

“Tonight.” I replied. “Let the sun set, let me find privacy.”

Agreed. I trust you. It would be destruction to doubt you.

I nodded, stayed a few moments to watch the blue light crawl across the embers, then backed out and went about my day, trying not to think of the night’s planned grim task.

The night was clear, sharply cold, enough so that even the usual sparse traffic on the campus footpaths had all retreated to seek warmth indoors. It was eleven thirty, or thereabouts, when I stepped outside, and I took a brief time to walk to a safe, relatively hidden place, where I sat down and dived into my own mind, sifting about for the box labeled “The Forest.” Finding it, I hesitated.

A wordless, toneless, expressionless frown radiated from my second pattern. Taking a deep breath, I upended The Forest for the last time.

The vortex inched down, and I could feel it dissolving Laura, but she clung tighter even as her form turned to mist. I almost relented, I almost pulled out of the world to find a way, any way, to undo the damage I had done, to call all of this a bad joke, to have a good laugh, and to leave the woods with her, arm in arm, to see about getting her home. A life unfolded before me in that moment, a life of us kissing on the second date and of her confessing to me that she suspected I was ‘the one’ after six weeks. A life where I proposed to her, and we were married a week after graduation in the beautiful chapel on the hill across town from State’s campus, and where we had a lovely honeymoon cruise in the Mediterranean, after which I took a job to support her, and she chased her dream of becoming a writer. A life where I was promoted to management in only two years, and became good friends with one of the company VPs. A life where Laura’s second book, finished after our son was born, made enough money over the decades to fund my run for city councilor, then the subsequent run for mayor, then after that my play for the local congressional seat. A life where I was pulled out of a committee meeting in Washington to get the news that I was a grandfather of twin girls, beautiful, healthy babies born to my son’s beautiful wife, who we were proud to call daughter-in-law. A life where Laura and I retired to live in a house by a lake, where those grand-daughters came to visit often, but in between we just walked at our aged pace through the quiet woods around our home, remembering the day we’d met, when we walked similar woods, and we laughed about how crazy I’d been, to think a world as beautiful as ours to be all in my head.

Almost, though, never became a reality. Laura became void in my arms, and was gone, there was no more wind, no more woods, nothing. I was suspended in senseless void, and my mind rebelled from it, and reflexively backed out.

Only then did I let the emotions get to me. Even in the baseline, I dropped to one knee because standing seemed impossible, and one hand stabilized me, resting on the cruelly-cold concrete path. I had killed her to end my war, and it was indeed over, for the time being at least. I felt like I should be celebrating, but felt more like dying.

After several deep breaths, I re-entered my mind and found The Room, gratefully entering, dropping into its chair as an exhausted soldier newly home from the front.

It is done. Came the words of my second pattern the moment I was inside.

“I killed her.” I agreed numbly. The embers were almost burned out, and I moved to watch them.

You did what you promised to do.

“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”

How do you feel?

I watched one ember finally go out forever, then another. “I feel...” There were dozens going out now, and the wan light was dimming further. “Broken. As dead as she is.”

The last embers winked out, and I, all the components of my mind, were cast into darkness. I welcomed it as a blessing, because darkness seemed a fitting companion, it promised nothing, but nothing was just what I was looking for, just what I deserved, welcome.