by SJ Davis
“It’s worse than that.” Minnow finally looked up at them. “She’s a replicant. Omni made her, they made her to replace me.”
“Replace you? Like a replicant? No one can replace you Minnow,” said Yeshua. “You a one of a strange kind.”
“What?” yelled Nico, agitatedly picking up teacups and putting them back. “What is this replicating and replacing shit you’re talking about?”
“We have to move fast now. Omni is all over us,” said Yeshua. “Minnow, you’ll have to stay in the dereg area. Omni will have a harder time finding you. You have to detox, too.”
“I can’t. I’m killing myself studying codes and chrono-sequencing. I can’t sleep, I can’t eat, I can’t think.”
“Because you’re a junkie,” said Nico.
“No, because I need a little help,” she whispered.
“How close are you to breaking the Geo-Positional Code?” interrupted Yeshua.
“Very. I’ve almost cracked the time sequencing code and I’ve downloaded all the locator satellites.”
“How much longer until you can manipulate our chronology and geospace?”
“A few weeks.”
“Good. Now, does this replicant know about me and Nico?”
“She asked who normally delivered. I think I said your name.”
“Shit.”
The Deregulated Zone
Two Days Later
Nico walked in with a black plastic bag filled with clothes. Rainbow colored candle wax speckled the wooden floor and dripped down a wine bottle sitting in the shadows. Two cans of spray paint rolled along the floor under a matte black enamel table. Nico’s eyes burnt from the sting of vaporized alcohol and aerosol. Aluminum foil covered a section of floor with discarded food that he kicked out of his way next to a soiled dishcloth. His stomach churned at the sudden sight of a browned apple core and half eaten pizza slice, its surface jelled in re-solidified grease with dehydrated cheese and cracked tomato sauce.
“You aren’t sleeping here,” said Minnow, in a monotone flatness, propped on a pillow.
“It’s not like I haven’t before,” answered Nico.
“That was different.”
“Not really. Except this time, you actually need me.”
“Whatever. Maybe I needed you last time, too.”
“Look, I’m here to keep you clean. Nothing more. Nothing less.” He upended his plastic bag; a sea of wires and chargers littered the floor, all snaked around and wrapped in t-shirts and socks. “As soon as you’re clean, I’m leaving.”
“How kind. You’re a lot nicer when you’re on the feed.”
Nico flopped down on the mattress lying on the bare floor. No bed frame. No box spring. Just bare bones housing. He leaned on his elbow, looking at Minnow. “I’m not that bad, am I?”
Minnow’s face burned and her eyes locked in an open shoebox, filled with trazodone. She still wore the leather coat she’d bought in New City the previous week since the room had a chill from poor ventilation. She wore a low-cut purple paisley halter-top and a black cotton skirt that sculpted to every bone and angle of her frame. Nico had arrived earlier than she’d thought; she’d planned to clean the place up a bit but fatigue set in followed by nervousness.
“You’re the worst.” Minnow inched away from him, sat up, and looked towards the end of the bed; he wore the shoes they’d bought together at a flea market in Georgetown last year. Black and shiny Soviet-era styled boots with buckles, they called them his perestroika shoes.
Minnow absentmindedly stroked his hair, tucking it behind his ear. “Sorry,” she said, his skin radiated warmth and health.
“What’s in the box, Minnow?” he asked, leaning across her body.
“Trazodone,” she sighed. “To help me sleep. Completely legal and Yeshua approved.” She rolled into her blanket. “I’m going to get really sick, right?” Minnow question was flat, almost like a statement of surrender.
“Yep,” Nico wrapped his arms around her and his chin rested on her head. “Very.”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.”
“Maybe,” he said not meaning it. “Stomach aches, vomiting, itching.”
“Sounds like something to look forward to,” she started to hiccup. “I would rather do this alone.”
“You can’t. Because you won’t.”
“But I can’t hijack grid time and be expected to, you know, detox.”
“Not by yourself. And that’s why I’m staying.” Nico rolled onto his back and arched into a stretch. “How long has it been?”
“Since, you know…” she trailed off, thinking of her last hit.
“Yeah, since, you know,” he smiled.
“Almost a day. God, I hate it here.”
“You aren’t going to care where you are soon. You aren’t going to even want to be you.”
“I never wanted to be me.”
“Reason number one to shoot up. But you know what? All you ever will be is you.”
The apartment had no private rooms, no carpet, and only three small windows with filthy panes. An old couch sat by a battered table on a floor of bare stamped concrete. She pushed Nico away and looked around the room. She turned away from him, balled into a circle and began to cry. A roll of toilet tissue lay on the floor next to the mattress; she pushed it away and watched the trail of paper cross the room. The previous resident had painted the walls with oversized scenery of trees and birds along two walls with terrible perspective. She wanted to hang herself in the imaginary forest.
“I wish I was dead.” She groaned and put a flattened and jaundiced pillow over her eyes.
“You’ll wish it even more tomorrow. And each day after that, until you’re clean.” Nico rolled on top of Minnow and slide her onto her back. She was so tiny underneath him that he kept his weight supported by his own arms and legs. He wondered how she would detox, for no matter how hard she tried to act, she was delicate underneath. He hoped she wouldn’t break.
Minnow looked up and sensed his concern. Uncontrollably, her face tightened into a hard knot as she held her breath to keep from crying. Nico put his hands on each side of her face and closed his eyes.
“Get off me,” she mumbled.
“Okay,” he said, not moving at all. He looked down; he watched her heartbeat in the tiny space between her clavicles. Nico’s forehead was high and smooth beneath his blonde dreadlocks that hung like curtains around them both. His green bandana matched his green eyes as his held his hair from his forehead.
“Strawberry milk,” Minnow demanded suddenly. “I’m sick. Can you get some?”
“Yep.” Nico jumped up and Minnow slid to the edge of the bed, propping her bare feet on the edge of the table. The back wall smelled of dampness and soil next to where the small refrigerator stood. He found the bright pink milk and grabbed a small container. Condensation beaded and ran down the window. A few inches beyond the window was another wall, a mixture of brick and stucco. A series of low rent, off grid condos, spread along the street like blanched and malformed fungi in deregulated suburban sprawl.
Nico turned to see Minnow shivering and gleaming with sweat. “Maybe you’ll get through this quickly.”
“Let’s hope,” she bent over, holding her stomach. She held her arm out for the milk.
“I don’t know if this pink shit is such a good idea.”
“Hurry up,” she chugged down the viscous milk in a few swallows. She grabbed a bottle of Trazodone and grabbed a handful.
“Hey! You don’t have unlimited access to those,” said Nico, rushing to empty her hand. He pried open her fingers, leaving one pill in her palm. “Jesus, Minnow. Watch it.”
“Give them to me! I’m freaking out!” Minnow legs kicked involuntarily and her pupils were dilated.
“One,” he said. “And one compazine for nausea. That’s it. You have a ways to go.”
Minnow ran to the bathroom, Nico could hear her cough and wretch followed by the splash of regurgitated milk hitting the water. “Nas
ty,” he said as he closed door.
Minnow looked into the mirror as she washed her face. “One week,” she told her reflection. “It takes one week. You can do anything for seven days.” She sneezed three times and her arms felt itchy, not on the surface but deep underneath, in an unreachable spot.
“You all right?”
“I’m fine,” she lied. “But I need a Benadryl.”
“Minnow. You need to stop reaching for pills.”
“Fine. Dextromethorphan, then. Give me a liquid.”
Minnow exited the bathroom looking like a wet cat. Her pixie hair was matted flat around her face and her eyes bulged while she breathed through her mouth, almost panting. “All this place needs is some rats and a clogged toilet. Maybe Omni isn’t so bad, at least it’s clean and controlled.” She pulled out a small razor from her jacket pocket and twirled it slowly between her fingers like a baton.
Nico watched the metal as it caught the light from the ceiling. He quickly counted the factors he had to deal with while Minnow got clean. First was keeping her clean, then keeping her healthy, and finally keeping her working.
“Don’t even joke about that, Minnow. This area of the zone is a dump because Omni cut it off and shit on it. There’s no access to healthcare, decent jobs, or education. People are erased, man.” He should his head; his dreadlocks were like a lion’s mane.
Minnow still held the razor and sat on a fold up chair. She started to make small cuts along her right knee as Nico stared in shock and disgust.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” she answered. “Bleeding, I guess.” Sweat ran down her neck and chest was damp. Her hands shook as she flicked the sharp edge against her skin, little dots of red popped up.
“Look we aren’t looking to replace your problem with another. Do I need to hide all the knives in here?”
“No,” Minnow said, stifling a yawn. “I’m sleepy anyway.”
Nico looked out the small side window to the street. He let her sleep; he drank her tea and looked outside at the amber glow of the street. Across the boulevard, a man in a black overcoat stood on a balcony above him. Nico couldn’t make out his face, but on a small marble table next to him, sat a bronze samovar, its flame red-gold patina resembled polished gold. The man stood anxiously and stared back in Nico’s direction, concealing his face with a large hat. The small six-inch smoke stack atop the samovar puffed cotton ball sized breaths of steam around him as coal heated the water. The sliding glass door and burnt orange drapes opened, revealing a young woman, curvy and lean, though not muscled, in a long velvet dress skirt with hat and gloves. She stood at the railing and watched Nico, then quickly returned inside. Nico shook his head as he grabbed some cables and started reassembling Minnow’s information network. Crazy woman is dressed like that Caroline chick.
Minnow’s camouflage duffle bag lay by the bathroom door. He upended it, digging for her flash drive and a portable hard drive. Each component felt awkward and bulky as he searched for their power supply. Processors and hard drives had been obsolete for over seventy five years, making them perfect from a security standpoint for storing Minnow’s geo-chronological theories and her illegal downloads from Omni.
Nico grabbed a neatly coiled cable from the floor and unwrapped a keyboard, brown with age; the q, w, e, r, a, s, d, and f letters were cracked and chipped. The keyboard tumbled, making a loud smash on the floor, as Nico inserted an old USB Port. Its metal was dark and tarnished with age. “I hope this works,” he mumbled.
Minnow twisted under the sheets at his voice. Minnow’s hair along her face was completely soaked as her eyelids flittered opened. She rolled over, tangled in cotton sheets and sticky clothes, and she breathed deeply back into sleep.
Minnow reached for a damp washcloth that lay on her nightstand. She laid the cloth across her mouth and crossed her arms over her eyes. Nico scooted to the nightstand for the flashlight, knocking it to the ground. Minnow bolted upright and wiped her mouth. “I’ve got it,” she reached for water. “I know how to geo-retrochron the grid.”
“Geo-retrochron?”
“Move off the grid. Go backwards in time and place.”
“Sweet. So get up and do it.”
“Can I have a hit?”
“No.”
Gravesend, Kent
May 10th 1865
St. Botolph’s Church seemed to glow along the Thames estuary. The Romanesque arched windows reflected the evening sky like mirrors, as Caroline rested against the wall, absorbing the stillness of the ancient Saxon church. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness of the cemetery, surrounded by rusted iron gates. She peered through the fading stained glass windows, into the nave, but could see nothing.
Caroline fought her fear as she fingered the crumpled note in her pocket: “St. Botolph’s, Tuesday, half past seven.” Her stomach lurched as she opened the heavy wooden door. With a creak of hinges, she stepped inside.
The smell of the River Thames mixed with the scent of old stones and candle wax and the staccato click of her boots on the ancient steps echoed as she stepped into the sanctuary.
“Caroline!” a voice called. She squinted into the dark. “Caroline!” The voice jarred her. She turned back, stumbling down the steps.
“Come back,” another voice shouted. “Wait!”
A young man, along with another, jetted towards her as she ran down the dark path. A sharp light flashed in the corner of her eyes, blinding her. Caroline was pushed into the stone wall of the church. Pain shot through her wrists as one of the strangers held her, a tall young man with dark hair. She gasped in alarm, horrified. He looked down at her, surprised also. He let her go, flinging her arms away as if they were hot to his touch.
“I’m sorry, Caroline.” He spoke between breaths. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.” The stranger leaned down into her, a tall young man, with a lean face certain women might find handsome. He wore a well-cut black coat and thick rubber-soled boots. His eyes were warm and brown; his hair was dark and thick. An educated man by his demeanor, thought Caroline, though his accent was hard to place.
“Who are you?” Caroline’s words tumbled out quickly. “Did you send me the note?”
He held still for a moment. His dark shaggy hair fell slightly to one side, into the hollowed cheek of his face. “Yes. I’m Yeshua. I’m here with Nico and Minnow. We need your help.”
Caroline rubbed her sore wrists and snapped, “My help?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated between breaths. “What I have to say might seem crazy.” Trickles of sweat ran down the each side of his face. He swept his hair off his brow as he caught his breath.
“I can’t imagine why I thought coming here, this time of evening, was any sort of reasonable idea.” She tried to step around him, annoyed by the wet grass sticking to her boots and skirt.
“Things change quickly, Caroline.” Nico spoke firmly, blocking her path. His lean body bent forward.
“What things?” asked Caroline. Her fingers trembled in her pockets.
“Technology. Industry. Corporations,” he said, his arms stretched out from his long body as he leaned into the church wall. Caroline remained trapped between him and the wall.
Yeshua looked up into the dark sky, streaks of silver clouds sliced the sky. “We need your help.”
“I’m afraid I can be of no help to you.” She pushed Nico in the chest. “Move, please.”
“No, no. Let me finish,” he said in a rush.
“If you remain in my way, I shall scream.” Caroline pointed her gloved finger at them both. “And, if I scream, my guard and my driver who are waiting for me on the other side of this very church, will rush over to see why I am alarmed. Did I mention my driver is always armed?” Caroline’s voice sounded full of fear. “You do not frighten me,” she lied. “Step away!”
The landscaped gardens around the church were disorganized; everywhere she looked was uneven bushes, overgrown hedges, and trailing vines. Sh
e couldn’t see a quick exit in sight. In a clearing on the east side of the church, she saw a strange young woman sitting cross-legged on a bench. The girl held a mechanical device with a radiant green screen that lit up her face with a strange disembodied glow. Her fingers tapped furiously on it. Caroline gestured to the pixie haired girl.
“Is that Minnow?” The girl looked up at the sound of her name. Her eyes were jarring and harsh, circled in black lines. Her small frame looked underfed and her unblinking eyes looked disturbed.
“Yes,” said Yeshua. “She handles the feed.”
“The feed.” Caroline repeated flatly. Her eyebrows shot up.
“Let’s go back inside the church, we’ll explain. Please, we won’t hurt you.”
He dug out a crumpled box of clove cigarettes from a pocket of his cargo pants and offered her one. He struck a match against the wall.
Caroline shook her head politely, “No, thank you. And you mustn’t smoke inside this church.” She noticed the skin under his eyes was pale and his hair was dark, the front flopped over his eyes. He stuffed the noisy cigarette box back into his pocket.
“Right now, we’re off the grid.” His eyes nervously darted towards Minnow. “We’re glitching Omni.”
“Glitching? Omni?” asked Caroline.
“Yep. Disconnected. We can glitch for two hours until Omni automatically resets our feed.”
“Hurry up, Yeshua,” shouted Minnow from the gardens. “Thirty minutes left. That’s it.”
“Come here,” said Yeshua. Caroline followed Yeshua and Nico inside the church to the last row of pews. Minnow trailed behind, but remained in the doorway. She looked back and forth, between the inside and the outside of the church, like a nervous rabbit.
“Listen,” whispered Yeshua, “we aren’t from this time. And we need your help.”
“I have no idea what any of this has to do with me,” Caroline shook her head, “and I question whether what you claim is even possible. Are you suggesting you have traveled from another time? That you are a chrononaut?”
