by Eddie Patin
Shet—it was like a chain reaction! A perfect storm. Riley was amazed that he and Gliath had survived at all. He had his home world’s military to thank for that—all of the cybernetic modifications and enhancements that made him able to do all of this crazy planeswalking stuff to begin with. Without Riley’s strength and reflexes, or his enhanced senses, he would have probably been killed many times over the years by the monsters they’d trapped and shot down and cut into pieces to sell on the interdimensional market. Hell, his artificial lung was able to protect him from the colors—he didn’t have to breathe while they were there, not like Jason and the others did. And Gliath—Riley had no idea how Gliath was unaffected by the weird universe and its bizarre physical laws...
"They are all dead," Gliath said suddenly, deep and evenly. "I saw Goran the Slayer turned into glass and shattered. I am not certain of the fate of Artemis or the others. But we are alone again, Ranaja..."
"Yeah, I know," Riley replied. "Just you and me, Gliath. Like before." A sadness boiled up inside the soldier at that, and he roughly pushed it back down. He had seen Artemis killed. He knew that she was dead. He didn't want to think about it.
"Zayden Skinner will not be happy that we failed the exclusive assignment."
Riley sighed, looking up into the night sky and the falling snow. Zayden Skinner was the stone-faced extraplanar being that ran the Bounty Boards back at the Market. Riley had dealt with Skinner many times, but usually it was Jason 113 (or Jason 47 before that) who did the talking. Zayden Skinner never budged on policy, and he was never amused—not where jobs were concerned. That weird monolith of a man had to be wealthier than Riley could even imagine—he was vastly more powerful than a mere cyborg human could ever be—and Riley sure wasn’t looking forward to reporting to him that Jason and the Reality Rifters had failed. Usually, Skinner’s bounties called for the planeswalkers who signed up for the job to put up any initial investments needed: fusion cores for the portable gateway, any necessary gear, supplies, ammo, even the focus keys that let Jason open rifts his special way. But Jason 113 and his Reality Rifters had a great reputation with Skinner and the rest of The Market. This job on universe 1240 was an exclusive, and Skinner gave the focus key to Jason on good faith, based on that reputation.
It seemed that the impenetrable Zayden Skinner had made a mistake.
"Don’t worry about Skinner," Riley said. "None of that matters right now. The important thing is that we find Jason 934."
Gliath nodded—his long, straight black hair tossing in the breeze—then looked up into the gently snowing night. The wind blew in gusts, disturbing an otherwise beautiful, slow snowfall. Even in human form, without his thick, black fur, Gliath didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the cold.
Riley picked up the OCS and took a reading. He described their location data aloud for his companion: "Well, we’re on 934 alright, according to Jason's logs anyway. This is a town called Ridgeview in a state called Colorado, in the United States of America on Earth. Huh. This place is called 'Earth' just like Jason's world." It appeared this planet rotated through a day/night cycle just like most others. Riley paused, reading more about the world’s atmospheric readings, its weather, its patterns—it looked like this was winter, just like back on Earth of 113. "So it’s not cold all the time," he said. "Just right now in the year. It's nighttime. Let’s go."
Gliath followed as Riley slowly stalked through the open ground in between two houses toward the street that ran past them both. The home density here was rather low—very low compared to Citadel back on his own world, but denser than his home town. Might just be this area though, Riley thought. All worlds had some areas more populated than others. Jason 113’s house—which has been the Reality Rifters’ base for the last four years—had been on the middle of a big hill standing all on its own. The nearest of Jason’s neighbors were over a mile away. Is it ‘miles’ here? Riley thought, checking the OCS. According to the universe 934 data, most of the world used kilometers, but the nation he was in used miles. That was good at least. Maybe this would be an easy world to adapt to...
Stepping out into the street and a new gust of freezing wind, Riley pulled his hellhound-hide duster jacket closer in around him and looked around the quiet neighborhood with his night vision. They were standing a few houses down from the corner of where this small street intersected with a larger street, so he and Gliath made their way over there.
On top of a tall, skinny metal post were two green signs. It looked like the big street was Orion Blvd, and the small street they were on was Kestrel Drive. Next to the corner was a strange metal and wooden bench with the big, smiling face of a man named Realtor on it. Riley sat, and Gliath sat next to him.
Looking all around, Riley could tell with his enhanced vision that this world was much lower tech than Jason 113’s, and of dramatically lower tech than his own home world of Ebonexus. Shet, they still had lines with electricity running through them—hung above the ground where anyone could climb up and reach them—strung from pole to pole, extending as far as he could see. How archaic! The only signals he could detect under the ground was the faint noise of fiber optic and what must be coaxial cables with trace amounts of energy running through them.
This world was barely beyond primitive. It was definitely a Type Zero Civilization. Maybe Riley was in a more rural area, and they were working toward harnessing the power of the planet’s core in the denser population centers? The soldier frowned. This backward Earth would be shet for setting up a new base...
He pulled out his CamComm. There was no signal. Riley wasn’t surprised. He could typically only reach home from his own actual universe, and they'd only found a few other universes with connectivity to Ebonexus through their advanced tech. Of course this backward universe wouldn’t let Riley communicate with his dad...
What was Jason 113 thinking, sending them here? Well, he was trying to save your lives, Riley thought with a twinge of guilt.
But he said that he’d been watching this Jason, right? There had to be something about this Jason and his Earth that Jason 113 was interested in. But what could possibly be so interesting about such a backward universe? Hell—if Jason 934 needed to be given an infinity crystal to find his way to this Wilderlands place...
He recalled Jason mentioning a focus key.
Riley gasped, suddenly remembering more from that chaotic final conversation with his boss. Did Jason say that the new guy might not be able to use a focus key? He sighed, pulling out the infinity crystal. This one was blue. Riley had never seen one exactly like this particular infinity crystal before, but he’d seen plenty of others. Maybe this one was special.
Gliath sat quietly and patiently, looking around, watching the snow drift through the night. His yellowish-green eyes widened considerably as a piece of paper—some sort or artwork shaped like a pumpkin with a face—suddenly tumbled by along the street in the wind. Gliath focused on the flitting paper and seemed wired and ready to spring. Riley patted his friend’s leg, and Gliath’s attention went back to him.
"What do you think, buddy?" Riley asked his leopardwere friend.
"This world looks a lot like many others we have seen. Do you know where Jason Leaper 934 is?"
"I don’t, no," Riley replied. "But I reckon we must be somewhere near his house. The rift would have dumped us really close to the same point in third dimensional space as the base back on Jason 113's world."
Gliath nodded, his eyes going back to following the tossing paper pumpkin. "More houses here."
"It looks like they have cars for transportation here," Riley said, looking at the several vehicles parked in front of houses on Kestrel Drive.
Gliath looked around then nodded. "What should we do, Ranaja?"
"I have my doubts, honestly," Riley replied. He paused, wrestling with his compulsive desire to take a picture of himself with his CamComm for his dad back on Ebonexus. He figured that a selfie would look a lot better if he waited until morning whenever the sun cam
e up. "Jason wanted us to find the new guy, tell him all about his place in the omniverse, and get him all excited about his new life planeswalking, right? We’re supposed to give him the infinity crystal so we can go get some more of them to trade with," Riley said with a sigh. "But this world is a dump! If Jason 934 doesn’t already know how to rift, and this world is so technologically behind, who’s to say he’ll even go with us?"
"If that is what Jason Leaper 113 suggested..." Gliath said. "He is wise."
Riley laughed. "That was rhetorical, my feline friend. If we just told Jason 934 everything, we would cook his egg! He’d be terrified and freak out, I reckon. I think we should test him first. Let’s see if he can even get his powers to work; see if he can even find the permanent rift. Jason 113 said that it was in his backyard, yeah?"
"Yes," Gliath replied, his human face stoic and his eyes brilliant. "I believe that is what he said."
"Yeah, I know that, Gliath. That was rhetorical too. I'm just talking it out." Riley smirked. "Let’s see if this guy can make it work on his own. Then, when he sees a rift open—when he’s like ‘what the fruk?’—we can approach him then..."
For some reason, Riley’s plan sounded a lot dumber out loud. But this place sucked. If Riley was going to spend the next few years working for this new Jason—Jason 934 on this backward Earth—then this new guy had better be someone special. Jason 113 was special. So was Jason 47. They were leaders. They were impressive. If Jason 934 was some kind of loser, Riley reckoned, then they could use the portable gate to get back to the Market, then take their chances on their own.
Of course, the thought of trying to make a living planeswalking without the benefit of having a Jason Leaper along immediately shot a twinge of doubt through Riley's stomach.
"I am with you, Ranaja," Gliath said.
Riley smiled and sighed. "I know it, good buddy. But ya know, I’ve gotta trust in Jason 113. He’s got to have a reason for sending us here instead of to a Jason that would be better off. I just ... I wish things were different, you know?"
Gliath nodded.
Just then, both soldier and leopardwere turned at the hissing and crunching sound of a vehicle approaching and they stood from the 'Realtor' bench as a small, run-down car appeared on Orion Blvd, slowing down to turn onto their street. Two bright headlights streaked through the snow and dazzled Riley’s eyes for a moment until his sensors adjusted. The soldier stared at the single driver behind the water-speckled windshield as the little car passed by...
It was Jason.
In that quick moment, the data Riley’s eyes were able to take in—illuminating the man’s face while cutting out the glare of the headlights—confirmed it quite clearly. That was Jason Leaper 934 alright, piloting his wheeled vehicle with a pensive expression on his plain and slightly puffy face. Riley saw lines forming from where Jason evidently smiled a lot, and the man had a scruffy mop of dark blonde hair and blue eyes. Jason 934 looked soft, which bothered Riley a lot. The man was definitely younger than Jason 113—maybe by twenty years or more, only a few years older than Riley himself...
"That’s him!" the soldier exclaimed, turning and watching the car putter past them down the street, squishing snow and slush with its small tires as it went. "Let’s follow him!"
Riley and Gliath turned to follow Jason from a distance, immediately running down the snowy sidewalk without effort until they slowed when the tail lights of the little car glared bright red. Jason Leaper 934 turned into a distant driveway...
Chapter 5
On Saturday morning, Jason gently woke up around 10am and headed to the kitchen. He had to go to work later, but his shift was late enough that he could enjoy sleeping in and a nice walk before heading to the movie theater.
As he limped across the kitchen, Jason started his coffee machine. Snatching at the bag of bread on the counter, his right knee hurt like hell and the tendon above the joint panged with each stiff step.
"Good morning, bread," he said, trying to ignore the pain. He popped two pieces into the toaster and started them toasting. Opening the fridge, he pulled out two raw eggs. "Good morning, eggs."
Jason pulled a glass out from a cupboard, broke the eggs into them, threw away the shells, and drank the raw, slimy mix of fat and protein. Even though Jason preferred a good omelet or a scramble with cheese, he wasn’t a stranger to eating raw eggs, and felt too lazy to cook today. Toast would just take a minute, but eggs would involve a pan, waiting, and cleaning.
Honestly, he just didn’t feel like cleaning anything this morning.
His cat, Zelda, ran up from lounging somewhere, deftly jumping up onto the counter to say hi. She meowed with her tiny voice and rubbed her narrow face on Jason’s right hand as the man wrapped up the end of the bag of bread. Jason looked down and smiled at his pet. Zelda was petite and slender with an all-white coat except for the big spot of dark orange-brown on her face. Jason had always figured that Zelda was some sort of Calico—or a mix more likely—but he had no way to know for sure.
"Morning, little girl," he said with a smile, and paused to pet her head.
Zelda meowed in response, flicking her skinny tail and rubbing against his hand. She wanted food. Jason knew it.
As Jason’s toast darkened, he pulled out a tub of butter, and took the time to open a can of cat food for Zelda, plopping the foul-smelling cylindrical mold of mashed-up wet stuff onto a saucer. The cat attacked it hungrily.
The toast popped up.
Jason pulled out his self-warming butter knife and pressed the contacts together, transferring the 9v battery’s current into the circuit that would heat up the end of the blade. After fishing out the hot bread and placing them on the countertop, Jason spread warm, smooth butter over his food, then quietly enjoyed his toast next to Zelda. He cleaned up his minimal mess, then carefully removed the rechargeable battery from his knife-creation and plugged it in to the charger near the sink.
After the quick meal and pouring some coffee, Jason dressed himself in his walking clothes, then strapped on his hiking boots with difficulty. His right knee hurt badly whenever he put on shoes. On the way back from his room—the same bedroom Jason grew up in—he spent a minute looking at the closed door of his parents’ room. Jason moved slowly through the hall, gazing at photos of him, Mom, and Dad: all together in front of a sailboat, then a mountain, then his dad’s airplane...
Back in the living room, Jason threw on his CamelBak backpack with a full water bladder, armed himself with his Glock 26 and an extra mag, then grabbed his wallet and pocketknife from the tray. He picked up his cane, strapped on the phone pouch 'chest pocket' he’d created with Molle gear and paracord, then headed out into the crisp morning air with his metal mug of hot coffee...
Jason went for his walk.
He walked every morning without fail. He had to. Otherwise, his knee would tighten up and the pain would get worse. Back after his first semester of college, during Christmas break, Jason and his parents were flying to Alaska to spend the holiday with one of his father’s hunting friends when their plane went down in British Columbia. That’s when his parents were killed. That was also when Jason’s leg was injured in a way that would never heal. The constant pain in his knee frequently reminded Jason of when he lost his parents; when he lost his own ability to be an adventurer like his father. He dropped out of college after that.
Usually the pain flared up whenever Jason activated his quadriceps in that leg, be it by climbing, hiking, running—anything that involved putting pressure on his leg with his knee bent.
They say that time heals all wounds. But Jason’s parents were gone forever, and his leg had never gotten much better. Over these last fifteen years, Jason had studied knee problems, alignment issues, tendonitis, and more. He’d tried all sorts of anti-inflammatory regimes and rehabilitation exercises. But in the end, the only thing that ever seemed to help was just keeping mobile.
Time doesn’t heal wounds. It’s more like time just ... blurs the wounds together.
Jason’s knee pain was a constant in his life, and it didn’t always make him remember losing Mom and Dad, but sometimes it did.
Jason listened to his phone as he walked, playing video after video on YouTube. He sipped at his coffee whenever his hand was free, and kept his phone in the special pocket that he'd made, hung over his chest.
"... motivation to go out and make more money," someone was saying in a video. "You’ve got to change the way you think. It’s all in your head! Remember that you yourself are your greatest asset, but also your greatest liability. Your habits, good and bad, will—"
Jason paused the video. He’d already heard this one. As he walked on, cane punching through the snow with every other step, he scrolled through his newsfeed of videos for something new; something interesting...
The next video he clicked on jumped to somewhere in the middle. Looks like he’d already watched that one before too—at least partly.
"If you could work at any job, or in any industry, anywhere in the country, what would you do? Let's try an exercise: Imagine you have a million dollars in the bank and you’re suddenly diagnosed with terminal cancer. What would you do? How would your choices change? If you had plenty of money, what would you change in your life? And let's go above and beyond that. Think of this: If you had all of the money, time, and abilities—if you could do absolutely anything with your life—what would you do? Go ahead and write that down..."
Jason started zoning out, and the words became a mindless drone as he walked on.
For years now, Jason had walked the neighborhoods and forest lands around his parents’ house. He had many routes that he'd designed through trial and error: some through the neighborhood streets and green belts, some through the hiking trails nearby. His parents’ house—now his house—was right up against the edge of the Rocky Mountain National Park, and whenever he felt like taking a longer walk on the days that his knee wasn’t as bad, he would follow a game trail down the hill from his backyard that would eventually intersect with a major hiking path that followed the entire western side of Ridgeview’s ridge. But today, since he didn’t want to walk for more than an hour, he stayed on Kestrel Drive, heading north.
