by Agster, Joe
As the hours turn to minutes, the Earth fills up the totality of the monitors. North America is rotating away and almost out of view as the east coast of North America embraces sunrise. The asteroid approaches at a relatively low angle, enough for it to streak almost horizontally across the sky above the Pacific Ocean, and eastward toward the west coast of North America. As it nears the outer atmosphere, everything around them shakes profusely, and bright flames begin to engulf the screen. Cassie grips Friend’s hand, realizing the end has arrived. Moments later the flames enter the control room, and everything is incinerated.
32
Iteration 50
This is it. If I fail this time I’ll need to join Mason in exile. These are his waking thoughts, as he remains stuck to the ground, like a petrified statue, unwilling and unable to move.
He teleports to Cassie apartment, uneasy about what to expect. Unlike last time it is quiet… eerily quiet. It looks the same as before, her usual black and red decorations, and for the moment feels comforted that she wasn’t killed at a young age, but he is filled with butterflies. As he slowly opens the door he sees nothing but scattered clothing. His heart sinks as he wonders where she could be.
Suddenly her device beeps, and she emerges from the thick blankets. It turns out she was there the whole time, just covered enough and quiet enough to make him believe she was gone. Her barely open eyes turn to face Friend, and she screeches at the intruder.
He runs to the opposite side of the bed, hoping to comfort her. Usually when she lays eyes on him and they link she is immediately calm, but for some strange reason she remains startled. This change in demeanor is unsettling to him.
“I can’t… believe it,” she gasps slowly, still dazed from her slumber. “You have returned. I just dreamt it.”
Now he is confused. How has he returned? Where was it that he returned from?
“Cassie, what are you talking about?” he asks frantically.
“You… don’t you remember? You visited me when I was ten years old. You told me to be diligent, that I would one day save the world. I never believed you, until when my father died, and he told me the same thing.”
She springs up, uncaring of her appearance as she trots to her dresser, wearing nothing but black silk pajama bottoms and a black lacy bra, her backside dragon tattoo in full view. Her tattoo is a slightly brighter red this time, something that usually coincides with the fluctuations in her demeanor and personality. But over these iterations he has already discovered that she will occasionally change its color, as the advanced ink they use for the body art can be recolored through an electric zap.
He continues to stare in awe as she continues to hastily change her clothing, baffled at her words, that she had been preparing for this moment this entire life. It usually takes a few minutes for the familiarity to sink in, but for her now, she appears more ready than ever. In under a minute she is fully dressed, with her hair pulled up and wearing her black jacket. She returns a puzzled look at him, her beautiful brown eyes focused laser-like on his, almost able to bore a hole in him. “What are we waiting for? We have an asteroid to stop, don’t we?”
“How? How can you know so much?” he asks her. “This is unusual. Normally it’s me that has to fill you in.”
“Here, look,” she tells him, leading him to her desk. On her desk a computer sits, along with several opened electronics, wires, transistors. It appears she’s been obsessing over this for a long time. He’s known that computer hardware had always been a passion of hers, a hobby, but not to this level. She’s gone full geek.
“You’re still a bartender right? And you have friends named Alaina and Lila?”
“Yes, and yes. Can we ask questions later?” She approaches him close, standing before him, grabbing both of his hands. He wants to waste no more time, enthralled that she is this motivated, and even more so that she is alive. But he cannot immediately shake off the fact that he must have traveled back in time to help her, a memory of which he has no recollection.
They reappear at the mansion, and he goes alone to retrieve Max and Fisher. With the four of them waiting on the couch, Friend brings them up to speed so they can reacclimatize, then he delivers the news.
“Cassie and I made it to the asteroid, but we encountered a hiccup. It seems the detonator box is missing. To make matters worse, each time I live a new iteration, the past changes, for better or for worse. Certain people that are alive become dead, things that didn’t exist before become front and center and crucial to our goal.” He stops for a moment, contemplating his next words, debating if they should know, before deciding to be transparent. “I need to warn you guys that there are sinister forces at work. There is another one like me, trying to undo everything that we have worked so hard to achieve. If we fail this time, I may not get another chance.”
“So you are saying you’ve been up inside the asteroid?” Max asks, wondering. “Can we go there now?”
Friend ponders the risk. What if the command center isn’t pressurized, or worse, destroyed? But as the eyeballs are nearly popping out from their heads like children waiting for candy, waiting for him to speak, he urges them to stand up and grab onto his arm. “Why not? Be ready to experience weightlessness.”
They appear right next to the control panel but the room is dark, what little bit of light is illuminating from emergency floor lighting. Without gravity, Friend needs to push off the panel and toward the door, hitting whatever switch he can. With the push of several buttons the double doors open and close, and lighting is then restored.
“Cassie, turn on the gravity,” he shouts as he continues to float. She nudges herself closer and touches the display, turning it on. She sifts through the various screens on diagnostics just like the last time until she finds gravity. The female computerized voice prompts her to turn it on, and with a nod from Friend she sets it to its max of 50%.
They feel themselves being pulled toward the ground slowly as the loud humming continues, just as before. Within a minute they feel enough weight to move around on the ground. Max stares at the console, admiring it for what it is.
“Here!” Friend points to the hole. “This is where the detonator goes.”
Cassie puts the full frontal view on the walled display. The console display continues to show camera feeds and various diagnostics.
“It’s beautiful.” Max exclaims in awe, look at the small speck that is the Earth. The four of them admire the view. Fisher takes out his device and takes pictures and video.
Max then asks, “So what do we do?”
Friend affirms, “Fisher needs to find the Society’s bunker. We need to find Prast.”
Fisher has seemed to have disappeared for the moment. The three of them exit the control room and into the outside hallway toward the left. Twenty meters down is large kitchen. Following the hallway further it splits two ways, the left side being some offices and the right side the living quarters. Down where the living quarters there must be twenty to thirty doors, all containing small rooms. The floors curve downward, arcing along the influence of the gravity generator. Eventually, Fisher emerges from the kitchen.
“We need to get to the mansion and get started.” Friend, Cassie and Max converge at the front of the kitchen where Fisher stands. Within a second they return, once again standing near the clearboard.
“Okay,” Friend turns his attention to his writing. “Al is going to find Prast, and as soon as he does, we can intercept him. Then we can find the location of the detonator. Cassie and I will try to find Len Wang. Hopefully he can provide some insight on where to look.”
Fisher is pumped and ready to go. “Can you beam me over… you know that thing you do… to the airport?”
At that very moment they hear a loud boom, as if someone is ramming the front door. The thuds continue every one or two seconds, and Friend and Cassie look out the window to discover a large SWAT van parked in front. As they watch a second van pulls up, this one unlabeled. Within seconds a milit
arized team busts through the front double doors, with the FBI letters inscribed on their clothing. Friend is in utter shock; they have somehow located his hideout. The pressure of completing the mission in this iteration has now been amplified to maximum volume.
The first team immediately throws a smoke canister, filling the room and surrounding areas with smoke. The four of them hide behind the couch, unsure of what to do next. The dozen or so masked militarized police agents draw assault rifles and eventually enter the main living area, fanning out to surround them then ordering them to the ground.
“Dr. Pond?” One of the agents calls out.
Max is terrified. Feeling he is endangering the others, he comes from behind the couch, standing slowly. He puts his hands up, softly shouting, “That’s me.”
The armed agents fan out throughout the room until they come upon Friend. They draw their long guns. “That’s the terrorist!”
“Terrorist?” Max retorts, “You have it all wrong.”
“Shut up! Keep your mouth shut!” they violently yell at Max, then continue to shout commands, “Everyone stay down, hands on your head.”
Muffled audio can be heard through the lead agent’s ear radio. The lead agent responds, “Sir, we have two more. A woman in her mid-twenties. Mixed Asian and Caucasian. The second is an African-American male, early-forties.”
Fisher hates been tangled up with law enforcement, especially the ones here at home. He whispers to Friend as they both lay on the ground with their hands over their head, as the lead is distracted, “Get me out of here now! The only thing worse than dying is having my cover blown. I can’t find Prast if I need to deal with these knuckleheads.”
Friend is loath to the idea of leaving Cassie and Max, but he must send Fisher on his quest to find Prast. In a split second, Friend grabs Fisher’s arm and they disappear.
“WHAT!” An agent calls out the squad leader, “The terrorist and the other man just disappeared.”
“What the shit sergeant! Out of thin air!?” the leader barks.
“That’s what I saw sir.”
Max and Cassie smirk at each other as the lead barks out his next order, “Cuff these two and load them into the van. We’ll set up a perimeter as they’re probably nearby. Next time keep your eyes firmly on the suspects.”
Friend teleports back just as the agents are walking out the door. He watches as they aggressively walk Max and Cassie to another van, one designed to transport prisoners. He realizes one way or another he’ll need to rescue them, so it might as well be now.
He calmly walks out of the house and into view. As they spot him the police quickly realign themselves and draw all their weaponry on him. He sees about thirty in total, including the FBI agents.
“Get down on the ground, NOW!” they yell. But he is unfazed and remains still. A moment passes and they are clearly perturbed, “NOW, terrorist!”
Friend knows what’s coming. This must have been Foenix’s doing, notifying the FBI that he was a terrorist, and that he and Max are plotting something terrible. Clever on his part, he muses. He laughs at them, smiling at them in an egregious taunt, not something they would expect. “Terrorist, huh? Who’s the ones with weapons of killing? I have no weapon.”
“Shut up and get down! This is your final warning,” one of the higher ranking agents orders.
As they tire of his game, someone from the rear, most likely their commander, issues his directive from a sound amplifying device, “Take him out!”
They all start firing. Friend immediately slows time down, so slow that the bullets look like snails in the air. He begins to bend the space around him, causing the bullet paths to distort in a strange spiral, shredding them. But as more than hundreds of bullets come at Friend, he changes tactics, and forms a large black hole. The bullets continue to distort as his hole gets bigger and bigger. He finally releases the black hole, resulting in gigantic burst forward. The billions of micro particles that were shredded go flying back at them, hitting and wounding many of the agents and causing heavy damage to their cars they are hiding behind.
Back in real time, they instantly retreat in defensive positions, getting lower to the ground as others grab random objects to use as shields. Friend teleports to their positions behind the cars, reappearing standing next the squad leader.
“Make them stop shooting now,” Friend commands to the squad leader.
The squad leader instead pulls a gun and points it to Friend’s head. He teleports again a few feet to the left, then right. The squad leader shoots and misses several times, but with the final shot he draws upon his healing power, grabbing the bullet out of the air and clamping it with his fist. He then teleports next to the agent and grabs his gun, disabling it by emptying the magazine. The other officers point their guns at Friend, including a couple long assault rifles.
The squad leader, realizing he is unarmed, relents. “Everyone, hold your fire, lower your weapons.” He then faces Friend, crying out, “You just wounded several of my men.
“No, you did,” Friend retorts. “Were you not the aggressor? Your society loves to use violence to keep peace. Now release Dr. Pond and the girl.”
Just then an unmarked black SUV approaches and agents emerge from the vehicles FBI pulls up. Stewart is among them, exiting from the front passenger door. He knew he’d have to face him again at some point, especially since Max is involved. Normally Friend would be annoyed at his presence, but this time he has a plan.
“Where is Dr. Pond?” Stewart asks the squad leader. “And who is this?”
“This um, sir, is the terrorist.” the squad leader reluctantly admits.
“Why isn’t he cuffed or dead, lieutenant?” Stewart questions, as he raises his firearm and points it directly at Friend’s head.
“Go ahead Stewart, pull the trigger,” Friend taunts. Stewart is incredibly baffled at Friend’s defiance. Friend knows him too well though, and eventually one of his other agents will start shooting at him, resulting in another battle. Friend believes there is another way.
“Listen!” Friend shouts loudly, curling his arms behind his head. “I will surrender, but I want the three of us placed in special agent Stewart’s custody.”
Stewart balks, “Who are you to think that you know me?”
Friend instantly responds, drawing upon hours of research he had conducted along with his past experiences with him. “You are FBI Special Agent-in Charge Franklin ‘Fro’ Stewart. You were given a directive by the president just twelve hours ago to apprehend Dr. Pond by any means necessary. You are 41 years old. You were born in Taos, New Mexico. You graduated from the FBI academy in Quantico at age 23. You insist that your mother’s green chili posole is the best ever, and refuse to eat it anywhere else. At the age of fifteen you—”
“Enough!” Stewart orders, intrigued that he knows so much, and not wanting any more personal details revealed. “Cuff them! Put them in my SUV. We’ll transport them to the field office for questioning.”
This is part of his plan. Throughout all the iterations he senses a desire to uphold justice in Stewart, despite his violent and intimidating persona. If he can talk some sense in Stewart, perhaps learn more about why they so desperately want Max to not reveal his secret, perhaps he can use that to his advantage. If not, then he will just teleport them away.
They are placed in the giant black SUV as ordered. Stewart enters the passenger side and another agent drives. One more agent enters the back row to ensure the three of them don’t try to escape. The driver orders the car to drive to the field office, and it slowly drives off as instructed.
There is silence initially as the car makes its way down the downgrade mountain road and onto the busy throughway below. Stewart sits, unable to contain his curiosity anymore.
“Talk!” he shouts at Friend. “You have no identification which in itself is illegal. Now you are going to tell me who you are and how you know… never mind. Just state your identity!”
“My name is Friend,” he r
esponds without much enthusiasm, looking away. Friend now figures he’s hooked him in, and now has leverage as he wishes to desire more knowledge.
“I need more than that. I need a real identity. Either way we are running your iris scan.”
“The truth is I have no identity,” he explains, as Stewart listens attentively. “I don’t belong to your world. My goal is to stop the asteroid from crashing. You see, Dr. Pond here is not a traitor as you think. He is working with the CIA to recover the detonator box that will be used to destroy the asteroid.”
Stewart barks back, “Nice story, if I believed you. But Dr. Pond here knows full well that the ADS is already set to destroy the asteroid.”
“The ADS is a sham. A dog and pony show.” Max speaks up. But Stewart continues to look agitated.
“I’m sure the president told you that Stewart, around the time he told you that the asteroid was intentionally redirected to crash into the Earth. Did he not inform you guys that this must be kept a secret to avoid a full scale war? Does he still think China is responsible?” Stewart then tries to silence him, but Friend asks him once more question to stir the pot. “Where is your bunker assignment, Stewart?”
“Boss, what the heck is a bunker assignment?” the driver asks. Friend is now amused that the driver doesn’t know, that of all these agents, only Stewart is being saved.
“Oh didn’t agent Stewart here tell you about his bunker assignment. The government set up ten underground sites throughout the country, to save those lucky few who were picked to survive the cataclysm. If you want to know more then you should ask him.”
Stewart has let this conversation spiral out of control. If he doesn’t resume control in a hurry, there may be a mutiny. He needs everyone to have clear heads as he navigates these final few days. But now the cat is out of the bag. He does the only thing he can to try to salvage the situation.
