by Mark Tufo
“I suppose we should head out before they arrive,” I say.
“Where’s Trip?” Mike asks, turning in circles.
We spot him a distance away, lying at the edge of the platform, leaning over, trying to see the underside. How he was able to get that far in the first place in such a short period of time is beyond me.
“I wonder what happens if you fall off?” BT says, looking at him. “Is that even possible? Would you just float away or what?”
“I have no fucking idea, man,” Mike says, starting over to where Trip is. “You probably just end up walking on the underside.”
“Whatcha doing, Trip?” Mike asks as we finally get to Trip’s position.
“Just trying to see what’s under here, Ponch,” he answers with his body still leaning over the edge and his head craning to peer below.
The edges are only a few inches thick, so it’s pretty easy to do. I don’t know if I’d try it, though, as it’s still disorienting to be able to see in all directions. I can’t imagine what it would feel like doing so upside down.
“Come on, Trip. We gotta go. The Overseers might be here soon,” Mike says.
Trip pulls himself from the edge and looks over toward the white marbled walls and crystal spires rising from behind them.
“Oh! That’s what I was looking for. Why didn’t you tell me that’s where it was?” Trip asks.
“It just now appeared, and you didn’t ask,” Mike answers.
“We should go, then. The Overseers might come soon,” Trip says.
“I literally just said that, man, but whatever. You’re right, we need to go,” Mike responds.
We head toward the structure. As we draw closer, a tall, wide archway forms in the middle of the facing wall. At the arch, an apparition appears to one side, similar to the one we encountered in the hall of the planet’s waypoint.
“Traveler, welcome to Hvergelmir, control point of iteration five-one-two. Proceed within to move to other iterations or to control worlds within this iteration.”
The ghostly greeter vanishes.
“Do you think he’s talking just to Trip when he says ‘Traveler?’” I ask.
“Well, it is singular, assuming it can determine there are others, and it’s not just some pressure plate activated hologram with a set programming,” Mike answers.
“Well, I suppose we should go in. I have no idea what we’re looking for or doing, though,” I say.
“That makes two of us. Trip, would you care to join the conversation?” Mike asks.
Trip replies with something muffled, pieces of corn chips flying out of his mouth. It’s a disgusting mush when he opens it.
“That’s sickening. Finish and then talk,” I say, turning my head.
Trip swallows and then stuffs more into his mouth, “I was saying—”
“No! Don’t finish only to cram more in and then start talking again. Damn, man,” I interrupt.
Trip swallows a mass so big that I don’t see how it could possibly fit down his throat. He then reaches into the bag he’s magically produced. Mike grabs his hand.
“Talk first.”
“What were we talking about?”
Mike sighs audibly. “What are we supposed to do here?”
“Get stoned and admire the view,” Trip answers.
“You did that. Then you said you were looking for this place. Well, here it is. So? What is it that we should be doing?”
“I was looking for this place? It’s nice and all, but I’ve visited better. Have I told you about the time I rode a Harley along the Great Wall of China? Now, that was something. This…this is okay,” Trip says.
“What in the hell are you talking about? It’s a marble and crystal palace suspended in the middle of space. How could you possibly compare the Great Wall to this?” BT questions.
“It’s in a terrible location. Who could get here to visit? Can you imagine how long a ride this would be? And there’s nothing for the kids,” Trip responds.
“We’re not getting anywhere with this. I say we go inside and see what we see. Maybe something will stand out and say: ‘Here it is, do this.’”
“Sounds good to me,” Mike says.
The archway gives way to a long tunnel boring through the marbled wall. It’s not dark inside; the walls give off light, but they’re not actually glowing. It’s like there’s a natural light that doesn’t allow darkness. Speaking of which, I notice that none of us are casting shadows.
I’m lost in what we’re to do, but I think I’m beginning to understand what we’re dealing with...maybe. I still feel like I’m ten feet beneath the waves of a turbulent ocean, scratching to get to the surface, but I no longer feel as if I’m continuing to sink. As far as I understand things, Mike and I were pulled in via something Trip did to upset the balance. That allowed other portals to be created outside of the normal ones, those used by the whistlers to escape their prison, allowing them to invade worlds and plunder resources, leading to the planet’s decay. From what I understand, it starts with some sort of apocalyptic event and culminates with a whistler invasion. That may or may not be the entire truth of it, but it’s what I’ve kind of pieced together.
The Overseers have taken control of the worlds, if that’s the right phrasing, and are actively attempting to reverse what it was Trip did. For that, they need Trip, probably to pick his mind to determine what he did. I’m assuming they know how to use the portals to go from world to world, perhaps trying to reverse the decay. However, I don’t remember seeing them in Atlantis or feeling that overwhelming fear they project. The fact that they hadn’t excavated the mesa that the waypoint sat under means that, possibly, they don’t where all of them are. That may imply that they travel to worlds via a different kind of manufactured portal like the whistlers utilize. Perhaps they don’t do that on a regular basis, as the created portals may not be as stable or reliable as the ones at the waypoints.
If they didn’t know of the waypoint’s location, were they able to get here before Trip’s experiment? All indications point to their ability to do so. Perhaps the Overseers were able to create one, but what Trip did allowed the whistlers to create their own. Hell, I don’t pretend to understand the particulars. All I know is that the Overseers are attempting to regain dominion and revert everything back to the way it was. Primarily, I assume, because they want the ultimate control they had before, when they were the only creatures who could move through to other worlds.
Hell, honestly, if that puts me back in my world, I might be okay with that. Now, I’m not a big fan of being reset on someone else’s whim. I wouldn’t know if that happened, but at this moment, knowing what I know now, leaving that system in place doesn’t make me very comfortable.
Now, I don’t really know where Trip fits into all of this. He seems to have the capability to use the waypoint portals, his DNA matching the security system the buildings have. That puts him on a level with the Overseers. I’m not sure what that might mean, but the implication is that he might once have been one of them? Could he have rebelled and gone nuts? Did the experiment make him bonkers, or has he always been this way?
These apparition greeters keep calling him “Traveler.” That could be a title, or it could just be the way they talk to everyone. After all, anyone arriving here could all be considered a traveler. Now, I’m guessing that the whistlers can’t access the waypoints, and that’s why they pushed us. They must know who Trip is and wanted the door opened in order to access the gateways. If they have the crazy man, they can go anywhere they want. Their desire to use the waypoints instead of their own portals means that there must be a high cost to creating them.
This is all conjecture, but it makes sense. So, the way I see things, Mike and I were pulled into this whole thing to help combat the infections. That may mostly be up to Trip to do in his more coherent moments, and maybe we’re just around to keep him alive and out of the hands of the Overseers and whistlers alike. The portals the latter use need to be shut down
and the Overseer plans foiled. That seems like a tall order, but understanding more of it helps; it’s better than just running around trying to stay alive.
If all of this is true, then the question is why me? I get Mike. He was with Trip when we were pulled in. I’m nothing much. Was I just someone that was caught up? Was I selected for some obscure reason? I’m still a little pissed at Trip that I was pulled away from my loved ones, but having some kind of handle on matters helps. I suppose there’s a chance that it wasn’t purposely done, that I was swept in by accident. However, if that’s the case, I’ve got to be the unluckiest man in the history of all things. Across all of the universes and inhabited worlds, it happened to me and only me. I just find those odds too incredible.
“So, what was with that portal transition?” Mike asks. “Did it seem to take forever for you?”
“It was both an eternity and only a second for me, if that makes sense. I definitely had far too much time with only my thoughts for company,” I answer.
“You got that right, man. Do you think our bodies are still there?”
I reach over and pinch his arm.
“Ow!” Mike exclaims, jerking his arm back. “What the fuck was that for?”
“It seems real enough.”
“You could have just said that—or better yet, pinched yourself.”
“But would words have served well enough? And I’m not pinching myself, that’s crazy talk.”
“It would explain how BT is still here after being bounced off a chopper colliding with the ground,” Mike states.
“I honestly don’t know. He does have a bit of cushion. Maybe he bounced along like a beach ball,” I respond.
Mike chuckles. A cloud of smoke blows past our faces, the smell of pot, strong.
“Dude, do you mind?” Mike says, inhaling then waving the smoke away from his face.
“Not at all. They have really good stuff here. If I wasn’t so loyal to my dealer, I’d buy this from now on,” Trip replies. “Ponch, have I told you the story of how I met my dealer?”
“About a million ti—” Mike starts.
I grab for Mike’s arm and turn back to Trip. If there’s anything I’ve learned about the crazy pothead, it’s that some of his stories have an inkling of the truth in them.
“I haven’t heard,” I interrupt.
“Oh boy. Okay. This goes way back. We were at Kent State, protesting the takeover of our democracy. You see, we were being usurped and were going to take back our power. Before, it had been an equal measure between those chosen to administer, those who enforced, and those who judged,” Trip started. “Those stupid people who were administering polices chose to side with the enforcers to change how things were being run, pushing the lawful ones aside in their conquest.”
I notice he didn’t include the people who were being governed.
“We weren’t successful. I had friends die and others who were taken,” Trip says, his tone turning melancholy. “But anyway,” he continues, shaking his head, small pieces of corn chips falling from his beard, “that’s where Frank and I met. We had partied some together, although I didn’t really know him well. We took off, running from the enforcers, making it to his place. He pulled out the biggest stash I’ve ever seen, man. I mean, it was huge. I don’t know how he fit it in his apartment. Anyway, we got ripped, watching the door every moment. I’ve never bought from anyone else because of the bond we forged that day.”
“How did it end?” I ask.
I have a feeling that Trip’s stories of himself are deep memories superimposed onto the history of humankind.
“I told you, Yack. We got really stoned.”
“I mean the with the administrators, the enforcers, and the judges.”
“That’s a really sad story. The administrators took control, the policies they enacted were designed to experiment on the populace for their own gain. The enforcers were left to do their own thing, and the judges were bought, turned into puppets, or eliminated. The system they enacted changed for the benefit of those who took power,” Trip replies.
“Wait, that’s not how it went at all. If we’re talking about the government taking control over everything, where the people have no say, then I might agree with that. But the military and justice system are right there in lockstep,” Mike says.
Trip looks to Mike, the ruddiness of his gaze turning sharper. “Who says I was talking about your government, Mike?”
His eyes then glaze over again and he takes a big toke. “Yep, so that’s how Frank and I met and why I won’t change dealers, no matter how good this shit is.”
Mike looks a little startled at first, then his eyes narrow as he takes in what Trip said.
“Overseers, Demons, and—”
“Whatever he is,” I say, nodding toward Trip.
“Well, if he was describing what went down with him, and who really knows what Trip is really talking about, then I guess that makes the Overseers the Administrators. Who were the enforcers?”
“I would say the demons,” I respond.
“So, Trip is, or was, some kind of judge?”
“I suppose. Or, he could be a burnt-out hippy with an active imagination,” I say.
“Do you really believe that?”
“No.”
“So, they were all in charge of this. It sounds like the Overseers decided to take over and use everything as some kind of experiment. They got rid of the judges, and the demons decided fuck this and took off, using the worlds as their playground,” Mike says.
“That sounds about right. The experimentation explanation makes sense, considering what happened at Valhalla with the resets and everything. Did I ever tell you what happened my first night there?”
“With you sleeping and being attacked by night runners? If I recall the story right, you said the town was rundown,” Mike replies.
“Yeah. It was old and decaying. I think that was the real place, like how it would be if the Overseers didn’t continually reset it.”
“So, do you think we’ve ever been reset? Our worlds, I mean,” Mike inquires.
“Would we really know?”
Mike pauses for a moment. “I suppose not. I hate the thought that this may not be the real me, or my real life. That I’ve been reset.”
“You and me both, brother. But I think our feelings and shit are real. I think our loved ones are our loved ones, and I don’t believe they can change that,” I offer.
Mike nods and we continue walking.
“So, what about the whistlers? Where do they come in?” Mike questions.
“I don’t understand all of this very well, but I think they’re kind of like a cancer. The Overseers might have locked them into their own worlds, containing them there, but they were set free by whatever Trip did,” I answer.
“Then why don’t the Overseers just reset them?”
“And that’s the question. Why aren’t we all reset when we upset the balance? Perhaps there are limits on what they can do,” I reply.
“Makes sense.”
I sense something from behind. Mike must have also felt it as he spins around and goes to his knees. A portal has opened at the edge of the platform, black surrounded by silver. I notice the helicopter is gone. If there are Overseers about to come through, we’re pretty fucked. We only have a few rounds, and even if we hit them perfectly, we can only stun them. Kalandar might have been able to do something, but that big demon is probably still running.
Numerous whistlers pour through the opening, along with a horde of fast-moving zombies. As the undead set foot on the platform, the clear panels between the lines of light flare brightly for a split-second. When the flash vanishes, any zombie that was on it is gone. Apparently, this place only accepts the living. I suppose it could be something else entirely, but that’s what comes to mind.
“I suggest we run,” I say. “We need to at least get out of this tunnel.”
We turn and run down the long passageway. We’re nearly to the end
, and it will serve as a funnel point to take out the whistlers. From the abundant gangly creatures racing across the platform, I wonder if we have enough ammo for all of them. If we do manage to take them all out, then we won’t have much left for anything else.
“How do you suppose they were able to open the portal? It was my understanding they couldn’t do that,” Mike asks, running along beside me. “And last I saw, there were Overseers.”
“I don’t know, but we can’t let them gain control of this place,” I answer.
Mike’s right. When we last saw the other side of the portal, there were Overseers posted around it. The portal we created vanished, so the Overseers may have enacted another one, and the whistlers somehow either got through first or overwhelmed them. I don’t know how either of those scenarios could have happened, but I wasn’t there. And that’s all assuming that this portal is one from the world we left. It could be from anywhere, but, as far as I remember, there wasn’t a handprint in the shape of a whistler, so Mike’s right to ask how they gained entry. However, that’s something to be visited later, as we kind of have our hands full at the moment.
“I’ll take the left, you take the right,” Mike shouts as we reach the end.
“Got it. Trip, BT, you two stay out of sight.”
We round the corner; BT’s wheezing loudly from our dash. Exiting the tunnel, I turn and dive to the ground near one corner with Mike doing the same on the opposite side. Trip enters the courtyard and stands in plain view, staring at the tall columns of crystal, their light angling upward to meet the beams of the others.
Looking down the passageway, I see BT hurrying as fast as he can, his face flushed from his efforts. Further beyond, whistlers are running across the open ground, their gangly movements and strangely shaped joints making their stride really weird to look at, almost fascinating. However, even though they look like a bunch of storks, they’re quickly closing the gap. I’m surprised they didn’t ride their bikes through. Behind them, the portal winks closed, stranding the whistlers.
