by Aaron Frale
“All right,” Jon said. “I’ll do it. How will I get a hold of you?”
“Azerius will find you the next time you are at the mall,” Alex said and left. Azerius shrugged and followed them out the door.
3
Jon had to take the city bus to get back to the farm. Even then, public transportation would only take him so far, and he had to walk for two hours before he’d get to the dirt road that led to the temporary HQ. He briefly thought about crashing at Rashaun’s house but wanted to see Hailey. He also didn’t want to piss off Hector more than he already had. It wasn’t the first time he rode back on the bus, and it wouldn’t be the last. The good thing was that Hector considered the time walking punishment enough and wouldn’t bring up Jon’s behavior again.
Jon took the precaution to avoid people noticing him and always pulled his hoodie around tightly and kept a low profile when he was in public. Even if he was discovered, it would be hard for the cultists to follow him home because he was always the last stop at the end of the line. And if Jon was ever captured and tortured, the story was well-rehearsed that Hector had kicked him out of the Tuners. It was a story even Ludie could believe because of how much the two butted heads.
Considering that interdimensional travel was Jon’s legacy, Jon didn’t know what he’d be doing without the Tuners. He often mused that his dad would be alive but knew that was only a half-baked dream. Even if he hadn’t decided to help out Hailey that day, the cultists would have found him eventually, and he would be a slave in their army or worse, hooked up to that machine.
While Hailey didn’t talk about it, he knew that leaving her sister stuck in that torture device was eating away at her. While there was nothing they could do at the time, the loss of HQ made the dream of infiltrating the cultist’s home universe and saving everyone as far from their reality as they could get.
Jon was afraid, and Hector probably was too. The bus stopped at the corner of two crossroads outside of town.
“End of the line,” the driver said. At least it wasn’t the one who always called Jon sonny. He hated that.
Jon hopped down from the bus, and the readout on the front changed to Garage. The driver ignored any sense of safety, and turned around in the intersection then headed back to the city. Once the bus disappeared over the hill, he stopped pretending that anyone was going to pick him up and walked down the road further from the town.
The sun had long since fallen below the horizon when he finally got to a dirt road marked Private Drive. They were lucky that they were in Montana, where most people had guns and trespassing was a severe offense. No one had come to bother them.
The dirt road was surrounded by trees on both sides, and the farm itself was nestled at the bottom of a mesa called the Rimrocks that stretched from one side of town to nowheresville. Jon knew they called them buttes in the North, but Jack Falshon, who was from the Southwest, talked his whole peer group out of calling the buttes when he went on this diatribe about how the word butt and butte were too similar. Besides, mesa just sounded right. Maybe that was the word used in Jon’s original universe, the one where his sister and mom had died.
It was crazy to think that there was another city out there where Jack, Rashaun, and everyone he knew didn’t exist. The names of cities changed in different universes from time to time, but the locations rarely did. Cities were built next to specific geographic resources. Rivers like the Mississippi always had major towns on the banks because it was a natural trade route. The events of one world may be the causes of why some places were metropolises in one universe and ghost towns in the next. The big cities were huge in most worlds because they had an early geographic advantage that helped them grow despite the politics from one place to the next.
This meant that Billings was a small town in most universes despite it being the biggest in the state. Jon knew why his father had picked the place, but now that Jon had the chance to climb the highest skyscrapers and see millions of people all packed into a small area, he felt the remoteness of their hideaway. Jon realized he was a city person through and through; the wilderness made him anxious. It was even worse at night.
When the sun had set, and he couldn’t see the forest from the trees, he picked up the pace. There was a patch of the drive that always seemed to be more mud than road. He had walked the path enough times to be able to avoid it in the dark. Even Hector would be a welcome sight over what could be lurking beyond. Not that he’d let anyone know that it bothered him. That would let Father Tuner know that leaving him at the mall without a ride was an actual punishment. And it would be a cold day in the cultist’s homeworld before he let the boss man know that.
When he finally saw the glow of the porch light through the trees, he was relieved. He jogged toward the house. He slowed down once he was on the other side of the gate, walking up to the front step. A few technicians were enjoying the night sky on the porch. Being cooped up in an interdimensional sphere their entire lives meant that they didn’t get to see the stars in real life all that often. Since the position of the stars was how they made sure the Tuners were going to the place they had intended, most were familiar with the techniques to navigate them from the ancient to the futuristic ones that used time dilation or something Jon didn’t understand.
Either way, Jon was glad there were people to do all that complicated behind the scenes stuff because he only knew what his ears heard, and sometimes ears could be misleading. Especially when they were overtired and overworked.
One of the female techs, Samira, saw Jon coming up the road, and called out, “What’d you do this time?”
Jon shrugged and said, “I don’t know. Ask Hector, but wait till the end of your shift.”
She was a night crew that shut things down around 3 am. She laughed and said, “Because that will go over well.”
“He has an open-door policy. Anytime, day or night. His words. Not mine.”
“No wonder you’re always in trouble.”
Jon bounded up the steps and went to the main living area. It wasn’t so much a living room as a mini-HQ packed with all the equipment they grabbed during their exodus from the real one plus the add-ons from the raids. This room alone would be a treasure trove for Alex.
Before the fall of HQ, Patel said they would generally try to round up as much Universe One tech as possible to keep it from falling into the wrong hands. Hector would get a lead on a trove, and the Tuners would nab it, but it was hard to get everything. The people who had built all the equipment they used today left it scattered throughout the multiverse, which was the only reason the cultists hadn’t already won. Even though the station was the most potent piece of Universe One tech around, it wasn’t the only game in town.
Jon supposed he could understand why bounty hunters must be searching for the same needles in the haystack of the multiverse; a TF3 could go for a lot if they found the right buyer. However, the sale of the technology was expressly forbidden among the Tuners. A dictator could really cause havoc with a TF3 if they knew what they were doing.
Patel worked with several technicians to install the new generator they had liberated. She was anxious to get it online. Jon knew they had planned to test the thing tonight. It was the last piece they had needed. The threat of the cultists tearing their universe open would be behind them.
Though Jon wondered if something had changed about the cultists. Jon didn’t understand why they didn’t just breach the universe when they discovered all of the Tuners in 87c. The fact that the world was still there with DeAndre in it meant they were planning something. And as much as Jon knew that his comrade wouldn’t turn on them like Ludie, there was only so much torture that a person could withstand. If the cultists did have him, their time in 42 was limited, barrier or not.
Jon kept walking through the mess of cables, wires, and machinery to the kitchen where most people hung out. There was a game station in the basement, but it wasn’t the same without DeAndre.
He burst into the kitchen a
nd almost turned around. Hector was there. But when Jon noticed that he was thick in an argument with Magdalena, he thought he could sneak out a glass of milk and the cold soup from dinner.
“I am ready to be on the missions,” Magdalena said. “I can’t just watch the escape routes all the time. You are going to need me to fight, and I am at least as strong as Meathook.”
Hector was rigid as always. “You have no experience in worlds with variant gravities, different time constants, or matter density. A Tuner needs to train to be ready for anything.”
“You’re saying I’m not a Tuner. I have my own TF3! What is this, a themed interdimensional bus pass!” She held up her TF3, which just happened to be the same size as the most current iPhone in U-42, so they all got personalized cases. Hers was very pink and sparkly.
“We had to consider the circumstances, but even Jon didn’t get a TF3 as quickly as you.”
Jon didn’t want to get in the middle of it. He kept his head down, spooned out some soup, and put it in the microwave.
“How am I supposed to get any experience if you keep me one step from the exit every time we tune?” Magdalena protested.
Hector dug in. “That’s for your safety. There are some universes where you can break a person’s hand just by shaking it. Until I’m sure you won’t cause damage to yourself and others, I have to keep you back.”
“Until when? Never? You and I both know that no one has time to train me, but that doesn’t mean I can’t learn. Quit treating me like a kid.”
“You aren’t legally an adult in most universes.”
“So are Jon and Hailey!”
“You are ready when I say you are ready, and that’s final.” Hector yelled.
Magdalena let out an audible grunt of frustration and stormed out of the room. There was still one minute left on Jon’s timer. He considered popping it out and dealing with the cold soup. That’s when he noticed Hector wasn’t about to pounce on him at all. In a rare display, the man was sitting down at the kitchen table with closed eyes, rubbing his temples. In an even more unusual peace offering, Jon took out his soup and sat across from Hector.
After a moment of awkward silence, Hector said, “I try to keep you safe. You know that, don’t you?”
The man seemed to be talking to no one in particular, but Jon responded anyway. “Yeah, we all know that.”
Hector stood up abruptly, and he was back to business. “Get some sleep tonight. The morning debriefing is at 8.”
Hector was halfway through the room when Jon blurted out, “My dad would be proud of what you do for us.”
“I try, Jon. I try,” Hector said, and a moment later, Jon could hear the boots clomping to the upstairs master bedroom that doubled as Hector’s office. He had replaced the king-size bed with a cot and a desk. The rest of the Tuners slept in the house. Techs were bunked in the barn that was always being upgraded for their comfort. The bathrooms and showers were a relief next to the winterizing of the space, though they still had the concrete floors that were installed when the previous owner had intended to turn this place into a distillery that never happened.
In the meantime, their cover story was that they were a San Francisco based tech company that was using the farm as an intensive training resort for its employees. Most of the contractors who came out seemed to buy it. Wealthy people from out of state were always buying property in Montana for their weird ideas. Jon even heard about an entrepreneur from West Virginia who decided to build their dream mansion complete with a shooting range in the basement and a pizza-making station in the master bedroom for all the late-night snacking and shooting needs. The contractors out here liked getting paid and didn’t ask questions. It was perfect for a secretive organization like the Tuners.
Patel came into the kitchen next. She slumped on the chair next to Jon and cried on his shoulder. After a while, she said, “Even if DeAndre had found a way to escape, he wouldn’t be able to tune back here.”
Unlike the barrier in HQ, the one Patel had created was a little less sophisticated. Her version blocked all tuning. The one in HQ could at least let certain TF3s through so they wouldn’t have to turn them off and on all the time. In this case, it meant they couldn’t leave DeAndre a lifeline. Even if he did escape, there was no telling what universe he would make it to, and if they went looking for him, there were worlds upon worlds. Erecting the barrier was signing his death warrant, and Patel had to be the one to do it. However, she knew that without locking out tuning, they were living in the constant threat of the cultists wiping out their existence.
“You had to do it,” Jon said.
“I know, but that doesn’t make it any easier.”
“We’ll go back to get him—”
“Good,” Patel perked up. “I’ll get Hailey, and you get Meathook, and we’ll meet—”
“Whoa! Whoa! Think this through—”
“What?” Patel was hurt. “I can’t believe you’re saying this. When Hailey gets taken, we all jump to your aid and now that it is one of us—”
“Things are different now, and you know it. Our best chance was earlier today when he couldn’t have gotten too far away, and now what are we going to do? Risk destabilization so we can go back to a world where DeAndre could be anywhere?”
“You’re starting to sound like Hector.”
“God, I hope not.”
“So what? That’s it. He is gone now, and we are never going back. Is that what happens to us now? The cultists pick us off one-by-one until there are none of us left?”
“I didn’t say that,” Jon said and glanced around. It was only the two of them. “I met this bounty hunter.”
“Bounty hunter?” Patel said. “They are dangerous, Jon. You should take caution before any dealings with a bounty hunter.”
“Now who is starting to sound more like Hector?” Jon asked. “And if they are so dangerous, why didn’t you tell me about them before?”
“We had more pressing issues, Jon. Your introductory period to the Tuners was way outside of regulation, and Magdalena’s is even less so. We didn’t even have time to enroll you in college.”
“College?”
“Of course there is college! HQ has a full-time teaching staff who are probably all dead now. We are teenagers, Jon.”
“And I thought the Tuners would get me out of school,” Jon joked. “Look, so this bounty hunter may not be trusted, but we need the help. They want to talk to Hector, and I say let’s set up a meeting, but only if they help us first.”
“With what exactly?”
“Get DeAndre back, of course.”
“You’re serious. You wouldn’t joke with me.” A tear welled up in Patel’s eye.
“Why would I do that?”
“Just a minute ago you were saying—”
“I never said we shouldn’t save him. I’m just saying that it was a pretty big risk without a plan, and now that we have one—”
“I’ll go get the others,” Patel said.
“We should get Hector as well,” Jon said.
“Jon? Have the cultists gotten to you?”
“I know. I know. Look, we need to sleep. We are all exhausted, the U-87c needs some time to heal, and we’ll have just as much ground to cover tomorrow as right now. DeAndre is the toughest guy I know. He can hold out until we come for him, and I do mean everybody. We are going to need the help of the techs here too.”
“I hate it when you are right.”
“Yeah, me too. Especially when it proves to Hector that he was too.”
“We can’t win ‘em all, Jon.”
Jon shrugged. “Maybe not, but this mission. We will win.”
4
DeAndre woke up in a prison cell to the sound of a woman singing. His body ached from the officers who had smacked him around. Even though he had done nothing more than being born black, it was enough for them to beat him. To make matters worse, they wouldn’t tell him what he was being arrested for. He had heard the mall cops talking to
the police.
“We caught him running through the mall,” the mall cop had said.
“I’m sure he is guilty of something,” the arresting officer had said while they had dragged him to a police station down the street.
The beating had come later that night. A few of them went into the cell, and he was pinned down in his sleep, or else he would have used his speed to slip away. He had blacked out and didn’t wake again until he heard that woman’s voice.
“Hello?” he said into the darkness. There was no response. He looked down and saw that he was wearing the same jumpsuit that the other slaves wore and cringed. It was a gross feeling to be put in such dehumanizing clothing. Sometimes, he hated the Tuners' noninterference policy.
He stood up and walked to the edge of his cell and inspected the door. It was the standard sliding bars. A guard would have to stand right in front of it to open it, which would make it hard to slip out but not impossible. The real problem would be that even though he could move fast, it might not be enough to slip from the station if there were any locked doors between his cell and the way out. Being quick would only work once, so he had to be sure he could make it. He decided to wait until the moment was perfect.
After the inspection of his door, he made his way back to the metal cot that was a poor excuse for a bed. There was also the question of his TF3. It had been confiscated with all his possessions. Without it, he was stuck in this universe, and it was a place he wanted to spend as little time as he could. Even if Patel got her barrier up and running, anywhere was better than here. At least he could find a universe that wouldn’t lock him up based on the color of his skin and have some time to figure out his way back.
He was about to drift off to sleep for lack of anything better to do when he heard a voice in the dark. “Psst—hey—white man.”
