The third punch knocked the heavy metal door off its hinges. After the clanging, silence. Some oddly coloured vapours drifted from the dimly lit room. Strange smelling too but since the Upgrade toxins didn't seem to affect her anymore.
She was here to try and understand how and why the Upgrade had happened. She was here to try and learn what was happening to Max, if he was having another breakdown or if everyone else was or both.
A man named Marshal had texted her this location. She thought she recognized the name but couldn't be sure. Couldn't be sure if her memories of being a secret operative throughout history were real or just TV shows she had watched once. Had she always been like this or was this something Max had done to her?
Stepping into the chamber.
Six suspension-tanks. Not unlike the ones she and Max had climbed out of in the Atlantis base one of the first times they had met. I think I was blonde then. She couldn't make out the figures floating inside them but each one had a digital screen.
Riveta - Status Unknown
Stone - Version Indigo
Scorpio - Version Elephant Tiger
Mayganne - Version Sting Ray
Donnelly - Signal Lost
Susanna - Signal Corrupted
That made her feel sad. She had vague, dream-like memories of a woman with that name who took care of her at a time she was lost and alone and hurting.
Beyond the tanks and the clusters of wires and tubing that fed into them were four doors. Each had a label.
PROJECT ELLIPSES
PROJECT HORIZON
PROJECT BEAST
SUBJECT A-443-C
Maggie suddenly felt afraid.
Showing posts with label susanna. Show all posts
Showing posts with label susanna. Show all posts
20151224
20140919
Susanna Overhears
The cheerleader says, "I've been watching In Treatment, a nightly drama showing the weekly therapy sessions of a number of people, including the therapist. Watching the exchanges and seeing how there's the version of things the 'patient' (as the show refers to them) describes to the therapist, there's the version that the therapist perceives, the version that the therapist interprets, then the version that the therapist feeds back to the patient. There's the patient's interpretation of the therapist's expressed version, experienced based their own conditioning, bias, history. And then there's the implied hidden version that the patient is withholding, consciously or not, as well as a version that the therapist may be unconsciously experiencing based on their own conditioning, bias, history, so on.
"And I wonder, is the existence of all these versions the very basis for the therapy itself? Or is it the thing that prevents therapy from being effective? Or both and in what combination?"
The writer says, "The Professor once called it 'The Implicate Meaning Field' - the possibility that things can be other than they are, creating room for error, and for change, and for imagination, and for suffering."
The businessman says, "Tor Norretranders describes in The User Illusion a model of communication in which a massive tree of exformation is condensed within us into a tiny packet of information, which is transmitted from us to others who are listening and watching, wherein it grows a new tree of exformation. And I guess we hope that the two trees roughly correspond to each other."
The writer says, "Maybe without this there'd be no art, but sometimes it makes me feel like really sharing anything is impossible."
"And I wonder, is the existence of all these versions the very basis for the therapy itself? Or is it the thing that prevents therapy from being effective? Or both and in what combination?"
The writer says, "The Professor once called it 'The Implicate Meaning Field' - the possibility that things can be other than they are, creating room for error, and for change, and for imagination, and for suffering."
The businessman says, "Tor Norretranders describes in The User Illusion a model of communication in which a massive tree of exformation is condensed within us into a tiny packet of information, which is transmitted from us to others who are listening and watching, wherein it grows a new tree of exformation. And I guess we hope that the two trees roughly correspond to each other."
The writer says, "Maybe without this there'd be no art, but sometimes it makes me feel like really sharing anything is impossible."
20140805
+ PLEX TOURS .7 The Bookstore
- The Bunker
- The Lab Level Two
- The Cast
- The Bookstore
- The Brownstone
- The Subway
- Metafesto
- The Diner
- Chronoplex
- The Lab
There was a lot that Susanna liked about Good Times, Good Tomes.
For starters, it subverted the typical tale of small, local, independent businesses being bought up and assimilated by massive chains. In the case of Good Tomes, the building used to belong to LEGACY, one of those vast corporations whose name covered billboards and computer screens throughout the city but no one could tell you exactly what they did. Economic consulting? Technology development? Research? Production? Marketing? They still had dozens of offices and factories but one less than they used to, after that strange night last year when a blackout, a meteor shower and an earthquake had hit the city all in one night. The next day the building had been abandoned. Within a week, after a blitz of renovations, the bookstore had opened.
Susanna liked the mystery of it all, too. Anyone who knew what (obviously wealthy) entrepreneur was behind the store's launch wasn't talking. Apparently the folks who staffed the place were hired on through a recruiting agency; they all seemed happy with their jobs and well-compensated. The cashiers, clerks, and cleaners were from a variety of ethnic backgrounds and gender identities, some had physical disabilities and some were developmentally delayed; diversity was clearly a priority for the owner. It was a welcoming, friendly place.
She liked the way that they categorized the books on the shelves – not by subject or genre, but by which tarot card the book most reflected. The aisle of The High Priestess might contain fiction by women authors or biographies of female politicians. The aisle of Justice might contain crime fiction or legal texts. The aisle of The Moon might hold books about astronomy or dreams. If you got lost or confused then the staff were sure to help, but the odd layout turned each visit into something of an adventure.
Not to mention the decor, the music playing softly, the selection of teas and coffees, the comfy chairs. Or the discount that Susanna received because she was a teacher. And the community notice board by the counter was where Susanna had found the ad for the woman she now took guitar lessons from.
Most of all, however, Susanna liked the stories. Not the ones in the hundreds of novels that lined the shelves. The ones that the Book Club told. That was her nickname for them, the odd group of friends who would gather, usually on the second floor, and exchange tales. She was never sure if they were recounting books that they had read (maybe movies they had seen?) or if they were all writers work-shopping their latest ideas, or perhaps even actors rehearsing. And she was never sure when they would meet, but on the days they were here, Susanna would get herself a tea and try and find a chair nearby so she could listen in.
She had picked up a bit about each member of the Book Club: there was Frank - who was a businessman, Angst – a cheerleader (for a team called the Dragons?), Goner – served in the military, little Suki – still in school, and Max – who seemed most like a writer. How they all knew each other was another mystery.
A lot of their stories were violent, scary even. Most of them were science fiction. The thing was, Susanna didn't really care for sci-fi stories or violent stories, but there was something about the way that they told them... No matter what the story was about, or even if it didn't always make sense, she always felt it was really about something else. About things like friendship, or feeling lost, about trying to find your way. And there was something about the way that they told their stories, that no matter how weird and wild they were, somehow they sounded like they were true.
Susanna kept telling herself that one day she would introduce herself to them, ask them if they were accepting members into the Book Club. On the subway ride to and from work she imagined what she would say to them. She imagined what stories she would tell them.
For now, she listened, like they were music.
20140320
Callan's Calling
"Order up," Susanna said as she approached the counter and slapped the bell.
Callan looked up from the grill and flashed her a smile. "Comin' up."
It was busy at the diner; it was always busy around lunch time. When the suits from the corporate offices would pop in for their $86 hamburger and fries.
But, I guess with pricing like that it kept the riff raff out.
Callan flipped the burgers on the grill and checked the fries to see if the spices where needed. He worked his magic with it, and he was glad that he didn't have any help in the kitchen as he often used tricks and spells to conjure up these tasteful dishes.
He was what they called in the culinary world a Grand Master Chef. Callan had been noticed when he was working at a Chinese restaurant and then featured on the reality show "A Chef's Chef". He had found his calling, cooking up dishes with such skill and ease it seemed like magic, and basically that was what it was. He had tapped into the world where such chef's were sorcerers of the trade, making beautiful meals out of liver, onions and vegetables into edible heavens on earth.
He put two dishes up on the counter. "Ready!"
Susanna shot him a smile and gave him a wink; she really didn't know how he did it but she wasn't going to complain since the tips she was getting were paying the bills and her paycheck was just an added bonus.
"You've got to tell me how you do it," she said as she picked up the delicious entrees.
Callan leaned to the counter, glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and said with whisper and a smile, "'Ancient Chinese secret'."
Callan looked up from the grill and flashed her a smile. "Comin' up."
It was busy at the diner; it was always busy around lunch time. When the suits from the corporate offices would pop in for their $86 hamburger and fries.
But, I guess with pricing like that it kept the riff raff out.
Callan flipped the burgers on the grill and checked the fries to see if the spices where needed. He worked his magic with it, and he was glad that he didn't have any help in the kitchen as he often used tricks and spells to conjure up these tasteful dishes.
He was what they called in the culinary world a Grand Master Chef. Callan had been noticed when he was working at a Chinese restaurant and then featured on the reality show "A Chef's Chef". He had found his calling, cooking up dishes with such skill and ease it seemed like magic, and basically that was what it was. He had tapped into the world where such chef's were sorcerers of the trade, making beautiful meals out of liver, onions and vegetables into edible heavens on earth.
He put two dishes up on the counter. "Ready!"
Susanna shot him a smile and gave him a wink; she really didn't know how he did it but she wasn't going to complain since the tips she was getting were paying the bills and her paycheck was just an added bonus.
"You've got to tell me how you do it," she said as she picked up the delicious entrees.
Callan leaned to the counter, glanced around to make sure no one was listening, and said with whisper and a smile, "'Ancient Chinese secret'."
20140102
Flames
Susanna shook her bodyguard-slash-houseguest awake. Maggie gasped and sat up. “Where’s my sword?” she asked with a raw voice.
“It’s right here,” Sue said. She almost picked it up from the floor beside the couch but felt uncomfortable about touching the weapon.
Mags steadied her ragged breath. “What’s happening?”
“You were talking in your sleep, almost shouting. It woke me.”
“I’m sorry.”
Susanna brushed Mags’ hair back in a motherly gesture. “It’s fine, really. Are you ok?”
Maggie had dreamed of the cheerleader again, the one who reminded her of her old friend, Angst. Another lost friend. Except her cheers weren’t rousing, inspirational chants; they were dark, whispering rants. Cruel poetry, words that cut deeper than a demon’s claws. Maggie reached down to touch the katana; it couldn’t cut through ghosts but it made her feel stronger knowing it was there.
“If I say I’m fine will you tease me again about deflecting?”
Susanna smiled. “Let me brew some tea.”
As the woman she was supposed to be guarding for the Professor, and whatever bizarre scheme he was running now, moved into the kitchenette, Maggie shivered and pushed the last echoes of the nightmare from her mind.
“I hope you get attacked soon,” she said, “so this arrangement doesn’t feel so one-sided.”
20140101
Sometimes It's Just
Susanna closed the door gently behind her guest. “Please, come on in, make
yourself comfortable. You can put that…” She gestured awkwardly
at the sword the woman had slung over her shoulder. “Well, wherever
you’d like.”
Maggie smiled a warm smile, hoping to put Susanna at ease.
A short time later they were seated on the balcony of Susanna’s apartment building, smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. Susanna had started smoking socially after some of the local gigs she had played.
“I really appreciate this,” she said.
Mags exhaled a line of smoke into the warm spring air. “It’s no problem at all. Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up?”
“I’ve decided that pampering my bodyguard is a smart idea.”
Mags laughed; she liked Susanna, she could tell right away. Some people collapsed in a crisis, and Maggie had sympathy for them. Others let fear become anger or bitterness, and Maggie had little patience for them. And some, like Susanna, stayed strong when things went out of control; Maggie always admired them. She herself had been each type of person at different times in her life.
“Well, breakfast-in-bed is always a classic form of pampering,” Maggie said with a smirk.
Susanna came back quick. “It’ll be breakfast-in-couch I’m afraid. Struggling musician means tiny one-bedroom apartment.”
Maggie laughed again. It had been a while since she had felt relaxed like this. Chatting. Fun. The balcony overlooked a wide park, trees and paths, a fountain. Children playing, dogs being walked. It would be easy to start pretending that this was her life, visiting with a friend, having tea. Easy to let her guard down, to let the Professor down and Susanna be taken by whatever enemies shifting had earned her.
Maggie asked her about her music, they talked about leaving teaching to pursue her art. Mags called her Sue, and for some reason it didn’t bother Susanna like when others had done so.
He used to tell that she could have this, that it could be her life if she wanted it. She would never be free of everything else, of all the darkness and the fighting, but there could be room for this too. He had tried, in his way, to help her find that. But of course he could never make it work for himself…
“You ok?” Susanna asked. Maggie looked at her. “You looked troubled all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine,” Mags said, fishing another cigarette from her pack. She didn’t like it when people got a glimpse behind the armour.
“I hope that sword is better at deflecting than you are, or I’m in trouble,” Susanna said lightly.
Mags felt the urge to lash out; she always did when she felt vulnerable. Susanna had a sweetness though, that cooled the sudden fire. A crow cawed from a tree in the park. Susanna saw Maggie look sad for a moment, then focus. Summon a playful smile.
“I could always practice my forms with it, if your apartment wasn’t so cramped,” Maggie jibed.
They kept talking and laughing, and for a while everything was peaceful.
Maggie smiled a warm smile, hoping to put Susanna at ease.
A short time later they were seated on the balcony of Susanna’s apartment building, smoking cigarettes and drinking tea. Susanna had started smoking socially after some of the local gigs she had played.
“I really appreciate this,” she said.
Mags exhaled a line of smoke into the warm spring air. “It’s no problem at all. Are you sure you don’t mind putting me up?”
“I’ve decided that pampering my bodyguard is a smart idea.”
Mags laughed; she liked Susanna, she could tell right away. Some people collapsed in a crisis, and Maggie had sympathy for them. Others let fear become anger or bitterness, and Maggie had little patience for them. And some, like Susanna, stayed strong when things went out of control; Maggie always admired them. She herself had been each type of person at different times in her life.
“Well, breakfast-in-bed is always a classic form of pampering,” Maggie said with a smirk.
Susanna came back quick. “It’ll be breakfast-in-couch I’m afraid. Struggling musician means tiny one-bedroom apartment.”
Maggie laughed again. It had been a while since she had felt relaxed like this. Chatting. Fun. The balcony overlooked a wide park, trees and paths, a fountain. Children playing, dogs being walked. It would be easy to start pretending that this was her life, visiting with a friend, having tea. Easy to let her guard down, to let the Professor down and Susanna be taken by whatever enemies shifting had earned her.
Maggie asked her about her music, they talked about leaving teaching to pursue her art. Mags called her Sue, and for some reason it didn’t bother Susanna like when others had done so.
He used to tell that she could have this, that it could be her life if she wanted it. She would never be free of everything else, of all the darkness and the fighting, but there could be room for this too. He had tried, in his way, to help her find that. But of course he could never make it work for himself…
“You ok?” Susanna asked. Maggie looked at her. “You looked troubled all of a sudden.”
“I’m fine,” Mags said, fishing another cigarette from her pack. She didn’t like it when people got a glimpse behind the armour.
“I hope that sword is better at deflecting than you are, or I’m in trouble,” Susanna said lightly.
Mags felt the urge to lash out; she always did when she felt vulnerable. Susanna had a sweetness though, that cooled the sudden fire. A crow cawed from a tree in the park. Susanna saw Maggie look sad for a moment, then focus. Summon a playful smile.
“I could always practice my forms with it, if your apartment wasn’t so cramped,” Maggie jibed.
They kept talking and laughing, and for a while everything was peaceful.
20131229
Same Time Same Page
The
Professor circled the table, handing out the file folders.
"Hopefully some of the materials in these will start to generate trans-version connections," he said. "And you will all start to remember what happened."
Riveta began scanning the contents of her folder right away. Police reports from some recent investigations she didn't remember undertaking. Photos of a diner that looked familiar. A picture of a man who she didn't recognize, but who had the saddest looking eyes she had ever seen.
Stone sat beside her; he hadn't been more than a few feet from her since the night on the street, when he had found her again. When the impossible had started to happen. Except the impossible had started to happen some time ago, he was realizing now, as memories of certain crime scenes started to return.
"Who is this man?" Donnelly asked. He held up his own copy of the photo Riveta was looking at.
Mayganne studied her copy. "He looks familiar, sorta..."
The Professor had taken a seat at the head of the table. "His name is Simon Light. He is very important. Hopefully, you will be meeting him - again - very soon."
Scorpio tried to keep his breathing steady, trying one of the meditation techniques he was slowly starting to remember. Among the copies of police reports and photographs inside his folder, there were memos and press releases from the LEGACY Corporation. Many were signed by Greg Logollos. He glanced at the Professor... Did he know that Greg had been in contact with Scorpio? Recently? Or did they know each other already from before? It made Scorpio feel nervous, trapped. He wasn't sure who or what to trust.
Susanna stopped at a picture of an older woman holding a young girl on her lap. The older woman was holding a tattered pom-pom. The little girl was smiling.
The Professor spoke up. "Shortly I will be asking each of you to begin making notes on what the files mean to you, what you recognize, how they make you feel. My own picture of what happened is far from complete."
Stone looked at Riveta and smiled. He didn't care how weird all this was. She was alive.
"What we need to focus on right away," the Professor continued, "is the very grave threat facing each of you, and some other people who you may or may not know. Indeed, the very Metaplex itself is in danger."
"The meta-huh?" Mayganne asked.
"A threat from what?" Donnelly cut in.
The Professor adjusted his glasses.
"A man named Morganfokker."
"Hopefully some of the materials in these will start to generate trans-version connections," he said. "And you will all start to remember what happened."
Riveta began scanning the contents of her folder right away. Police reports from some recent investigations she didn't remember undertaking. Photos of a diner that looked familiar. A picture of a man who she didn't recognize, but who had the saddest looking eyes she had ever seen.
Stone sat beside her; he hadn't been more than a few feet from her since the night on the street, when he had found her again. When the impossible had started to happen. Except the impossible had started to happen some time ago, he was realizing now, as memories of certain crime scenes started to return.
"Who is this man?" Donnelly asked. He held up his own copy of the photo Riveta was looking at.
Mayganne studied her copy. "He looks familiar, sorta..."
The Professor had taken a seat at the head of the table. "His name is Simon Light. He is very important. Hopefully, you will be meeting him - again - very soon."
Scorpio tried to keep his breathing steady, trying one of the meditation techniques he was slowly starting to remember. Among the copies of police reports and photographs inside his folder, there were memos and press releases from the LEGACY Corporation. Many were signed by Greg Logollos. He glanced at the Professor... Did he know that Greg had been in contact with Scorpio? Recently? Or did they know each other already from before? It made Scorpio feel nervous, trapped. He wasn't sure who or what to trust.
Susanna stopped at a picture of an older woman holding a young girl on her lap. The older woman was holding a tattered pom-pom. The little girl was smiling.
The Professor spoke up. "Shortly I will be asking each of you to begin making notes on what the files mean to you, what you recognize, how they make you feel. My own picture of what happened is far from complete."
Stone looked at Riveta and smiled. He didn't care how weird all this was. She was alive.
"What we need to focus on right away," the Professor continued, "is the very grave threat facing each of you, and some other people who you may or may not know. Indeed, the very Metaplex itself is in danger."
"The meta-huh?" Mayganne asked.
"A threat from what?" Donnelly cut in.
The Professor adjusted his glasses.
"A man named Morganfokker."
20131228
The Great Convergence
Milton
stood in the line outside the theatre. He didn't usually go to see
plays, but after his meeting with Greg today he felt that things were
changing in his life. That he was going to get a chance to become the
man he always wanted to be. And he had always imagined himself
reading literature and seeing plays. So he had a plastic bag from
Good
Tomes with
copies of Shakespeare and Faulkner inside, and he was waiting to buy
his ticket to a local company's production of an original work called
Constellations.
It seemed fitting somehow. Scorpio was becoming real.
Across the street Susanna checked her watch again. Riveta scanned the traffic walking and driving past.
"He was always really prompt at school," Susanna said.
"Relax," Riveta said, but there was edge to her voice.
As Mayganne rounded the corner she chuckled as she realized that all those uptight and closed-minded groups intent on policing society's morality were right. Playing videogames had led her to a life of crime. Immersing herself in the sci-fantastic world of Citadel she had started believing herself to be a version of the young rogue-adventurer Maus. She knew it wasn't real exactly, she wasn't delusional... But she had started to feel that if she started to think and act and behave like Maus, then in some sort of strange, maybe magical way, she would become her. And that's when the shoplifting started. And when she started picking fights with the bullies at school. Some bloodied lips and pockets full of useless crap later, she felt it taking hold. And so tonight it had been a full-scale break-in. Complete with black clothes and some tools in a satchel.
Susanna wrapped her arms about herself. She was shivering. Maybe since the attack last night at the store. She hadn't been home since. Hadn't called her family or friends or even work to explain why she had run off and left the store a disaster. How could she?
"You'll explain everything when he gets here, right?" she asked the woman who had saved her and damned her at the same time.
Riveta glanced at her cell phone. "I'm hoping someone will..."
The line started to move. Milton took a deep breath of the mild spring air. He imagined himself as the man that he was sure he was going to become, working with Greg Logollos. Imagined being here at the theatre not to simply watch a play, but to meet with an important contact. Imagined being able to read the intentions of those in line by their postures and body language. Scanning the people passing by for movements that hinted at martial arts training or concealed weapons. That girl over there, in the black clothes, half-running, looking nervous, surely she was up to something dangerous, he imagined.
Mayganne had broken the window, the alarm sounding immediately, had smashed some furniture, the whole time being filmed by the security cameras. It was the type of brash and risky strike that Maus would make against an enemy stronghold. The bank was a kind of enemy, she figured. So she was like Maus, but at the same time she knew that she wasn't. She knew that Maus would escape in the Nexus Wave with her sister Kitty and the noble Serisia, with Vlad the celestial barbarian and the mysterious warrior Chem Finder - who she had a crush on. While Mayganne would no doubt be caught by the police. Which is really what she wanted.
She had stood there, shouting at the cameras, "Make me Maus or make me Mayganne!" Because if she couldn't really be Maus, if this world wouldn't allow it, then she was done with this world. They could lock her away.
"No way," Detective Musharef said as he drove through the intersection. "Tell me, is that not the suspect they just put the bulletin out on?" He pointed up the block.
Stone peered ahead. His eyesight was sometimes tricky in the evening, with the city lights kalidescoping around him. "Could be..."
"Susanna!" Mr. Donnelly called from the opposite side of the street. He glanced right and left and braved the traffic.
Riveta slid a hand to the pistol under her jacket; she wasn't sure what to expect from this meeting.
Susanna hugged her former principal tightly, so relieved to see a familiar face. "What's the matter?" he asked her. "You sounded nervous on the message..."
"I'm pulling over," Musharef said. "That's definitely her. Look how freaked out she is. What did they say she answered to?"
"Mayganne?" Donnelly exclaimed as he saw his student jogging past them. She slowed and looked surprised to see him.
Milton saw the suspicious girl stopping by the man and two women. He imagined that the one woman's hand was tucked inside her jacket to be ready to draw a gun.
Musharef slid out of the car, assessing the group that the suspect had stopped by. Stone eased himself out of the passenger seat.
Donnelly looked confused. "What's going on? Who are you?" he asked the serious-looking woman standing beside his former teacher.
Stone's eyes widened. He felt like his heart stopped. "Riveta?"
Then Riveta's cell phone rang. And Donnelly's cell phone rang. And Mayganne's rang. And Stone's. And Scorpio's cell phone rang.
Across the street Susanna checked her watch again. Riveta scanned the traffic walking and driving past.
"He was always really prompt at school," Susanna said.
"Relax," Riveta said, but there was edge to her voice.
As Mayganne rounded the corner she chuckled as she realized that all those uptight and closed-minded groups intent on policing society's morality were right. Playing videogames had led her to a life of crime. Immersing herself in the sci-fantastic world of Citadel she had started believing herself to be a version of the young rogue-adventurer Maus. She knew it wasn't real exactly, she wasn't delusional... But she had started to feel that if she started to think and act and behave like Maus, then in some sort of strange, maybe magical way, she would become her. And that's when the shoplifting started. And when she started picking fights with the bullies at school. Some bloodied lips and pockets full of useless crap later, she felt it taking hold. And so tonight it had been a full-scale break-in. Complete with black clothes and some tools in a satchel.
Susanna wrapped her arms about herself. She was shivering. Maybe since the attack last night at the store. She hadn't been home since. Hadn't called her family or friends or even work to explain why she had run off and left the store a disaster. How could she?
"You'll explain everything when he gets here, right?" she asked the woman who had saved her and damned her at the same time.
Riveta glanced at her cell phone. "I'm hoping someone will..."
The line started to move. Milton took a deep breath of the mild spring air. He imagined himself as the man that he was sure he was going to become, working with Greg Logollos. Imagined being here at the theatre not to simply watch a play, but to meet with an important contact. Imagined being able to read the intentions of those in line by their postures and body language. Scanning the people passing by for movements that hinted at martial arts training or concealed weapons. That girl over there, in the black clothes, half-running, looking nervous, surely she was up to something dangerous, he imagined.
Mayganne had broken the window, the alarm sounding immediately, had smashed some furniture, the whole time being filmed by the security cameras. It was the type of brash and risky strike that Maus would make against an enemy stronghold. The bank was a kind of enemy, she figured. So she was like Maus, but at the same time she knew that she wasn't. She knew that Maus would escape in the Nexus Wave with her sister Kitty and the noble Serisia, with Vlad the celestial barbarian and the mysterious warrior Chem Finder - who she had a crush on. While Mayganne would no doubt be caught by the police. Which is really what she wanted.
She had stood there, shouting at the cameras, "Make me Maus or make me Mayganne!" Because if she couldn't really be Maus, if this world wouldn't allow it, then she was done with this world. They could lock her away.
"No way," Detective Musharef said as he drove through the intersection. "Tell me, is that not the suspect they just put the bulletin out on?" He pointed up the block.
Stone peered ahead. His eyesight was sometimes tricky in the evening, with the city lights kalidescoping around him. "Could be..."
"Susanna!" Mr. Donnelly called from the opposite side of the street. He glanced right and left and braved the traffic.
Riveta slid a hand to the pistol under her jacket; she wasn't sure what to expect from this meeting.
Susanna hugged her former principal tightly, so relieved to see a familiar face. "What's the matter?" he asked her. "You sounded nervous on the message..."
"I'm pulling over," Musharef said. "That's definitely her. Look how freaked out she is. What did they say she answered to?"
"Mayganne?" Donnelly exclaimed as he saw his student jogging past them. She slowed and looked surprised to see him.
Milton saw the suspicious girl stopping by the man and two women. He imagined that the one woman's hand was tucked inside her jacket to be ready to draw a gun.
Musharef slid out of the car, assessing the group that the suspect had stopped by. Stone eased himself out of the passenger seat.
Donnelly looked confused. "What's going on? Who are you?" he asked the serious-looking woman standing beside his former teacher.
Stone's eyes widened. He felt like his heart stopped. "Riveta?"
Then Riveta's cell phone rang. And Donnelly's cell phone rang. And Mayganne's rang. And Stone's. And Scorpio's cell phone rang.
20131223
Convergence One
Susanna's
feet were tired; somehow retail was more exhausting than teaching.
Maybe the smile of a satisfied customer didn't match the smile of a
child who had just figured out a solution to a problem. She needed to
figure out her own solution to her own problem.
Leaving teaching to pursue music had seemed like the great leap. She hadn't had any illusions about making it big, she knew it would be a struggle, she loved the romance of that. It had paid off - two years of barely-made rent, small gigs at local bars, a few in nearby towns, decent after-show sales of her homemade CD, a tiny bit of buzz in tiny corners of the net. Except that she hadn't written anything new. Not a single song or melody.
Susanna hung the sweater up on the rack and suddenly felt a massive rush of deja vu. Her heart skipped, her breath caught, she turned just like she had, like she knew she would, not knowing why and the woman was running towards her. And Susanna let her body go limp because she knew it was coming and the woman tackled her. They crashed down into the clothing rack, the spring line-up fluttering around them, the strange wolf-like creature snarling in the air, its teeth snapping where they had been standing. The woman rolling them both, colours entangling them, the beast landing and turning and growling. And the woman's hand reaching out and snapping suddenly. Thunder.
Susanna pulled herself free. The store muzak crept into the sudden silence. Everything was moving slowly except her heart.
The woman steadied her. "I'm Dete- I'm Sandrine. Sandrine Riveta." She replaced the pistol in the holster under her jacket, took out a photo. "Please, do you know this man?"
It was the principal of Susanna's old school. Mr. Donnelly.
Leaving teaching to pursue music had seemed like the great leap. She hadn't had any illusions about making it big, she knew it would be a struggle, she loved the romance of that. It had paid off - two years of barely-made rent, small gigs at local bars, a few in nearby towns, decent after-show sales of her homemade CD, a tiny bit of buzz in tiny corners of the net. Except that she hadn't written anything new. Not a single song or melody.
Susanna hung the sweater up on the rack and suddenly felt a massive rush of deja vu. Her heart skipped, her breath caught, she turned just like she had, like she knew she would, not knowing why and the woman was running towards her. And Susanna let her body go limp because she knew it was coming and the woman tackled her. They crashed down into the clothing rack, the spring line-up fluttering around them, the strange wolf-like creature snarling in the air, its teeth snapping where they had been standing. The woman rolling them both, colours entangling them, the beast landing and turning and growling. And the woman's hand reaching out and snapping suddenly. Thunder.
Susanna pulled herself free. The store muzak crept into the sudden silence. Everything was moving slowly except her heart.
The woman steadied her. "I'm Dete- I'm Sandrine. Sandrine Riveta." She replaced the pistol in the holster under her jacket, took out a photo. "Please, do you know this man?"
It was the principal of Susanna's old school. Mr. Donnelly.
20131217
Understanding the Eye
Version
Delta Fox
Susanna jotted down the idea on the inside of the cigarette pack. She didn't have time to run and get a sheet a paper or a napkin and the cigarette pack was handy.
Life is sweet like hidden treats, she had written.
She also wrote 4/4 Beat.
She began to hum a few bars of a melody, but to her it didn't sound quite right. So she began again in a low tone.
The waitress slid a coffee in front of her, "There's no smoking in here, Miss."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on lighting up," Susanna told her. "Just that when inspiration hits I grab the first thing that resembles a sheet a paper."
"Well now, if that's the case. Since there is no one here, you could light up," The waitress said with a smile and wandered away.
Susanna jotted down the idea on the inside of the cigarette pack. She didn't have time to run and get a sheet a paper or a napkin and the cigarette pack was handy.
Life is sweet like hidden treats, she had written.
She also wrote 4/4 Beat.
She began to hum a few bars of a melody, but to her it didn't sound quite right. So she began again in a low tone.
The waitress slid a coffee in front of her, "There's no smoking in here, Miss."
"Oh, I wasn't planning on lighting up," Susanna told her. "Just that when inspiration hits I grab the first thing that resembles a sheet a paper."
"Well now, if that's the case. Since there is no one here, you could light up," The waitress said with a smile and wandered away.
20131209
DAY TWENTYEIGHT 9:16AM
Minutes Ticking
Susanna had turned on the radio; she wanted ambient noise in the background as she started to do the breakfast dishes. She had two other women helping her, Amber Taylor and Janice Trena, both who helped a lot around the chalet.
With the kids up and well-fed, Milligan had decided to take them for a hike on one of the old nature trails. It was a good excuse for several others to go as well, and get some exercise and keep themselves occupied until Father Donnelly returned.
She gathered up the various bowls, dishes, plates and spoons. And began putting them on the counter. Alisha was there to help her as well, both humming along with the radio.
Johannesberg came running into the kitchen. "There's a car coming."
20131206
DAY TWENTYFIVE 10:14AM
Miles To Go
Johannesberg stood on the dock, overlooking the lake. Watching the water. He knew there was something he should be doing but for some reason it eluded him.
Susanna came down from the cottage with two cups of coffee in her hands. "I thought you could use a cup."
"How are the kids?" Jo asked, accepting the offered cup. "Hope they are not bored."
"Playing dodgeball with Milligan," she replied. She stood beside Jo and overlooked the lake.
"Beautiful, isn't it," Jo stated. He secretly wished he could stay here forever. "I'm glad the warm weather is finally upon us, should make the nights better."
"You know, I wonder why we are out here so early?" Susanna asked. "Are we on a field trip?"
Jo was about to reply, but was lost in thought. There was something happening and going on and Father Donnelly had left to meet up with someone, and soon after that Hank tore out of here like a bat out of hell.
"It's all like a dream, isn't it," Susanna said to break the silence. "It will be sad once we leave this place."
Thunder rumbled upon the horizon.
"We better bring the kids in," Jo said. "There's a storm coming."
20131201
DAY TWENTY 14:13PM
The More Things Change
Three people were gone. At least, ones they could remember. Carmen, Farah, and Art.
Johannesberg’s hair was now long and pony-tailed.
Rajinder’s brand of cigarettes was different.
Alice was still dying.
And the cottage had changed.
It looked different, the layout was different. The decorations were different. It wasn’t the cottage that Hank had visited as a boy.
The cottage had changed. But Alice was still dying.
Hank shifted on the stool, tucked in amongst the bushes, watching the laneway through the trees. The rifle rested at his side. He was glad to be on watch; he couldn’t relax inside anymore.
Susanna crept up behind him, making enough noise to avoid startling him.
“I brought coffee,” she said.
“Leave me alone,” he said.
20131127
DAY SIXTEEN 17:59PM
Standing in the Tide
"She is not getting any better," Father Donnelly said once he had closed the door to the bedroom. Susanna closed her eyes. Hank clenched his fist.
"It's time we do something," Hank said.
Susanna could feel the storm that was about to break in the hallway of the cottage. She mumbled something about checking on the children outside and headed for the stairs.
The reverend knew this argument was due. They had reviewed the options already, two days ago, when Alice first got sick. They couldn't risk going back to the city, or calling help to come here. Any doctor in the nearest town would only send her to the hospital; she clearly needed treatment of some kind.
Fevers, vomiting, hallucinations. Strange bruising would appear and disappear all over her body.
They couldn't take her to a hospital, though. Max had been clear about that when the plan had been made to come here. No contact with the system in any way. Even Max didn't know their exact location. He said he would call when it was safe.
Hank knew all of that, but Donnelly knew they were still going to argue about it. Because of Max. Donnelly trusted him, Hank didn't. And now Alice's health, maybe her life, hung in the balance.
He already knew everything Hank was going to say, most likely yell. He also knew that Hank used to have problems with anger; he hoped nothing bad was about to happen. He would let Hank have the argument though, because even though everything had already been said, even though nothing would change - the group had decided to wait - sometimes you still needed to have the fight anyway.
Hank looked at the reverend, eyes hard and cold.
Johannesberg called up from downstairs. "Father! Milligan says there's a vehicle coming up the lane!"
20131124
DAY THIRTEEN 19:53PM
Where I Lay My Hat
“Hank, I can’t thank you enough,” Alice said as she dropped her backpack onto the bed. Dust floated up in the beam of the flashlight. “It’s really nice, and there’s room enough for everyone.”
Hank smiled, holding the light steady while Alice unrolled her sleeping bag and Susanna started placing some of her clothes in the dresser. It wasn’t the first time that they had relocated in the years they'd been together. As things changed, so did the places they lived. Some kept normal homes, most took to living communally in places like The Rave. Sometimes they moved by choice, sometimes they moved because their havens disappeared in a shift. New places and hangouts, and new passwords and signals. And each time there was Alice, waitress, college student, even an actress once, supervisor at a women’s shelter, her world and her life warping around her, while she remained constant, a beacon calling the lost home.
Hank realized that he was falling in love with her. He cleared his throat, worried the women could somehow read his thoughts. “I always hoped we could use this place, eventually,” he said. “ But it’s so far away from, well, anything really. Except the other cottages on the lake. Although they’re all abandoned too, since the land deal happened. They were the last I heard, anyway.”
Alice smirked. “Unless that’s all changed.”
Hank smiled back. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. Maybe I should take Jo and check out-“
Alice interjected. “Hank, it can wait until tomorrow. You’ve been at the wheel for so long. Get some rest tonight.”
“He’ll probably be up all night escorting people to the outhouse,” Susanna joked.
The rest of the cottage was bustling. Beds getting assigned, supplies getting unpacked. A fire finally clawing into brightness in the main room. Seeing everyone come together, work together, here in the place where he spent his childhood summers… It made Hank’s heart full of rainbow feelings. Every time they learned that something had changed, Hank always tried to remember those summers, to make sure they were still there. He feared losing his past most of all. Now it seemed that his future, all of their futures, were at risk.
He frowned as he watched Johannesberg and Milligan check over the hunting rifles they had brought on the retreat. He knew that Father Donnelly still had that pistol Max had given him. At the thought of Max the anger returned. The sense of pride and closeness he was feeling flared into a red rage as quickly as if he had shifted.
Maybe he had… maybe that’s why he had so many problems throughout his life dealing with anger. Something about his identity shifting… He tried to hold onto the idea, the sense of it…
Johannesberg called him. “Hey Hank, will you walk us down to the dock?”
Alice and Susanna came downstairs as Hank led Jo and Milligan, both armed, out into the cold night.
“Things feel…” Alice said softly. “It’s like they’re building to something.”
Susanna took Alice’s arm in hers. “I know what you mean. Something’s happening. We’re caught up in something. Maybe this Max is the key to figuring out what’s going on?”
Alice thought about Max. She was still fighting the urge to call him. “I just feel… That it will somehow end badly.”
Susanna shivered. It was unnerving to hear Mother talk like that. She tried to change the line of conversation. “Did Hank ever say if this place had a name?”
Alice smiled wryly, her tone sarcastic. “Maybe we should call it the Alamo.”
“How about Helm’s Deep? They won that one.”
20131122
DAY ELEVEN 21:04PM
Roadtrip
Alice looked up at the stars. "I think I should call him."
Donnelly added another stick to the campfire. They had the grounds to themselves - not many people were camping this time of year. There were seven tents in total, some scrounged, some bought hurriedly, different sizes, and some people were sleeping in their cars. It was the fourth time Alice had said she was going to call Max, but each time she hadn't. He had made it clear that he would reach them once he had finished up. They were only to call him if it was an emergency. The last six days had felt like one long emergency. The weight of the handgun was heavy in the reverend's coat pocket. He had had nightmares about the ritual every night since it had happened.
Susanna was singing some children to sleep in the large blue tent.
Alice wasn't very old in terms of the calendar, but she had many different worlds behind her, passed through like the rings in a tree trunk. She had brought most of them together. It fell to him and others, like Susanna and Hank, to keep them together. Sometimes they would lose some to a shift - maybe they had lost many, but lost their memories of them too when the world had changed and changed again. Donnelly knew Alice felt responsible. Maybe even guilty in a way.
He had spent many nights reassuring her. Reminding her that her gift was helping people. He wanted to reassure her now, but he knew things were different this time. That they hadn't shifted, but that the world had changed. His words didn't mean the same thing anymore. The church didn't mean the same thing. Now that they had learned about LEGACY.
It hurt her to think that somehow she had been serving the goals of evil men. But she clearly trusted Max's assessment; that's why they were here, out of the city, on the run. Not everyone did; there were many who still marked the start of the troubles with Max's arrival. And they weren't exactly wrong. He had asked Alice why she had decided to trust Max; her answer had been a strange one. She said that he had written out a list of names, to see if she knew any of them. The fourth name on the list had been her mother's nickname when she was younger. 'Angst'.
Donnelly supposed his own reason wasn't any less strange. He had faith in Max.
Alice looked down at the fire. "Maybe I should call him."
20131119
DAY EIGHT 11:53AM
Prophecy
Hank took a deep breath. Johannesberg toyed with his eyebrow ring. Laughter trickled down from the dorms; Susanna had organized some kind of game for the others to play. She was a great addition to the group, a teacher. She still worked professionally; the last shift had changed the location of her school, but the students still knew her.
"I hate to see it all fall apart," Hank said. He scratched his beard. Jo kept quiet. He looked a little uncomfortable seeing the big man get so emotional.
"It's bullshit," Hank continued. "This one guy shows up and suddenly people are going missing, then he's got the Father convinced we're part of some big conspiracy. Bullshit."
"I don't know..."
Hank rounded on the young man. He had a flash of grabbing the kid by his mohawk and ramming his face into the door. It had been a long time since those outbursts of rage; part of his former life. But since Luger had disappeared, then the Father, then Mayganne, Hank had started to feel the surges of violence return. Father Donnelly had returned in the middle of the night, but spouting nonsense, and Hank wasn't feeling any better.
"What do you mean 'you don't know'?"
"How about we wait and see what Mother says?"
Hank felt his hand tighten into a fist. "Fine. I'm going for a walk." He started down the hall. He heard Susanna's voice calling out instructions for the game. Johannesberg caught up to him.
"Hank, listen. Please." The older man took another deep breath. Jo continued. "K, you're gonna think this is nuts too. But I have to tell someone. You wonder why I don't seem worried about this Max guy..."
"Things have gotten worse since he showed up."
"Well, stranger anyway. If that's possible. But listen... The thing is... I saw this anime when I was younger, and the main character... Well, the series was called Aeon Triumph Gun Messiahs-"
The door opened to Mother's room.
"I've made a decision," Alice said.
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