by Jaxon Reed
“I can’t believe you don’t recognize me, Mario. Maybe this will help.”
She ripped her blouse open, buttons popping off like ricocheted bullets. Lucado’s head tilted down toward her chest.
She looked down herself and noticed her breasts were clad in thick, white cloth. She felt a wide band reaching around her back, and guessed at the presence of heavy clasps behind her.
“What the heck is this, Cait?”
“A brassiere, circa 1927. All clothing must be place and period accurate, including undergarments. After so many jumps, you should know by now—”
Lucado reached down and grasped the top edges of the heavy bra. He pulled, but only revealed an inch or two of her flesh.
She could feel his frustration grow as he pulled down harder. She put her palms over his chest to make him stop.
“Mario. Take yours off, first.”
He glanced up with a questioning look. She smiled seductively.
He stood up straight and doffed his overcoat. It fell to the ground. Then he unbuttoned his Oxford and pulled it off, revealing a wife-beater undershirt. He pulled that over his head and stood before her bare-chested.
She glanced down at his left arm, noting the heavy golden wristlet around it. She recognized it instantly as a fae artifact. Stubby spikes faced up and outward, curving slightly toward the hand to focus its power wherever he pointed.
“What is this?”
She reached down to touch it. He jerked his wrist away.
“Leave it alone, bitch!”
The look in his eyes changed instantly from lust to anger.
“Mario? What’s the matter?”
Tiff changed her expression to one of hurt and anguish. To one that implied he would not get lucky so long as her emotions remained in turmoil. She crossed her arms over her chest, as if suddenly realizing her vulnerability.
He cooled down immediately.
“I’m sorry, doll. It’s just that this bracelet is very special to me.”
“Is it?”
Her eyes turned lustful again, and she glanced back down at the golden ornament.
“What’s so special about it, Mario? Can I see it? I’ll do anything if you let me hold it.”
He paused, and considered her comments.
“Anything, huh?”
“Absolutely!”
She licked her lips and stared back at him, expectantly.
She noted his attitude changing, along with his rising levels of expectation.
“Alright. I guess there’s no harm in you having a quick look.”
He pulled off the wristlet and handed it to her. Tiff took it, glanced it over, and quickly placed it in her purse. Before Lucado could respond, she kneed him in the groin.
He doubled down in pain, and she grabbed his hair, ignoring the grease. Her blouse closed itself, all the buttons reappearing in their proper place.
In her mind she said,“Cait, open a door to Chicago. Eliot Ness’s office.”
A neon green and blue sliver appeared in the air, growing larger. Tiff stepped through it, dragging Lucado behind her by the hair.
On the other side, she threw him down on the floor of an empty office. He groaned in pain, unable to move at the moment. The temporal doorway winked shut.
Tiff stepped out of the office into a hallway, busy with G-men and secretaries bustling about. She looked back at the office entrance. Somebody had typed “Elliot Ness” on a sheet of paper and tacked it to the door. She wondered briefly if his name had two L’s in this alternate, or if they had simply misspelled it.
She pulled the door fully shut behind her just as Lucado recovered from his pain and began cursing.
She said loudly, “Excuse me?”
The men and women bustling about stopped and turned, all eyes focusing on her.
“There’s a man named Lucado in here. He said something about needing to speak with Mr. Ness?”
From behind the door, everyone heard an outraged scream.
“Come back here, bitch!”
Five FBI agents rushed toward the door, pulling revolvers out from under their suit coats. Tiff stepped out of the way, watching as a couple of secretaries ran down the hall yelling for help.
“Freeze!”
“Hands up, Lucado!”
She could hear the commotion continue behind her as she walked down the hall and found a stairwell.
Tiff made her way down the stairs, leaving the commotion behind, and came out into the building’s lobby. She exited through the front door and wandered down a busy sidewalk alongside a traffic-filled street.
Chicago’s air felt considerably colder than Hearne’s, a thousand miles to the south. She shivered, and wrapped her sweater tightly around her middle.
“Get me out of here, Cait. Where’s a private place I can port home from?”
“To your right is a department store. Go into the ladies room, second stall.”
Tiff nodded, and headed toward the store’s entrance. A doorman tipped his hat at her as she passed through the revolving door. She made her way past the makeup counters to the back of the store and found the public facilities.
No one else occupied the ladies room. She closed the door to the second stall, and a thin sliver of green and blue light appeared, quickly growing wider.
Stepping through it, she came out in a field of bluebonnets.
2
The “Wildflower Room” looked and felt like an open field in perpetual springtime. The type of flowers rotated every few months.
Tiff walked between them along a trail leading over a small hill. On the other side, a simple door made of rowan wood stood by itself at the end of the path. She turned the latch, opened the door, and walked into Headquarters.
On the other side of the door, Tiff stepped into a large, warmly lit foyer. Gas lamps flickered brightly on the walls. The Walker, she knew, preferred the warmth of gaslight to electric. He was an Original Earth native, and had died before electricity came into widespread use.
To the right and left of the door to the Wildflower Room stood half a dozen more wooden doorways leading to other rooms. She ignored them and walked toward the large main hall, where a young woman with brown hair sat at a desk facing an advanced holographic computer terminal, which seemed out of place among the 19th century decor.
The woman looked up when Tiff came close.
“Welcome back. As you can see, that last assignment indeed was a short one.”
“You were right, Cait. As usual.”
Cait smiled in acknowledgment. This “human” iteration of Cait stood five foot six and weighed 120 pounds. She had a plain, unadorned face with soft brown eyes and simple, straight brown hair falling to her shoulders. She was neither attractive, nor ugly; tall, nor short; heavy, nor thin. She wore a plain dress of neutral color.
Her standard human interface appeared average, all the way around. Tiff wondered for the umpteenth time why the Walker had programmed her to look that way. Maybe she would ask him next time she saw him.
“Where is everybody? Am I the only one here?”
“Yes. Jason is on Alternate 5041-B. Nancy is on—”
“It’s okay, Cait. I don’t need to know where everybody is. I’ll just drop off this bracelet in the library and retire to my quarters.”
“Very well.”
Cait gave her a perfunctory smile and returned her attention to the terminal. Tiff considered the irony of a computer in human form using a computer terminal. She had tried to discuss it with Cait once, a couple hundred years ago, but the concept of irony escaped the AI.
Tiff walked past the desk, and took a door on the right, which opened into the largest library and museum in Creation. Miles upon miles of bookshelves stretched off into the distance along a corridor in front of her.
“Fae artifacts, samples.”
The corridor moved to the left, and another corridor appeared holding different books. Then another, and another. The corridors moved swiftly to the left for seve
ral minutes, millions upon millions of books whooshing by as Tiff waited patiently near the door.
Then the shelves changed to display tables and cabinets. Hundreds of thousands of objects behind glass sped by.
Finally, everything stopped. The corridor before her held thousands of glass cases and tables filled with tens of thousands of objects, mostly made of gold and silver.
“Eb?”
A man popped into existence in the midst of the display cases. A simulation of a man, anyway. The library’s computer system operated separately from Cait.
He stood tall and skinny, dressed in a three-piece brown suit styled in 1950s Americana, complete with a maroon bowtie. His skin had a gray pallor to it, as if he had never seen sunlight. Light gray hair lay closely cropped along his scalp. Soft hands with long, delicate fingers were ideally suited for handling ancient texts and other artifacts.
He looked at her without emotion, the human representation of a complex library computer. The Walker once told her “Eb” was not short for “Ebenezer,” as she had presumed, but for “Electronic Books.” When she pointed out that many of the books in the library were not electronic, the Walker said, “But he is.”
She thought Jason displayed a rather odd sense of humor at times.
“Yes, Ms. Tyfainne?”
“I have a new addition for the fae collection, Eb.”
She pulled the golden wristlet from her purse and held it out. Eb walked closer and took it from her. He turned it around, examining it.
“Etruscan.”
Tiff’s brows furrowed.
“Etruscan?”
Eb nodded and said, “This was created in the Etruscan Period, most likely on Earth 01. It is very old, very powerful. And somewhat rare. We have only one other like it in our collection.”
“Earth 01? You mean the second one created after Original Earth?”
“Created immediately after. Or simultaneously. Time can be difficult to quantify in the multiverse.”
“I’m not as familiar with the Etruscans. They were pre-Roman, right?”
“That is correct, Miss Tyfainne. They were indigenous to central Italy, dominating that area from the eighth century before Christ. The Romans adopted much of their culture when taking over in the fourth and third centuries, BC.
“On Original Earth, they worshipped false deities of nature. On Earth 01 and subsequent fae-influenced worlds, they were often one of the first people groups approached by the fae.”
“Why?”
“I posit the fae knew Etruscans would precede the Romans, whose culture would grow to become the dominate one on practically every similar alternate.”
“So the question is, how did this ancient artifact wind up on a much more recent alternate? Obviously somebody had to take it there, right?”
“Not necessarily, Miss Tyfainne. Some of the older fae artifacts had the ability to phase among alternates independently. But most likely, one this small would have to be summoned by another entity through time and reality. Of course, I will have to examine this one to determine if it holds the power to phase independently or not. With my current backlog I should be able to give it a thorough examination in 23 years hence, barring unforeseen circumstances.
“Either way, I suspect you will need to spend additional time on the alternate from whence you found this. The presence of such an object bodes ill for that reality.”
“Thank you, Eb. If it has phasing powers, it can’t be . . . retrieved . . . from the library, correct?”
“Correct, Miss Tyfainne. We are outside time and space. So far as the fae are concerned, this location does not exist.”
“Good. Let’s hope it stays that way.”
She smiled at Eb, but he did not return the smile. He was not programmed for small talk.
She turned and walked out the door. Exchanging pleasantries or farewells with the computer seemed pointless.
Eb made his way deeper into the wing of the library currently facing the entry room, until he found an old display case several hundred yards from the entrance.
Opening it, he placed the golden wristlet inside, next to another one. He examined them closely, noting the objects seemed nearly identical to one another.
Then Eb winked out of sight, his human form no longer needed.
-+-
Tiff walked to her quarters and felt exhaustion work its way through her body. She found the appropriate hallway: gray stones underneath, ceiling arched above in ancient brown timber. At the fourth door to the right she stopped. It opened and she walked into a courtyard of whitewashed stones with bright sunlight streaming down, and the smell of pressed grapes drifting through the air.
On the other end of the courtyard she walked through another wooden door. It opened into a spacious, luxurious villa.
She strolled across Spanish tile to a large air-conditioned bedroom in the back of the place. Waving her hand over her front, her clothes disappeared as she strolled into a huge bathroom. Water flowed in a giant tub near the center, scented with lavender and filled with soapy bubbles.
Tiff stepped into the tub, then sat down and relaxed as soft warm water covered all but her neck and face.
Just before she dozed off, she roused herself and applied a foaming solution to her skin, rubbing vigorously. Then she held her breath and dipped her head underwater a moment.
Climbing out, she waved in the air and a large fluffy white towel appeared in her hand. She dried off, then motioned with her hand down her front again and a baby doll negligee appeared, wrapped around the top of her body.
She trudged toward the bed, flopping down on it belly first.
“Martin? Come here, please.”
“Yes, milady.”
A huge representation of a man opened the closet door and walked into the room. He stood six foot six, and wore only a simple pair of cotton pants cinched at the waist with a rope.
Leg muscles rippled through the thin cloth as he walked barefoot to her bed. His shoulders and arms seemed impossibly large, and his abs were perfectly ripped. His skin glowed with a slightly golden aura.
Pale blonde hair fell in soft, gentle locks to his shoulders. A long, matching Van Dyke beard reached down to his collarbone.
“What can I do for milady?”
“Give me a backrub. I’ve had a long series of jumps.”
He reached down and began kneading her back with strong but gentle fingers. Her mouth opened at the sheer pleasure of sensations.
Tiff’s mind flashed back to when she first programmed him.
“Why did you name him Martin?”
Her best friend Nancy seemed puzzled.
“I mean, why not give him a macho name? Something like Dirk. Or Thor. He definitely looks like a Thor.”
“I like Martin. It’s sweet.”
“You did not create this thing to be sweet, Tiff.”
“Oh yes I did!”
Her memories shifted to the first time the Walker saw Martin, on a visit to her villa.
He said, “Hm. He looks Norse.”
“He’s supposed to be Northumbrian.”
The Walker smiled, shrugged and said, “Not much difference there, really.”
He didn’t say what they both were thinking, and what Tiff had not realized until seeing Martin and the Walker together at the same time.
Martin resembled him.
Not exactly. She had adjusted Martin’s face over time, making it perfectly symmetrical and fitting her notion of male attractiveness.
But there was no denying the blond hair, dark blue eyes and high cheekbones bore a striking resemblance to her mentor.
She dismissed the thought again, as she had countless times since creating Martin. Sleep crept over her while he rubbed her back, and she dropped into a vivid dream.
-+-
In her dream, Tiff felt about six years old. Maybe seven. She looked for the Walker throughout the sprawling Headquarters, and couldn’t find him. Finally she called out for Cait and asked her for
his whereabouts.
Cait told her which rowan door to open, and when she did, the foyer filled with sunlight. She heard a seagull cry out, and felt a gentle breeze with salt on the air.
Walking through, she found herself on the white sand beach of a secluded lagoon. In the distance, a bamboo umbrella shaded an Adirondack chair. The Walker lounged in the chair, hands clasped behind his head, looking out over the gentle waves with his feet buried in the sand. He wore a pair of swim trunks and a white t-shirt.
Cait changed young Tiff’s clothes as she walked out onto the beach. Her shoes disappeared and her long dress instantly turned into a blue one-piece bathing suit.
She tromped through the sand toward the chair and umbrella.
He heard the little girl approaching, turned and smiled.
“Hello, Tiff!”
She smiled back. He was always sweet to her.
A smaller chair popped into existence next to him. She sat down on it, and stared out at the lagoon, little waves lapping against the beach.
The water seemed extraordinarily clear, tinted aquamarine with hints of green. She could see fish slowly swimming underneath the surface.
“What is this place?”
“This is the Beach Room.”
“Where is this place?”
He smiled and considered for a moment how to explain it to a child.
“The rooms are where particular times and places have been captured. Kind of like a photograph. We can enjoy them perpetually, they don’t change. We’ve got a mountain room, a desert room, and others.”
“The flower room changes.”
She felt certain in that assertion. She had seen the rotating nature of the foliage herself.
He raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment.
“That’s true. The Wildflower Room is a special case. It has captured several moments in fields across many realities. You’ll notice that’s usually the room we phase into and out of, when walking among the alternates.”
“Why?”
“Why do we use that room for travel?”
She nodded, her golden curly locks bouncing up and down.
“It’s important to have a presence in different realities. Some alternates are more closely connected to others. It’s easier to walk over when you hold a portion of that universe, or at least one nearby.”