Alex squinted. His fingers danced on the metal cylinder dangling from his holster. “Why not?” he asked. “I’ve assassinated worse.”
Normal-Art’s grin somehow grew wider. He wondered if he looked like a cartoon to those around him. His mouth said, “You’re right. This sounds like a plan that will totally work.”
Alex nodded. “I agree. Now finish getting dressed. We leave in fifteen minutes.”
The pricks inside Normal-Art’s brain disappeared, and Normal-Art found that he was under his own control again.
“That was weird,” he muttered to himself. He heard laughter reverberate through his brain. He glanced at the other members of the group. None of them seemed to have heard it. He sighed.
* * *
8 Normal-Art had been in the mess hall when Ginny had inquired for what purpose these shelving units were to be used. She had discovered that the Captain who had commanded the ship three captains prior to King Solomon had hated the smell of dirty feet so much that he had the units installed in the ship when he encountered the technology on some random mission to some random timestream. This previous captain had made it a standing order for the crew to place their shoes in the units before entering their personal quarters, and none of the proceeding captains had rescinded the order.
Chapter 13
BACK TO EARTH 4
Agent 27142 closed his eyes as lightning engulfed him and teleported him off Earth 47,787. He opened them and glanced around the barrier between realities, which was simultaneously infinitely colorful and colorless.
Agent 27142 rode with Henry upon a bolt of lightning. Beside them, Beverly gripped a second bolt of lightning in one foreleg while using her other legs to drag God-Art through the barrier alongside her. Agent 27142 frowned and ground his teeth, because memories flashed through his mind’s eye of the years he had spent stranded in this bleak nothingness following his raid of the B.T.T. headquarters on Earth 4. Agent 27142 performed breathing exercises to calm himself. He resisted the temptation to brutalize Henry, which he considered doing in order to release some of the anxiety that was growing in him every second that he was back in this place. After what seemed like entirely too long for Agent 27142’s comfort, the group reached their destination, and the jump totems used their lightning to transition Agent 27142 and God-Art out of the barrier between realities.
They emerged from the lightning onto Earth 4 in the exact clearing where Agent 27142 had landed with his crew years and years prior. The purple sky shone overhead and clouds the color of blood drifted lazily across it. Agent 27142 glanced around the clearing, its expanse in shadow as the sun dipped behind one of the many mountains that formed a ring around it.
Debris filled the clearing, marking the site where Agent 27142 and his crew had done their damnedest to ensure the survival of the Multiverse. Broken boulders lay atop invisible shapes, which Agent 27142 knew belonged to the two cloaked shift-shuttles he had abandoned here after they had been crushed beyond all hope of functionality. Bits of bone and tattered B.I.T. uniforms lay randomly strewn about the clearing, unceremonious grave markers for Agent 27142’s soldiers who had perished at the hands of the Cyclopes. A lizard shaped like a sundial skittered from one of the many skulls littering the ground. Agent 27142 squashed it with the heel of his boot.
God-Art whistled. “This place has power. Or at least it used to. It feels like a sacrificial altar, but with old, dried blood on it.”
Agent 27142 nodded. “It kind of is.”
Agent 27142 explained to the god what had happened at this place all those many years ago. He told the god of the successful mission to steal the Stasis Bomb and the plot with the Moirai and the attack from the Cyclopes and the dead platoons and the narrow escape and the decade drifting through the expanse between realities. God-Art nodded along with the tale, his eyes gleaming most brightly when he heard of the Stasis Bomb.
Agent 27142 pulled a pair of goggles from his holster and put them on his face. He retrieved a second pair and held them out to God-Art. Agent 27142 said, “They’ll let you see in the dark, and they identify the various creatures and traps we may encounter.”
The god shook his head. “Don’t need ‘em,” he muttered.
Agent 27142 began to return the second pair to his holster when Henry complained, “That’s fine, don’t bother offering me any.”
“You don’t have eyes, you fool,” barked Agent 27142.
“Just because I don’t have eyes doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate the offer.”
Agent 27142 sighed. He stretched the elastic band of his extra pair of goggles around the gourd. Then he pulled the cord back and snapped it against the sentient vegetable. Henry squealed. Agent 27142 smirked.
Agent 27142 led God-Art into one of the caves in the base of one of the surrounding mountains. Agent 27142 said, “There’s an entrance into the B.T.T.’s headquarters at the back of this cave. There are booby traps to avoid, so watch your step.”
Agent 27142 stepped gingerly through the cave, avoiding the booby traps. He passed rotting skulls, these belonging to his long-dead soldiers who Prisoner-Art had killed when he accidentally set off the Anachro-Mine. He frowned. He had lost dozens of his most loyal, most trusted soldiers on this earth, and it was the last place he had seen his lost love. As much as he wanted to avoid this earth, the return was necessary, for this was the one place he could think of that would provide intelligence on the ship in which his prey had escaped.
Agent 27142 bit the inside of his cheek and forced himself to concentrate on the task before him. Movement along the ceiling grabbed his attention, and as he glanced up, his goggles lit upon a snake that slithered across the ceiling with the end of its tail in its mouth. Little ringlets trailed behind it in the dust. Text scrolled across the goggles that identified the creature as: Raalian Ring Snake, native to Earth 4. Diet includes Protian Sun-Lizards and Hourglass Pixies. Consume with caution: toxicity level 2—eat only if thoroughly cooked and if venom removed from mouth and tail.
Agent 27142 shrugged and continued walking toward the back of the cave. He glanced over his shoulder and noticed God-Art standing next to an Anachro-Mine, staring at it. The god pursed his lips, lifted a foot, and began to drop it toward the trap. Agent 27142 spun on his heel, sprinted toward the god, and leapt. He jumped over the mine and collided with the god, bowling him over so they both lay sprawled on the ground, safely away from the mine.
“What the hell are you doing?” demanded Agent 27142.
“We’re on the home reality of the organization that polices the Multiverse’s timestreams,” said God-Art. “The mine looked different than any I’d seen before. I figured it might warp time somehow, so I was curious.”
Agent 27142 slapped his own forehead. “Seriously? At least when our stupid alternate-self set one off, he didn’t do it on purpose. Next time, simply ask me what a random trap does, and I will tell you. Or wear the goggles I offered you, and you can read all about it.”
God-Art stood, brushed the dust off his robes, and nodded. “Very well. Next time I will ask. So, what does this one do?”
Agent 27142 stood and dusted himself off. He said, “It’s an Anachro-Mine. When tripped, it creates a weaponized time anomaly by retrieving random creatures at the most stressed and angry points in their lives. I lost many good soldiers to one of these mines the last time I was here.”
God-Art nodded at the explanation and asked no further questions about the device, so Agent 27142 continued toward the back of the cave. God-Art followed close on his heels. Agent 27142 sidestepped multiple Anachro-Mines and soon reached the stone wall at the rear of the cave. A familiar stone dial protruded from the rock.
Agent 27142 turned to the god and said, “This entrance will get us into one of the sub-basement warehouses of the B.T.T. When we escaped the last time I was here, we fled through this door and left some dangerous creatures on the other side. They may still be lurking there.”
“What kind of creatures?” asked God-Art
.
“Treendians. A species of sentient trees who use gigantic mallets as their primary method of attack. A bunch of wooden crates turned into them as part of the B.T.T.’s security system.”
God-Art nodded. “Shouldn’t be a problem for us.”
Agent 27142 furrowed his brow. “And how can you be so sure?”
“If they’re tree-people, then I’m not worried. Trust me. I hardly broke a sweat when I killed the god of the tree-people on my earth. He was my cousin, Leaf Ping-Pingson, and I wanted to use his magical roots for a stew. While I’m on the subject of ol’ Leaf, there’s a funny story about how he was formed. My uncle Ping-Ping was walking through the woods one day when he noticed a nymph bathing naked in a rain puddle. What you need to understand is that my uncle was about the ugliest lout you could ever imagine. Well, when the nymph saw him, it fled and managed to escape, but not before ol’ Ping-Ping’s blood—and at least one other thing, if you catch my drift—had risen. So, he turned to the first thing he could find, which just happened to be a gnarled old maple tree. And Uncle Ping-Ping procreated for years with that thing, up until the woodland creatures formed a union and ran him off. Leaf was spawned from his seed not long after. Leaf was a pretty annoying cousin, too, always luring people and creatures up into his limbs so he could stare at their genitals. Now, when I heard about this behavior, it gave me a great idea for an enchanted stew tha-”
“Does this damned long-winded story have a point?” Agent 27142 demanded.
God-Art shrugged. “Yes.”
Agent 27142 stared at the god. “And it is?”
God-Art sighed and said, “Well, the point is that I can handle sentient trees. No need to worry.”
Agent 27142 scowled and said, “Then just say that next time and leave it at that. I don’t need to hear you recite an entire novel about it.”
Agent 27142 began twisting the stone dial back and forth in a pattern he had memorized long ago. On the last twist, a loud CLANK erupted from within the stone wall and it opened, revealing a dark warehouse with rows upon rows of wooden crates stacked on high shelves. Many empty spaces marked places where crates should have sat, but these crates had been transformed into Treendians during Agent 27142’s last visit here. However, Agent 27142 saw no sign of the Treendians, who had been looming just inside the door when Agent 27142 had left over a decade ago.
“Hmm. I don’t see any Treendians, nor do I see the crates from which they had formed. Maybe they revert back into crate-form when they’re no longer presented with a threat? And maybe they did so before returning to their places on their proper shelves?” postulated Agent 27142.
God-Art shook his head. “Hmm. Possible, but I think not. I sense multiple enchanted presences similar in nature to my cousin. I will lead the way.”
“OK. But be careful. There are laser tripwires that set off the traps that turn these crates into the Treendians. One wrong step and we’ll have to deal with more of them.”
God-Art nodded. “Noted,” he said. “Then the crates are the problem.”
“Well, no, not exactly. The creatures that form from the crates are the problem.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The crates are ammunition for the defenses. Just wait here a moment. Hold Beverly. I will handle this.”
God-Art grabbed Beverly from her perch on his shoulder and handed the bug over to Agent 27142. At the safehouse in which Agent 27142 and God-Art had restocked and planned over the past few days, Agent 27142 had added another holster to his belt. This additional holster had been large enough that he was able to perch Henry in it, so Henry currently resided there, strapped to Agent 27142’s belt. But there was no additional space in the holster to add Beverly, so he set the bug on top of Henry.
“Well, this is humiliating,” muttered the gourd.
God-Art stepped over the threshold and into the warehouse. And chaos ensued.
A gigantic tree with a red amulet in its center and blue and yellow war paint covering a face carved into its trunk dropped from the ceiling. It landed squarely on top of God-Art, crushing the deity and spraying his bright blood everywhere. Agent 27142, Beverly, and Henry simultaneously gasped in surprise.
A half-dozen additional Treendians dropped from whatever perch on which they were hiding up near the ceiling and landed next to the first. The first Treendian stepped off God-Art’s crushed body. Its companions began making a series of ululating clicking noises from their mouths. They then proceeded to take turns using their car-sized mallets to smash both God-Art’s corpse and the fluttering pixies that formed from his blood. Soon, where God-Art’s body had been lay a mass of bloody pulp that resembled a disgusting side dish of mashed potatoes doused in entire bottles of ketchup.
Agent 27142 sighed and muttered, “This is exactly why I never delegate.”
He unholstered the new Scatter Gun pistol that he had picked up from his safehouse and took aim at the first Treendian that had dropped from the ceiling. He clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger. Lightning leapt from the tip of the pistol and connected directly between the Treendian’s ferocious eyes. It yelped and disintegrated. The group of Treendians stopped toying with God-Art’s corpse and glanced over at the source of the lightning. They seemed to notice Agent 27142 for the first time, and expressions of murderous excitement appeared on their carved faces. Each raised its mallet above its head and began stalking toward Agent 27142.
But then God-Art’s head reformed from the squashed, bloody, unidentifiable mess on the ground. The god winked at Agent 27142. Then flames reappeared from the god’s scalp. God-Art sucked in a large breath, shut his eyes, and an expression appeared on his face that made it look like he was pushing as hard as he could.
The flames on God-Art’s head erupted. They launched from his head and formed into a giant phoenix. The phoenix breathed fire onto the Treendians, and they dropped their mallets and began running in tight little circles as they screamed in agony. Agent 27142 looked from the phoenix down to God-Art, whose head was now shiny and bald. The god’s pupils were dashing left and right and up and down, and whichever way he jerked his pupils, the phoenix lurched through the air in that direction. The god used the phoenix to burn every single crate in the room.
Agent 27142 screamed at the god, “Hey! Don’t let the fire get out of control! We still need to get through this place without burning ourselves to death!”
The remainder of God-Art’s body reformed from the bloody pulp. The god said, “I obviously wouldn’t have used fire if it was going to impede us or harm us. I’m a god of mischief, not a god of stupidity.”
There was something oddly disturbing about having a conversation with a person whose pupils were darting every direction, but Agent 27142 ignored the sentiment and said, “OK, then why don’t you go ahead and show me how it won’t be a problem so that we can get moving before every B.T.T. agent in the building swarms this sub-basement.”
Flames had spread to fill the entirety of the room behind God-Art. God-Art shrugged. He spun on his heels and began walking forward into the flame. “C’mon,” he said. “Stay near me and you’ll be fine.”
The god raised his hands into the air, and a bubble formed within the flames. Agent 27142 entered the room and shut the secret entrance behind him. He crept up as close to God-Art as he could. The pair shuffled forward at a pace as near to a sprint as they could muster while the warehouse around them burned. They passed by the smashed and rotting corpses of Agent 27142’s long-dead soldiers, many of which were naught but gray skeletons that were in the process of blackening due to the spreading flames. Agent 27142 opened his mouth to warn the god not to activate the laser tripwires, but he shut it when the god tripped the first one. All that happened was the trap in the ceiling shot conical ray beams into nearby crates, but these crates were already burning, so any Treendians that formed from the process merely came into existence, screamed a death cry, and burned into oblivion.
The pair reached the back of the warehouse. Agent 27142 si
ghed and thanked his lucky stars that the computer terminal that sat next to the elevators had not yet been engulfed in the spreading flames.
Agent 27142 sat at the computer terminal and turned it on. It booted up. He typed the override password that he had learned long ago from the B.I.T. High Commander’s classified documents. Then he tapped the icon marked Crew and Passenger Manifest Search. He typed Prisoner-Art’s full name and home reality number into the search function as fast as he could. Two entries popped up. But both said they were aboard the same ship, so he shrugged.
Agent 27142 said, “This lists our prey as aboard the B.T.S. Unicorn Husker. But the ship is not at this point in time. It is currently in the past. We will need to steal a ship from the B.T.T. to pursue it.”
God-Art nodded, his pupils still darting around as they guided the phoenix. “OK. Let’s do it.”
Agent 27142 accessed a database of ships docked at the B.T.T. headquarters and typed more commands into the computer. “And there we go. There’s an unmanned transport ship up on floor eighty-eight. Just finished routine maintenance and the crew has been granted R&R for the next three days on one of this building’s paradise floors.”
God-Art pressed the button to call an elevator car. Then he said, “Let’s get moving.”
The phoenix flew down from the ceiling and perched on the god’s head, where it sank back into his scalp. In mere seconds, all that remained was God-Art’s regular flaming hair. The fire behind the god continued spreading through the warehouse, and the aftermath of the chaotic destruction shone across the god’s face as disturbing, flickering highlights.
A beep let the group know that the elevator car had arrived. Agent 27142 made a mental note that he probably should not trust the maniacal-looking god. But since necessity had made them the oddest of bedfellows, he swallowed his reservations and walked onto the elevator. God-Art joined him.
*
And Now, Time Travel Page 15