And Now, Time Travel

by Christopher Brimmage

  Every member of the Landing Crew not involved in assassinating Past-God-Art—Alex, Bagoo, 29333, the Arts, Ginny, Drillbot, and the Filbert Squadron of Purple Shirts—scrambled toward the exit. Drillbot chanced a glance down at the stage and noticed that Past-God-Art had not yet left. A few burly gods carrying war hammers and sickles had appeared on stage and were talking with him and the spectacled beast he held chained at his side. Drillbot shrugged and moved with the Landing Crew toward the exit, crushing a few of the severed ears as he rolled past. None of the gods surrounding the Landing Crew seemed to notice their panic.

  Once outside the exit, Alex pointed to the left and they darted down a side hallway. “Stop,” he ordered. “29333, erect a sound shield.”

  29333 produced a small disc from her holster, dropped it to the ground, and stepped on it. Blue light fountained from its top and formed a sphere around the group. 29333 said, “Done, sir. No sound’s getting in or out.”

  Alex nodded his thanks to her. Then he turned to the Landing Crew. “I thought that damned god was never going to escape us.”

  Drillbot tried to speak, but he could still only produce CLACKs. Ginny seemed to pick up on what he was trying to ask and said, “Wait, you knew he was going to escape?”

  “Of course. We needed him to. Him escaping was our diversion.”

  Ginny placed her hands on her hips and scowled. “And when were you going to tell us?”

  “Well, now. Obviously. The god who stowed away on our mission is now scrambling off to warn his past-self of our intent to assassinate him, which will in turn prevent the assassination altogether.”

  Ginny frowned. “But the entire reason we’re here is to assassinate him. The brief said that we’re supposed to alter this timestream by killing him, which will prevent him from releasing the mathematical equation that will destroy the Space-Time-Multinuum.”

  Alex smirked. He said, “Well, the brief wasn’t entirely true. Besides, if you really thought about it, you’d realize that’s a dumb plan. He’s a god who resurrects himself pretty much at will. If that was our true solution, he’d simply reform himself and eventually repeat this damnable conspiracy at some point in the future.”

  Ginny’s frown deepened. “But-”

  Before she could continue speaking, Alex interrupted her, “But nothing. We don’t have much time. The members of Kappa Squad were not told of our deeper plan. They truly believe they’re up there preparing to assassinate the god. But they’re actually all about to be brutally murdered when the alarm goes up. So, we must ensure their sacrifices aren’t in vain by sneaking backstage and doing something much subtler: we must alter the math in the god’s equation ever-so-slightly. We shall alter it so that his math succeeds in preventing new realities from branching off of existing ones—because if this is not the case, then there would be a reality out there where we fail, rendering our work moot—but then is coded to immediately run an imperceptible counter-virus to cancel his equation’s effects. And we must do it so that he and all the gods gathered here think his plan succeeded completely and believe they’ve won.”

  Ginny frowned. “That doesn’t make sense,” she said.

  Finally, Drillbot’s processors clicked back into place. He found that he could control his fine motor skills and that he could speak once more. “[whir] Yes it – CLACK – Yes it does. It’s perfectly – CLACK – perfectly logical. The Purple Shirt assassins are the lives we are – CLACK – we are sacrificing to save the Space-Time-CLACK-Multinuum. First Officer Alexandros ho Megas could not reveal the – CLACK – reveal the true plan to us earlier because he engineered for Former-Master-Art to be possessed by God-Art, and he needed to create a – CLACK – create a convincing charade to fool the mischief god into believing his past-self’s plan works so that – CLACK – so that God-Art would believe he bested the – CLACK – the B.T.T. Drillbot would wager that only the Captain, Alex, Bagoo, Older-Art, and 29333 knew the – CLACK – knew the true plan. And now, because God-Art thoroughly believes we are here to assassinate him, he won’t be watching for a flank attack on his – CLACK – on his math.”

  Alex nodded. “You know, for a robot, you’re pretty intuitive.”

  “[whir] And for a – CLACK – for a fleshy bag of meat, you are pretty – CLACK – pretty intelli-” Drillbot began to reply before realizing that he was speaking to nobody, because Alex had already spun on his heel and sprinted down the hall, with the remainder of the Landing Crew following close behind.

  Drillbot sighed.

  Chapter 17

  THE CUTEST LITTLE CANNON FODDER

  Agent 27142 stepped off the ship with God-Art. As soon as they were off, God-Art raised his hands above his head and began making noises that sounded like ululating moans. The ground began vibrating, and then vines sprouted from it. The vines grew rapidly, twisting high into the air and then stretching themselves over the ship, covering it in a thin layer of curled greenery.

  “What are you doing?” asked Agent 27142.

  God-Art smiled. “Cloaking our ship. It will register to anyone searching for it as a patch of thick grass.”

  “How?”

  “Magic, obviously.”

  Agent 27142 sighed. “I hate magic,” he said.

  God-Art shrugged and then stalked over to a set of bones. They poked out from underneath a gigantic boulder that lay in the clearing.

  “One of yours?” asked the god.

  Agent 27142 stared at the heap of weathered carcass, which included a crushed skull and four horse-legs, the bottoms of which were stuck beneath the gigantic gray boulder. A B.I.T. badge lay nestled amongst the bones like a golden necklace embedded in a rat’s nest. Agent 27142 picked it up and stared at it. He said, “Affirmative. Member of Squadron Ampersand. Crushed to death by a Cyclops after our raid on the B.T.T.”

  God-Art nodded. Then he cupped a hand in front of his mouth and whispered something into it. The words transformed into a powder that fell from his mouth and into his hand. He smirked and flung the powder at the boulder that lay atop the bones. The powder hit the boulder and then spread across it. The boulder began shaking and then transformed into thousands of butterflies that rose up into the air in a great swarm.

  Agent 27142 nodded as five more carcasses were revealed beneath the boulder. He recalled watching these six soldiers being crushed as he was tossed into the maw of a Cyclops, and he shuddered.

  God-Art twisted a dial on the silver eight-shaped device. Then he aimed it at the first pile of bones, the one that included the horse-legs. God-Art squeezed the trigger.

  A green blast of conical light burst from the silver object’s end and enveloped the broken bones. They began to glow. Then time within the green light reversed. Color came back to the bones. Then the gradual decay of muscle and organs began reversing, reattaching to the bones in a matter of seconds. Finally, skin and hair reformed, followed lastly by the dead agent’s uniform.

  A puzzled B.I.T. agent now stood where only bones had been seconds before. It was a centaur named Agent 4040404—referred to affectionately by his fellow troops as Not-Found. He had hollow cheeks and a long face. A ponytail of black hair stretched from the back of his head to his waist, where his human torso ended. His lower half was a horse with chestnut fur and a tail so long that it dangled from his rear end to flutter upon the ground. Agent 4040404 roared in confusion and reared up on his hind legs.

  Agent 27142 grabbed God-Art by the hem of the cloak and demanded, “What the hell are you doing?”

  God-Art shrugged. “What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked.

  “It looks like you’re bringing my dead soldier back to life.”

  “You are a perceptive one.”

  Agent 27142 sighed. “Why? We are in a hurry, and these soldiers were not chosen to accompany me here because of their intelligence or initiative. I chose them because they followed orders without questioning me. They are disposable lackies, and nothing more.”

  Agent 27142 did not deign to glanc
e at Agent 4040404, for he did not care if his assessment of the agent affected the agent’s emotions.

  God-Art smirked. He gestured with the small device in his hand and said, “Then the why should be pretty obvious. We’re about to embark on a dangerous journey, and I would rather send disposable lackies into danger ahead of me, since dying and resurrecting myself is not always fun. And I’m sure you would prefer to do the same, since you do not have the ability to resurrect yourself.”

  Agent 27142 strummed his chin for a moment as he thought. Then he nodded. He said, “Understood, and I cannot dispute the strategy. Carry on.”

  God-Art nodded back. “Glad we can agree on something.”

  God-Art turned and began walking to the next pile of lifeless bones that had been revealed beneath the gigantic boulder. Before the god made it more than a step, Agent 27142 grabbed the back of his cloak.

  “Wait a second,” Agent 27142 demanded. “Something’s been bothering me. The B.T.T. is an invisible organization. Anything about them is classified in my agency, and you must reach a relatively high status to even gain knowledge of their existence. When did you encounter B.T.T. agents, and how did you live to tell the tale?”

  God-Art shrugged. “Long time ago. When I hosted the Montenegro Bay Convention on Earth 8,669. The B.T.T. tried to stop me, and they failed.”

  Agent 27142 let out a low whistle. “The Conspiracy of the Gods?” he asked. “That was you?”

  God-Art nodded. “Guilty.”

  Agent 27142 scowled. “Then you realize that once we have successfully achieved our mutual goals, I will need to detain you for this crime.”

  God-Art smirked. “You’re welcome to try,” he said, stalking away to continue resurrecting dead soldiers.

  The centaur roared once more and stomped his hooves on the ground. Dust kicked up below him. “Where am I?” he asked.

  “OK, you’ve got my attention,” muttered Agent 27142. He walked over to the centaur and placed a palm on the creature’s flank. “Calm down, agent. Everything is OK.”

  Agent 4040404 screamed, “What is happening? I do not understand!”

  Agent 27142 said, “You were dead. We brought you back to life to help with a mission of dire importance.”

  “What? No!”

  Agent 27142 frowned, making a mental note to punish Agent 4040404 later for insubordination. “What do you mean, ‘No?’” he demanded.

  The centaur replied, “I was at peace, sir. I was a stud in my people’s heaven. I mated with cosmic foals to create centaur-angels—sometimes hundreds a day. And you ripped me away from that, sir!”

  Agent 27142’s frown deepened. “Then this is unfortunate for you,” he said. “But you made a vow to the B.I.T., and your services are still needed.”

  Agent 4040404 frowned. “But I died doing my duty. I’m supposed to be free.”

  “Nothing in the vow you took mentions freedom upon death,” replied Agent 27142.

  The centaur’s shoulders sank, and tears streamed from his eyes. “But I was finally happy, sir.”

  Agent 27142 shrugged. “Your happiness is not my concern,” he said. “We have a mission. If you perform your duties admirably, then when we are finished, I may be convinced to allow you to commit honorable suicide to return to your centaur-heaven.”

  The centaur’s shoulders slumped even further. “It doesn’t work like that. I have to die bravely in battle.”

  Agent 27142 shrugged once more. “Then there’s nothing I can do, except promise you that you will see battle again. Hopefully you shall die taking many of the enemy with you.”

  Agent 4040404 frowned and nodded. “Fine,” he muttered. “Since I’ve no other option.”

  Agent 27142 glanced away from the centaur to find that God-Art had already reversed time on the other five corpses that had been trapped under the boulder. The god had somehow also known that three more soldiers had been crushed to death under a separate boulder near the entrance to the cave that housed the Moirai. The god had already removed this boulder and had resurrected the three corpses beneath it. The god smirked at Agent 27142 and disappeared into the cave.

  Agent 27142 cursed. The resurrected soldiers stood in states of confusion and anger and glee, some having been returned from oblivion, some from heavens, and some from hells, each depending on his/her/its own home culture’s interpretation of the afterlife. Agent 27142 stalked as quickly as he could over to his resurrected soldiers. He walked amongst them, reassuring those that needed reassurance, threatening those that needed threatening, and coaxing those that needed coaxing. Soon, he had the revived soldiers following him through the cave after God-Art, welcoming back more dead comrades each time the god resurrected them.

  *

  “Had three more soldiers that disappeared into these surrounding caves,” said Agent 27142. “Was pretty obvious at the time that something in there ate them. I’d recommend that we leave them dead.”

  “You got that right, mate,” replied God-Art. “We’d have to sift through entirely too much mythological fecal matter to find them. And since we’re just going to use them as cannon fodder, anyway, I’d say they’re shit out of luck.”

  Agent 27142 followed God-Art out of the cave with a reformed Squadron Ampersand at nearly full strength—sixteen in all. Aside from the three soldiers who had been eaten in the cave’s tunnels during the search for the Moirai and the one soldier who had defected from the B.I.T. and run away to retrieve Cyclopic reinforcements at the Muse’s behest, God-Art had resurrected all of them in a matter of minutes.

  God-Art then led the group out of this cave and into the cave on the other side of the clearing—the one in which the secret entrance into the B.T.T.’s compound was located.

  On the way to the back of the cave, the god used the Timeflow Gun to resurrect the ten Squadron Umbrella soldiers who had been killed by the Anachro-Mine. Upon reaching the back of the cave, the group stood before the entrance to the B.T.T. compound.

  God-Art put his ear to the wall, listened for a moment, and then turned to Agent 27142. The god said, “I hear B.T.T. agents in there. Lots of them.”

  Agent 27142 frowned and replied, “Then we don’t open the door. Squadron Twelve and the remainder of Squadron Umbrella will just need to remain dead.”

  God-Art guffawed. “Please. I told you: I can handle the B.T.T. Give me a moment to prepare, and on my mark, open the door as quietly as you can.”

  Agent 27142 shrugged. God-Art sat on the ground and began whistling onto the dirt. It rose up into a miniature tornado that floated in front of him. He then dug his arm into the pouch that hung from his belt. He retrieved a ball of snow as large as a mammoth. A freezing wind crept across the cave. The god tossed the snowball into the mini-tornado, and even though the snowball was much larger than the tornado, it disappeared inside. The tornado’s color transformed from dusty brown to dazzling white.

  “Now,” said God-Art.

  Agent 27142 input the combination and opened the entrance as silently as he could. Once open, he saw dozens and dozens of purple-shirted B.T.T. agents with fire-retardant equipment, spraying the room to put out the flames that God-Art had earlier left burning in the room. Dozens upon dozens more were trudging through the room, scanning the scene with handheld equipment that appeared to be some sort of DNA detector with screens that featured chronal and geolocation information. The two agents nearest the entrance were currently using their devices to scan a footprint that God-Art had scorched into the floor of the warehouse.

  Before any of the B.T.T. agents even realized anything was amiss, God-Art blew upon his tornado. It erupted into the warehouse and bounced from one agent’s head to the next, encircling each head just briefly enough to apply a thin mask of snow to each agent’s face. Screams resounded from each agent for a few seconds before they each collapsed into deep, pained slumbers.

  “What the hell did you do?” asked Agent 27142.

  God-Art replied, “On my home-reality, I was given the duty to bring
sleep to my pantheon’s subjects. I did so by using snow from atop my mountain fortress. It overwhelms your pain receptors until you pass out. I keep tons of it in my pouch for cases such as this.”

  The god did not wait for a reply from Agent 27142. Instead, he sprinted into the warehouse and used the Timeflow Gun to resurrect the ten dead members of Squadron Umbrella and the thirteen dead members of Squadron Twelve that had been killed by Treendians. The group exited the warehouse through the secret door in the wall, and Agent 27142 shut it behind them.

  As the group walked back toward the entrance of the cave, God-Art noticed something. His heels skidded to a halt on the dirt floor of the cave. Agent 27142 stopped, too, expecting that some new threat had just been exposed.

  Instead, Agent 27142 watched as God-Art crouched next to a set of fossilized bones embedded in the wall. The last few times Agent 27142 had been in this cave, he had been so focused on his missions that he never noticed fossils entrenched in the cracked cave wall.

  As Agent 27142 stared at the bones of the creature, blue letters appeared in his goggles and informed him: BeavBok, sentient creature native to Earth 798,098. Resembles a combination of a beaver cub and a baby chicken, but it has the intelligence of a humanoid. Would advise against eating, since its meat is high in copper and there are myths that the creature’s spirit will latch onto your soul and slowly devour your sanity if consumed.

  “Looks like it must have died long, long ago,” said God-Art. “I’m going to see if this gun will reverse a death this old.”

  Agent 27142 shrugged. He readied his Scatter Gun pistol to defend himself just in case. “The goggles say the creature’s race was sentient. I’m aligned. Give it a shot.”

  God-Art aimed the business end of the Timeflow Gun at the bones and squeezed the trigger. The green light enveloped the bones, and a few dozen seconds later, a three-foot tall beaver with a chicken beak instead of a snout stood before God-Art and Agent 27142. The beaver had black fur, two humongous teeth drooping from the tip of its beak, and a gigantic, flat tail. It wore a puffy blue parka and held a spear twice as long as it was tall.