The Indestructibles (Book 3): The Entropy of Everything

by Phillion, Matthew

  Chapter 13:

  The King of Wolves

  After the ruckus died down—at least, after everyone but Emily got themselves back under control—Annie suggested they should find this future's Titus next.

  Older-Jane looked at Kate and Titus and frowned.

  "Annie, you know he's . . ." she started.

  "He'll be fine," Annie said. "He'll be okay."

  "I can't wait to find out how messed up I am in the future," Titus said, his voice laden with sarcasm. "I'm not dreading this at all."

  Older-Jane smiled.

  "You're what's holding this world together, Titus Whispering," she said. "You're doing exactly what you were born to do. But it's been rough on you. Just be ready."

  Titus looked at Kate, but the Dancer offered no comfort, looking coldly ahead.

  "Let's go," she said.

  Jessie, the replacement Straylight, gestured for everyone to follow her. She led them down a poorly lit corridor, through an area that looked like it might have once been an atrium, now littered with glass from broken windows. Through another set of doors into a sort of theater—no, Titus realized, an actual theater, but battered and broken, seats scattered around, water damage permeated the walls. One of those tiered classrooms you see in Ivy League schools on TV.

  Sitting on the stage, silhouetted by dim backlighting, was the largest werewolf he'd ever seen. Bigger even than Gabriel, the older, elegant warrior who had taught him how to fight when he went looking for his past last year. Massive, gray-furred shoulders, moving up and down with animalistic breathing. As Titus walked further into the room, he knew suddenly that this was not the only werewolf here, there were others, five, maybe six, resting in the shadows as well. The big wolf had a pack here. Some of them even smelled faintly familiar. Titus knew he might be able to identify them if he transformed, but he held back. Better to wait.

  The big werewolf slid off the stage, the ground rumbling as his full weight hit the floor. He waved a massive paw to one side, and the lights in the theater rose slightly. Someone in the back had turned them up, clearly.

  "Come here, boy," the werewolf said in a thunderous, low growl.

  "I hope he doesn't mean me," Billy said.

  The wolf pointed one huge talon at Titus.

  Titus took a deep breath and walked forward. The werewolf was covered in scars, ravines in his flesh where the fur didn't grow anymore. It was clear from his gait that there was an injury that never healed either, something in his hip or knee that made his step just lightly off-center.

  "Was I ever so damned young," the wolf said, and somewhere behind them, younger-Jane gasped.

  "You're me," Titus said, and the wolf nodded his massive head.

  "I'm you," he said. "And you're me."

  The werewolf inhaled deeply.

  "You're not afraid," he said. "You've found them then."

  "The others? I did," Titus said.

  The werewolf nodded again.

  "When Annie said she was going back," the werewolf said, jaws struggling to form her name, "I wasn't sure if you'd find them. I went to find the pack when Doc died, because there was no one else to teach me."

  "Things weren't so different for me," Titus said, glancing back to where Doc Silence was hanging away from the group. "Different events, but the same reasons."

  The older werewolf smiled. It was a nightmarish sight, rows of white teeth in the darkness.

  "Then there's some people who will be happy to see you," the old wolf said. "Leto?"

  Leto emerged from the darkness like some sort of goddess of death, the ancient female werewolf who had taught Titus so much all those months before. Leto was in full werewolf form as well, that strange, almost jackal-like head cutting an alien silhouette in the darkness. A pale robe draped over her shoulders contrasted with the jet-black of her fur.

  Titus almost ran to her, but held himself back. Remain dignified, he thought. For some reason he felt powerfully compelled to impress his future self.

  The next werewolf to emerge from the darkness had no such qualms.

  "It's like seein' a ghost," Finnigan said, the red-headed werewolf reverting to human form to throw his arms around Titus and pick him up off his feet. "You were never this pretty, Whispering. You were clearly born better-looking in this other timeline."

  Older-Titus huffed a quiet laugh, but said nothing.

  "You've hardly changed," Titus said, his arm gripping the stout man's arm. "It's been almost twenty years, and you haven't changed."

  "Ah, there's some more gray in with the ginger," Finnigan said. "But you know we werewolves and our lifespans. We tend to keep our looks longer than regular folk."

  Titus studied Finnigan's face, unsure. The red-haired werewolf frowned.

  "Well I guess nobody spoiled that little genetic quirk for you back home, did they," he said. "That's unfortunate."

  The grizzled future-Titus studied the group a moment.

  "I hope you've done the right thing, Annie, bringing them here," he said. He gestured at Billy. "You."

  "Me?"

  The older werewolf didn't respond, instead turning to older-Jane from his own timeline.

  "Are you okay," he rumbled.

  She nodded at the younger Titus and smiled.

  "Not even a little bit," she said. "Are you?"

  The big wolf looked around the room, searching for something.

  "No," he said. "But we'll make do."

  "We're here to help," Doc said, finally stepping forward. "From what I understand, this is all my fault."

  "Because you died?" the old wolf said. "I'd sooner blame the person who killed you."

  "We'll talk about that later," Doc said.

  The old wolf nodded.

  "We should get you all brought up to speed," he said. The words sounded uncomfortable and strained through his massive jaws. "Jane, did your spy give you any new information?"

  "He did," older-Jane said. "At the cost of his own life, but he did. But I think we should replay the whole situation with our new friends first. Maybe they can help us piece it all together."

  Titus discerned that his older self was troubled. "What's wrong?" he said, feeling awkward and alien by asking his future self a question so revealing, yet so simple.

  The future-Titus leaned forward.

  "Is she here with you?" he asked. "Kate? Is she with you?"

  "Of course she is," Titus said, before realizing Kate had been completely silent during the exchange. "Where's Kate?"

  "Oh no," Annie said.

  "She's gone to find herself," Titus said.

  "That's not good," Annie said. "Jane?"

  "This way," older-Jane said, leading Annie away. Everyone moved to follow, but both she and Annie held up their hands to stop them.

  "No," Annie said. "Doc, and both Janes. That's it."

  "Not me?" Titus said.

  Annie and older-Jane exchanged looks.

  "Stay out of sight," Annie said. "Just hang back."

  "Why?" Titus asked, turning to the older version of himself for guidance. He found the elder wolf had shuffled back to the stage, hunched over, his back to the group.

  "Just trust me," Annie said. "It's for the best."

  Chapter 14:

  Dancing

  Kate worked her way silently through the darkened hallways of the building, lights flickered as bulbs clung desperately to the last few watts of their lives. She'd seen the look of pity on older-Jane's face. She realized something was wrong, something with her future, and Kate wasn't about to wait idly by until someone else dictated how and when she'd discover it.

  She'd find her own destiny. She always had.

  Kate knew a dance studio or rehearsal space would be located near the theater where they'd met the scarred and monstrous future version of Titus, and so she began to work in concentric circles outward from there until she found what she was looking for.

  She wondered if that was what the future Titus had waiting for him. A monster and a her
o, damaged and limping, a pack of others like him hiding in the shadows and waiting for his commands. They had spoken briefly about what Titus learned in his time in Canada and how he was expected to be some sort of leader among the wolves, that he was a Whispering, whatever that word might mean, and that he would have responsibilities to his kind some day. And that those responsibilities would extend to humankind as well.

  Responsibilities always come with a terrible cost, Kate thought. The only safe thing to do is to understand your limits, to know exactly where your breaking point is, to ride that razor edge with skill and care.

  Where am I? Kate thought. What do I become? Am I monster as well? Or am I dead and gone, like Billy, my life ended in some poorly planned attempt at exceeding my own abilities?

  Kate wondered also what it would take to kill someone like Billy, protected as he was by the alien powers of Straylight. She'd hosted the alien for a while when Billy was incarcerated. She hadn't had a chance to really test the limits of those powers, but she knew how she'd felt, invincible, filled to the brim with power. Those powers would protect you, she thought, but they could also make you reckless, until some day eventually, everything fails you.

  Alien guardian angels and friends both.

  She found the studio, lights out, music playing softly from a small, battery-operated radio. A dim glow seeped in through foggy skylights. In the darkness, a woman danced.

  There's a language to dance. Some people become fluent in it and speak their emotions through movement—punctuation through the bend of a limb, exclamation via striated muscle. It is a manner of speaking that doesn't always require fluency to comprehend. Kate had seen people who never understood the intricacies of dance break down in tears at the sight of a performance. Though unable to explain why it cracked something deep inside them, why they remained inconsolable, their primal self clearly read the tale the dancer was trying to express.

  But if you are a dancer, and if you're lucky, you can read the story in the dance almost like words on a page.

  This dancer spun a tragic drama. A broken ballet, bastardized with pieces of modern, aggressive, frustrated, angry steps, feet landing hard and furious on the floor. She focused on working some inner dialogue out, a cry for help, for forgiveness, for a second chance. She moved across the floor like water.

  Kate Miller, the vigilante Dancer, does not feel sadness, she often told herself. I don't have time to feel sad. It makes nothing better, it does not bring back the dead, it fixes nothing.

  And yet, watching this woman dance, she felt her heart break in two. Kate stifled a sob with her fist, teeth biting into the fabric of a glove.

  Why does this dance hurt so much? she thought.

  The woman turned and Kate saw her own face, eyes covered with a blindfold, a cruel scar running up her forehead and into her hairline. She untied the blindfold. Sightless eyes looked back at her.

  "I can hear you," future-Kate said. "Who are you? Not one of Titus's little puppies."

  Kate didn't answer. She simply stared. Her future self was all lean muscle, but frailer, without the fighting strength Kate herself carried in her shoulders and back. This future self really did look like a ballerina, strong but slender, yet showing the affects of the vigilante life in the scar tissue visible on the bare flesh of her arms and chest.

  "Now, I know who you are," the sightless woman said.

  "Of course you do," Kate said.

  "Annie came back," future-Kate said. "I was hoping I'd be smart enough not to come with her, but you came along anyway."

  Future-Kate walked toward the far wall, placed her fingertips against it, then followed the edge until she found a water bottle on the floor. She took a long sip.

  "We shouldn't have come here," Kate said.

  Her future self nodded in agreement.

  "We don't deserve the help," she said. "We had our chance. We failed at every turn."

  "What happened to you," Kate said. "To us."

  The future dancer shook her head.

  "Do you ever feel inferior to them?" she said.

  "What?" Kate asked.

  "To the other Indestructibles," the dancer said. "What a ridiculous name. The Indestructibles. Is that what you're called in your timeline?"

  "It is," Kate said.

  "The press called us that in this timeline. Named us. Stupid name," future-Kate said. "We're all destructible. We're all breakable. Some more than others."

  "What happened to your sight?" Kate said.

  "The visual cortex," the future dancer said. "You know where it is?"

  "The back of the brain," Kate said.

  The old dancer nodded. "Gone in a split second," she said. "We are not indestructible."

  Kate heard footsteps.

  Anachronism Annie walked into the room slowly, backlit by the strange, warm glow older-Jane cast behind her. Younger-Jane—my Jane, Kate thought—sauntered almost bashfully behind both of them.

  "Everything okay in here?" Annie said.

  "Yeah," Kate said, her voice rough.

  "You shouldn't have brought them here, Annie," future-Kate said. "Bring them home before it's too late."

  Older-Jane gestured for the others to leave.

  Annie stepped back, watching younger-Kate.

  The future dancer reached out and grabbed her younger self by the arm, pulling her in close.

  "You're always right," the woman whispered. "Remember that. Remember your instincts. You will always be right." Then, she let Kate go, and the younger dancer took an unsteady step back.

  Younger-Jane tried to help, but Kate shrugged her off. Their older versions were arguing in hushed tones, the future-Kate clearly agitated, her version of Jane trying to calm her.

  The younger versions locked eyes for a second, but Kate turned and stormed away, almost crashing into Titus in the hallway, where the young werewolf stood with Doc Silence.

  "Kate?" Titus said, softly.

  Kate peered back into the dark dance studio, toward the soft sounds of her future self engaged in a pointless debate, and fumed off into the hallway alone, leaving Titus behind.

  Chapter 15:

  The secret history of the world (part 1)

  Jane returned with her older self, Annie, and Titus to the theater where the others were waiting. Titus wanted to go after Kate, Jane knew, but the young werewolf understood better than to try to speak with the Dancer when she was angry, and clearly her experience with her future self had left Kate shaken.

  In the theater, Titus's future self, still in full-on werewolf form, sat on the stage like a king presiding over a court. Doc and Emily sat front and center—Doc, like a petulant student, rested on the back of one of the theater's chairs, and Emily mimicked his posture perfectly—while Billy milled about alone in the back of the hall, deep in conversation with Dude.

  Jane caught Emily's eye and gestured at Billy with a nod of her chin, but Emily shrugged and made a cartoonishly large gesture with her whole head toward the nearby Jessie, the future's newer Straylight.

  Jane sighed quietly at Emily's lack of subtlety and searched for a place to sit down.

  "It may be useful if we had a more complete understanding of where things went differently here," Doc said. "We know some of the basics, but maybe if we learn the 'how,' we might be able to help more."

  "What are you going to do?" Jessie asked. "Go back in time and fix it?"

  Doc shook his head. "Not an option."

  "Because you can't, or because you won't?" Jessie said.

  Doc turned his attention from the young hero to the older Titus.

  "You wouldn't know this, because I was gone before I was able to tell all of you everything in this timeline, but you can't alter the past," Doc said. He shot a defiant stare at Annie, who glared back at him. "And we know that because we've tried and failed before. The past doesn't want to be changed."

  "But we can try to alter the present," Annie said. "We can help here."

  "I'm not even going to pretend t
o understand what you're talking about," Jessie said.

  "If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me . . ." Emily said, but Jane shushed her.

  Older-Titus shuffled to the edge of the stage and settled down on his haunches.

  "Enough," he said. "Where do you want us to begin, Doc? What don't you know?"

  "Near as I can tell, things started to go differently when I died," Doc said. Finnigan and Jessie shifted uncomfortably, but Doc waved them off. "This isn't the first time I found out I died early in another timeline. It's okay."

  "I hope I never get to the point where I can say that so casually," younger-Titus said.

  His older counterpart grunted, quieting the entire room. Then, he looked at the Jane from his timeline. "You should tell. You know the most about what happened," older-Titus said.

  Future-Jane nodded. "This is surreal, you know?" she said, looking at Doc. "Losing you was like . . . well, John Hawkins was my father, but you were pretty close yourself."

  Doc smiled.

  "I'm glad for that," he said. "But it'll be okay. Just tell me what you can. Do you know who it was? Who killed me?"

  "We knew that right away," future-Jane said. "We knew that as soon as it happened. It was Lady Natasha Grey."

  Then future-Jane settled in to tell the story.

  * * *

  Once, in another past:

  Doc Silence watched his students training together and felt a quiet pride well up inside.

  His four pupils—Jane, Kate, Titus, and Billy—gathered in the massive space within the Tower that was designed for superhumans to test their limits. A few moments earlier the room had rumbled with mock combat and flashed with the light generated by Billy's and Jane's powers. Now, however, the room was filled with laughter. Doc, situated in the observatory above, couldn't make out the exact words, but Titus was ribbing Billy about something; Jane laughed, watching them with a pride not unlike Doc's own, aware that they were finally becoming something closer to heroes. Kate hung back, as she always did, but Doc knew she was present, in the moment, was now a part of the group, not an outsider no matter how much she initially wanted to be.