by J Boyd Long
“Well, pay attention, Einstein. We’re learning the hand signals.”
Bob and Tocho spent the next fifteen minutes teaching Quentin and Eissa their sign language and hand signal system. It was a hodge-podge collection of things that had evolved over the years, but Quentin picked it up fairly easily. When he was satisfied that they could all understand each other through any of the scenarios that they were likely to encounter, he leaned back against the wall and looked up at the moon.
If they did end up living here forever, or in the Genesis Dimension, he hoped it would be worthwhile. It was hard to get excited about martyring yourself if no one knew that you were making a sacrifice for them. And even if they did know, would anyone be inspired to greatness as a result? Would humanity flourish?
“Have you ever gone back to one of the dimensions that you saved?” Quentin asked.
“Yeah, we’ve been to a few of them,” Tocho said.
“So, what happened? Did they find a way to succeed, or did some power-hungry tyrant swoop in and take over?”
“Well, you have to keep the timeframe in mind,” Bob said. “It takes multiple generations to build a successful system of any kind. You can’t expect an enslaved society to figure out how to self-govern right away, especially when they’ve never seen any way of ruling, other than the iron fist. We were going there within a few years of their revolution, so they didn’t have time to work everything out.”
You didn’t have to go to another dimension to find an example of that. Africa was still trying to recover from five hundred years of colonialization. Removing the oppressors didn’t solve the problems right away. Real stabilization took a lot of time, and a lot of external support. African countries had neither, and the dimensions in question were most likely in the same boat.
“Well, I guess that makes sense,” Quentin said. “It makes me wish we could use the time machine part, so we could jump forward and see how it all worked out for them.” He paused for a moment. “I think what I’m looking for is some hope in humanity. Does that make sense? I want to see that just once, people were able to overcome greed, and make a world that meets its potential.”
Bob cleared his throat.
“You’d probably be disappointed.”
“Yeah?”
“Based on what you seem to consider to be important, yeah. Not everyone has the same values.”
“Right and wrong are pretty clear,” Eissa said.
“Sure, when you’re talking about murder and stealing,” Bob said. “But it’s not always so clear. Is it right to drill for oil so that you can have cars and electricity, even if it destroys part of the earth? Is it right to cut down forests to build farms and housing, even if it displaces the animals that live there? Is it right to force someone else to change the way they live because you think you have a better way?”
Quentin felt a grin tug at his lips as Eissa opened her mouth, and then closed it again. This was a discussion they’d had a thousand times over the years. Part of him wanted to get involved, but he decided to sit back and see how Eissa fared with Bob.
“It’s a numbers game,” Bob went on. “Even if most people evolve a more socially and environmentally conscious awareness, it won’t be across the board. There will always be some people that are willing to accept the price of those things, and some that aren’t.”
Eissa shook her head, as if refusing the conclusion that she was coming to.
“So, really, this whole thing is pointless, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, even if we’re successful in shutting down DimCorp forever, someone else will come along in every one of those dimensions and start the cycle all over again.”
“Well, eventually, yes,” Bob said. “But you’re looking at it from the wrong perspective.”
“What other perspective is there?”
“You’re looking at it like if you can’t save everyone, then there’s no point in saving anyone,” Bob said. “I know, because that’s the same place I ended up. Tocho had to set me straight on it. Even now, he still has to remind me now and again.”
Quentin’s heart skipped a beat as the puzzle pieces fell into place in his head. Eissa wasn’t the only one who had missed the boat with her perspective. That’s exactly how he had been thinking about it, too. It seemed so obvious as soon as Bob said it. He was glad that he hadn’t said anything and made a fool of himself.
“Bob managed to save me and my people,” Tocho said. “He didn’t stop all the slavery on our planet, but he stopped it where my mother was, and my sisters and brothers, my neighbors and their children. It matters to them. There are lots of groups of people scattered across the dimensions who are free today because of our efforts. It matters to them.”
They fell silent for a moment. This was what Quentin had been looking for, a way to justify his efforts. Do you have delusions of grandiosity, Quentin? Probably. Do you absolutely have to be the savior of all mankind, or can you settle for saving some of mankind? If he was being honest with himself, Quentin really hated the idea of settling, even if it was clearly the right answer. It was hell being a logical thinker with insecurity issues.
“You have to know why you do what you do,” Bob said. “You have to examine what you believe in, and compare that to the world. If you don’t know what your values are, or what you want to accomplish with your efforts, then you can’t get anything done. You’re just occupying space. You have to know what inspires you to action.”
Quentin sat up straight as the words clicked into place in his mind. He had spent a great deal of time trying to understand people, and the problems they had. It had seemed like a noble pursuit, but now he saw that it was pointless to know what was wrong with society, if he didn’t try to do anything with that knowledge. He had only been seeing half of the picture. The sudden realization drove the butterflies out of his stomach and cemented his resolve. He climbed to his feet, and the other three looked at him expectantly.
“I heard a quote once that went something like this,” Quentin said. “‘All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to stand by and do nothing.’ Now, I realize that what we’re doing won’t matter in the overall history of humanity. But, like Tocho said, it will matter to those people who are alive right now, whose lives might be a little better if I do something, and a lot worse if I don’t. It matters to them, and that matters to me. I can’t change everything, but I can change something, and that’s not nothing.”
“Bravo,” Eissa said with a laugh, clapping her hands. “When you get inspired, you get really inspired.”
“Well then, I guess we need to get moving,” Bob said. “We’re all tired, and Quentin’s liable to be starving here pretty soon, and there’s a few hundred things that could go wrong, but we’re never going to have a better shot than right now. Are you all ready?”
“Let’s do it,” Eissa said.
Tocho looked at Bob. “How do you want to handle security?” he asked. “Guns, or no guns?”
“I think our best bet is no guns,” Bob said. “Since things are under construction, there’s probably a fair variety of people coming and going who don’t know each other. If we do run into a security patrol and get caught, we have a good chance of bluffing our way through it by pretending that we’re working there. If we’re armed, that goes out the window.”
“Do we really look like a believable work crew?” Eissa asked. “I mean, no offense, Bob, but you look like a wild mountain man, and the only building that would look appropriate for Tocho to be in is a tipi. Even I can’t come up with a plausible story as to why the four of us would be there together. We just don’t look right for the part.”
“Well, maybe there’s a believable cover story here,” Quentin said. “At IBZ, where I work, well, used to work, there’s a consulting group that comes through every once in a while, to find ways to make us more efficient. They’re a pretty hodgepodge mix of retired people who got bored and young college grads. Maybe we could pass ourselves off as a consult
ing group.”
“I like it.” Bob grinned, and pulled his hair back in a ponytail with one hand. “Call me Colonel Mustard, retired military building inspector.”
“Yes, and I’ll be Straight Arrow, retired vice president of operations for the Gay Rights Association,” Tocho said, clapping his hands. He was clearly excited about the idea of role-playing.
“Straight Arrow, that’s hilarious.” Eissa burst out laughing. “I just now got that. I love it.”
“Everyone does,” Tocho said. “The whole tribe got a big kick out of it when Straight Arrow turned out to be flamingly gay. Well, not my family so much, but everyone else. My family came around after a while, though. After all, the irony is too good to not appreciate.”
“Ok, so we’re a consulting group,” Quentin said, trying to get the focus back on the mission. “What is our purpose in being there? We need to all be on the same page, so we can answer the questions a security guard will most likely ask.”
“Simple is always best,” Bob said. “We’re making sure that the day crew has really accomplished the tasks that they’re billing for. We’re looking at the progress on various aspects of the project, which we will balance against their paperwork. Nothing more, nothing less.”
“That sounds reasonable,” Eissa said. “What’s the name of our firm? Who do we work for?”
“That’s a good place to be vague,” Bob said. “We don’t have any way to know the names of the companies who are working there. So, it’s best to be a subcontractor, like The Taylor Group, or something like that. We won’t be on the list, but we’ll point out that we’re a subcontractor, and the primary contractor probably forgot to put us on the list. It happens all the time. They aren’t going to be too suspicious of us if we don’t look like we’re trying to steal building materials or something.”
“That’s good, I like it,” Tocho said. “We should probably see what we’ve got in the way of respectable clothes. Inspectors wouldn’t show up looking like this.”
“Ah, good point,” Quentin said. “I didn’t even think about that.”
“The devil is in the details,” Bob said with a wink. “Okay, let’s get the clothes box inside so we can see what we’re doing.”
It took a few times of trying things on before they all looked presentable, but they each found something that would work. Bob combed out his hair, and pulled it back into a ponytail, which he secured with a few rubber bands. Tocho found some clip boards in another box, which helped tremendously in making them look the part. As their ensemble came together, Quentin began to feel more confident that they could pull this off.
Tocho stepped over to Quentin, holding out a can of peaches. “Here, eat this, if you can stomach it.”
Quentin took the can and sat down at the table. “Thanks,” he said. “It’s probably a good idea.”
“Yeah, the last thing you need now is a sugar crash,” Eissa said.
Quentin slurped down the peaches, as the rest of them made adjustments to their wardrobes and washed up. A wave of calm washed over him as he ate, and he realized how bad he had needed food. He lifted the can in a silent toast of gratitude to Tocho, who nodded back with a grin. When he was finished, they gathered at the door.
“Is everyone ready?” Quentin asked.
They all nodded, and Tocho blew out the lamps. Quentin led them out the door and across the yard towards the DimGate. Tocho brought up the rear, carrying one of the hurricane lamps. He held it up for Bob as they gathered around the control panel.
“Okay,” Tocho said. “While Bob gets the door ready, let’s run over the hand signals again. Eissa, two guards walk through the door, and come towards you. What do you do?”
Eissa stared at the ground in silence. Despite the relative darkness, Quentin could see her shoulders hitching and her chest heaving, and he realized that she was having an anxiety attack. He reached out and grabbed her arm, and gave it a shake.
“Hey kid, are you still with me, here?” he asked, as he squatted down to look in her eyes. Guilt surged through him like an electric current. He’d been so wrapped up with his own issues that he hadn’t even thought about how Eissa was holding up, and she was the one with PTSD.
“Can’t breathe,” she croaked. Her hand clamped down on his forearm in a vice-like grip, as her gaze slowly rose to meet his. “Panicking.”
“Hey, hey, I’ve got you. Think about where you are. Right here with me, on your dream island, and there’s nothing to panic about. Focus on your breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth.” He sucked in a lungful of air, as if to demonstrate, and blew it out.
Tocho stepped up beside them and put his hand on her shoulder. “Everything’s okay, we’re all here. We don’t have to go anywhere at all, we’re safe right here, and this is where we’ll stay.”
“Keep squeezing my arm,” Quentin said. “Focus on it. I want you to squeeze as hard as you can for five seconds, okay? I’ll count it with you, now squeeze hard! Five, four, three, two, one. You did good, look at that! Now take a breath, and we’ll do it again.”
Eissa took a shuddering breath in; her chest heaving as she forced the air past her constricted throat. She paused, her head tilted back and her eyes squeezed shut, and slowly exhaled. She drew in another shaky lungful of air, and her grip on Quentin’s arm relaxed slightly.
“Fuck that logic bullshit,” she wheezed. “Logic is not helpful… when you’re having a… goddamn anxiety attack.”
Quentin let out a shaky laugh, and collapsed on the ground. Watching Eissa go through these moments was never easy, no matter how many times he’d done it. He gestured to the ground beside him. “I’m glad you feel up to chastising my technique. Here, sit down and catch your breath.”
Eissa plopped down beside him and wiped the sweat off her forehead with a sleeve. Air hissed in and out of her with a whistling sound that made Quentin wish there was an ambulance crew standing by, but it was diminishing with each breath.
Tocho squatted down beside them, but said nothing. Bob remained at the panel, watching.
“Are you going to live?” Quentin asked. “You locked down on me there for a minute.”
Eissa nodded, her face pale and sweaty. “I’ll be ok in a few minutes. I got that out of the way, and I’m good.” She glanced around, her face reddening in the light of the lamp. “You guys are probably freaking out right now. I don’t blame you.”
“Nope, not freaking out,” Tocho said. “I’m just worried about you, and what we’re doing here.”
“Nothing’s changing,” Eissa said. “We’re still doing this. I’ll get through it.”
“I don’t—” Tocho began.
“I’m dead fucking serious,” Eissa said, cutting him off. She coughed for a moment as she climbed to her feet. She jammed her fists on her hips and locked eyes with Tocho. “Ask me the question again, the test question.”
Tocho stood up, and exchanged a long look with Bob before turning back to face her. “Two guards walk through the door, and come towards you. What do you do?”
She held up two fingers, and pointed to herself. “At the same time, I move back to our row, and quietly haul ass to our door, step through, and close it.”
“Atta girl,” Quentin said quietly. He knew from experience that she usually recovered well from an attack, but it was hard to explain that to someone who was going through it with her for the first time. It was best to let Tocho and Bob figure out for themselves that she was okay. He slowly got to his feet.
“Alright,” Tocho said. “I guess we’ll keep going.” He looked to Quentin for confirmation, and Quentin nodded. He turned back to Eissa. “I’d pass the signal on to Bob, and hopefully meet you at our door, coming through with you. What if I give you this signal?”
He held up four fingers, then extended both arms, waving his hands towards her.
“That means a group of four came in the front door, and are coming up both sides,” Eissa said. “At which point my fat ass runs toward our door as
fast as possible, while working on my cover story, just in case I don’t make it.”
“If they caught you, and asked why you were running, what would you say?” Bob asked.
“I’d say I didn’t know anyone else was going to be there, so I assumed they were some terrorist group, and I was trying to find a place to hide from them. I can play dumb when I need to.” She smiled sweetly, and curtsied.
“Quentin, how are you doing, buddy?” Bob asked, turning away from the panel. “Are you still up for this?”
“I’m ready,” Quentin said. “I’ve been through these attacks with Eissa before. Aside from a bruised forearm, I’m good.” He didn’t add that he was a nervous wreck and felt like having an anxiety attack of his own. Under the circumstances, they probably wouldn’t appreciate his humor. Instead, he tried to look confident and calm. Fake it ‘til you make it, Q.