by Wyatt Kane
Damn, I wished I could see what her fingers were doing under that dress.
When June came, I felt it almost as if it was me. I had to grit my teeth and hold on with everything I had, and it didn’t help when April turned to look at me with an overtly eager expression.
“Fuck me,” June said, panting hard. It was an expression of amazement.
“Damn straight,” I agreed. My cock was throbbing, almost painfully erect. It had been one of the most highly-charged, erotic moments of my life.
“No,” June said, opening her eyes and looking straight into mine. “Fuck me, now.”
I didn’t need to be told a third time.
We spent the next hour on the cushions in the back of the Bedford pleasuring each other. Once again, April proved to be the most aggressive, and it contrasted to June’s affinity for tenderness. Both were sexy as hell and the most sensuous human beings I had ever met. By the time we finished, June and April had both climaxed at least twice, as had I.
Finally, the three of us collapsed naked into the cushions, exhausted. We took a few minutes to catch our breaths.
We were displaced in time, trying to defeat a monstrous bug-demon before it disrupted the multiverse beyond the point of no return. The only person who could help us was currently non-existent. And as far as I knew, we could have been months, weeks, or even seconds away from joining him.
Yet in that moment, I was happier than I’d been in a long, long time.
I would have been content to just lie on the cushions for hours, still tangled up in each other, and just let the world pass us by for a bit. But my body had different ideas. After only a little while, my stomach growled. Loudly.
June stifled a giggle. April just let it out, and then we were all laughing, both in response to the pressure we’d been under and because we were now relaxed and happy.
“So, you’re hungry, then?” April said after the laughter faded.
“You might say I’ve worked up a bit of an appetite.”
April ran her hand over my bare chest. “Us, too.”
I took her hand and then reached for June’s. “I meant for food.”
“So did I.”
Yet none of us actually went as far as moving.
“Um, can I ask a question?” I said.
June sat up and gazed languidly at me. “You want to know what we were talking about. Before.”
I nodded.
The dark-haired twin glanced at her sister, and April nodded.
“What would you say if I told you we weren’t actually twins?” June said.
“Huh?” I said. It wasn’t the most insightful comment I’d ever made.
June and April were watching me, grinning broadly.
“We’re not twins,” April said, reiterating what her sister had said. “We’re not even blood sisters.”
I looked from one beautiful face to the other, but didn’t get the joke. They obviously were twins. Sure, there were small differences here and there. April’s lips were slightly more luscious, and their eyes were slightly different shades. But each beautiful face was virtually identical to the other.
“What do you mean?” I managed.
They both laughed. “Have you ever noticed that our hair is a different color?” asked June.
I just stared.
“We don’t color it,” April said. “Neither of us. This is the hair we have.”
I was starting to wonder if they might be serious. “You’re not twins?” I asked.
“Nope,” April said, and June shook her head.
“But you spoke about your grandmother,” I said. I looked from April to June, then back again. It wasn’t difficult. They were beautiful and naked. Very easy to look at, and very much copies of one another. “Your collective grandmother,” I added.
They exchanged a quick glance. I still wasn’t sure what was going on, but June was projecting nothing but enjoyment at my confusion. I could sense no devious intent from her at all.
I frowned. “Spill,” I said. “Tell me the story.”
April’s grin grew broader. “Have you ever heard the theory that everyone has a doppelgänger? Well, I was an only child until I was six. June is my doppelgänger, and I’m hers. She’s adopted.”
June nodded, confirming. But I still wasn’t satisfied. “You’re not actually twins?” I said.
“No,” April said. Then she relented. “But it’s easier to just let people think we are. And, really, we might has well be. I can’t imagine any real sisters being closer than we are. Not even twins.”
“Yeah. We share everything,” June said. Then, realizing the implications of her words, she smiled. “Well, I guess we do,” she added.
I was starting to get used to the idea. Maybe they weren’t actually twins, but their resemblance to one another was staggering. Even their voices—it would have been difficult for strangers to tell them apart on the phone.
I shook my head in wonderment. One day, I thought, I would like to look into their relationship a bit more closely. But right then, I had a different question in mind.
“So, you’re not twins, but you share everything.” I grinned at them, teasing a little. “Have you ever done this before?”
“No, that was a first,” April said, smiling. “So were you, in a way.”
I knew she was talking about the threesome. “Me, too.” I sat up and kissed them both, then sighed quietly. As much as I wanted more private time with them, we had a mission to complete, and laying around all the time wasn’t going to get it done. It was time to get dressed.
As we did, April spoke in my mind.
Strange? I asked, frowning.
I smiled. Can you sense how sexy I think you are?
That was good, I thought. It would be disconcerting for her to go rummaging around in my thoughts all the time. I didn’t think she would want to browse my war memories, for example.
Can you include June? I silently asked.
Maybe you have to level up some more for that. We’ll work on it. I winked and mouthed, “Later.”
“Can’t wait,” April said, grinning and putting on her shoes.
That grin was going to be the death of me. Not literally, of course, but in years to come, even when we were on the outs, April’s smile was my favorite thing about her. It was slightly naughty and oh so beautiful. But there was also kindness there, and despite her penchant for rough sex, she was tender.
“Right,” I said. “I think I know where and when we need to go.”
XXXII
The Bedford didn’t lurch nearly as badly this time. It was much better than when the old man drove, and ten times better than my first attempt. We landed outside Washington, DC, three days after President Jimmy Carter had been sworn in.
If anyone had asked, I doubt I could have said why this particular moment felt right. Shell hadn’t calculated it as any more critical than half a dozen other possible points. Nor did I have any real logic behind choosing it. It was far enough away from our efforts in Des Moines that any lingering commotion caused there would have died down, but that wasn’t why I’d chosen the time or location.
Something had changed within the past few hours. I had, as Shell could attest, attained a new level of power. I was starting to get a sense of the timelines, and even though I couldn’t really explain it, there was something about this time and place that drew my attention.
We needed to be here. I could feel it. This moment was pivotal in some way.
It was also a problem. If it had been difficult to approach Jimmy Carter when he was a candidate, it would be nearly impossible now he was President. So, instead of charging in bl
indly, we found an out-of-the-way field filled with enough trees to hide us from the road, and Shell converted the van into a 1970s motel room, complete with fake wood-paneling, mottled-brown-and-orange carpet, and a 22 inch console TV standing in the corner.
It wasn’t exactly the Greek villa, and nor was it as familiar as my own apartment. But it was spacious and comfortable, and I figured it would do for the time being. Except that it didn’t address an immediate issue.
“Shell, is there any chance you could magic us up some food?” I asked. As if to emphasize the point, my stomach rumbled again.
Before the echoes of that rumble died down, two large pizza boxes materialized on the formica table, together with a six-pack of beer, and the room filled with the enticing aroma of warm deliciousness.
The three of us descended on the feast like starving piranhas.
“Random question,” April said between bites. “How does this work, exactly? Where did the pizzas come from?”
“The same way I can conjure a Greek villa, or young Caleb’s apartment. I have all of history within which to search for it,” came Shell’s reply. “Using young Caleb’s power, I reach out for what I need and bring it into the localized time distortion.”
I could sense the uncertainty within June. The dark-haired twin—or not twin—frowned. “You mean, at some point in time, some poor guy is going to be about to eat their pizza only to have it disappear in front of their noses?”
It was a good question.
“With all of history to choose from, it isn’t difficult to find pizzas that would never otherwise be enjoyed,” Shell replied. “These ones were drunk-ordered by a guy who was then arrested as the pizzas were delivered. Not only will he never remember he ordered them, but his stay in jail will be long enough to ensure that the pizzas would have been long decomposed before he gets out.”
I had to admit it. I was impressed. If it had been up to me, I might have taken the pizzas straight from the oven as they were being cooked. Not as clean as Shell’s solution, but I figured the confused looks on the faces of the workers would have been an amusing bonus.
April’s mind went in a different direction. “You mean, you can reach out and literally pluck anything you want out of thin air?” she asked Shell.
“Within limits. The item has to be in the current timeline, or else I need complete data of its existence in a neighboring timeline. Like young Caleb’s apartment, for example. But in essence, yes.”
The sisters—I was having difficulty thinking of them as anything else—glanced at each other. I knew what they were thinking even without April’s telepathy. Honestly, I was thinking it myself.
Why continue working as a bouncer when the world’s riches were there for the taking? The Cullinan Diamond could be ours in an instant. Lost works of art could suddenly be retrieved. Millions of old dollar bills could suddenly disappear before being recycled.
The possibilities were endless. And tempting.
Although, maybe it wasn’t as easy as that. The Cullinan Diamond was historically significant. If its history suddenly changed, it would spawn another timeline all by itself, and add to the imbalances the bug-monster was making.
Yet perhaps there were things Shell could conjure that might help. Like maybe a big-ass gun.
After eating, we spent time watching the news Shell displayed on the television, and just thinking about what we had to do.
I no longer needed Shell to tell me that new timelines were continuing to propagate. I could sense it happening. It was like the multiverse was part of my own skin, and every time a new timeline spun itself into existence, it felt like a soft, uncomfortable breeze rippling all over me.
As the newscaster reported increased tensions with Russia and riots in ten major cities, I closed my eyes and felt my way through the timelines. Without understanding everything, exactly, I knew that what I was seeing was genuine. The riots would get worse. They would spread throughout the nation. And they were justified. Before the year ended, war would break out, and that would be that.
If the bug-demon continued to control President Carter, it would start a nuclear war and end life as we knew it on planet Earth.
Would that be the final straw? I wondered. The last, massive change that spawned a future so divergent from what was meant to be that the multiverse couldn’t sustain it?
It was hard to tell. Maybe, I thought, although something told me even that was only the beginning. Not that it would matter much to the poor people of Earth. They would be dead either way.
Unless we did something about it.
June and April were sitting beside me on the couch, with serious expressions on their faces. For a moment, I imagined what it would be like to live a normal life with them. To spend time just sitting, binging the latest Netflix show together in a safe future that no longer existed, without having to plot the destruction of a bug from another universe.
I smiled at the thought. It was undeniably appealing.
Then I shook my head. I’d really only known the girls for a few days. Such thoughts were way too premature despite how very, very right they felt.
And then there was the small matter of our actual survival.
“Shell, what can you tell me of the White House floor plan?” I asked.
XXXIII
The AI provided everything I asked for, including the plans and weapons. I chose an M4 Carbine assault rifle with a mounted M203 grenade launcher, mostly because I was familiar with it. Shell included half a dozen magazines for the rifle and a mix of both explosive and gas rounds for the grenade launcher.
Unfortunately, the girls didn’t have any experience with guns. One look at their expressions and I didn’t even suggest leaving them behind. Besides, I needed their proximity. Shell had already explained that my talent for time depended on April and June being close, and that meant physically being there.
Yet they didn’t want to enter the White House with nothing. So June chose a metallic spear that could deliver an electric shock, and April chose a force shield that looked like it was straight out of a video game. It came in the form of a bracelet she wore around her wrist, and could project an impenetrable shield big enough to cover the three of us.
Finally, we were ready to go. Except for one thing. “Shell, why didn’t you mention you could conjure weapons from nowhere?” I asked. “They could have come in handy with the other bug-monsters.”
“You didn’t ask,” came the AI’s reply. “Also, consider this: if you had been able to rely on traditional weaponry, would you have thought it necessary to develop your powers?”
It was a good question, but I couldn’t help feel irritated at Shell’s response. The girls and I could have been killed during our earlier battles.
But before I could say anything, Shell continued. “There is also a question of power. As you know, the insectoids exhibit a certain immunity to your abilities. This is because their biological technology gives them an affinity for time, as your talent does for you. Some of them are able to use this as a shield against normal weapons.”
I stared at the floating AI, but it was April who spoke. “You mean Caleb’s gun might be useless?” she asked.
“Perhaps. It is the larger insectoids that more commonly have this shielding technology. As for this one in particular, I lack the required data to be sure.”
It wasn’t exactly what I wanted to hear before going into battle. Yet there didn’t seem to be much choice. “Let’s see if it can shield itself from a grenade jammed up its ass,” I said. Then I looked at the twins. “Are you ready for this?”
Despite what Shell had just said, April looked fierce and defiant, and even June showed considerable determination.
“Then let’s do it,” I said, slinging my rifle over my back.
Shell turned the 1970s motel room back into the Bedford van, and we drove back to the White House. We ended up parking a few blocks over and walked the rest of the way with our weapons on clear display. I had no choice but
to reach out and freeze everyone in a moment of time to even get close. If I hadn’t, we doubtless would have been seen as a threat, and the various armed forces in the vicinity would have responded accordingly.
I felt it best not to give them that chance.
The crowds outside the White House were waving placards of protest and showed frozen expressions of anger. It was eerily silent as we pushed our way through. I could sense June’s concern, but it was her who gave it a voice.
“Fuck. There are more people here than outside the Excelsior,” she muttered. The dark-haired goddess didn’t look happy about it. “Tell me again why it’s better to go after the bug now?”
“Because the crowd is further away,” I said. It wasn’t a particular solid answer, but it was all I had. That, and a certainty that this was where we needed to be. I couldn’t say where that certainty came from, but it was there nevertheless.
Somehow, this point in time was meaningful. Pivotal, in fact. I just felt it.
At the same time, I knew she was right. There must have been more than a thousand people there, and if the bug-monster got loose on the grounds, it would be hell.
I unlocked the gate the same way I’d done at the museum, only this time I kept everyone frozen at the same time. It was easy. I’d grown strong enough to do both at once without any issues.
There were more Secret Service agents than usual. At least, that’s what I assumed because the sidewalk leading up the White House was thick with them. Getting in through the North entrance wasn’t difficult because a man had paused in the act of opening the door. All we had to do was squeeze around him to get in.
We paused in the cross hall just inside, taking in the quiet grandeur of the rich, red carpets and alcove walls complete with the busts of previous presidents. We weren’t alone there, but, just like those outside, the people were frozen.
The fact that the girls and I had just entered the White House uninvited and armed did not escape me. It felt distinctly wrong, like a clown in full costume gate-crashing a funeral.