asked Emilee, looking at Jug with concern.
“More than none,” Grace informed her. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll pass before you know it came, and you’ll be able to forget it. Believe me, pain is not the worst of the experience. It’s that worrying over a second go-round of pain that’s problematic. And you can forget both doses of pain until after your second go round, that is if you stop at two.”
“I really think I should stop at none,” said Emilee as Grace proceeded to strap her down. “What is with all the straps?”
“Don’t want you bouncing all around,” Grace explained.. “At all.” Yes, these were the early days, comparable to early dentistry when all that could be found in a dentist tool kit was a bottle of Old Sack whiskey, a hammer, a chisel, a pair of pliers, a bible and a 45.
What the hell, wondered Emilee. What the hell more, she wondered, why wasn’t she resisting.
Jug was considering a rescue action, hitting Grace on the head with spare wood. He had seen too many movies. At least he had the sense to wonder what would happen if he didn’t hit Grace hard enough, and he knew couldn’t hit her hard enough. Meaningful violence was not his agency, not if it wasn’t him being strapped to the chair. “Explain TRITON,” he demanded, at a loss as to what he should be doing.
“No, “ said Grace, to the TRITON demand. She put a mouth guard in Emilee’s mouth and smiled. “You haven’t asked about costs,” she said. Emilee growled. She had no choice but to growl, and this was a ‘now you talk costs?’ growl. “Don’t fret about it,” said Grace. “When you figure out what this is worth to you that’s what you’ll pay me, when you can. It’ll be painless. We’re not here to shake you down.”
Shake her down? No, not so much. Shake her up? Holy hell, yes.
“Now for the instructions,” said Grace, generating a frown from Em. What the hell was she supposed to be able to do all trussed up as she was? “They’re very simple, but you wouldn’t know what the heck was going on if you didn’t know what the heck was going on. Simply, I am going to be taking over your pure will for a speck of time.”
“What?” Emilee complained, making a noise one wouldn’t call a growl, but one even Jug could interpret. Thus does human communication advance.
“What?” echoed Jug.
“Don’t get your knickers in a bind,” Grace advised. “Nick, knickers,” she said. “Oh, that’s funny, isn’t it.” Emilee made an unamused face. “Just a speck of time, Sweetie,” she reaffirmed. “It works like this. Your pure will controls your heart beat, your ‘GGG’s’. I’m going to persuade your ‘GGG’s’ to send a beat backwards one beat. ‘Tis all. All I can do. Taking over your pure is a bit of an exaggeration to be sure.” Taking over pure will, the GGG’s as they like to say, was still on the Mulligan’s to-do list. Still, they had found a way to make it take notice and maybe listen to reason now and then, put a little less faith in a faulty operating system.
Emilee thrashed about and growled at length, glaring at Grace and twice as much at Jug, who knew if he were more a man he’d be going for that piece of wood, not that any were ideal for the task of making a crude, amateurish sort of boom. “I can’t understand you, Em,” he lied. Thus does human communication advance. Honestly, he was fascinated, and the word he had heard, that brought Emilee to this point, was comforting. He didn’t think she was making a mistake. Not to ruin the suspense, but ten years later she would be well positioned in Mulligan’s Department of Mechanical Medicine.
Not to ruin the suspense? Maybe the saying would be more aptly put as, and now to ruin the suspense. Done deal either way.
“The after effect of the back beat will punch a tiny nick in your brain,” Grace explained further, “for just a speck’s worth of time. Your brain’s memory bank of pure-will activity will black out what was stored for the last two weeks, but it’ll come right back in the next beat. All other memory, your free will memory as it were, will be hyper-illuminated and brought front and center for you to review and prioritize. You just need to not panic, pay attention, and not freak out. There’s no down side, but just brace yourself nonetheless for a nick of time that’ll feel like two months.” Grace frowned. “It can feel like two months if you manage it right. I guess the word is feel. I’m not sure. But plenty of time for you to get your point coordinates in order. Still, you don’t want to waste any time. You might end up wishing for more. But hey, wishes do come true.”
The next noise Emilee made was short and sweet, and hardly completely spelled out what she was thinking. Nonetheless.
“No, I haven’t tried this myself,” said Grace. “But trust me, you’re not a guinea pig. It works. Money back guarantee.” She chuckled. “Mercy, I breezed through organic chemistry. I don’t need this.”
And then’s when all that light stepped out for good. Arguably.
|m|*
“Triton,” said Danny in a loud whisper, nudging Triton’s arm. “Wake up, buddy.”
Triton opened one eye, and held just the one open. He remained motionless, almost seeming like a corpse with one open eye. Danny cocked his head wondering if Triton were even awake.
Talk about being half awake.
“Triton?” Danny asked, as in, ‘hey, are you alive?’ It felt like a minute passed before the other eye opened and Triton rolled onto his back. “Hey, are you alive?” asked Danny?
Triton looked to his left and right. “What,” he said. “It’s only been three days.”
Three days? Hjalmar, watching Danny’s back, did the arithmetic. “I think he means he’s only been asleep three days.”
“Only?” asked Danny. “Would that be solid asleep?”
“As far as we can tell,” said Hjalmar. A lot of attention had been paid to Triton’s room by the Hall occupants and there hadn’t been a peep. “Solid asleep?” asked Hjalmar. “That’s an interesting concept.”
“You’re being tedious,” said Triton. “May I?”
“May you? Go back to sleep?” asked Danny.
“Yes, sleep.”
“This doesn’t seem normal or healthy. Are you okay?” asked Danny.
“Who are you? What do you care?”
“I’m Dr. Daniel Birtborn. It’s our place to care.”
“What kind of doctor?”
“Take your pick,” said Danny. “At least drink some water or something. Can we get you something to eat?” Danny held up a glass of water carefully, resting it on his palm, trying to make it tantalize by wiggling it.
“If I drink will you leave me be?”
“Are you telling me there’s nothing abnormal about your sleeping like this?”
Triton took the glass of water and gulped it down. Actually, there was something abnormal about him drinking that water. “There is nothing abnormal about me sleeping like this. Please.” He held the glass out to Danny, who carefully took hold of it by rim and base, and quickly stepped back.
“You son-of-a-bitch,” said Triton. “Get the hell out of here.”
|The Rim Greaper|*
Where no one was available for Peter Strand to talk to, no one had a problem with talking to him, after the preliminary refusal. Pete had free reign to roam at Mulligan’s, where there were a multitude of departments and never ending training. The training department was like a one room college of courses never available to the truly curious from the unfortunately placed public at large, and it was nearly always in use, nearly, as third shifters got gnarly over the idea of night classes. Knowledge was supplied on a need to use basis. Pete was never welcomed to a class, and was usually denied admittance, but all he had to do was flash his special badge, get sneered at, and told to sit in the back and shut up, and he was able to learn. His official status was non-entity, on loan as he was, and no one there dared mess with a ghost.
No one said or thought ghost, they thought chaos. Up at the top the thinking was random chaos was not only to be expected, it should be invited, even crea
ted, so the people in the middle and at the bottom would be ready and prepared to deal with it when it inevitably would arrive, and with enough experience and repetition it would be recognized and expected. As well as all but neutralized in advance.
They were so wrong.
Most of the science Pete listened in on was over his head, and he came away with nothing much he could apply, but somehow he was able to eventually deduce that Danny was looking for him, too, all the time, and generally Danny knew where he was, or could, depending on Danny’s current priorities. Knowing where he was didn’t necessarily mean Danny could work out the logistics of getting to where he was. Timing has a say, tight lipped as it may be.
Nonetheless, Danny showed up in the Mulligan’s cafeteria on one of Pete’s lunch breaks. He was a smallish man wearing a black suit, with black curly hair and black eyes. He caught Pete’s attention the instant he entered the room and held it as the instant grew as he made a beeline to Pete’s table.
“Dr. Livingstone, I presume.”
Pete recognized the voice. “Are you insane?” he asked.
Danny chortled and sat down. “Why would you ask that? Do you care?”
Pete studied Danny as Danny reached for Pete’s apple and started eating it. Did he care? About Danny being crazy or even his apple? “That’s rude,” he said.
“I have a favor to ask,” said Danny, never one not to get to the point. “You