TIME DROPS
Part 3:
Vince Indigo
1
Identity: Vince Indigo
In the thin air at the edge of space, I could feel more than hear the steady beat of the UAV’s massive propeller dragging me onward toward my death.
I’d been able to see this moment coming for a long time. The tight compartment I was in had never been meant to fit a human. I shifted uncomfortably, feeling the cold metal pressing against me through the thin pressure suit of the improvised life support system I’d rigged up.
I shouldn’t have tried to escape.
Alarms signaling the start of the slingshot weapon’s test fire rang out across the multiverse spectrum. They would have canceled the test if they knew I was hidden up here in this thing, but in my desperate bid to erase my tracks, I’d cut myself off entirely from the communications networks—concealing what I was doing, and even why I was doing it.
It was a gamble that hadn’t paid off, as the UAV’s control system signaled the start of a system malfunction that I always knew was coming. It lurched sickeningly off to the left, cutting and sliding through empty space, turning inexorably back toward my doom.
In the near distance, the boom of the slingshot began, thundering as it demonstrated its fearsome power to the world. My heart was racing, my breathing ragged and shallow. For days, weeks even, I had been able to see this exact moment arriving, yet here I was, unable to prevent it.
The awful growl of the slingshot grew and began rattling the delicate cage of the UAV’s body. The cold metal pressing against me warmed, and then turned hot as the acrid stench of molten plastic burned into my lungs. I gagged, shrinking up into myself, terrified.
Engulfed in roaring flames, the UAV pitched over, its metal and plastic skin coming apart in great fiery gobs as it disintegrated, offering me up into the emptiness—spinning, falling, and burning as my wings fell away. In my last instants of life, I caught a distant glimpse of Atopia, a cool green speck between the flames, her siren song calling me back toward the endless seas below.
2
The last dregs of the night drained sleeplessly away, and despite the world’s best efforts, my life filled with yet another new day. More dreams of death—but then, they weren’t just dreams.
Or were they?
I felt nauseated.
It was still early morning. From beneath the sheets, I could just glimpse the dawning sky regaining its composure as the roar and flame of the slingshot test began to die down. Dread filled me as I watched stiletto-tipped, fishnet-clad legs stalking toward me from the living area.
The lights flipped on as Hotstuff tore the sheets off me.
“Aw, come on!” I whimpered, weakly fumbling for the covers.
Hotstuff was done up in a bad-schoolgirl outfit today, complete with a checked miniskirt and a starched men’s dress shirt. The shirt was knotted at the bottom to expose her belly ring, and unbuttoned far enough to reveal hints of something naughty underneath. She knew I was depressed and was doing her part to keep me alert and in the game.
What I didn’t immediately notice was the riding crop in her hand.
“Ouch!”
She giggled and wound back up to smack me again.
“Hey!” I screeched, grabbing some sheets to protect myself and jumping out of bed to chase her across the room.
She squealed, running away from me, and my bedroom morphed into the battle room we’d created to track my looming future death threats. Hotstuff had already transitioned into wearing tight-fitting army fatigues. She menaced me with the riding crop as I stood, rubbing my stubble with one hand and defending myself with the other.
Spinning my point-of-view into Hotstuff’s, I took a look at myself. Disheveled and still cowering from the riding crop, I looked ridiculous. I straightened up and dropped the sheets. With all the gene therapy, I looked barely forty, though we both knew it wouldn’t be long before I was twice that. A thick shock of graying hair still hung playfully, if listlessly, over the bleary eyes that stared back at me. I clicked back into my own point-of-view.
“Two things before we get started, sir,” announced Hotstuff, snapping smartly to attention and giving me a salute with her riding crop. “Commander Strong’s proxxi asked for some flowers for his wife—which I provided from our private gardens—and Bob just pinged you to go surfing.” She raised her eyebrows.
“Patch Bob through,” I replied groggily. Sensing Hotstuff hesitating, I added, “Now, Hotstuff!”
Bob immediately materialized before me, holding his yellow longboard, smirking. He looked stoned already.
What a great kid; it was just too bad.
“So…surfing today?” asked Bob lazily. Sizing up Hotstuff’s outfit, he grinned.
Yep, he’s high. “Sorry, Bob. Can’t make it. Something’s popped up.”
“Popped up, huh?” he laughed, looking at Hotstuff again. He’d begun projecting some nicely curling waves into my display spaces. “Come on, dude! It’s going to be monster out there today!”
“I really can’t.”
Jealously, I watched the waves. My nerves were frazzled, and I hadn’t been out surfing in weeks.
“What could you possibly have to do? I thought you were, like, the richest guy in the world?”
“I wish I could.…”
I looked pleadingly toward Hotstuff. She rolled her eyes and wagged the riding crop at me.
“It’s your life, mister,” she scolded, sensing I was going to do what I wanted anyway. “I suppose an hour couldn’t hurt. We don’t have anything imminent I can’t handle. But only one hour, right? After that it could get dangerous.”
I was already halfway out the door, getting my wetsuit, by the time she finished the sentence. Bob gave me a goofy thumbs-up before flitting away to rejoin his body in the hunt for killer waves. I’d catch up with him in a minute.