July 16, 2006-October 23, 2007



"The final mystery is oneself."



--Oscar Wilde



He awoke to the sound of laughter.



It was a tremendous, all-consuming laughter, a laughter that rang in his head, shook his soul.



The laughter of the gods.



He shook his head, trying to clear out the fuzziness, but the fuzziness did not clear. What was going on? He was human—he looked at himself. A man. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts made out of an odd blue material. Amphisize.



The word—that word used to make sense to him. He remembered it had once held great meaning for him indeed. But what?



He searched his memory—a job? A car? A school? His wife?



His name?



It was none of those. Indeed, he realized he had no idea of what car he drove, what school he'd gone to, if he'd ever been married, or if he had a name at all.



Perhaps he had sprung to life here, at this place. Perhaps….



He turned around and saw it immediately, a series of letters and numbers, each successive letter in diminishing scale.



qwe123!@# sam30173 culdesacfever.c



His name was Sam.



Well, maybe it wasn't. The rest of the message looked like gibberish. But the "Sam" stuck out of him. He would adopt the name, whether it was his or not. He needed a name. At least he could call himself Sam. Introduce himself to someone.



If he could get someone's attention.



He didn't know what the rest of the message meant, but he tried to remember it as well as he could. It was important. Somehow, he knew that.



He turned and tried to make sense of his surroundings. It was some sort of store, perhaps a grocery store. He was standing on the periphery of it, hiding under a shelf, a huge bit of pencil laying on the ground where he must have scrawled the message to himself.



The laughter resumed.



Sam looked around in a panic; was the laughter directed at him? It occurred to him that he should be scared. They'll be looking for me. I've got to get out of here.



The last thought appeared in his consciousness unbidden; he didn't know if it was the echo of a lost memory or the first hint of paranoia. Well, he did know that he was tiny, hiding under a shelf, and there was a giant laughing around here.



Certainly, a bit of paranoia was warranted.



Still, he was strong-willed enough to know he had to see what it was that was giggling. He stepped forward just far enough that he could see what it was that someone found so funny.



The unnatural fluorescent lights dazzled him for a second, before he got his bearings. He was staring at an enormous metal cage, suspended about forty feet up in the air by two metal beams. It was filled with…



Ah, of course. Groceries.



Sam ignored the utter incongruity of a cruise-ship-sized grocery cart, and searched out the source of the laughter—and found it lagging behind the cart.



There were two titanesses there, one leaning on the cart he was eyeballing, one beyond her. He knew that their height was reasonable, given his size—somehow, he felt like he'd lived this scale before. But he was still in awe.



The two were chatting and laughing about something or other; probably friends who'd run into each other while shopping. The one beyond this cart's pilot was a pretty enough blonde, wearing jeans and flip-flops and, seventy-odd feet above, a white t-shirt that showed off monstrous breasts.



But he barely looked at her. He was instead captivated by the woman leaning lackadaisically against the cart.



She was dressed for shopping and running errands—ratty white keds with ankle-high socks, legs that seemed to stretch endlessly—but paradoxically, seemed almost short—betraying a hint of stubble, blue gym shorts and a not-quite-matching blue T-shirt. But Sam couldn't have cared less about any of that.



She was dazzling in an ineffable manner. Her jet-black hair was cut off into a pixieish bob that framed a lovely face; her body was lithe. But more than anything, as he watched her laughing with her friend, he could feel the force of her personality, viscerally.



He wanted to get to know her better.



He caught the end of the conversation going on a hundred-odd feet above his head; they were saying their good-byes. Without hesitation, he raced for the cart, pulling himself up through the iron bars that made up the bottom shelf.



And the cart pushed off.



He held fast, even as he watched the floor moving below him. Looking around, he saw that his chauffeur had picked up a mammoth pallet of water. Carefully, he maneuvered over to it and pulled himself up over the edge, out of sight of the giantess.



He pushed and contorted himself until he was a few rows into the water. He told himself it was for safety, but it was as much to avoid having to introduce himself just yet. He crouched down, and gazed up at the ceiling made by the plastic wrap. It was covered in an enormous translucent logo.



He'd be safe here.



Soon enough, the water was lifted, and he bounced against the four bottles he hid between. He felt the movement of the conveyor, the start-stop-start; heard the blip of the scanner, and back onto another conveyor. Then he was being lifted again, and clanged into the cart.



And then they were off, and then he was lifted up again and dropped unceremoniously, and then, a few moments later, there was a loud slam.



And the lights went out.



◘ ◘ ◘





Sam hid by the dresser, watching across the room as Alyssa lay on her bed and studied, foot tapping an aimless air kick-drum to the sound of the stereo.



In the five days that he'd been here, this was, he thought, the best place for him to hide and watch her. She was beautiful—as beautiful as she'd been at the store—and she was as kind and smart and amazing as he'd initially sensed. Even though she was a nervous wreck as she studied for the bar.



It was the latter revelation that had kept him from contacting her yet. She didn't need a distraction at this point in her life. It sounded from phone conversations like he only had to wait a few more days, and then she'd be done. And then he could burden her a bit.

Until then, he was content. He scavenged for food in the nighttime; her cupboards were well-stocked, and he had enough to last him. And he could look at her forever, he thought.



Alyssa did not feel the same with regard to her current vista.



She yawned and stretched, and closed the Barbri guide, and wondered for the eighteen thousandth time that week why it was she had thought law school was a good idea.



Oh, it wasn't like she was scared about the bar—not really, anyhow. She'd done well in school, and she had faith in her ability to take a test, and she had enough drive to study enough to be competent.



But there was a hell of a lot of "enough" to go through, and most of the law was of the Rule Against Perpetuities variety, with language that left one's head feeling vaguely numb and spongy, even if one generally understood it.



Alyssa deposited the Barbri guide atop the PMBR guide that also graced her nightstand, knowing full well that morning would bring another round of studying. Getting up, she turned off the stereo and headed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.



This was Sam's cue; he sighed, as he started to shuffle back to the spot behind the dresser that he'd made his de facto bedroom.



He paused.



He turned around, and headed out a bit further from the dresser.



He wondered, for just a moment, what it would be like to be in bed with her—to lie in her presence, closer to her than he'd yet dared to be. To see her, to touch her, to smell her….



His reverie was abruptly broken as Alyssa returned to the room, her arrival trumpeted by the dull thuds of her footsteps. Sam started as Alyssa strode to the end of the bed, casually removing her shirt and then, quickly and without fanfare, her pants.



Sam had been a gentleman thus far; he had foresworn temptation. Every time Alyssa had threatened to disrobe, he'd reluctantly hid away.



But he almost had to stare as she tossed her bra into her hamper and spun, wearing only a basic pair of pink cotton panties, and gazed at the bed. He swallowed hard at her visage.



It was as he gaped that he suddenly realized he was completely out in the open.



Oh, crap.



He had to fight the urge to run—she was looking above and past him at the moment, and he knew that running would only draw her eye his way. Carefully, he edged his way to the bedskirt—it being the nearest bit of cover he could see.



Alyssa moved his way, toward the bed.



Her steps were upon him suddenly, and he flattened himself on the floor as a car-sized foot passed just over his head. Then, as the beauty passed, he scurried on all fours underneath the bed.



He listened as the mattress above groaned with her weight, watched as the light turned out. He rested underneath the bed for a good long time, heart racing, until finally he heard light snoring above him.



Well, he thought, I may as well go forage. I'm not gonna get to sleep anytime soon.



◘ ◘ ◘





Sam sulked underneath the microwave cart, cursing his indecision.



She was sitting at the table, drinking wine and celebrating her hiring at a small local firm. Sitting across the table was a monstrosity of a man, who was chatting amiably and lustily with her.



Almost three months he'd been with her, drinking in her presence, watching her from cover, at times aching to touch her.



He loved her.



He'd realized it maybe a month after he'd moved in. After the bar, he had kept coming up with excuses why he couldn't approach her. She was looking for a job, she had to clean, she was on the phone with her sister, she needed to wash her hair—and it was at about this time that he realized why he wouldn't, couldn't approach her.



It wasn't because he feared she would hurt him, or that she would refuse to help him—he had seen enough of her to know that she was at heart a very gentle, caring person. No, she'd help him, and that was for sure.



What he knew he wouldn't be able to take was her helping him to get big again—and then, with a smile, bidding him adieu.



And so he'd bided his time, waiting for the perfect moment, the perfect plan to win her love—and lying to himself that he was okay with the way things were, for now.



And then she'd met Ryan.



Sam couldn't see what she saw in him. Oh, damnation—yes, he could. Ryan was handsome, cock-sure, and bright, and he said all the right things.



He was also about seventy inches taller than Sam.



As they laughed and finished their dinner, Sam tried not to look as Ryan grabbed her hand, tried to tear himself away as they got up and kissed, and kept kissing.



Tried to ignore it when they went to the bedroom.



Instead, he leaned up against the wheel of the microwave cart and cried.



Some time later, after Ryan had gone, he went into the bedroom where Alyssa was sleeping peacefully, and he climbed up onto the bed.



The heady miasma of sex hung sweetly in the air. Sam approached the titaness slowly. She was sleeping on top of the blanket, laying on her back, the hillocks of her breasts rising and falling with each breath she took.



She was naked, and spent.



He walked to her hip, and touched it gently. Here the pungent scent of her late arousal wafted gently to him, stabbing him in his gut.



Cautiously, he kissed her side. And then, suddenly, she began to stir.



Whether she was awakening or whether she was merely tossing in her sleep, Sam did not wait to discover. Instead, he simply raced for the tangle of blankets than made a convenient slide to the floor.



He headed back behind the dresser to the spot he called home.



◘ ◘ ◘





Christmas came and went, as did New Year's Day and Memorial Day and the Fourth of July and Labor Day. Somewhere around St. Patrick's Day, Ryan had moved in. On the third finger of her left hand, Alyssa wore a lovely princess-cut diamond on a simple gold band. The date was set for March.



Sam foraged through the kitchen briefly before he headed back to the bedroom for sleep. Idly, he puzzled about the message he'd left himself, many months ago. He reasoned, as he had quite a bit lately, that it was important that he address it. After all, he wouldn't have written it if it wasn't important.



Perhaps it would help him reconnect with a life he only glimpsed briefly in dreams—a brief view of a pristine lab, a short snippet of a heated conversation, a sense of longing and loss unconnected to his late infatuation.



He didn't think there was anyone waiting for him over the horizon of his lost memory. But he didn't think there was anything waiting for him here, either.



He had decided that it was time for him to go. The only thing that had held him this long was his belief, deep in his gut, that Ryan was not a good match for Alyssa, and not a good person in general.



He saw it in a thousand little things—like the conversation they'd had on Tuesday, when Alyssa had been packing for a trip to visit a friend in Milwaukee.



"So," Ryan had said, "What are you and Jamie going to do?"



"Oh, you know—get together with a few other friends from Marquette. Tell old stories. Talk about how our respective wedding plans are going. The normal stuff."



"What friends?"



Alyssa had paused, briefly. "Oh, Sandy, Kim, Robbie—"



"Who's Robbie?"

"I've told you about Robbie, honey."



"Really? I don't remember him."



"Oh, he was good friends with Jay—we hooked up once my sophomore year, it didn't really go anywhere—we ended up friends, he ended up getting married to a girl in Chicago."



"Is his wife going to be with him?"



Alyssa stopped packing.



"I don't know. I know he was going to come up and meet us for drinks on Friday; it's not a long drive from Skokie. Erica might be there; Jamie was making the arrangements."



"Is he staying over at Jamie's?"



"I don't know."



"Well," said Ryan, suddenly letting his fiancée off the hook, "I hope you have fun."



"What's that supposed to mean?" Alyssa said, whirling.



"What? I just hope you have fun. What's your problem?"



Alyssa backed down. "I'm sorry, it just—it seemed like you weren't happy with me seeing Robbie."



"What? Damn, Lissa, you're always accusing me of stuff like that. I'm tired of it! I'm just trying to show interest in your life, that's all."

"I'm sorry," said Alyssa, getting back to her packing. "Just the product of arguing about things for a living, I guess."

Sam, for his part, still seethed at the memory. Alyssa deserved better.



But he had come to the conclusion that he couldn't make that happen. And waiting around for her to come to her senses was just getting too painful.



So he'd decided that come Monday, he'd hitch a ride with her to her office, and he'd find a place to hide there. And maybe he'd start to figure out what the cryptic message he'd left himself meant.



He heard the key in the lock. Ryan was home.



He scrambled a bit, concerned that he'd be caught out in the open. He bolted for the bedroom, and dove under the bed.



He heard Ryan stumble through the door, and heard the sound of laughter.



Gleeful, unfamiliar, feminine laughter.



He peeked out to see a pair of humans quickly disrobing and working their way to the bedroom quickly, while still trying to keep lips locked. One of them was Ryan.



The other was not Alyssa.



Sam backed up as the girl dropped to her knees in front of him, spun around and unzipped Ryan's fly. He gazed up amazed at the sight of an enormous, thong-clad ass moving slowly up and down as she began to service Ryan's cock.



He stepped back into the cover of the bed, mind reeling. He had to let Alyssa know of this. But how? He couldn't very well just approach her when she got back, introduce himself, and tell her that her fiancé had been unfaithful while she was out of town.



No, he had to record this somehow, make it indelible. And then he began to run.



He raced out the other side of the bed, and looked up at the dresser. He thought he'd seen her put it down there—yes! It was sitting on the dresser, as it had been since she dropped it there after work on Tuesday.



He knew he didn't have forever; he went to the light cord and pulled himself up the steep cliff of the dresser, arms burning and lungs heaving, but he was driven. As he heard the two flop into bed, he pulled himself up and into the shadow of a gigantic recorder.



Alyssa used it for depositions. Sam hoped it had a good battery charge.


Throwing caution to the wind, he leapt onto the record button, and a red LED blazed.



He monitored it for a good long time, catching the ambient noise of two giants fucking. Ryan, for his part, had helped; in the first minutes of the recording, he had said, "Damn, Nicki, you give better head than anyone."



Sam got ten minutes before stopping it. He just hoped Alyssa would listen to it as soon as possible.



◘ ◘ ◘





"Hi honey, I'm home!"



Alyssa stood in the living room, eyes blazing. She looked at her fiancé, who had cheerfully walked through the door, only to be hit in the chest with a small pocket recorder.



"Damn—what the—"



"You tell me, asshole," said Alyssa. "Just press play."



"Not until you tell—"



"Who was she? The timestamp shows it was Friday, Ryan, the night you were all concerned I'd be fucking Robbie, you were fucking some girl named Nicki. Admit it!"



Alyssa's voice was quaking, as Ryan's face turned white. He looked down at the recorder, and said, "I can explain…"



"I'm sure you can. Get the hell out of my apartment, and here—" she said, throwing the diamond ring at him with as much force as she could muster.



"It didn't mean anything, Alyssa. I love—"



"Bullshit."



Ryan stared at Alyssa a good long moment, and his eyes began to narrow. "No," he said.


Alyssa stared back, nonplussed. "What?"



"Lissa, this is my apartment, too."



Alyssa took a step back. She had played this scenario over and over since she'd played back her ex-fiancé's tryst that morning. She'd expected him to cry, or grovel, or just to leave. But she'd expected he'd leave.



She hadn't expected him to refuse to go.



"Ryan, I'm not kidding. I don't want you here. And you moved in with me, remember? This is my place. I'll pay for a hotel room if I have to, but you need to go."



"I'm not going," said Ryan. "This is my home, you're my fiancée, and I'm not leaving."



"I'm not marrying you, you son-of-a-bitch. You get no free passes on cheating."



She stood ramrod straight, staring him down.



It was then that he rushed her.



He was so much larger than she was. "I'm not leaving, damn it!" he said, throwing her against the wall. "You can't do this to me! I love you, you bitch!"



She bounced off the wall, and he swept her leg, causing her to tumble to the ground with a dull thud. He walked over to her and crouched down by the end table, his face inches from hers. "I'm not leaving, Alyssa. You can't make me. We're going to talk this over, and when I explain it to you, you're going to understand."



Alyssa looked up at a man she had thought she loved through tears and pain. "And what if I don't?" she asked, quietly.



"I'm not leaving, Alyssa."



It was then she realized just how serious Ryan was.



"Now, get up—" he said, as he started to put his hand underneath his head to yank her to a sitting position. He started to, but suddenly he screamed.



Alyssa saw it happen and wondered if she'd hit her head harder than she'd thought. A tiny man leapt onto the side of Ryan's head, and with all his might jammed a paper-clip into the eye of her attacker.



He pulled the piece of metal out of his eye and, flailing, grasped the tiny man and flung him across the room. But it gave Alyssa enough time to deliver a kick with all her might, directly into Ryan's scrotum.



He howled and doubled back, and Alyssa caught him across the chin with another kick. Then she was up, moving rapidly toward the kitchen. She grabbed two things. In her left hand she grabbed a telephone. In her right, a butcher's knife. She dialed 911.



Ryan looked up at her, heaving, defeated. "Okay, I'll go," he said, finally.



Alyssa ignored him. "Hello, my fiancé is trying to kill me. I've got free long enough to grab a knife and call you, he's unarmed."



"Alyssa, no—you don't have to involve the police. Look, I know I got out of hand."



"Please, I don't know what he'll to me."

"Alyssa," said Ryan, menacingly, but he stopped as Alyssa brandished the knife angrily.



They stood and faced each other, wordlessly, until the police arrived.



◘ ◘ ◘



"It is a far, far better thing that I do, than I have ever done; it is a far, far better rest that I go to than I have ever known."



The lines of a book Sam could not remember reading traveled through his mind as he traveled away from the giant he had attacked. He knew he was doomed; he didn't care. He just hoped he'd given Alyssa enough time.



He'd given all for her. As he should. As she deserved.



He hit the wall, and collapsed into darkness, and dreams.



"You're mad," he said in the dream.



"Not at all," the voice replied. "We're just doing what we have to do to win. There will be a place for you in the new order, Doctor."



"Not the new order you're talking about. I'd be a slave at best."



"Come, Doctor. Don't go into hyperbole. You've proven useful, tremendously talented. Micromemor would never have gotten to the level of development it did without your input, and of course, Amphisize is your baby. We don't want to eliminate you. We want to celebrate your uniqueness. After all, Marie Curie had her place in the old order, didn't she?"



"I can't help you. I won't."



"Pity," the voice said. "Well, then I guess this can't be helped."



◘ ◘ ◘



Sam was resting on something warm and soft. It smelled faintly of perfume.



He didn't want to open his eyes. Didn't want to know where he was. He didn't want to go to Heaven, and he didn't believe in Hell; he just wanted his eternal rest.



Still, after a time, he knew that he had no choice; his consciousness was stubbornly refusing to wink out. So he opened his eyes.



And shut them immediately.



No, he thought. Not like this.



"Hello?" the voice drifted over him, soft and melodious, and full of deep concern. "Are you waking up?"



He opened his eyes again, and stared again into the deep sienna eyes, one of which was outlined with the purplish haze of a bruise. The mop of short black hair hung around her face and dangled haphazardly as she stared into her hand, where he was currently reclining.



"Are you okay?" he asked, struggling to a sitting position, realizing for the first time that he was naked. Oh, God, not like this.



"Thanks to you," she said, smiling.



"Good," said Sam, heaving a deep sigh. "I'm sorry. I didn't know when I recorded that—well, that—that he'd attack you if you left him."



"So that was your doing, eh?"



Alyssa looked down at her tiny rescuer, trying to suss who he was. Well, he was tiny, to be sure, but that wasn't exactly the impossibility that it once had been. She'd suggested the idea of playing with just this scenario to Ryan more than once. He'd declined.



She knew why, she realized with a shudder; she was suddenly grateful he had turned her down. If she'd been tiny and helpless, would he have been cruel, or merely cold?



But this tiny man—clearly he'd been with them for more than a day or two. More than a week.



"How long?" she asked, suddenly, and Sam, caught off guard, answered truthfully.



"More than a year. Last July." Oh, no.



"Why didn't you ever tell me? I would've helped you."



"I know," he said, looking up at the lovely countenance, still unsure whether this was all a dream—or possibly Heaven. "I just—I was stupid. I'm sorry. I hope you're not upset, but if you are…"



"Upset? Are you crazy? If you hadn't been here, I'd probably be dead by now—I just wish you'd told me you were here, because it must have been really lonely for you."



Sam coughed, and rubbed his eyes. "Alyssa—"



"How—no, of course you know my name. Go on."



"I'm Sam," he said, awkwardly. Finally, he stared up into her eyes, and decided that there was no time like the present. "I was afraid that I'd approach you and you'd…uh…okay, I don't know how to say this, but I'll just, um…"



Alyssa looked on, puzzled, when suddenly several of the thousands of light bulbs she'd been gifted with went off. "You had a crush on me, didn't you." It was a statement, not a question.



"What? No, I…well…yeah. Yeah, I did. I'm sorry, Alyssa, that was stupid, and I just—I kept trying to figure out a way to approach you that you'd like me, and…then you met Ryan, and then I just didn't know what to think."



Alyssa looked down on the little man with a mix of pity and something ineffable.



She leaned down and kissed him, gently, urgently.



When the lips stopped probing his upper torso, they withdrew and said, simply, "Well, it took you a year or so, but I think you figured it out."



And then she bent down again, and he reached out wide to embrace her lips, and they shared another long, lingering kiss. When it broke, finally, he looked up. "Alyssa—I love you."



"I'm going to have to get to know you more before I can reciprocate in kind, you know."



"I know," said Sam. "I can be patient."

February 14, 2008-March 1, 2008

 

"Each has his past shut in him like the leaves of a book known to him by heart and his friends can only read the title."

 

--Virginia Woolf

 

Alyssa put the key in the lock and started to turn it.

 

It was Valentine's Day.  In an odd way, that bothered her.  It was one year to the day since Ryan had proposed to her. 

 

Saying yes to a psychotic narcissist is enough to cause one to question one's judgment forever.

 

She sighed, pausing before she turned the key.  Sam would be waiting for her—and she loved Sam. 

 

She really did; he was kind and smart and he was obviously willing to risk everything for her. 

 

But in the months since he'd come to her rescue, he'd entered a rut—content, it seemed, just to hang out in her apartment.  It wasn't that she minded.  He didn't cost much.  And he provided more than a few services that allowed her to significantly cut her entertainment budget….

 

Still, it wasn't right, she thought.  He was ossifying.  He was becoming a shadow of a person he couldn't even remember.

 

And if she did love him, as she knew she did, she couldn't let him.  She had to force him to move on, and that meant bringing up the message he'd told her about—and insisting that they figure this out, once and for all.

 

Maybe if he regained his past, he could accept his future.  Because if she loved him, she wanted to build a life with him—and she wanted him as a partner, not an accessory.

 

She turned the key.

 

The apartment was dark, save for the flickering of candlelight.

 

"Sam?" she called out, nervously. 

"Over here," came the tiny reply from the kitchen.

 

She turned left and gasped at the tableau.  "How—"

 

"Judy delivered the food," he said, gesturing to the Thai takeout that had been neatly piled onto two plates—though the amounts varied significantly.  "But I took care of the candlelight and the card."

 

Alyssa saw it on the table, a folded piece of 8½ by 11 paper, with a poem written on the cover—"When you love you should not say/'God is in my heart'/But rather,/'I am in the heart of God.'"  She smiled.

 

"That's from The Prophet, you know."

 

"No, I don't," chuckled Sam.  "But I could remember it, and it seemed right somehow.  Read inside."

 

Alyssa turned the page.  "Alyssa, I am so grateful for your love and shelter.  I will always love you, now and forever.  All my love, Sam."

 

"That's sweet," she said, bending down and kissing his forehead.  "I love you too, Sam."

 

Alyssa sat down at the table, and regarded her tiny boyfriend.  There would be a time to discuss unpleasant things.

 

But not yet, O Lord.  Not yet.

 

She picked him up carefully, and smiled. 

 

And throwing caution aside, she dumped him down the front of her blouse.

 

She wasn't sure why she enjoyed him being under her clothes so much; maybe it was just that it was something he alone could do.  It was novel.  It was different.

 

It was erotic as all get-out.

 

From below her chin, a small voice asked, "So, I guess dinner's going to wait a bit, then?"

 

She laughed.  "It doesn't have to."

 

"Oh, no—it can wait.  Trust me," said Sam, as he skootched down through his girlfriend's cleavage, enjoying the soft undulation of her breasts as he dropped through them toward his ultimate destination.

 

He rode the sharp slope of her stomach to the point where her blouse was tucked into her skirt; it wasn't an easy squeeze, but he'd done it before—and she shifted herself enough to make his life easier.

 

He slid into her panties and got to work.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

An uncertain amount of time later, the two lay together on a bed that was, to one of them, a sprawling plateau whose veneer was full of whorls and eddies and dominated by a living, moving, beautiful mountain, and to the other of them just a bed. 

 

Sam rested against the mountain's left arm, looking up at her, far more troubled than he had been letting on.

 

"Alyssa," he finally called.

 

The mountain moved toward him sleepily.  "What is it?" she replied.

 

Sam looked down at his feet.  "I love you," he said.

 

"I love you too.  What's wrong?"

 

He looked up at her.  "Alyssa, I've been putting this off for too long.  I have to start trying to figure out who I am."

 

There was an audible sigh of relief.  "About time, Sam.  What can I do to help?"

 

"That's why I've been putting this off."

 

Alyssa looked down at Sam.  "Oh?"

 

"Alyssa, I don't know much, but I know that whomever shrunk me wasn't messing around.  I have to figure out who I am, but…."

 

"…But you're afraid for me.  That's sweet, Sam.  Stupid, but sweet."

 

"Stupid?  Alyssa, do you want to end up like me—not even sure of your own name?  Dependent on others to do for you because you can't yourself?  I wouldn't let that happen to you."

 

Alyssa sighed again.  "Sam…you saved my life once.  I'm living on bonus time.  And it's great bonus time—I've met a man I love, I've gotten rid of a man who was utter crap, things are good.

 

"But tell me—why did you risk your life to save me?"

 

"Not to get you killed down the line, I'll tell you that much," shot Sam, petulantly.

 

At this, Alyssa rolled her eyes, and slid her hand under her tiny boyfriend, lifting him quickly to eye level.

 

"You saved me, Sam, because you loved me.  And that's what you do when you love someone.

 

"I love you.  And I'll be damned if I'm not with you every step of the way."

 

"And what if you die?" Sam said, looking at her.  "I'd never forgive myself."

 

"If you didn't, I'd haunt you," said Alyssa.  "Look, you said it yourself—you're dependent.  How much time will it save to have a normal-sized person looking stuff up?  A ton, that's how much."

 

"I don't know that it's safe."

 

"I know it isn't," said Alyssa.  "But nobody gets out of life alive.  And tell me—are you sorry you got shrunk?  Truly?"

 

Sam looked at his girlfriend, and shook his head.  "I'm sorry about parts of it.  If I could have met you a different way…but I couldn't, and I'll take it."

 

"So it's settled.  Where do we begin?"

 

◘ ◘ ◘

It took some time, of course.

 

Sam's memory was spotty, and though he'd worked hard to memorize the clues he'd presumably left himself, he still found himself tripping over some of them, uncertain if it was "sam30173" or "sam3O173," or whether it was "culdesacfever" or "cul-de-sac-fever."  He still couldn't make sense of the initial alphabet soup, though he remembered it started with "qwe."  Alyssa suggested it might have something to do with Qwest, but that didn't seem right. 

 

While Sam tried to make his brain behaved, Alyssa decided to do what any attorney would do; she turned to WestLaw, and started searching for the term Sam had remembered—amphisize.

 

It wasn't long—a day or so later—that she got the hit she was looking for.

 

---

 

United States Patent                                                                 11,423,297

Mallory, et al.                                                                   October 26, 2005

 

---

 

Mutodynamic condensation polymer

 

Abstract

 

A new fibrous material comprised of a combination of condensation polymers containing the ester functional group (commonly referred to as "polyester") and long-chain carbon molecules sensitive to permutations in a wearer's morphogenetic field, which will alter its size and shape to match the size and shape of the wearer.

 

---

 

Inventors:    Mallory; Simon A. III (Minneapolis, MN), Matthews; Jane (Eagan, MN), Peterson; Theresa (St. Paul, MN)

Assignee:     Laughlin Laboratories Holdings LLC (Mendota Heights, MN)

Appl. No.:     11/742,913

Filed:           July 8, 2004

 

---

 

There was more—much more.  Alyssa had been lost after the word "mutodynamic."  Sam, for his part, read it in interest.  It didn't make sense, exactly—but it seemed like it should.  

 

While Sam read the abstract, muttering about how he could almost see this thing in his head, Alyssa sat at the computer, searching. 

 

She worked her way backward from the present, and soon was humming idly as she took in the information.  Laughlin was a major player in the new size-change industry, that was for sure.  Contracts with the Society, contracts with Fletcher, contracts with the government.  They'd changed hands a couple times; the latest incarnation had been a four billion dollar transaction.  They didn't manufacture, they invented—and they were doing a bang-up job.

 

And then, as she was working backward, she reached August of 2006.  And let out a short yelp.

 

"Alyssa!" Sam cried, jogging across the computer desk to her.  "What's wrong?"

 

"I found…."

 

"What?"

 

"I found you, Sam."

 

---

 

MINNEAPOLIS (AP)—Police in Minneapolis are no closer to finding missing scientist Simon Mallory, according to sources close to the investigation.

 

Mallory, a senior researcher at Laughlin Laboratories in Mendota Heights, was reported missing in late July. 

 

In an interview on CNN, Mallory's father, Nobel laureate Simon Mallory, Jr., pleaded for his son's safe return.

 

"All Simon ever wanted to do was make life better for people.  Who would kidnap him?"

 

Police have theorized that the scientist's disappearance may be the result of a robbery gone bad, but have thus far failed to find any evidence to substantiate that theory….

 

---

 

Sam looked at the screen, at the picture of himself.  For it was surely him—his face, his smile.

 

"Does it say anything else about me?  Who I am?"

 

Alyssa was ahead of him; she was already heading to Wikipedia.  She remembered, vaguely, the case of the scientist who disappeared; his father had pleaded for his release, and since his father was sort of famous, it had been big news for a little while until that rape victim killed her rapists on video, and then the cable channels had rushed to cover that and the scientist had just sort of drifted away.  (Damn girl's name had been Alyssa, she remembered.  That got her some needling from friends.)

 

But any story at all notable seemed to show up on the internet, and soon, Alyssa was looking at another page, a biography of Simon Alistair Mallory the Third, complete with photo and résumé and—Alyssa finally exhaled at this—a line noting that he was not married and had no children.

 

Sam—Simon—whomever he was, he exhaled at the same line.  He loved Alyssa.  He didn't want to find out that he had to leave her for someone he didn't know.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

"So where does all this leave us?"

 

Alyssa drummed her fingers, staring blankly past her dinner.  "It leaves us nowhere.  All we've learned—other than that I've been calling you by the wrong name since the day I met you—is that your former employer is tied to every major group we might go to for help."

 

Sam—he refused to change his name in his internal monologue now—laughed.  "Well, at least that makes it simple.  I can't trust anyone."

 

"You can trust yourself.  We need to figure out what you were saying.  The only thing you wrote that even looks like words is 'culdesacfever.c.'  What the Hell is that?  A program?"

 

"I don't know.  Maybe we should go back to the computer and search for that term in a website.  Maybe with Laughlin."

 

"Maybe," said Alyssa.  Then, she smacked the table in surprise, lifting Sam (as she also continued to call him in her internal monologue) a good inch up and depositing him on his behind.  "Website!"

 

"Careful," said Sam.  "If it's a bad idea…"

 

"It's a fantastic idea!  It's not culdesacfever.c.  It's culdesacfever.com."

 

Sam opened his mouth, and closed it.  "Why would I use a stupid URL like that?"

 

"Why wouldn't you?  Nobody would want it.  Come on," said Alyssa, proffering her hand and taking her boyfriend back to the bedroom.

 

She got to the destination circuitously; a WHOIS search showed it registered to Moonlit Amaryllis Rails in Lipson, Maine.  Both stared until Sam laughed.

 

"It's an anagram," he said.  "It's me—but not obviously."

 

Alyssa shrugged, and satisfied that it at least wasn't a Department of Defense website, entered in the URL.

 

It brought up a simple page with a login request.

 

"Well," Sam said, "here goes nothing.  Userid is sam30173—"Simon Allistair Mallory, March 1, 1973.  My birthday."

 

"And the password?"

 

He sighed.  Q-W-E…he looked at the keyboard, and suddenly laughed.  It was so dang easy!  "q-w-e-1-2-3-!-@-#."

 

"Sure?"

 

"Certain."

 

She entered in the code, and clicked "enter."  And they waited.

 

Suddenly, a video applet began to load.

 

"Should I let it load?" said Alyssa.

 

"It could destroy your computer," Sam said, "but I don't think it can do worse than that."

 

And then, the applet launched, and Sam was on the screen.

 

"Hello," he said.  "If you're watching this right now, you're watching for one of three reasons.  First, you're me, and you've been dosed with micromemor and you have no idea who you are or why you're just a few centimeters tall. 

 

"Second, you may be with me, helping me out.  I may be there with you or I may be dead, having passed this information on to you before I passed.  If that is the case, I must give you a warning now I was unable to before: this is very dangerous territory you're steering into.  If you want to shut this down now and pretend you never met me, I understand—though I would counter that the information contained here is important enough that I have risked my life for it.

 

"The third possibility is that you're one of my enemies, and you've won.  If so, then I wish you a short life filled with immense pain. 

 

"And now, without further ado, I give you the information I have gleaned from the past three months of my tenure at Laughlin Labs.  I ask you to guard it well, and use it to protect the world—for it soon will need protecting."

 

The applet closed, and a prompt to click to continue appeared.  Before Sam could object, Alyssa had clicked. 

 

And then came a torrent of information—files and data, audio and video, detailed to the nth degree.  They moved through the site in silence for hours.  Neither spoke.  Neither had to. 

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Twenty-four hours later, they sat in the tactical operations center at the Society's Chicago headquaters, under guard by two tough-looking defenders. 

 

Sam was full-sized; that had happened shortly after his arrival there.  Alyssa had driven through the night, and headed straight for the Society.  The information Simon had left himself was clear and sobering.  And the Society saw it exactly the same way.

 

"We need to go ASAP.  Now.  Yesterday.  Seriously, Master Ceres, we can't pussyfoot around—this is the goddamn League we're talking about here!"

 

"I am quite aware of the danger the League presents, Commander Garcia.  Believe me, if anyone in the Society understands, it's me.  But we can't go charging in half-cocked."

 

"Patience, Ana," counseled a calm man reading through a ream of paperwork.  "We have the advantage here.  They have no idea we know a thing about this."

 

"Master Chelgren, I understand, but—Dr. Mallory, the information you've given us is clear and compelling.  But it's over a year old.  They're already on the move."

 

"Wollstonecraft, simmer down.  We have enough information about Laughlin that we know they haven't implemented a quarter of this.  We can't wait months, but we can wait twenty-four hours to get ourselves together.  Now, Doctor," said Ceres, calmly, "is there anything else we need to know?"

 

"I wish I could remember more than I've given you," Sam said, quietly.  "But even with the antidote you gave me…well, my memory will probably always be swiss cheese, right?"

 

"Sadly, yes.  But it could be worse.  Your memory from dosing to the infinite horizon should be just fine.  And it at least appears you have the makings of a good life ahead of you."

 

Alyssa blushed, and smiled at the handsome, man-sized man at her side.  But then she sobered.  "Look, I don't know what Sam and I—Simon and I—"

 

"I'm sticking with Sam."

 

"Well, my dear friend Dr. Mallory and I will help however we can.  Frankly, I don't care who it is, whoever hurt Sam deserves to pay dearly."

 

"Amen to that," said Chelgren.  "And we're going to need you, Sam.  Your memory may be dicey, but it should have some limited use, and we've got almost nothing to work with tactically.  We're going to need you on-site, if possible.  Back and at the command post, but—"

 

"I don't need protection," Sam said, firmly.  "I'll be wherever you need me to be."

 

"You're not an operative.  I'd like you at the command post.  But I appreciate that—and we'll keep this in mind."

 

"I'm going too," said Alyssa.

 

"Darling, you—"

 

"—I'm in this for the long haul, Sam."

 

Chelgren chuckled.  "You're not going to win these arguments, Sam.  Best to accept it now.  Alyssa, you can come—but I want you back off site at field tactical HQ.  Okay?"

 

Alyssa nodded.  She suddenly realized that she'd possibly overstepped, given that a paramilitary operation was being planned around them—but Chelgren simply continued on.

 

"All right, T.O.E.—Sarah, you ready?"

 

"Yep.  Start at the top—MOS Ceres, commanding; MOS-A Kensington-Chelgren commanding Alpha squad; MAD Chelgren commanding Bravo squad; TCH Smith commanding Charlie squad.  Scott, you want that loose cannon Garcia as your second?"

 

There was laughter from the group, even from Commander Garcia.  But Sam noticed it was a nervous laughter.

 

He hoped his delay hadn't cost these people their best chance.  He feared that it had.

Peek-a-Boo (part three)March 3, 2008 I am strength and fear.
I am war and peace.
Give heed to me. --The Thunder, Perfect Mind  

"Where's Chikara?" Master Adept Sarah Kensington-Chelgren said, to nobody in particular, as the truck bounced down the highway.

 

"She's forward, I'll go get her, Master."

 

"Thanks, Steve."

 

They bounced along in silence, sheltered in the mobile command unit Katrin Goldfarb, which was, in fact, self-contained within a trailer speeding up the interstate toward Minneapolis.  There were four semis in the convoy—though calling it a convoy was a misnomer, as the trucks had left at staggered times, and were taking different routes to the same destination.

 

"You wanted…to see me…Master Adept Sarah-san?"

 

"Yes, Commander.  I wanted to talk to you before we get to the battle.  I'm going to have to give commands to you in English—I've got no Japanese, and your English is better than my French.  Are you going to be able to follow them?"

 

It was not an idle question; Sadako Wakahisa was a phenomenal officer—she'd made Commander faster than anyone since they'd begun training, and though she didn't know it, the command staff had already decided that she would be heading up Asian operations as soon as she made Teacher.  And her English was improving rapidly—but she was still far from fluent.

 

"Sarah-san, I will do my goodest, is…what I can do."

 

"That's all I ask, Sadako.  But I need you to let me know if you're having trouble understanding, and I need you to be willing to step aside if you feel you're not performing at your peak.  Do you understand?"

 

"Yes, Sarah-san­.  I place the…uh…team ahead of…me."

 

Sarah smiled at that.  "I know, Sadako-san.  I trust you.  I'm more worried about myself—if I'm unclear, please tell me."

 

"I will if you are.  Is there…anything else?"

 

"No, Commander.  Go get a bit of rest."

 

Sarah swiveled in her chair back to the bank of monitors that made up the mobile command unit, looking at the three-pronged attack they had planned, and fighting the twist in her gut that said this was a bad idea.

 

"You're nervous."

 

"No, Madame Chair, I'm fine."

 

Ronnie Ceres snorted.  "Right.  Sarah, we've been through enough.  You're nervous."

 

"I've just got a bad feeling about this one," said Sarah.

 

"I seem to remember a former Master who said he always had a bad feeling about stuff like this."

 

"I wouldn't mind having Jake along for this one," Sarah said, drumming her fingers.  "I don't trust it, Ronnie."

 

"I know," Ceres said.  "Go get some rest.  An hour of sleep will do you good.  That's an order."

 

Sarah got up and headed forward to a set of bunks.  Her husband was already asleep, she noted.  Smart of him.  Reducing him enough to accommodate her, she slid in beside him and struggled to sleep.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

The dream was extremely real.

 

Sarah even said so.

 

"This dream is—"

 

"—yeah, extremely real.  About time you got here."

 

She turned to the voice, and saw Scott backlit by the evening sun.  "You're dreaming too, I take it?"

 

Scott nodded.  "I think Jake wants to talk to us."

 

Sarah sighed.  It had been almost three years since their dreams had brought them to this place.  But she knew they wouldn't be there unless Jake had a pretty good reason.

 

"I do have a good reason," said D.X. Machina, as he wandered up to the couple.  "I don't just go popping in from the afterlife for fun, you know.  If I did, I'd show up more often."

 

"It's good to see you too, boss," said Scott, quietly, as he embraced his friend. Sarah followed suit; it was a bittersweet reunion, but bittersweet still has some sweetness in it.

 

"Come on," said Jake, motioning them along.  "No time for pizza this visit, but I've got drinks around at that bar over there—and it's best to talk in quiet."

 

They sort of appeared in the bar; Sarah thought they might have walked there, but had no memory of it, and she quickly realized that she shouldn't try to apply logic in a place where it didn't exist.

 

"Logic does too exist here.  But time's a-wastin'."

 

"Stop reading my mind, boss.  Or when I get here, I'll find a way to make your life miserable."

 

"I know you will," said Jake, genially.  "Hopefully, that won't be for some time.  Please," he said, gesturing them over to a table where an attractive young woman was seated, with dark hair and dark eyes, and perpetual smile lines.

 

"So, liebschen, these are my grandpupils, eh?"

 

"Sarah, Scott, I'd like you to meet my mentor, Katrin Goldfarb."

 

Sarah felt the twist in her gut.  As she extended her hand, she said somberly, "This isn't going to go well, is it?"

 

D.X. looked at her directly.

 

"No, Sarah, it isn't."

 

She exhaled slowly.  "Well.  Master Adept Goldfarb, it's an honor to meet you.  And I imagine it's important we begin to talk."

 

"Katrin, please. As for talk—is no time for talking, Sarah.  D.X. and I simply wanted to bring you here to warn you that this will not be easy, and to remind you that the League does not play fair."

 

"I know that," said Sarah, quietly.  "So are we up against?"

 

"Can't give you intelligence," said D.X.  "Against the rules.  Next thing you know, you've got God-Teachers whispering into the ears of two different Prime Ministers at the same time, and then God only knows that comes next.  All I'm going to say is to expect the unexpected.  And a bit of pain."

 

Scott grabbed his drink from the table—whisky, Sarah noted—and downed it in one gulp. 

 

"Any of us going to die?" Scott asked, directly.

 

Katrin closed her eyes and did her best Yoda impersonation.  "Hard to see, the future is.  But it is possible, yes."

 

"Not that you should be surprised," said D.X.  "I mean, I didn't get here by choking on broccoli.  But yeah, it's possible.  Which is why I'm warning you two to be extra-double-super-special on guard."

 

"We will be," said Sarah, leaving her afterlife cocktail to sit.  "Thanks for the heads-up."

 

"Yeah, guys," added Scott.  "It's been good to see you, Jake, and good to meet you, Katrin. We're going now, aren't we?"

 

Jake nodded.  "Just remember, both of you—the scientist, Mallory—he's a good resource, even if he doesn't think he remembers anything.  He does.  And there will be people on the inside who can help you if things go bad.  And fight like Hell, and don't let me see you on this plane of existence in the next century unless you're here to visit."

 

"We'll do our best," said Sarah, as the world began to lighten.  "Thanks."

 

Jake raised his glass in toast.  "I know you will.  To the battle!"

 

And as he downed his drink in one shot, the dream ended.

 

Sarah and Scott awakened as one, Scott unsurprised to see his wife had shrunk him; it certainly wasn't the first time.

 

"Damn," he said, looking at Sarah. 

 

"I know," she said.  "I told you I had a bad feeling about this."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

At about 0630 hours, the trucks arrived at their destination.  The Katrin Goldfarb pulled into the parking lot of a large high school down the road from the strike point; the sun was not quite peeking over the horizon, but already it had lightened enough that Sam blinked a little on exiting the post.

 

He had to go with.  Not just into the parking lot—he had to go in.

 

He wasn't sure why.  He just knew that he had to be there, be inside.  If he could get there, maybe he could remember more.  Maybe.

 

He just had to convince them to let him go.

 

"All right, listen up," said Veronica Ceres, as the troop transports disgorged a solid sixty officers and troopers.  "Operation Blazing Honor will begin in T-30 minutes.  I want all groups to assemble with their respective command teams and begin preparation for transport.  Titania, Alpha squad, over by the Madison, Oberon, Bravo squad, by the New York City, Anonymous, Charlie squad, by the Glenview.  I want everyone eyes forward and ready to go.  We get one shot at this.  Teams, after assembling, I want Explorer, Wollstonecraft, and Mallrat to report up here to me to go over coordination.  Dr. Mallory, Ms. McCollister, please come with me.  All right?  Fall out."

 

As the group began to disperse, Sam and Alyssa approached the woman.  "Madame Chair," Alyssa said, mimicking what she'd heard others say, but Ceres held up a hand.

 

"You're not in the Society—at least not yet.  Call me Ronnie.  Look, you two are taking a huge risk, and we're grateful, but I want to make that clear to you.  I know the League.  I used to be a part of it.  They'll kill cheerfully, if need be."

 

Sam said, simply, "I know, Ronnie.  Believe me, I know.  That's why I want Alyssa to stay back here, where she's relatively safe.  And that's why I need to be with the group on the inside."

 

Ceres smiled slightly, as if she'd been expecting that.  "The first request I'm happy to honor, Sam.  But I don't know if you know what you're getting into if you go in."

 

"I know I don't," Sam said.  "But I almost remember that I do.  I can feel it, just under the surface.  I'm going to be more useful in there.  I know the risk, but I also know what they tried to do to me, and I know if I don't stop them now, they'll do it to more."

 

Ronnie nodded.  "All right.  You'll be with Charlie squad—that's Anon's group.  Stay with the command group and don't be afraid to duck to get out of trouble.  We don't want you hurt."

 

"Me either," he said. 

 

Alyssa was staring at him, mouth open.  He looked back at her, and sighed.

 

"I know, honey, I know.  But…they tried to destroy me.  They took my mind, they took my memory, they took me.  Things have worked out—in some was, I'm really lucky.  But…I can't let them go without a fight."

 

Alyssa shook her head.  "I know," she said, a tear dropping slowly down her right cheek.  "I know, Sam, but—I don't want to lose you."

 

He grabbed and held her, and she grabbed and held him, and they stayed like that a good five minutes, before they broke, and kissed, and she said, "Go get those bitches."

 

Ronnie finished talking to three officers, and one of them approached Sam.

 

"So, you're joining us, are you?  Teacher Greg Robertson," said the man, proffering a hand.  "You and I are going to be close.  I have orders to protect you at all costs."

 

"Teacher—I—"

 

"Don't protest," Greg said, waving him over with him as Sam reluctantly let go of Alyssa's hand.  "This memory/shrinking drug is a bitch, but you might have some good luck trying to remember if you're doing so on site.  And if you can remember anything about the layout in there, you're going to be worth your weight in gold.  Just listen to me—if I tell you to duck, duck.  You're not an op—though you've got the guts for one.  If you make it through this alive, I'll vouch for you to come in as a Defender straightaway.  What do you think of the code name of 'Memento'?"

 

"I'm not sure I remember what that means," said Sam, as they headed over to the group.

 

"Trust me," said Greg, "it fits."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

It was a reasonably standard attack, if more robust than usual.  Alpha squad running interdiction at the parking lot and outside and around the building, Bravo and Charlie in a pincer action, seizing the building from opposite ends and working toward the middle.  In principle, it should work fine.

 

Of course, on paper, every plan should work fine.

 

"All right," Ronnie said from the command post, "we've got check-in with the local authorities, they're going to stay clear unless asked, but they'll be on alert; need a go/no-go, folks.  Alpha?"

 

Sarah grimaced, but ignored the voices telling her to waive off.  "Go," she said, evenly.

 

"Bravo?"

 

"Go, Ceres," Scott replied, shifting from side to side like a boxer trying to loosen up.

 

"Charlie?"

 

"Go," Anonymous said, simply.  He said a quiet prayer that this would end better than the last battle he'd been in.

 

"All right, we are go.  On my mark, transport your teams and attack.  Three…two…one…mark."

 

The teams hit their transport spells simultaneously, as they'd trained to do.  They streamed through quickly, Sarah's team fanning out, Scott and Anon charging the building with reckless abandon.

 

"All right!" Sarah called.  "We have three unknowns in the lot—Voy, secure 'em.  Chikara, I need help getting detention set up."

 

"I am ready," said Sadako, producing a small container that she placed on the ground.  She murmured the incantation in Japanese, and it became a largish shack.

 

"Nice work," said Sarah, already moving to cut off two more cars that seemed set to reverse themselves.  "Star!  Explorer!  I need you at the entrance to the driveway—we're detaining every car coming in, got it?"

 

"On it, Master," Steve said, nodding to Jana.  She enlarged herself to a solid twenty feet. 

 

"I think," she said, "it's best to be intimidating, don't you?"

 

Steve smiled.  He loved this girl.  He did the same.

 

 ◘ ◘ ◘

 

"Society!  Don't move!" shouted Scott as they stormed the lobby.  A confused looking receptionist looked on in mute shock as a Trooper guarded her.  "All right, fan out and lock it down, folks!" Scott said, feeling almost cocky.  He'd expected resistance already.  They really might have caught them off guard.  Maybe D.X. was wrong.

 

That's when the explosions went off.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

The ceiling caved in.

 

Sam covered his head and screamed, but there wasn't much more he could do.  He and Greg had just headed right through a doorway, looking for interference, when suddenly the bombs blew.

 

When the rain of rubble finished, Sam looked up, stunned to still be in one piece.  He had been just a few feet ahead of Greg, when he—

 

Greg.

 

He looked back at the wounded teacher.  He was on the ground, conscious but swearing and cursing, looking down at the stump of a right leg that wasn't connected to anything anymore.

 

"We need to get you out of here," said Sam, looking back at the doorway. 

 

It was sealed shut.

 

"Can we call for help?  Your radio?"

 

"Smashed," said Greg, grimacing.  "Dropped it when the thing blew—it's gone."

 

"Well, maybe I can dig through…."

 

"No time…you need to get clear, Sam…please, you need to tell Bekah that I love her. That I wanted more time.  You need to tell her."

 

Sam felt a sudden pain in his head.  He touched it, felt blood.  It was a nasty gash, but nothing compared to what Greg had.  "Like hell," he said, surprising himself.  "I'm going for help.  Here," he continued, instinctively stripping his shirt and tearing a long strip from it.  He lifted Steve's leg, and though his erstwhile protector howled in protest, he tied the tourniquet as tightly as he could muster.

 

"I'm coming back for you," said Sam.  "I don't want to have to tell your girl how you loved her.  I want you to do it yourself."

 

Greg, for his part, leaned limply against the rubble.  "Me too, Doc.  You're gonna make a good officer someday, you know that, right?"

 

"Stay conscious," said Sam.  "And stay on your guard."

 

He turned and headed into the bowels of research lab 12.

 

Sasha.

 

The name floated through, unbidden.  He didn't know if it was important.

 

He didn't care.  He pushed on.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Anon took what was left of Charlie squad back to the left.  Not very sporting, using munitions—Leah must've shed what was left of her honor.  He'd lost Greg, lost Dr. Mallory—hopefully just on the other side of the wall, that's the way they were heading.  Lost Rice and Bellanger, too—damn it all, they were going to be promoted tonight if all went well.

"All right," he said to the remaining men and women in his company, "no time for dilly dally.  This way, we're going to get these bitches once and for all."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Sarah was not expecting to be in a very difficult fight with a large, vicious, and angry Adept, but she was, and it was all she could do to keep her unit together while she tried to parry the attack from the woman.

 

It was Wafia, she knew even before she spoke.  The woman from Afghanistan—she was talented. 

 

Sarah smiled, though.  She wasn't without a trick or two of her own.  Throwing caution to the wind, she reached through and pulled her opponent through into another place.

 

"You have the team, Steve," she said, as she disappeared into nowhere.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Scott had caught the rubble and shrunk it just in time.  Another split-second and he would have lost Ana.  As it was, they were now facing a sealed door that was evidently impervious to shrinking and growth spells.

 

"There has to be another way around.  You," he said, pointing to the receptionist.  "Is there another way in?"

 

"I don't know.  I'm just a temp.  Seriously."

 

"Yeah, yeah.  All right, we're going to have to do this the hard way," he said, looking to the ground.  "Everyone, stand by for miniaturization.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Ronnie swore as she watched her main attack squad shrinking itself while the rear guard was decimated.  She had no telemetry on Mallrat or Mallory—though she was trying to hide that fact from Alyssa right now.  They were barely inside the facility.  And it was pretty obvious that they had managed a surprise for about eight seconds.

 

Even Leah wasn't that good.

 

She frowned.  She didn't like this one bit.

 

"All right, Little, where's Sarah?  I need her to break off half of Alpha squad, send them in with Bravo."

 

"She's engaged, Master," Stuart replied.  "Should I tell Steve?"

 

"Negative," said Ronnie, drumming her fingers.

 

This wasn't going well at all.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Sarah rematerialized in a shoe, as did Wafia.  She knew there were mere moments.

 

"I'm leaving," she said.  "You probably—"

 

But Wafia was already pulling her through to another world.  A meteor-sized rock was hurtling toward Sarah.  She quickly reduced it, but saw a flurry more inbound.  She looked up, and saw where she was—the shoulder of a young girl, probably eighteen.

 

She wasn't moving.

 

Sarah cursed, and with a flourish, pulled herself and Wafia on.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 Sam ran through corridors that seemed familiar, though deserted.  They would be, wouldn't start running tests until nine.  Maybe a few people around.  Sasha. 

He shook his head, trying to will the memory through.  He knew it was important. 

 

He turned the corner, and stopped dead.

 

He was face-to-face with an attractive woman in her early forties, brilliant red hair tied back, mouth agape.

 

"Oh my God, Simon?  Is that—is that you?"

 

Sam started to turn, but somehow, something in his brain told him to stay.

 

He looked back at the woman.

 

He cleared his throat.

 

"I am Simon.  In a manner of speaking.  I—I was dosed with—"

 

"Oh my God, micromemor!  That explains a lot.  What's going on, is the League attacking?  We're shut down, they've sealed off everything lower than nine; I suppose it makes sense, that's pretty sensitive stuff—anyhow, look, I'm rambling, you probably don't even remember my name."

 

Simon looked at the woman, and raised an eyebrow.  "Sasha…I think."

 

Sasha Peterson smiled.  "Well, glad of that.  Come on, Jane and Jake were back with me, maybe we can help fix your cut."

 

He started off with Sasha, trying to shake the cobwebs from his head.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

They emerged at approximately one millimeter tall.  It had been a bit of a trek, but they'd cleared the underside of the door.  Now they just needed to unshrink, and they could continue.

 

"All right, stand by to—"

 

But before Scott got the words out of his mouth, they had been restored.

 

Master Chelgren looked around angrily.

 

"Who restored us?"

 

"Nobody on your team, Scott."

 

He turned to the sound of the voice. 

 

"Damn it, Leah, don't you get tired of losing?  Transport," he said, aiming a shot across her bow as she pushed a button on what looked to be a garage door remote.

 

He started to throw the spell when he got lightheaded.  He tried to push the spell out, but it was fuzzy—rubbery.  It rebounded, but not hard.  It wasn't going to affect him.  It just petered out and died.

 

"Interesting, isn't it?  It's still highly experimental—but it's going to help us out a lot, don't you think?"

 

Scott felt like a man who'd lost his sight.  He felt the field pushing in on him, cutting off his power, choking it off and clearing it out.  "It's a morphogenetic dampener," he said, quietly.

 

"Very good, Master Adept Chelgren!  Yes, it's a morphogenetic dampener.  Keeps you from doing any of your little parlor tricks.  Now, ladies," she said, as two dozen women entered the room, "secure this group.  We'll deal with the second attack squadron presently."

 

Scott grimaced as he was shackled.  "You can't have a field bigger than the main building here.  And one powerful enough to knock me out would have to be big."

 

"Oh, it is," Leah said, smiling wider.  "Too bad you won't get to see it before I kill you.  For now—take them to the holding area along with the rabble.  And begin countdown to departure, sixty minutes on my mark…mark.  Execute Decampment Procedure Stanton."

 

"Our base knows you've got us," said Scott."

 

"Right," said Leah.  "Like I'd have a morphogenetic dampener here and not have your signal scrambled like an omelet.  Move."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

"That's a nasty gash, let me look at it," said Jane, peering into the cut on Sam's forehead.

 

"No time," he said, pacing.  "Look, the Society is in trouble.  We have to get into the main facility."

 

"The Society can handle themselves.  Besides, all they have to do is lock down the facility and turn on the dampener; the League will never get through that."

 

Simon shook his head at Sasha.  "It's not the League attacking.  It's the Society!"

 

Jake looked up at that.  "Why would the Society attack itself?"

 

Sasha looked helplessly over at Jane, whose face was ashen.

 

"They told us that this was a Society facility…that they were the money behind…Oh my God."

 

Sasha closed her eyes.  "Jane, don't tell me that we've been working for the League the past three years."

 

"She doesn't have to," said Sam.  "I knew they were.  I left a message for myself.  They—they kidnapped me, shrunk me.  I don't remember how.  But…."

 

"You warned me," said Sasha, slumping against a wall.  "You told me that you didn't trust management, told me to take care if anything happened to you, but—Damn it!"

 

She threw a keyboard across the room.

 

"Well," said Jake, "There's only one thing we can do."

 

"What's that?" Jane replied.

 

"Help."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Sarah was growing tired of the attack, and so she pulled a page out of D.X.'s old playbook.

 

They were back in Wafia's village, as Sarah had first seen it, in the aftermath of her rampage.  Wafia, for her part, was staring in shock.  She looked over at Sarah.

 

"It's a good thing you don't understand Pashto, or you'd be really offended by what I'm about to say."

 

"Language is irrelevant in this place," Sarah retorted, angrily, drawing Wafia's eyes even bigger.  "We're in your mind, in the wreckage of your home, and you're about to relive your glory moment forever—while out in the real world, your eyes glaze over and you start to drool.  Sound good?"

 

Wafia strode angrily toward Sarah.  "In the name of Allah (peace be upon him), surrender!   Whether I die or not is not important; your friends will be killed.  The League will survive today.  And all women everywhere will triumph."

 

"I've seen that kind of triumph before," said Sarah.  "Never works out evenly."

 

"Who cares about evenly?" Wafia shot back.  "We should pay them back, pay them back for thousands of years of servitude.  Surely you see that?"

 

Sarah shook her head.  "My husband never made me his servant—had he tried, I wouldn't be his wife."

 

Wafia said, angrily, "Yes, nice of the American to tell the rest of the world's women how good you have it.  My sister would have married who my father blessed; I was almost killed for being raped.  You have no idea how it is."

 

Sarah shook her head.  "I don't," she said, honestly.  "But I know that however much wrong is in your culture, it doesn't make it right to simply switch the sides around.  If it's wrong for men to abuse women, it's wrong for women to abuse men."

 

"I don't care," said Wafia.  "Men are a scourge, and the world will be better when we are rid of them."

 

Now, Sarah thought.  "Transport and bind for an hour!" she suddenly shouted, pushing Wafia away with all her might.  She pulled herself back to reality.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Ceres heaved a sigh of relief when Sarah reappeared.  "Titania!  We're reds across the board, I need you and a small strike force ASAP—I'm going in too."

 

"Ronnie—"

 

"Sarah, we've got no telemetry on anyone inside the building, and there's every indication that things have gone badly wrong."

 

Sarah paused at that, and closed her eyes.  Claris, she thought, but nothing answered back.

 

"Okay," she said, "We're in.  Steve, Jana, you're with me.  Also Troopers James and Bolton."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Sam fretted.  He knew that Greg was on borrowed time—as did the rest of his friends.  But he also knew that if he honored what Greg believed in, the mission had to come first.

 

He just hoped this would work.

 

"All right," said Sasha, peering through what appeared to be an oversized air vent, "It looks like the Jefferies Tubes are still clear."

 

"Jefferies Tubes?"

 

Jane rolled her eyes.  "That's your fault, Simon.  You were a big trekker back before your brain got scrambled.  Technically, they're interbay access portals, but your name stuck."

 

Sasha pulled herself inside, and proffered a hand to Sam.  "Good thing I never really mentioned these to our new corporate masters.  We haven't needed them much.  And…well, you've gotta keep some secrets, right?"

 

Sam smiled.  He didn't know why, but suddenly he remembered just a flash of him approaching Sasha romantically, being told that wasn't going to happen.  Not him, just that her type wasn't male.

 

He smiled at the half-memory.  It had actually helped, he though.  He remembered, vaguely, that they'd become good friends after that, for just a bit.

 

"Let's go," he said.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Alyssa paced in the command center, which right now was largely depopulated.  "Are you sure—"

 

"We can't raise anyone," said Teacher Stuart Little, cranklily.  "Trust me, we're not happy about it either.  But we don't have much more we can do but sit tight.  Those were Master Ceres' orders, and I'm not going to ignore those again."

 

"'Again?'"

 

Stuart leaned back.  "Just hang loose, sister.  Hang loose."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

They moved slowly and deliberately, until Sarah felt the dead spot.

 

"Whoa," she said, swaying just a bit.

 

"What is it?"

 

"I felt something too," Ronnie said, reaching out.  "That bitch.  It's a dampening field."

 

Sarah shook her head.  "I'm no good in there, then."

 

"Right," said Ronnie.  "You're you.  You're good everywhere.  But we're not going to get anywhere just standing here."

 

"What's the plan?" asked Sarah.

 

"When you've got nothing—surrender," said Ronnie, walking forward.

 

Sarah looked up, surprised, but suddenly nodded.  "Yeah—it's our best way inside, isn't it?"

 

"Let's go," said Ronnie.  "Before I wise up."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Bravo squad was locked in holding with about a dozen regular staffers of Laughlin labs—a few scientists, a couple accountants—not many people there before eight, which had been what the Society had counted on.

 

Charlie squad had hit a dead and, and was doubling back.  Anon had tried transporting, and got nothing.  He didn't know his team was completely sealed off from the main area, and he'd waste time finding that out.

 

Teacher Greg Robertson lay up against a wall, trying to hold his strength, even as he felt himself dying.  Things had gone terribly wrong.  He knew it.  Still, he remembered back to being a lost and wasted man many years before, of being given a crystal by a young D.X. long before this became mainstream, of working his way through the Society after Madison, of meeting Bekah amid the hell of Edinburgh.  If he was going to die, at least he'd had an interesting run.

 

Leah Ash had grinned wildly as Ronnie and company surrendered, and rewarded her with a backhand across the face, before sending them up to the detention level.

 

She had only to wait out another forty minutes, and her victory would be complete.

 

And in lab bay one, an access portal had just been removed, and four men and women clambered out.

 

"All right," said Simon, "now what?"

 

"They'll be running the dampener," Jane said.  "It'd be their best defense."

 

"Right," said Sasha.  "Well, you designed it; how do we disable it?"

 

"The key will be to alter the flow of neutrinos over the grid.  Should be easy—if we can get to it.  But you'd better believe it'll be guarded," said Jane.

 

"But what if it needed adjusting?  You can do that while the system's online."

 

"Yes," said Jake, "you can do that, Simon.  Nice memory.  So what?"

 

"Well, what if the League was noticing fluctuations in the intensity of the field owing to the DNA grid being catalyzed somewhat.  It's a slight adjustment, but we'd need to do it fast, or the field could collapse.  At least, that's a plausible story.  I think.  Actually, someone explain to me what I just said, would you?"

 

Sasha was grinning.  "God bless you, Sim, I've missed you.  All right, who's the best liar in the group?"

 

Jake, Sam, and Jane each pointed to Sasha.

 

"Yeah, I know.  All right, Jane, you're with me.  Jake, Simon—hide."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Scott groaned as Sarah was pushed into the room.

 

"Well, that's it, huh?" he said, going to embrace her.

 

"Anon's group is still free—we think.  And we've got a chance together.  If the field falters, together we might be able to do something."

 

Scott shook his head.  "Honey—you should've cleared out."

 

Sarah kissed him.  "Scott, if you think I'd ever leave you to die, you're sorely mistaken.  If you're going down, I'm going down with you—and D.X. will just have to put up with us in the afterlife."

 

Scott hugged her.  "Yeah, I'd rather die with you than apart too."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

  

Ronnie, for her part, was not in the room.  She was instead manacled to the chair in Leah Ash's office.  Leah was quietly, unhurriedly removing a few pieces of bric-a-brac from the otherwise sterile room.

 

"So," Leah finally said, "I've finally got you, you traitor.  How should I kill you?  What would be the most painful thing I could do to you?"

 

Ronnie looked at Leah.  "Show me a tank full of tiny men, scared to death of women, and tell me it's the future."

 

Leah sighed.  "You could have had a place at my side in the new world, Ronnie.  But you couldn't get over your queasiness at what had to be done.  I have no such compunction."

 

"Then why haven't you killed me already?"

 

"Why bother?  I've got you trapped in the building with a full autodestruct sequence on, we've already managed to get most of the important equipment and files out, save for the dampener—it's too big to carry anyhow, and I'm not worried—in eighteen minutes, I'll be out of here, and you, your adepts, and the leadership of the Society will be dispersed in a cloud of nuclear rubble."

 

Ronnie's eyes widened.  "A nuclear—what the hell?"

 

"I have connections, Ronnie.  You should've learned that a long time ago.

 

"At any rate, sit back and relax, Veronica Koschei—your demon of a grandfather would be disappointed at how weakly you fought."

 

Ronnie sighed.  "I never knew you knew.  And he never told anyone."

 

"He never would, inscrutable bastard.  He never would.  But he set you up pretty, didn't he?"

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

"Look, you don't understand," said Sasha.  "Ash is furious—this thing's unstable, and if we don't adjust it now, it's going to oscillate out of phase."

 

Alyssa Freitas leaned coolly up against the device.  "Look, if Leah—"

 

"There's no time!  We've got a minute, maybe two at most, to make this adjustment.  You want those adepts suddenly getting power?"

 

Freitas sighed.  "All right, all right, you can do your adjustment.  Just the quiet one, though.  You—I want you in sight if anything goes wrong."

 

"Of course, dear," said Sasha, grinning.

 

It was but a minute later when the alarms went off.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

It felt like they'd just consumed a thousand Red Bulls each. 

 

Scott and Sarah looked at each other, almost not daring to believe that they felt what they felt. 

 

They nodded to each other, and smiled.

 

And they were shouting out a mishmash of overlapping incantations almost immediately, dispatching their way with ease through their guards.  They were out of the jail within seconds, and out and into the facility.

 

"Split up!" shouted Sarah to Scott.  "We've got to find Ronnie and Anon!"

 

"10-4," Scott replied, leaping a banister and transforming himself into an army man, complete with parachute, until he alighted on the ground below.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Leah, for her part, had looked up in horror.

 

"No," she said, quietly.

 

Ronnie mumbled two quick incantations, and rose.  "All right," she said.  "Let's go."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Alyssa had been knocked out by a swift punch from Sasha, and Jake and Sam had rejoined the group.

 

"Come on!" said Jane, leading the way.  "We've got to get to the central security section!"

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Leah and Ronnie went after each other with all their might, neither one backing down an inch. 

 

Leah hit Ronnie with an AR, which Ronnie parried and came back with a shrink spell, but Leah was ready for that and moved and transformed herself into a cannon, but Ronnie shrunk herself as the shell volleyed forth.

 

Leah came back to herself, and smiled.  "It's too late, Ronnie," she said, looking at her watch.  Depressing a button, she said, simply, "All forces, evac now.  As for you," she said.  "Pokalechke."

 

Ronnie tried to parry the blow, but she was just a hair slow.  It hit her and suddenly began to mold her, to alter her, to eat her from within.

 

"Transport," said Leah, disappearing from the scene.

 

She felt her body swell in some places, collapse in others. 

 

It was, she knew, the mutilation spell.  It was said to exist, but to have been excised at Bergen-Belsen.

 

Ronnie knew this meant that Leah had an older codec.

 

She wanted to warn her friends, but she knew it was already too late.

 

With a groan, she collapsed.  She had time for just one message, and using a bit of blood, she scrawled out two letters.

 

And then she died.

  

◘ ◘ ◘

 

They entered the main chamber almost simultaneously.

 

"Where are the League officers?" shouted Scott.

 

"I don't see anyone.  There's an office—oh, God.  Ronnie."

 

"What is it, Sarah?  Oh, no."

 

Ronnie was dead, distorted almost beyond recognition.

 

Scott looked at her, angry beyond belief.  And then he saw the letters.

 

Pu.

 

Sam and company arrived just then.  "What the—my God!  What happened?"

 

"Ronnie—" said Sarah, blankly.

 

Scott looked at the letters.  This meant something.  He searched his memory.

 

"Plutonium?  Why would she write that?"

 

Scott looked at Mallory, wild-eyed.  "There's a bomb!  Sarah, get everyone out of here!"

 

"What about you?" Sarah asked.

 

"No time," he said, vaulting the table.  It would be buried beneath them.  He'd get one chance.

 

Sarah was moving people out as fast as she could conceive.  "Don't forget Greg—he's back at the entrance," said Sam.

 

Sarah saw him, and transported him.

 

And transported Sam, and Steve, and Jana, and Anon--everyone save herself. 

 

And then she turned to her husband, who was searching for it.  He knew it was here.

 

She closed her eyes and held his hand.

 

They felt it—just the tiniest twitch of a trigger, felt the explosion begin.

 

And they pushed it down.  Shrink.  Shrink.  Shrink.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Sam embraced Alyssa.  She kissed him, hard.  "I never thought I'd see you again," she said.  Then—"Why are we in Chicago?"

 

"Bad stuff still going on there," said Sam.  "Bad stuff."

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

It pushed against them.  It was protected.  It was powerful magic, and powerful technology.  It would not be denied.

 Shrink.  Shrink.  Shrink. 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

Greg was rushed out into an ambulance; Bekah leapt in before anyone could say anything.  She was but a Deputy, yes, but everyone knew their story.

 

She held his hand all the way to the hospital.  Halfway there, Greg opened his eyes, and smiled at her.

 

"I love you, Bekah," he said.

 

And with that, he let go of her hand, once and for all.

 

◘ ◘ ◘

 

It pushed, pushed with all its might, but it was but a force of nature, just one force represented that day.  It was not a match for them.

 

It detonated with a force large enough to send them sprawling backward, and to ignite part of the room—but not much more.

 

They looked at the fire, realized that soon, the building would be engulfed.  They looked at Ronnie, badly battered, almost inhuman.

 

"We're going to kill that bitch," said Scott.

 

"I know," said Sarah.

 

And as the fire began to spread in earnest, they transported out.

 END