begin with, and this had just proved their point, whether it made much sense or not.
They didn’t ask to move Cindy from Atopia, as this remained the one place where they could still hold out hope. The future was approaching awfully fast out here, and maybe there was a way we could fix what had happened.
“So you have no ideas left, doc?” I asked, at yet another review I’d requested.
“Commander Strong, we’re going to have to refuse any further meeting requests until we have something new,” said the doc’s proxxi. “It’s one thing to play with the inputs and outputs to the brain, but the actual place where the mind comes together…it’s a tricky thing.”
Jimmy was with me too, trying to help out. “Why don’t you just take it easy, Commander, I’ll keep you posted if we can figure anything out.”
So I left it in their hands. Apart from watching reruns of my family, I spent a lot of my time floating back up on the edge of space, following the UAVs in their lazy orbits around Atopia high in the stratosphere, looking down at the storms that threatened to crush and destroy Atopia.
They could figure it out without me. I had other things to do.
Sitting high in the bleachers, the drama of the little league game was spread out before me. Tensions were running high at the bottom of the ninth inning, and everyone around held their collective breath as the final hitter came to the plate.
Nervously shifting silhouettes far in the outfield cast long shadows in the last rays of a late summer sunset. I squinted into the sun, trying to make out which kid was which, and then turned my attention back to the hitter.
Strike went the first pitch. Then strike again went the second. Hushed silence as the pitcher went into his windup.
“Strike three!” thundered the umpire.
The scene turned into pandemonium, at least for half of us there. I smiled, watching the little figures running in from the outfield, and someone grabbed me by the arm.
“What a great game!” said the man standing beside me. “You got a son in the game?”
“I sure do,” I replied as my boy scampered up the stairs through the departing crowd. He jumped into my arms and hugged me, and I looked down into his eyes.
“We won dad!” he squealed at me. “Why are you crying, dad? We won!”
I wiped my face.
“You sure have your mother’s eyes, you know that?”
Little Ricky just smiled without understanding. Drying my eyes I took his hand, and we walked down off the bleachers, across the infield and into the dying sunshine.
Timedrops
Book 3: Vince Indigo
PROLOGUE
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 onwards towards 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.
I shouldn’t have tried to escape.
Alarms signaling the start of the slingshot weapons test firing 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, even why I was doing it.
It was a gamble that hadn’t paid off as the UAV’s control system signaled the system malfunction that I always knew was coming. It lurched sickeningly off to the left, cutting and sliding through empty space, turning inexorably back towards my doom.
In the near distance, the boom of the slingshot began, its thundering inferno blossoming 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, and yet here I was.
The awful growl of the slingshot built in power 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. In seconds I was incinerated like Icarus flying too close to the firestorm of knowledge, 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 towards the endless seas below.
1
Identity: Vince Indigo
The last dregs of the night drained sleeplessly away, and despite the world’s best efforts, my life had filled with yet another new day. More dreams of death, but they weren’t just dreams. Or were they? I felt nauseous. You’d have thought that life would be easy as one of the world’s richest men living on the island colony of Atopia, the most sought after zip code on the planet, but the universe was frustrating my expectations.
It was still early morning. From beneath the sheets, my blurry eyes could just glimpse the dawning sky regaining its composure while the roar and flame of the slingshot test began to die down. Dread filled me as I watched stiletto tipped fishnet stockings stalking towards me from the living area. Then the lights flipped on as Hotstuff tore the sheets off me.
“Aw, come on!” I whimpered, weakly fumbling to grab back the covers.
Hotstuff was all done up in a bad schoolgirl outfit today, complete with a checked miniskirt and a starched men’s dress shirt. The shirt was done up from the bottom in a knot to expose her belly ring, and unbuttoned far enough down from the top 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!” I cried out as she whacked me with it.
She just giggled and wound back up to smack me again.
“What the heck?” I screeched, and jumped up 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 army fatigues. She playfully menaced me with the riding crop as I stood naked and rubbed my stubble with one hand and defended myself with the other.
Absentmindedly, I admired myself in a mirror on the opposite wall. Nearly seventy years old, yet with all the gene therapy I barely looked forty. A thick shock of graying hair still hung playfully, if listlessly, over tired eyes that stared back at me.
“Two things before we get started, sir,” announced Hotstuff, snapping smartly to attention and giving me a
