tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20247495704767258652023-11-15T09:45:35.458-05:00The Fixers - Online Serial FictionThe Fixers is a science fiction webserial which chronicles the adventures of a group tasked with preserving the past, in a world rife with time travel. Taking orders from a mysterious entity named Hal, they work together to fix problems in the timestream before they grow out of control and threaten the future.Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-7886299789119761032012-02-11T22:54:00.001-05:002012-02-11T22:56:26.758-05:00The Fixers #10Len's voice again. "Seb what is it?"<br />
<br />
Seb held the gun pointed at the attorney.<br />
<br />
Remy, standing at Seb's side, leaned close. "In 1984, Thomas Burkhart earns an acquittal for the man who murders your mother."<br />
<br />
Burkhart, still seated, kept his hands in the air. "I don't know what she's talking about. I don't know who this woman is. I didn't—"<br />
<br />
"Shut up," Seb said.<br />
<br />
"Seb, are you there?" Gretchen jumped as Len's voice came again into her and Seb's ear. "What's going on?" After a pause, "Gretchen?"<br />
<br />
She didn't respond to Len. Instead, she called to Seb in what she hoped was a soothing voice. She licked her lips and, holding her hands up, considered taking a step forward.<br />
<br />
Remy moved from Seb's shoulder and returned to the desk of the attorney. Gretchen paused to momentarily watch the redhead scribble something onto a sheet of blank paper.<br />
<br />
"Sebastian, darling," she called, without looking up from her writing.<br />
<br />
Gretchen moved her eyes back to the Englishman, who was still holding the gun leveled at the frantic attorney. Burkhart was babbling about his family and his life, telling Seb he was sorry for whatever he had done or would do. The muscles in Seb's face tightened and relaxed, while he stared without word at the man.<br />
<br />
"Sebastian," Remy said again. She set the pen down and scooped up the note she had just written. She turned and carried it with her to Seb's side.<br />
<br />
"It's okay," she told him, now standing at his shoulder again. She folded the paper in her hands. "Go ahead. You can make the world a little bit better place."<br />
<br />
She reached out and took hold of the pocket on Seb's shirt, then tucked the folded paper inside.<br />
<br />
Without turning to look at her, Seb spoke. "Killing him won't make anything better. It won't save my mum."<br />
<br />
"Right!" The scared fat man quickly agreed. "Killing me won't change anything."<br />
<br />
"It might make you feel better," said Remy.<br />
<br />
Gretchen took a small step forward. As she watched, the redhead put a hand on Seb's shoulder.<br />
<br />
"Maybe," he agreed at last.<br />
<br />
For a moment nobody spoke. Gretchen opened her mouth, ready to try and soothe Seb another time.<br />
<br />
When the gun went off, she jumped and let out a small cry. The shot was ringing in her ears as the stricken attorney crumpled from the chair onto the floor. Blood appeared. Gretchen quickly looked away.<br />
<br />
After a moment she looked up at Seb, who was just lowering his arm. Smoke hung in the air in front of him. <br />
<br />
"Seb!" Her voice elicited no response. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"<br />
<br />
The question hung in the air. Then Seb turned his head slightly, to look at Remy.<br />
<br />
"No, I don't feel any better."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
"Len," Seb was saying, "we're going to need to double back."<br />
<br />
"What happened?" Gretchen hadn't known Len for long, but she could detect the strain in his voice from always having to rely on she and Seb for information. Why doesn't he ever come on missions? She would have to ask.<br />
<br />
"Burkhart's dead. Can you double us back to a moment before we first arrive?"<br />
<br />
"Was it Remedy?" He had only a moment earlier been informed of the the woman's presence.<br />
<br />
"I'll fill you in when we're back in the Pod."<br />
<br />
Remy, standing before Seb, leaned in and patted his chest in the spot where she had previously tucked her note.<br />
<br />
"Don't say I never give you anything, Sebastian." She grinned.<br />
<br />
"I don't know what your game is, Rem."<br />
<br />
"No game," she smiled, stepping back. "Just a gift of information for an old friend. Just make sure you use it, okay?"<br />
<br />
He took a step forward. "Rem—"<br />
<br />
The buzzing sound Gretchen had grown used to rose in her ears.<br />
<br />
She heard Remy's voice one last time: "I'll be gone when you arrive. But I'll see you both again soon."<br />
<br />
Then a flash and Gretchen was whisked away.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
"What is it?" Seb was looking at her. She opened her mouth to answer, but she wasn't sure how to explain. Seb nodded anyway. "You don't remember do you?"<br />
<br />
"Remember what?"<br />
<br />
"We were just here."<br />
<br />
"We were?" She tried to think. They arrived in the bathroom. That's right! They had already arrived in the bathroom. Then they walked out and—<br />
<br />
"Come on," said Seb. He reached out for the door knob. "We traveled back to a point before we first arrived. A timeline just disappeared, but you were there. Traveling may have mixed it up, but you'll remember."<br />
<br />
He pressed up against her and pulled the door open. He had done that the first time, too.<br />
<br />
"Let's go," he said looking over his shoulder. Then he turned and walked into the room.<br />
<br />
There was someone already here. Someone they had spoken with. Someone who—<br />
<br />
"Did you kill somebody?" She followed him out into the room, which was a well-furnished office law office. Seb was staring across the room towards the desk. <br />
<br />
She considered him. "You did. I remember."<br />
<br />
He walked across the room and seemed to search around the desk.<br />
<br />
"You killed that attorney," Gretchen said.<br />
<br />
Seb strode to the door and opened it and peered out into the hallway. He closed the door and turned to face Gretchen. "Indeed I did."<br />
<br />
"But, why? What did it change?"<br />
<br />
"It didn't change a thing," he said. "It didn't make any bloody difference."<br />
<br />
He keyed his mic. "Len, we should be all clear to return." Looking at Gretchen he added, "I trust Rem's word."<br />
<br />
"That's it?" came Len's response. "All set?"<br />
<br />
"I said I'd explain when I get back," Seb said. "Bring us back."<br />
<br />
"What did she write in that note?" asked Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"I guess we'll see, won't we?<br />
<br />
The buzzing returned.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div><div style="text-align: center;"> </div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-51896917139807727792012-02-03T22:57:00.004-05:002012-02-11T22:56:01.762-05:00The Fixers #9Remy sat on the edge of Thomas Burkhart's desk. The fat defense attorney sat in a chair in the corner of the office. She kept the pistol pointed at him.<br />
<br />
"What exactly do you want, Rem?" Seb was still standing, arms crossed in front of him. Gretchen, watched from across the room.<br />
<br />
"I just want to talk, Sebastian. To share information with you. Like two reasonable adults."<br />
<br />
He flicked his head towards the attorney. "What does he have to do with anything?"<br />
<br />
"Oh he has a lot to do with all sorts of nasty things," she said, turning to look at the panicked man. "Don't you?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know wh-what you're t-talking about," he sputtered. "I haven't done anything! Please let me go. I won't tell anybody about this, I swear!"<br />
<br />
"Good at keeping secrets, are you Tommy?" She grinned at his growing uneasiness. "Everybody has secrets, don't they Sebastian?"<br />
<br />
She turned and looked at Gretchen, lips curled upward. "Do you know that Sebastian here collects women's underwear?"<br />
<br />
Gretchen looked at Seb, who met her eyes and shrugged.<br />
<br />
"Women's underwear from all different times." Remy turned her gaze back to the Englishman. "Quite an interesting hobby, wouldn't you say? And he prefers young women's underwear most of all. Don't you, Sebastian?"<br />
<br />
"Seriously?" asked Gretchen. She couldn't help herself. "That's disgusting."<br />
<br />
"The way she says it makes it sound worse than it is. Anyway, middle-aged woman have boring knickers," he said, turning his head. "Not that I have to explain myself to you."<br />
<br />
"It's a harmless enough hobby, I suppose" Remy told him, laughing. "You can calm down." She hopped down off the desk. "Although I do take personal umbrage with your assessment of middle-aged women and their choice in underwear." <br />
<br />
She walked close to Seb, put a finger under his chin. "Although, you already knew that."<br />
<br />
Gretchen groaned. "Look, you said something about choices?"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
"Chaos and order."<br />
<br />
Remy smiled at Seb, as she spoke.<br />
<br />
"The two great essences of the timestream, locked in an epic, eternal struggle." She looked at Gretchen. "They're like Yin and Yang. One follows the other. When there is too much of one, the other increases to compensate."<br />
<br />
"Mumbo and jumbo," Seb muttered.<br />
<br />
"Is it?" Remy asked. "There is no denying that there are forces who seek to order the timestream. And there are others," she stared at Gretchen, "who seek to free it from that order."<br />
<br />
"Is that what you're doing?" Seb asked. "Working to free the timestream from order? You make it sound like you're some sort of bloody folk hero, out there saving the world from the big, bad time fixers."<br />
<br />
She snorted. "Sebastian, you're delusional if you think you make a positive difference. The timestream doesn't need your protection, don't you get it? You are not maintaining some sort of natural order. You're maintaining a specific set of events, which lead to a specific set of outcomes, for forces who <i>benefit</i> from such an ordered timestream."<br />
<br />
"Wait a minute," said Gretchen, breaking in to the conversation. She turned to Remy. "It sounds like you're talking about a war. Over time?"<br />
<br />
"There's no war," said Seb.<br />
<br />
"No," Remy corrected, "not exactly. There <i>was</i> a war. Now the side that won is trying to make sure that it never even happens." She looked at Seb. "And it's not a war, darling. It's a revolution that we're fighting."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * * </div><br />
"Ask yourself who it is you're working for, Gretchen Campbell. A computer? Hal didn't build himself."<br />
<br />
"Then who did?"<br />
<br />
"That's the question, isn't it?" Remy grinned, but said no more.<br />
<br />
Gretchen turned to Seb. "Do you know? Do you know who it is we're working for?"<br />
<br />
Seb stared at her, but he refused to answer either.<br />
<br />
"What is it that they want from us? Why do we even do what we're told?"<br />
<br />
"Because time travel is not natural," Seb told her. "The past is the past, and it should stay that way."<br />
<br />
Remy snorted. "That's the company line, alright. The past we call history is only one potential version of the past," she said. "We should be free to go back and make things better. To fix our mistakes."<br />
<br />
"Who decides what should be made better, Rem? You? Who decides what 'better' even is? I suspect my definition and yours don't exactly mesh."<br />
<br />
"I think they're closer than you might imagine. You only need to free yourself from their control."<br />
<br />
"Maybe you need to see that order is not such a bad thing. I've been on the other side of the Wall. It's not a pretty place."<br />
<br />
"I've been there too, Sebastian."<br />
<br />
"Well, maybe you should go back and have a real good look around. Is that what you want the whole of history to look like?"<br />
<br />
"What the hell are you two talking about?" asked Gretchen, stomping her foot. "What the fuck is the Wall?" It was like she was invisible to the both of them!<br />
<br />
Remy turned her head towards Gretchen. "How much more do you want to say in front of your newest recruit, Sebastian? Look at her face." The redhead grinned, turning back to him. "She's going to be asking you questions for a very long time. Questions you try your hardest not to think about."<br />
<br />
"Nobody recruited me," Gretchen told her. "He doesn't even know why I'm here." <br />
<br />
Remy raised her eyebrows. She turned towards Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"That's right," Gretchen said, talking to Remy but making sure it was Seb who was hearing her. "I'm starting to think he doesn't know anything at all."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
After a while, Remy said, "Sebastian, I didn't come here to fight. I really do have information for you."<br />
<br />
She walked around the desk, casting an eye towards the attorney as she did so. He remained seated in the corner, but he looked less panicky now. He was watching the three of them and listening to their conversation with interest.<br />
<br />
"Why give us information if we're your enemies now?"<br />
<br />
Remy grabbed a sheet of paper and a pen and set them out on the desk. She glanced at the gun in her hand, and then once more towards the attorney. A strange grin spread to her face.<br />
<br />
She walked back around the desk and stood next to Seb. <br />
<br />
"You're not my enemy, Sebastian." She studied his face. "I still consider you my friend. Which is why I'm going to tell you two things. The first thing is a couple of names. I'm going to write you up a short list." She flicked her head towards the desk.<br />
<br />
"Okay. What's the second thing?"<br />
<br />
Instead of answering his question, she smiled. "While I do that, I need you to hold this gun," she looked down at the pistol in her hand, "and point it at our attorney friend over there."<br />
<br />
Gretchen shifted her feet, uncomfortable. In the corner, she saw the attorney was leaning forward licking his lips, watching Seb and Remy. The attorney glanced her way and his eyes widened a bit. He eased himself back into the chair, fingers clenching the armrest. He smiled weakly.<br />
<br />
Seb reached out and took the gun from Remy but he didn't raise it towards Burkhart. Gretchen gaped. The crazy woman actually let him just take the gun? She watched as they stood silently facing one another for a moment.<br />
<br />
"This guy might do some bad things, Rem," Seb said finally, "but the entire reason I'm here is to stop you from killing him. Now I have your gun, so I guess I've done that."<br />
<br />
He keyed his mic. "Len. You there, mate?"<br />
<br />
"Sebastian," said Remy, "I think you should turn around and point that gun at him."<br />
<br />
"Now why would I do a thing like that?"<br />
<br />
In her own ear, Gretchen heard Len's response to Seb. "I'm here. What's going on? Good news?"<br />
<br />
Remy smiled, stepping towards Seb and placing her hand on his shoulder. Motioning, she invited him to turn and look at the attorney. "Thomas Burkhart," she told him, "is the man who earned an acquittal for Richie Keegan. The man who murdered your mother, Sebastian."<br />
<br />
The Englishman looked at Remy for a long moment, then raised his eyes towards Burkhart. The gun in his hand wavered. Slowly, he brought it up until it pointed at the cowering attorney.<br />
<br />
Again, Len's voice came. "Seb, what is it?"<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">---------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2012/02/fixers-10.html">Continue to The Fixers #10</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-44574229604333198412012-01-27T19:46:00.001-05:002012-02-03T23:07:05.695-05:00The Fixers #8"Hello, Sebastian."<br />
<br />
The woman came forward, stepping to the front of the attorney's desk. There she stopped, leaning against the wooden surface. She flicked her eyes towards Gretchen. "Who's your new friend?"<br />
<br />
"His new friend?" Gretchen snorted. "That's rich. Seb, who is this?"<br />
<br />
The Englishman didn't answer. From the across the room, the woman chimed in. "Don't be rude, Sebastian. Introduce us."<br />
<br />
Seb smiled sheepishly, scratching his head. "Gretchen, uh, meet Remedy Taylor." He motioned towards the redhead. "Rem, this is Gretchen Campbell."<br />
<br />
"A pleasure," said the redhead, smiling. "And please, you can call me Remy. I much prefer it." Her eyes returned to Seb. "And you, Sebastian, how have you been, darling? Must I now threaten to kill someone just to get you to answer my calls?"<br />
<br />
"You did kill someone Rem, that's why we're here."<br />
<br />
"I didn't," she said, smiling. "Not really. Not now that you're here to fix things. Isn't that how it works?"<br />
<br />
"Who is this Seb, seriously?" Gretchen turned to the woman. "Who are you?"<br />
<br />
"You mean Sebastian hasn't mentioned me before?" She feigned pouting towards Seb. "I'm hurt, darling." Then she threw her head back and laughed.<br />
<br />
After a moment, she brought her eyes back to Gretchen. "I used to be you, honey. Standing there next to Sebastian, making things all right again. Fixing time."<br />
<br />
She moved her eyes to Seb. "Until I wised up and got the hell off that ship."<br />
<br />
This woman had worked with Seb? Gretchen turned to the Englishman. "Is that true?"<br />
<br />
Seb returned her look, but didn't answer.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the other part of what the Remy woman had just said made Gretchen snap her head back.<br />
<br />
"Did you say, 'ship'?"<br />
<br />
"You really didn't tell her anything, did you Sebastian?"<br />
<br />
Seb remained quiet. <br />
<br />
Remy began pulling on a pair of black, leather gloves. "Is she easier to control that way? When she has no idea what's going on?"<br />
<br />
After both gloves were on, she glanced up at him. "Sebastian, you look terrible. You really should sit down."<br />
<br />
Gretchen stepped forward. "Wait a minute. Are you telling me that the place I've been living for the last … however long it's been, is a ship? Like flying through space? That kind of ship?"<br />
<br />
Remy smiled. "It's like a ship, yes. Flying through space, not so much. It's more complicated than that."<br />
<br />
Gretchen tightened her hands into fists, but held her tongue. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? It's complicated. That was everyone's answer to her questions, lately.<br />
<br />
She studied the other woman. "Who are you? You say you used to do this too—fixing time, living on the Pod or the ship or whatever the fuck it is—so how were you able to leave? How come you don't have one of these bracelets?" She held up her arm, showing off the metal band there.<br />
<br />
"Oh, I did," Remy said, bringing her eyes back to Gretchen. "I wore that bracelet for … too long. But there are ways."<br />
<br />
"Rem," Seb said.<br />
<br />
"You don't want her know that she has choices? Just because you've thrown your lot in with the all-knowing computer, doesn't mean we all have."<br />
<br />
"What choices?" asked Gretchen. "What are you talking about?"<br />
<br />
"Don't let Sebastian or Leonard or that talking computer fool you. You're not <i>fixing</i> anything. Because there is nothing broken, which needs fixing. Stay on that ship, and you'll be told what to do for the rest of your life." She looked down at the watch she wore on her left wrist, then back up at Gretchen. "But there are other choices."<br />
<br />
"What choices?"<br />
<br />
Remy raised her eyebrows and grinned. Then, she reached into her small black purse and pulled out a pistol.<br />
<br />
"Whoa!" Gretchen put her hands up and took a step back. This woman was crazy!<br />
<br />
"Rem, what are you doing?" Seb held his hands out in front of him. "Put the gun away."<br />
<br />
"What do you think of your job, Gretchen Campbell? Do you like fixing time?" Remy gave her a look. "Does re-writing history according to the orders of the all-powerful Hal do it for you?"<br />
<br />
Seb took a step towards her. "We're re-writing history according to how it happened, Rem." <br />
<br />
"So you admit you're re-writing history. Interesting." <br />
<br />
"That's not what I meant."<br />
<br />
She pointed the gun at him. "Well, here we are. It's 1979. We're in history right now." She cocked the pistol. "So tell me, Sebastian, according to history, do I shoot you?"<br />
<br />
Keeping her gun aimed at the Englishman, Remy stepped closer to the door. Seb stood where he was.<br />
<br />
After a moment, the door opened and a squat, black-haired man entered. This must be Thomas Burkhart, Gretchen realized. His eyes grew large as he saw her and Seb—two strangers standing in his office—and he froze.<br />
<br />
An instant later, Remy had the barrel of the gun against his temple.<br />
<br />
"Or do I shoot him?" she asked, grinning.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">---------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2012/02/fixers-9.html">Continue to The Fixers #9</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-12409239441744353462012-01-20T21:19:00.002-05:002012-01-27T19:47:49.328-05:00The Fixers #7The buzzing in her ears began to fade.<br />
<br />
It was completely dark. Beside her, she could hear Seb moving. The flick of a switch. An instant later, the room exploded into light.<br />
<br />
Blinking, Gretchen looked around. She and Seb were squeezed into a tiny bathroom. There was a sink and a toilet, and the two of them took up the remaining space. The door was closed.<br />
<br />
"We're in a bathroom," she said.<br />
<br />
"Indeed."<br />
<br />
Seb reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He opened it, looked at it for a second, and nodded.<br />
<br />
"Ready?" he asked, replacing the paper in his pocket.<br />
<br />
Gretchen wasn't sure how to respond. Why did this bathroom suddenly seem so familiar?<br />
<br />
"What is it?" Seb was looking at her. She opened her mouth to answer, but she wasn't sure how to explain. Seb nodded anyway. "You don't remember do you?"<br />
<br />
"Remember what?"<br />
<br />
"We were just here."<br />
<br />
"We were?" She tried to think. They arrived in the bathroom. That's right! They had already arrived in the bathroom. Then they walked out and—<br />
<br />
"Come on," said Seb. He reached out for the door knob. "We traveled back to a point before we first arrived. A timeline just disappeared, but you were there. Traveling may have mixed it up, but you'll remember."<br />
<br />
He pressed up against her and pulled the door open. He had done that the first time, too.<br />
<br />
"Let's go," he said looking over his shoulder. Then he turned and walked into the room.<br />
<br />
There was someone already here. Someone they had spoken with. Someone who—<br />
<br />
"Did you kill somebody?" She followed him out into the room, which was a well-furnished law office. Seb was staring across the room towards the desk. <br />
<br />
She considered him. "You did. I remember."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
Time.<br />
<br />
Considering that she was now immersed in the concept of time, Gretchen found it slightly ironic that it was so difficult to measure it out.<br />
<br />
How long had she been here now, fixing time? How to even count? By the number of Fixes? There had been a few now. By the number of times she went to sleep and woke up?<br />
<br />
Gretchen poked her head into the corridor and looked both ways. <br />
<br />
This place was slowly becoming home, yet she knew almost nothing about it. She didn't even know where exactly she was. Seb called it the Pod. Len, clarifying a bit for her, called it a Time Pod. Whatever that was. She called it depressing.<br />
<br />
There were no windows; all the lights were artificial. They had clocks even though, as Seb had explained, they were outside of time. Hours were still hours, but they seemed empty and dead when they were disconnected from everything else. They piled up onto themselves but they didn't form into days and weeks.<br />
<br />
Days meant the Earth rotating, years meant the Earth revolving. How could there be time if there was neither of those things? How could she measure out a week, when she could be in the 21st century one moment, and the 16th century the next. Then, back here in the Pod, where there wasn't any century at all.<br />
<br />
She emerged from her room and turned left. Passing several doors which opened up to cells identical to her own except empty, she followed the corridor around a corner.<br />
<br />
It made her head spin thinking about it all. Instead, she decided she would start learning more about her new home.<br />
<br />
Just ahead, the corridor dead-ended at a pair of shiny metal doors, like elevator doors. There was even a keypad on the wall.<br />
<br />
"What is this?" she had asked Seb, upon first seeing it.<br />
<br />
"Oh, that's the Lift."<br />
<br />
"What is it?"<br />
<br />
"It's a lift." He looked blankly at her for a moment. "Oh, right. You Americans call it an elevator."<br />
<br />
"I know what a lift is, idiot. What is this one doing here? Where does it go?"<br />
<br />
"Don't know."<br />
<br />
"You don't know?"<br />
<br />
"Nope," he said. "I don't know."<br />
<br />
"Isn't that strange?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"What? That I don't know?" He waved a hand in the air. "It's not that strange. I don't know lots of things, I suspect."<br />
<br />
She ignored him, stepping closer to the doors. "How can there be an elevator here, and nobody knows where it goes? You've never thought to ask?"<br />
<br />
"Of course I've thought to ask." He looked up at the ceiling and called out. "Hal! What's the deal with these lift doors, eh? Where does this thing go, anyway?"<br />
<br />
He stood looking up at the ceiling, waiting for a response. Then, he had looked back at Gretchen, wearing that stupid grin, and shrugged.<br />
<br />
Now, she stood in front of the Lift again. She often came to look at it.<br />
<br />
<i>I'm going to find a way in there</i>, she told the closed metal doors. <i>You just wait and see</i>.<br />
<br />
"Action required," came the voice of Hal, sounding throughout the Pod. "A Fix has been determined."<b></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>She met Seb and Len in the Lobby. Len, as usual, had the details.<br />
<br />
"1979," he said. "This one is a murder. Man by the name of Thomas Burkhart, a well-known defense attorney from the Washington D.C. area."<br />
<br />
"Well, that's boring," said Gretchen, crossing her arms.<br />
<br />
"What's that?" asked Len.<br />
<br />
Seb snorted.<br />
<br />
Gretchen shrugged and bit her tongue.<br />
<br />
"The guy's a real creep," Len continued after a moment. "But good at his job. Got dismissals and acquittals for some real bad people as an attorney. Then, in the late eighties, he's brought up on multiple charges, himself. Kidnapping. Murder. Sentenced to life in prison in 1993. Dies of cancer, still in prison in 2006."<br />
<br />
"So, someone did the guy in a couple of decades early? Good riddance." said Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"Look," said Len, "you’ll get no argument from me. But this one is a little special."<br />
<br />
"What does that mean?" she asked.<br />
<br />
Len cleared his throat and looked back to Seb.<br />
<br />
The Englishman leaned forward. "What is it?"<br />
<br />
"The killer left a message for us."<br />
<br />
"A message?" asked Gretchen. "What message?"<br />
<br />
"Fix this."<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">* * * </div><br />
The buzzing in her ears began to fade.<br />
<br />
It was completely dark. Beside her, she could hear Seb moving. The flick of a switch. An instant later, the room exploded into light.<br />
<br />
Blinking, Gretchen looked around. She and Seb were squeezed into a tiny bathroom. There was a sink and a toilet, and the two of them took up the remaining space. The door was closed.<br />
<br />
"We're in a bathroom," she said.<br />
<br />
"Indeed."<br />
<br />
"Ready?" he asked. <br />
<br />
He pressed up against her and pulled the door open. <br />
<br />
"Let's go," he said looking over his shoulder.<br />
<br />
She followed him out into the room, which was Burkhart's well-furnished law office. Daylight spilled in through a sheer curtain over the room's window. Shelves along the far wall were stacked with books from floor to ceiling.<br />
<br />
Beside her, she heard Seb inhale a quick breath. She glanced over at him.<br />
<br />
"What is it?" she asked.<br />
<br />
He was staring past her, across the office. Gretchen turned to look, and stopped.<br />
<br />
There was a woman seated there, legs propped up on the desk, watching them. Had she been there the whole time?<br />
<br />
Casually, the woman swung her legs onto the floor, pushed the chair back, and stood facing them.<br />
<br />
Her hair blazed red, even in the soft light coming through the window.<br />
<br />
"Hello, Sebastian."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">----------------------------------------------------<br />
<a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2012/01/fixers-8.html">Continue to The Fixers #8 </a><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-7669161834580645462012-01-13T16:49:00.003-05:002012-01-20T21:25:03.392-05:00The Fixers #6"The painting! It's of you!"<br />
<br />
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Gretchen demanded. She followed Seb out of the Chamber.<br />
<br />
Len watched with some amusement as the pair brushed past him, into the Lobby. He wasn't sure what Seb had done, but the new girl was certainly riled up.<br />
<br />
"The painting," Seb was saying, "the one that he was going to paint in a couple of weeks, the one of the girl. It's you!"<br />
<br />
"But -"<br />
<br />
Len watched as Seb crossed the Lobby and went to the door of the Vault.<br />
<br />
"Well, it isn't you exactly. But it was how he saw you." He paused to enter a code on the keypad. "The bracelet changes your appearance, makes you fit to the expectations of the person looking at you. That's why it doesn't look exactly like you. He saw a 16th Century, Italian version of you."<br />
<br />
The door to the Vault slid open, and Seb strode inside. Len came forward, curious. He studied the side of Gretchen's face, trying to compare it to his memory of the painting. Could it be? As he watched, her jaw tensed. She was still angry.<br />
<br />
"Even if this painting is of me," she called after Seb, "you just murdered a man. A very nice man. In cold blood."<br />
<br />
Seb re-emerged a moment later holding the painting. <br />
<br />
"Oh, please," he said, meeting her eyes. "I wasn't the one who hung those chains and stones all over him, now was I?"<br />
<br />
Gretchen opened her mouth. After a moment she closed it again.<br />
<br />
"Exactly." Seb brushed past her and carried the painting to the table. "Let's have a look, shall we?" He undid the paper wrapping and pushed it aside.<br />
<br />
Len came forward and peered over his shoulder. Reluctantly, Gretchen came to stand beside them. They stared at the painting for several moments.<br />
<br />
It sort of looked like her.<br />
<br />
But then, it sort of didn't. Len looked over at Gretchen, then back to the painting. Back to her.<br />
<br />
"I don't know," he said. He patted Seb's shoulder. "That could be her, man."<br />
<br />
He turned to look at Gretchen, again; the girl's eyes were locked on the painting.<br />
<br />
"I mean, yeah, it could be," Seb agreed. "Damn. I was sure . . . ." He looked over his shoulder at Len and Gretchen. "What is it?"<br />
<br />
"Look above the right eyebrow," Gretchen said, motioning with a flick of her head. "See it?"<br />
<br />
"See what?" Seb turned back to the painting, looking close. "Yeah, what is that?" He poked at the painting with a nail. "Some kind of marking?"<br />
<br />
Len looked over his shoulder. He saw the mark, too. It looked like the artist had put it there intentionally.<br />
<br />
"It's a scar," said Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"How do you know?" asked Seb, squinting. "It could be."<br />
<br />
"Because," she said, "I have the same scar." She pointed to the spot on her own face, above the right eyebrow. "I got it when I was sixteen. I was drunk at a party, and I fell and hit my head on the edge of a table." She tapped her finger against her skin. "Right here."<br />
<br />
Len looked back to the painting. He rubbed the bare skin of his arms, suddenly feeling a chill.<br />
<br />
It was the same mark. There was no doubt.<br />
<br />
He took a step back, trying to understand the ramifications. He barely noticed as Seb leaned close to Gretchen's face, peering at the scar; barely saw her slap him away, then turn and stride off.<br />
<br />
But how could it be?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"> * * *</div><br />
"Whether that painting is really you -"<br />
<br />
"It is," said Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"Whether it's you," Seb continued, "doesn't change the fact that it's an artifact."<br />
<br />
"There's that word again," she said. "Tell me, what's an artifact?"<br />
<br />
"A temporal artifact," said Len, stepping forward. "It's an object that, for one reason or another, contains temporal energy."<br />
<br />
"That's a real thing? Temporal energy?"<br />
<br />
"Do you want to hear this or not?" snapped Seb. He was sitting at the table. Len thought he looked tired.<br />
<br />
"I'm not talking to you, murderer," Gretchen snapped back.<br />
<br />
"Kids, kids." Len shook his head. The two of them doing this all the time was going to get real old, real fast.<br />
<br />
"Alright, I'll explain it this way." He cleared his throat. "Ricci, in the original timestream died in May, right? Someone comes back, saves him, and now he doesn't die in May, anymore. So now he's alive. Then, in June he paints the portrait. So far, so good. He goes on to have a long life, yada yada. Now, we come along, and we fix the timestream at the point where it diverged."<br />
<br />
"We murder him, you mean." <br />
<br />
"If you'd like," Len sighed. "The point is, as far as history is concerned, he committed suicide. In May. That's the important part. Because that painting was done in June, after he died. In the original timestream, he couldn't have painted it. It's an impossibility. "<br />
<br />
As he spoke, Seb got up from the table and began pacing.<br />
<br />
Len watched him briefly before continuing. "Now, normally that's not a big deal - Ricci probably painted dozens of new paintings in the altered timeline where he lived a long life, but they all disappear, along with that entire timeline when we fix things back to the correct history. Poof! That altered reality disappears. No one remembers, no one notices. It's like it never happened."<br />
<br />
"Because it didn't," said Seb.<br />
<br />
"Right," Len agreed. "But this painting was different. It should have disappeared too, just like everything else connected to that never-happened reality. But someone moved it through time. And stashed it in a safe. And once an object is moved through time it acquires a sort of, um, solidity."<br />
<br />
"Meaning?" Gretchen prompted.<br />
<br />
"Meaning," interrupted Seb, "that we should find out how Anderton got a hold of the thing."<br />
<br />
"What it means," said Len, shooting his friend a look, "is that the rest of its timeline went poof, and vanished. But the painting remained behind. It's now a part of our reality, and yet, it's an impossibility. In this case, a painting made weeks after the artist died. And that," Len concluded, "is a temporal artifact."<br />
<br />
"Okay, I guess I understand," said Gretchen. "But why is that so important? So it's a temporal artifact - big deal."<br />
<br />
"Well," said Len, "because temporal artifacts are very, very valuable to certain people."<br />
<br />
"Why?"<br />
<br />
"The correct question would be 'who'," Seb said. Gretchen shot him a dangerous look.<br />
<br />
People like Anderton, Len thought. Seb was right. They needed to find out how the painting got to him. A damn shame that Seb couldn't catch up to that hooded figure they had seen on the bridge. That guy would've had answers.<br />
<br />
"They're valuable, he said at last, "because of the way they're formed, they contain temporal energy. And temporal energy can do some, um, pretty powerful things."<br />
<br />
"Such as?"<br />
<br />
"Well, for starters -"<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry to interrupt." Hal's voice filled the room.<br />
<br />
"Yeah Hal, what is it?"<br />
<br />
"Action is required. A Fix has been determined."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------------- </div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2012/01/fixers-7.html">Continue to The Fixers #7</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-50090909731391376772012-01-06T13:24:00.001-05:002012-03-01T22:36:27.271-05:00The Fixers #5"There he is," said Seb. "That must be Ricci." <br />
<br />
Gretchen squinted. On the bridge over the canal stood a lone figure, looking down at the water.<br />
<br />
"Should we go to him?"<br />
<br />
"And what?" asked Seb. "Tell him he's making the right decision?"<br />
<br />
"I don't know," said Gretchen. She looked at the Englishman, annoyed. "You don't have to be so snarky."<br />
<br />
"Snarky?" Seb eyes twinkled. "Is that even a word?"<br />
<br />
Gretchen opened her mouth to retort, but Seb suddenly shushed her.<br />
<br />
"There's someone else," he said. He pointed to the opposite side of the canal.<br />
<br />
There, a hooded figure paused at the far end of the bridge, then seemed to scan the area, as if expecting someone or something. Ricci noticed too, and was now looking in the newcomer's direction. <br />
<br />
As she and Seb watched, the stranger met Ricci's gaze and hailed the painter by waving one hand, then began walking out onto the bridge.<br />
<br />
Beside her, Seb cursed. "That's our guy, alright. I waited too bloody long." He strode out of the shadows, towards the bridge.<br />
<br />
"Seb!"<br />
<br />
He looked back over his shoulder. "Make sure Ricci jumps."<br />
<br />
"What? How?" She hurried after him.<br />
<br />
Together, they reached the bridge and began crossing. Ahead, the hooded stranger, who was just entering conversation with Ricci, paused, seeing the two of them approach.<br />
<br />
The stranger took a couple of steps back, away from Ricci, eyeing her and Seb. The painter turned his head in their direction as well, confusion on his face.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, the figure turned and darted back the opposite way. Seb muttered another curse.<br />
<br />
"Make him jump," Seb told her, and then he took off running in pursuit.<br />
<br />
"Wait! Seb!" Gretchen reached out a hand after him in a futile gesture. She watched the Englishman race across the bridge, past a startled Ricci, and after the retreating stranger.<br />
<br />
An awkward moment then ensued, wherein the confused painter swiveled his head between the footrace disappearing off to his right, and to his left, where Gretchen, who no doubt wore an equally confused look, stood watching him.<br />
<br />
All the painter wanted to do, she thought, was end his life in peace.<br />
<br />
She, on the other hand, had just died, and now she found herself in a strange place, traveling through time.<br />
<br />
And Seb had left the two of them alone together. Was he crazy?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
"What is all this commotion?" the painter asked, flustered. <br />
<br />
He waved his hand in the direction Seb and the stranger had run. Gretchen approached the painter, holding her hands out to calm him.<br />
<br />
"I really don't know," she said. "I'm sorry about that."<br />
<br />
"You know that man?" Ricci asked.<br />
<br />
"I know one of them," she told him.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, her eyes widened. "Hey! You're speaking English!"<br />
<br />
"What?" asked the painter, bewildered. "What the devil are talking about? I know not a word of that tongue."<br />
<br />
"But you're . . . ." Gretchen paused, confused. "You can understand me?"<br />
<br />
Ricci threw his hands up, awkwardly. "God in Heaven above!" he cried. "Of course I can understand you, woman."<br />
<br />
Apparently, Seb had failed to mention the bracelet also translated languages.<br />
<br />
"You're Venetian is perfectly clear," the painter continued, "although your meaning utterly confounds me. Perhaps you should have your head examined?"<br />
<br />
"Me?" Gretchen gaped. "Hey, I'm not the one about to jump off of a bridge, pal."<br />
<br />
Ricci's eyes widened. He opened his mouth, then shut it and looked away.<br />
<br />
Suddenly, Gretchen felt sorry for the poor man. Whatever it was eating him up inside, it had driven him to destroy his life's work; now, he was here on this bridge, ready to die. And even that wasn't working out for him.<br />
<br />
After a moment, his eyes returned to hers. "It's true," he said, at last, "what you say. Is it so obvious?" He took a long, slow step towards the edge.<br />
<br />
She didn't answer.<br />
<br />
"What's the use? All I've ever wanted to do is paint -- to be like the Great Leonardo, or da Cadore. To be adored, respected. To paint a masterpiece." He shook his head. "But I'm nothing. I cannot paint, nor draw. There is no masterpiece in me."<br />
<br />
"Hey," she said, "come on. That's not true." She wanted to reach out, to soothe the poor man.<br />
<br />
Wait. What was she doing? She was supposed to be convincing him to jump.<br />
<br />
She cleared her throat. "I mean, it <i>may</i> be true."<br />
<br />
Ricci pulled his tortured face up. "What?"<br />
<br />
"I mean," she stumbled, "there's, uh, no masterpiece in me, either. Or in most of us."<br />
<br />
Okay, Gretchen, where are you going with this?<br />
<br />
"Right," she continued. "For example, when I was in high school, I really wanted to be in a band. I loved music. I wanted to write songs and be famous, you know? Only, I couldn't play any instruments. I could sing okay, but I got nervous in front of other people. Anyway, I had a couple of friends who could play, so we put together a band - we called ourselves Parental Guidance." Gretchen smiled, remembering. "We rehearsed a few times and then we played our first gig at this party." She began laughing. "Oh my God! It was a total disaster. We sucked so bad."<br />
<br />
Her laughter faded as she realized Ricci was staring at her like she had grown horns from her forehead, or a third arm.<br />
<br />
"Dear woman, what in the wide world are you talking about?"<br />
<br />
Gretchen felt her cheeks growing hot. She cleared her throat again.<br />
<br />
"Look," she said. "The point is, some people are meant to make music, and others are meant to enjoy it. You may love painting and art and all that, but maybe you're not meant to create it. Maybe you're just supposed to appreciate it, you know. Just acknowledge the masterpieces of others."<br />
<br />
Her words appeared to have an effect on the painter, but not as she intended. "I could be wrong, though," she quickly added. She was messing her first mission all up! <br />
<br />
"No," said Ricci, the pained look slowly leaving his face. "I think perhaps you're right." He almost smiled.<br />
<br />
"No, no. I'm probably wrong."<br />
<br />
"Yes, I see now! I've been far too hard on myself! You've saved my life, dear woman. And we haven't even been properly introduced. Tell me blessed angel, who has seen straight into the heart and soul of me - what is your name, that I might savor it's exquisite feel upon my lips." He began unlace his coat.<br />
<br />
"Whoa, there buddy," she said, backing up a step. "Let's not get crazy. We just met, okay? I don't even know you." She shook her head. Gretchen, you idiot! You're fucking it all up. "Let's think this through, alright? I mean, things are still pretty lousy."<br />
<br />
"No," he said. "No, I've never felt more certain of anything in my life. I want to live!"<br />
<br />
Gretchen stood before the man, speechless. She couldn't have had this effect on the man, if she'd been <i>trying</i> to save him!<br />
<br />
He finished loosening his coat, and pulled it over his head. Gretchen's eyes widened. Draped across his shoulders and tied around his waist, were several thick chains. From his neck, a large stone hung, tied in place with even more chain.<br />
<br />
He wasn't messing around! The weight of all that would surely drag him down and hold him under the water. He really <i>was</i> going to kill himself.<br />
<br />
At that moment, from the end of the bridge, she saw someone approaching. It was Seb returning! He strode directly towards her and Ricci. The painter, seeing that she had become distracted, turned to look.<br />
<br />
Seb's gaze passed over both of them as he drew close. "Still here, I see," he said through his teeth.<br />
<br />
"Your friend saved my life!" the painter told him.<br />
<br />
Gretchen put her forehead in her palm, and shook her head.<br />
<br />
"Did she?" asked Seb. "Isn't that swell? She's such a sweet girl." He put his arm over the painter's shoulders and led him another step closer to the edge of the bridge.<br />
<br />
They were now facing away from Gretchen, but she could hear their words.<br />
<br />
"Giancarlo," said Seb, "I'm very sorry. I really am."<br />
<br />
"About what?"<br />
<br />
"I've seen your work. It's really not that bad." He paused, looking out at the water.<br />
<br />
After a moment, he snapped his head around to look at Gretchen. "Bloody hell!" he exclaimed. "The painting . . . ." He trailed off, mouth hung open.<br />
<br />
"I don't understand," said Ricci.<br />
<br />
Seb shook his head, as if returning from a trance. "Like I said," Seb turned to look at the painter, "you seem like a good bloke. I'm very sorry."<br />
<br />
Without warning, he pushed Ricci off the bridge. The painter cried out. An instant later, he landed with a splash in the water below.<br />
<br />
Gretchen ran to the edge, looking down. There was no sign of the man.<br />
<br />
She turned on Seb. "What have you done?" she cried.<br />
<br />
Seb grabbed her shoulder.<br />
<br />
"Len," he said, "bring us home."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2012/01/fixers-6.html">Continue to The Fixers #6</a><br />
<br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-36876760422646953452011-12-30T14:19:00.001-05:002012-01-06T13:25:54.026-05:00The Fixers #4The buzzing is his ears faded away. Seb Cole looked around.<br />
<br />
Beside him, the new girl, Gretchen was struggling. Bent at the waist, she held her head between her hands, groaning.<br />
<br />
"Are you alright?" he asked her. "The first time is a little rough." He reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder. "You'll get used to it.<br />
<br />
She nodded, blinked a few times, and rose to meet his worried look.<br />
<br />
"Yeah," she said. "I'm okay." Then, eyes widening, she noticed their surroundings for the first time.<br />
<br />
"Oh my God!" she cried. "We're in Venice!" She rushed forward, to the edge of a nearby canal.<br />
<br />
After a moment, she turned to look back at Seb.<br />
<br />
"This is crazy! We're really here!" Her eyes moved to study buildings rising above them. "This is 1567?"<br />
<br />
He came forward, nodded. "It is," he told her. "Or it should be. I haven't got a watch. Impressed?"<br />
<br />
Her wide grin answered his question. <br />
<br />
It was nice to be traveling with another person again, he thought. It had been too long since . . . . Seb shook his head. Stop it, you fool! This was no time to think about <i>her</i>.<br />
<br />
He returned his attention to the new girl, and forced himself to smile. After a moment, he wrinkled his nose slightly. "Smells a bit, though, yeah?"<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
"So what are we here to do, exactly?" Gretchen asked.<br />
<br />
The two of them were walking through the streets of Venice.<br />
<br />
"We are here," Seb reminded her, "to find the painter."<br />
<br />
"Right, that Ricci guy."<br />
<br />
Seb smirked. "Exactly. That's the one. And when we do, we need to make sure that he goes through with his plan to do away with himself. That's what happens. Ricci the painter, throws himself from a bridge and into art obscurity."<br />
<br />
"According to who," she asked.<br />
<br />
"According to who? According to no one. That's just the way it happens. Somebody changed that and now we're here to change it back. Although, technically," he said, "if we're successful, then it will be like it was never changed at all."<br />
<br />
"And if we're not successful?"<br />
<br />
"Well aren't you a cheery one? Of course we'll succeed. In the original timestream, Giancarlo degli Ricci dies. That means we succeed. We always have. Or, we always will. One, or the other." He paused for a moment. "We could, I suppose, fail somehow - if we're killed, for instance . . . ."<br />
<br />
"Killed?"<br />
<br />
". . . Hal will have to find new Fixers and then send them back here - but eventually, whoever altered the timestream will be stopped, and the event will happen as it always has, Ricci will die, and that's that. Back to obscurity."<br />
<br />
"Sebastian," Gretchen said. She was looking at him.<br />
<br />
"What?" Had he been rambling just now? He glanced sideways at her. "It's Seb, by the way." After a few more steps, he added, "Anyway, you asked. Fixing the timestream can be rather confusing."<br />
<br />
"Does that mean you were supposed to chase me out into that road?"<br />
<br />
"I didn't chase you out into any bloody road - I told you before." He shook his head. "Anyway, there is no 'supposed to be'. Things either happened or they didn't."<br />
<br />
"That happened to me," she insisted.<br />
<br />
"Yeah? Well, it never happened for me. You're here now; you didn't die. So why don't you just enjoy the city?"<br />
<br />
"Maybe it just hasn't happened yet for you."<br />
<br />
Seb turned his head to give her an angry response, but she was already looking away. A moment later, he realized that he had no rebuttal to offer.<br />
<br />
They walked on in silence.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
After a while, Gretchen turned to him.<br />
<br />
"How come no one is paying any attention to us? Shouldn't we stick out, or something?" She looked down at herself. "I mean, I'm wearing jeans. And my shoes. Look at my shoes!"<br />
<br />
"Don't worry about it. The bracelet controls all that. It generates a kind of energy field around us, creates a sort of illusion. You look perfectly normal from everyone else's perspective. Totally average."<br />
<br />
"That's convenient, isn't it?" She looked at the metal band around her wrist.<br />
<br />
"Would you rather it was the other way 'round? Everyone stopping to stare and point at you? Anyway, it's not so simple as all that. I see you, because I know it's you. Same as you see me. Someone from this time looking at you would see someone else. Someone whom they imagine belongs in this place and time."<br />
<br />
"Okay, I'm not even going to ask what that means."<br />
<br />
"Good, I'm not entirely sure myself. Len tried to explain it to me once or twice. He gets all of the technical stuff." He shrugged. "The point is, we're here and we look like we belong here. And we're here."<br />
<br />
"You said that already."<br />
<br />
"No, I mean, we're here." He indicated the multi-story building in front of them. "This is where Ricci has a room." <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
They were in Giancarlo degli Ricci's room, or what was left of it. The room was mostly empty; what remained was scattered all over.<br />
<br />
Seb knelt beside a large, metal tub. There were scorch marks on it, and the contents were still smoldering. It was filled with ashes, charred brushes and jars, pieces of wood.<br />
<br />
This, Seb realized, was the painter's life. All his works, his paints, his canvases and easels. No wonder the painting they recovered had become the earliest surviving work.<br />
<br />
"He burned everything. All his paintings, drawings, all of it." Gretchen was standing behind him, looking down into the tub.<br />
<br />
"Sounds about right for a guy who's going to throw himself off a bridge. We should hurry," Seb said, standing.<br />
<br />
"Okay. Where to?"<br />
<br />
Seb keyed his mic. "Len?"<br />
<br />
"Right here," came the response.<br />
<br />
"The fastest way from Ricci's room to the place where he drowns himself."<br />
<br />
There was a brief pause. "Out the front to the street," came the reply. "Turn left. You should see a footbridge over the canal. Past that. He'll be on the next bridge."<br />
<br />
"Got it".<br />
<br />
Seb turned to the girl. "Let's go."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2012/01/fixers-5.html">Continue to The Fixers #5</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-45596350807609085502011-12-23T15:20:00.005-05:002011-12-30T14:20:49.101-05:00The Fixers #3"So what's a Fix?" Gretchen asked.<br />
<br />
"It's a point in time that's been altered somehow, and needs repaired," Seb answered.<br />
<br />
"Altered by who?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Anyone." Seb shrugged. "Whoever."<br />
<br />
"And you go back in time to fix things?"<br />
<br />
"Basically. Although it's not back in time or forward in time. It's just into time. We enter the timestream wherever we need to."<br />
<br />
"Right," she said, sounding unconvinced. "Because this place is outside of time?"<br />
<br />
Len left the conversation behind, and entered the Booth. Here in this tiny room, he could access Hal directly.<br />
<br />
He pressed a few buttons and then a screen illuminated. Len scrolled through the information there, reading over Hal's instructions. Quickly absorbing the data, Len shook his head. More of this direct timestream manipulation. It was becoming increasingly common.<br />
<br />
"Got it, Hal," he said. "Thanks." The screen flicked off, as Len turned towards the door.<br />
<br />
Back in the Lobby, Gretchen was still probing Seb for knowledge. Seeing him returning, Seb nodded in his direction and shushed the new girl. A flash of irritation crossed her face.<br />
<br />
"Everything's set?" Seb asked.<br />
<br />
Len nodded.<br />
<br />
"Then let's do it," said the Englishman.<br />
<br />
"Can I go with you?" Gretchen asked Seb.<br />
<br />
Seb looked to Len, who met his friend's questioning look, and shrugged.<br />
<br />
"Hal?" Len called out, "Will you send Gretchen, as well?"<br />
<br />
There was pause. Then Hal answered, "Her connection status is good. Interference potential, virtually nil." A pause. "Yes, Gretchen and Seb shall go."<br />
<br />
"This is so cool," she said, bouncing. <br />
<br />
Len grinned at her enthusiasm.<br />
<br />
"So, where are we going?"<br />
<br />
"Alright," he said, speaking to them both. "Your destination is May 1567, and you'll be going to Venice, Italy."<br />
<br />
Gretchen's face lit up. "Are you fucking serious? Venice! 1567!"<br />
<br />
"I am . . . <i>that</i> serious," Len told her, grinning.<br />
<br />
"What are we going to do there?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Right - well, Hal's explained it to me pretty good, so I'll lay it out for you. Seb," he looked at his friend, "the painting that you brought back is an artifact, just as expected. It's unclear how Anderton got ahold of it - hopefully, you can get some answers when you're in there."<br />
<br />
"What's an artifact?" asked Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"In a minute," Seb told her.<br />
<br />
"This is what we know," Len continued. "The painting was done by an Italian - name of Giancarlo degli Ricci." He looked at the pair of them, standing side by side. "Ever hear of him?"<br />
<br />
"Nope," Gretchen said. Seb shook his head.<br />
<br />
"Right. Not surprising. He committed suicide in May 1567, when he was twenty-three years old. He never made it as a painter."<br />
<br />
"Oh." Gretchen looked embarrassed.<br />
<br />
Beside her, Seb cleared his throat. "The artifact?" he asked.<br />
<br />
"Dated to June of 1567. Removed from the timestream some time after that by persons unknown - and now, here with us."<br />
<br />
"Wait," said Gretchen, confusion appearing on her face.<br />
<br />
"That was the Detection Event?" Seb asked.<br />
<br />
"Yep. Somebody took that painting for a trip through time."<br />
<br />
"Wait," Gretchen said, again. "If this Ricci guy died in May, how could he have done this painting that you're talking about, in June?"<br />
<br />
"Exactly," said Len, grinning.<br />
<br />
"Oh!" said Gretchen, face brightening. "I get it. So we're going back to stop him from committing suicide."<br />
<br />
"I don't think so," said Seb.<br />
<br />
"Somebody already did," Len explained. "Ricci no longer dies in May 1567; he goes on to live a long life and becomes one of the better known Renaissance painters. This painting, from June of 1567, is the earliest known surviving work of his. Somebody - no doubt the same somebody who saved him - took this painting, and carried it several centuries into the future. There, its value would become astronomical."<br />
<br />
"Anderton," said Seb.<br />
<br />
Len shrugged. "Could be, Seb. We'll see."<br />
<br />
Together, the three of them began walking to the Chamber.<br />
<br />
"Okay, I think I get it," Gretchen said. "It's like a get-rich-quick thing! I like it," she said grinning.<br />
<br />
Len shared an amused look with Seb, but neither man replied. Catching their meaning, Gretchen blushed. "I mean... I don't like it? Get-rich-quick things . . . bad. Very bad."<br />
<br />
"Anyway," said Seb. He chuckled.<br />
<br />
Outside the Chamber door, they paused.<br />
<br />
"That's it," Len said. "Any questions?"<br />
<br />
"Yeah," said Gretchen. "One more. If this guy went on to become famous, how come I've never heard of him. First you say he died, and then you say he lived - so which is it?"<br />
<br />
"It's both," Len said.<br />
<br />
"Sort of," Seb added.<br />
<br />
"Right. It's sort of both."<br />
<br />
"Okay?" She looked lost.<br />
<br />
"Schrodinger's favorite Renaissance painter," offered Seb.<br />
<br />
Len grinned at the look on Gretchen's face. <br />
<br />
"Okay," she said again, "so, if this guy was going to commit suicide, but then, somebody already saved him, what are we going there to do? Return the painting?"<br />
<br />
Len shook his head. "Reinserting the painting into the timestream doesn't address the new timeline."<br />
<br />
"Then what are we going to do? Warn this Ricci guy or something?"<br />
<br />
"Or something," said Seb. He put a hand on her shoulder.<br />
<br />
She looked towards him. "What is it?"<br />
<br />
It was Len who answered her question. "You're not going back to save him or to warn him," he said, quietly. "You're going back to make sure he dies."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">------------------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/fixers-4.html">Continue to The Fixers #4</a><br />
<br />
<br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-15340283566114950702011-12-16T20:18:00.005-05:002011-12-23T15:27:50.869-05:00The Fixers #2"Why do you keep insisting that I killed you?"<br />
<br />
Gretchen wanted to scream. She had agreed to calm down - and after a bit of a scuffle, she had - but how many times was he going to ask her the same questions?<br />
<br />
Now, the three of them were seated together around a table in the Lobby. At least, that's what the black guy, Len, kept calling this room. He was sitting beside her.<br />
<br />
The other guy, Seb - the thin Englishman who'd killed her - leaned forward. "Where did you get that bracelet?" A bruise was starting to form around his right eye, where she had managed to land a blow.<br />
<br />
Gretchen closed her eyes. She put her hands to her face. Exasperated, she let out a moan, and dropped her hands back to her lap. They had already been over this, twice!<br />
<br />
Looking across at Seb, she told him again.<br />
<br />
"<i>You</i> gave me the bracelet. You put it on my arm and told me that I had to wear it. As if, I had a choice." She held up her left arm, showing him that it was still around her wrist. "The fucking thing doesn't come off."<br />
<br />
After he had clasped it on her, the strange little bracelet seemed to fuse into a single piece. It wasn't uncomfortably tight, but it was secure around her wrist. She couldn't slide it over her hand - she tried while they had kept her locked in that cell they called her room.<br />
<br />
Her eyes darted to Seb's hands, which were resting on the table. Around his left wrist, he wore an identical bracelet. Len, sitting nearby, had the same metal bracelet.<br />
<br />
Seriously, what the fuck was going on?<br />
<br />
"Why won't you tell me anything?"<br />
<br />
"How could I have given you the bracelet - I've never seen you before in my life," Seb persisted.<br />
<br />
"You chased me into the fucking road!" She turned to look at Len, pleading. "Look, I can't explain it - I mean, I know I'm here, right? Wherever the hell I am. But I <i>died</i>. It wasn't a dream."<br />
<br />
She pointed at Seb. "He chased me into the road, screaming something about time, or fate, or I don't know what. And then I turned my head..."<br />
<br />
"What happened?" Seb prompted.<br />
<br />
"I turned my head and a fucking van slammed into me, that's what happened."<br />
<br />
The two men exchanged looks.<br />
<br />
"I <i>felt</i> it!" Was she going crazy? Was she already there?<br />
<br />
"Look," said Len, leaning forward, "we believe you, okay?"<br />
<br />
"So where am I?" she asked, wiping her eyes.<br />
<br />
"It's... a little complicated," said Len.<br />
<br />
"Hal?" his partner called out. "Does any of this make sense to you?" Gretchen looked around, but couldn't see who he was addressing.<br />
<br />
Silence fell over the room.<br />
<br />
"Great. Thanks, Hal." Seb looked disgusted. "When something important actually comes up, you've got nothing to say."<br />
<br />
"Who's Hal?" asked Gretchen.<br />
<br />
"I'm sorry, Sebastian," came a voice, which was quiet and yet filled the room all the same. "This matter is not yet determined. I can't say more than that."<br />
<br />
"Not yet determined?"<br />
<br />
"I can't say more than that," the voice repeated.<br />
<br />
"That's Hal," Len whispered to her. "The Voice." He chuckled, then gave her a warm smile. "You'll get used to him."<br />
<br />
"What is that, some sort of computer?" Neither man answered her. "Please," she said, switching her gaze from one to the other, "just tell me what's going on."<br />
<br />
The two men shared another look. Finally, Seb let out a deep sigh. This guy, who she could clearly remember from... was it a dream? Had her whole life been a dream, and now she was finally awake?<br />
<br />
"I can't explain how you got here," he began, "but I can tell you where you are." He looked at Len. "Sort of."<br />
<br />
"This place," he said, motioning to the room they were in, the Lobby, "this whole place is outside of time."<br />
<br />
She stared at him. "What the fuck does that mean?"<br />
<br />
"Geez," he said, exasperated, "you've got a filthier mouth than my father. It's means this place is outside of time, okay? Do you want the shorter version?"<br />
<br />
He held up his left arm, showing her the bracelet he wore, identical to the one on her own wrist.<br />
<br />
"This bracelet," he said, "connects you to this place, and to Hal. With it, you're able to travel to any point in time. Past or future to you - it doesn't matter. There's no such thing here. All time is laid out in front of us, because in this place, we are outside of time."<br />
<br />
She laughed out loud. Right in his face, which seemed to annoy him for a moment.<br />
<br />
Eventually, he nodded, as if he had expected that reaction after all, and continued.<br />
<br />
"You'll believe me when you see it in action," he told her.<br />
<br />
Okay, she thought.<br />
<br />
Maybe she was dead already, and this was some sort of Afterlife. The van killed her, and now her consciousness was creating some sort of dream-like world for her to occupy. That explained why he's here, she thought, looking at Seb. He was the last person she saw, so her consciousness included him. That made sense.<br />
<br />
Seb was peering at her oddly. "Well?" he prompted.<br />
<br />
"Well, what?"<br />
<br />
"What do you think?"<br />
<br />
"Of what? Of your story? I think either you're crazy or I am."<br />
<br />
Beside her, Len laughed.<br />
<br />
Seb sighed. "Look, this isn't how it normally works. Hal gives us a name - the next person in our crew. We go find that person somewhere in their timestream, hook them up with one of these bracelets, and that's it. We all come back here together. No one gets hit by a van; no one dies."<br />
<br />
"Then why am I here?"<br />
<br />
"I've never seen you," Seb told her. "I didn't go find you, and I didn't give you that bracelet. Hal's never even mentioned you. You just showed up in the Chamber, complaining that your head hurt, and then you passed out." After a pause, he added, "I didn't kill you."<br />
<br />
Strange, she thought, but she suddenly was beginning to believe him.<br />
<br />
"What happened after I got here?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Honestly? I don't know, I wasn't here."<br />
<br />
Len leaned forward. "I can answer that," he said. "I was here the whole time. We put you in an empty room - that'll be your room now, by the way. You were out for a couple of hours, at most. After that, well, you probably remember."<br />
<br />
"Yeah." She remembered waking up in that small room. The door was locked, and after banging on it for a minute, Len arrived.<br />
<br />
"You wanted to know where Seb was - you said some guy named Seb had killed you. And you wanted to know where you were. Sorry I kept you locked up in there," he said, lowering his eyes.<br />
<br />
"It's okay, I was a wreck, anyways," she told him. This seemed to make him feel better. "This is all so... fucked up, though. Isn't it? I mean, time travel?"<br />
<br />
"Well, I'd imagine it's a little less jarring if you arrive in the normal way, with the proper explanation, and such," Seb said.<br />
<br />
"So I can go anywhere?" she asked.<br />
<br />
"Well," Seb began, weakly. "It doesn't quite work that way."<br />
<br />
She was about to ask what that meant, when the strange voice they called Hal returned.<br />
<br />
"My computations are complete. The Fix has been determined."<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">--------------------------------------------------------------<br />
<a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/fixers-3.html">Continue to The Fixers #3 </a><br />
<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2024749570476725865.post-90062501600832563692011-12-14T22:50:00.008-05:002011-12-16T20:21:34.951-05:00The Fixers #1Seb Cole frowned.<br />
<br />
Scratching his head, he stood looking at the spot on the floor where the false floorboard was supposed to be. It wasn't there. And if there was no false floorboard, then there wasn't any safe hidden there, either. <br />
<br />
With a sigh, he replaced the portion of the rug that he had pulled aside.<br />
<br />
Everything else was going to plan, he considered. He left the office behind and walked to the kitchen. Anderton, his wife, and the two kids, were all gone on some weekend trip. They had even taken the family dog, Oscar, along.<br />
<br />
Hal had been right about that bit.<br />
<br />
Although the house was set up with a fairly sophisticated security system, most of it was rigged up for the doors and windows. Easy to avoid if you don't need doors.<br />
<br />
Seb reached into the refridgerator and pulled out a half-gallon of milk. <br />
<br />
The motion-sensors were a little trickier, but Hal was right about the probable passcodes, too. Seb needed just two tries to shut those down.<br />
<br />
He twisted the cap off the milk.<br />
<br />
But the missing safe was nagging at his nerves. It pointed towards Anderton knowing someone would be here - that wasn't supposed to be possible. <br />
<br />
Standing in the glow of the open fridge, Seb took a long swig from the milk. He tried to work it out further in his mind, but after a moment he shrugged. Hal would let him know what to do.<br />
<br />
"Seb?" As if on cue, Len's voice crackled in his ear. "Status?"<br />
<br />
Seb set the milk back into Anderton's fridge and let the door close.<br />
<br />
"House is empty," he replied.<br />
<br />
"And the safe?" Len asked.<br />
<br />
Seb crossed the ground floor of the Anderton's home, and began climbing the stairs.<br />
<br />
"Not where it should be."<br />
<br />
He entered the bedroom of Anderton's teenage daughter, Kristen. Crossing the room to her dresser, he began opening drawers.<br />
<br />
"Roger, Seb," came Len's delayed reply. "Hal wants you to continue searching the house. He suggests with high probability that the safe is hidden in a different location, but remains in the home."<br />
<br />
Seb pulled out a pair of the girl's thong underwear and held it up. It was barely more than a thick string and a small patch of black fabric for the crotch. Looking close, he found a small heart was embroidered there. Interesting, he thought.<br />
<br />
"Seb, did you copy? Continue searching the house."<br />
<br />
"I already am," he replied.<br />
<br />
He rummaged through the bras and underwear for another moment. At last, he grabbed a pair of the girl's panties - a more modest blue pair - and tucked them into his pocket. Closing the drawer, Seb looked around.<br />
<br />
"Len," he said, keying his mic. "Does Hal have any suggestions for me?"<br />
<br />
Where would Anderton hide his safe? It wasn't down in the man's office where it should be, so it could be anywhere in the large home.<br />
<br />
"Uh, negative, Seb. Too many variables to consider. Examination of the blueprints turns up nothing out of the ordinary. Typical human behavior make some places more probable than others, but overall the percentages are pretty level." After a pause, he added, "You'll have to find it the old-fashioned way." <br />
<br />
It might take awhile, Seb thought - a big house like this one. He would just have to go room to room, until he found it. <br />
<br />
He left the daughter's bedroom and headed for the parents'. He would start in the master bedroom and work his way around the house from there.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">* * *</div><br />
Seb found the safe in less than an hour. It had been moved at some point to the master bedroom. Well, he silently amended, perhaps it was never actually in the office. He always became confused thinking about the ramifications of altering the past.<br />
<br />
"Okay Seb," came Len's voice in his ear, "try this for a combination." He rattled off a few numbers.<br />
<br />
Seb turned the dial, and tried the handle.<br />
<br />
"No good."<br />
<br />
Len gave him another set of numbers. Again, the safe wouldn't open. "This is getting old fast," Seb muttered.<br />
<br />
"Don't worry," Len assured him, "there are a few more high percentage possibilities."<br />
<br />
"What if Anderton used random numbers?"<br />
<br />
"He should have," Len said, "but he didn't. No one does. Try this." He gave Seb more numbers.<br />
<br />
This time, the handle clicked and the safe door swung open.<br />
<br />
"We're in," Seb breathed.<br />
<br />
He reached in, moving aside a few stacks of cash, some silver and gold. He grabbed for a paper-wrapped package, carefully pulling it from the safe.<br />
<br />
"The painting?" Len asked.<br />
<br />
With a cautious hand, Seb peeled the paper away from one edge of the bundle, peeked in under the wrapping. He could make out the canvas inside, held in a wood frame.<br />
<br />
"I've got the painting," Seb replied. Carefully rewrapping the portion he had just torn, Seb stood. He placed the wrapped painting on Anderton's bed, then returned to close and re-conceal the safe.<br />
<br />
"Ready to come home?" Len asked.<br />
<br />
Seb crossed back to the painting and picked it up, tucking it under his arm.<br />
<br />
"I'm ready," he told Len.<br />
<br />
For a moment, nothing happened. Then the familiar buzzing began in his ears. A tingling sensation, at first indistinguishable from the sound in his ears, spread to his head, then down through his spine to all parts of his body. At last, the tips of his fingers and toes were buzzing, too. His teeth hummed in his mouth.<br />
<br />
A sharp, sucking sound like someone playing a recording of a gust of wind in reverse.<br />
<br />
A blue-white flash, and then...<br />
<br />
Seb was standing back in the Chamber, looking at Len's smiling face through the window.<br />
<br />
A moment later, he emerged through the door, carrying the painting. Len was there to meet him and pat him on the back.<br />
<br />
"Nice work," he said, grinning. "Let's have a look at this painting, shall we?"<br />
<br />
Together, they walked to the table where they ate meals. Seb laid the painting on the table, then carefully removed the paper wrapping. Neither man spoke for a moment.<br />
<br />
"I guess it's nice," Len said, finally.<br />
<br />
Seb nodded. It was a decent color painting of some unknown woman.<br />
<br />
"Okay, better keep this wrapped up and safe for now," Len said. He reached out and began re-wrapping the framed work. "Hal will tell us what to do next."<br />
<br />
"How's the girl," Seb asked. <br />
<br />
Len paused in his work. He turned his head, considering Seb. After a moment, he grinned. "She is NOT going to like you," the black man said, breaking out into laughter.<br />
<br />
"What? Where is she?"<br />
<br />
"In her room."<br />
<br />
Seb turned to leave. "But I wouldn't go in there if I were you." Len called after him. "She is pretty upset."<br />
<br />
Seb ignored him. Turning into the corridor, he walked towards the living quarters. Outside the door of the new girl, he paused. He knocked gently, then stood, listening. Hearing nothing, he reached out and turned the handle.<br />
<br />
"Who's there?" The girl's voice came from inside.<br />
<br />
Seb paused, holding the door partially open.<br />
<br />
"Can I come in?" Seb asked.<br />
<br />
"Where am I?" the girl moaned. "Why won't anyone tell me what's going on."<br />
<br />
"We'll tell you everything right now," Seb assured her, talking through the opening. "Sorry it's taken so long."<br />
<br />
He pulled the door open and poked his head into the room.<br />
<br />
She was sitting against the far wall, holding her knees to her chest. Her blond hair fell around her shoulders, and her eyes, red and puffy, were focused on Seb.<br />
<br />
"I know you," she said, eyes widening.<br />
<br />
"You do?" Seb asked, curious.<br />
<br />
Never taking her eyes from Seb, the woman began to very methodically rise from her seated position on the floor.<br />
<br />
"It's you," she breathed. "You're the motherfucker who killed me."<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">-------------------------------------------------------------</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://thefixersonline.blogspot.com/2011/12/fixers-2.html">Continue to The Fixers #2</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Lian C. Wrighthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00925819279844034251noreply@blogger.com2