SG: Aurora #44 - Simple Wishes (Part Four of Five)

[Frobozz]

[[CONTINUED FROM PART THREE! NOW ON SALE!]]

    Building the stasis device was simplicity itself. Colleen could have
cobbled together one twice its size with her eyes closed had the need
been present. Nicholas was in terrible condition when she slid him into
the lifesaving module, but he instantly stabilized when the device's
blue lights played over him. Colleen grinned to herself at that; once
again, science had triumphed over drama!
    Of course, the engineer's departure from the altiverse 001SUPERGUY
was delayed by a few minutes when she realised she'd neglected to add
any wheels or other means of transport to the extremely heavy (and now
even heavier by a man's weight) capsule. She lost a half hour building a
rudimentary anti-gravity device out of spare parts, her favourite
digital watch, and the glue harvested from a bit of old masking tape she
found in a trash can. Amazing what perfectly good chemicals people would
toss away! After that, it was a reasonably simple, if slightly tricky,
matter to get the dimensional gateway operational and push Nicholas
through it. Home sweet home, thought Colleen with just a trace of
sickness at how long she'd been away from it. Yes, be it ever so humble,
there's no place like... your blood-spattered home?
    The chamber housing 000's dimensional portal was very much how she'd
left it many years ago, save for one difference: blood and viscera
painted the walls in disturbingly creative patterns. Someone's body had
been used like a grisly pinata and the sight and smell both made Colleen
retch violently. Holding her breath and trying not to think about what
she was seeing, the engineer pushed Nicholas' capsule through the door
and into fresh air. Colleen pushed as quickly as she could, fear and
terror both prompting her to get as far away from that charnel pit as
she possibly could so that reason could reassert its rightful place in
her mind. She'd almost made it to the nearest elevators while the sound
of boot-falls coming around the corner brought her up short. Trapped!
And there was no cover in sight. Colleen's mind began to spin quickly...
what might work... aha! Turnabout! It was, as far as she was concerned,
fair play!
    "Halt!" yelled out the Boreallean trooper who rounded the corner with
a partner. Both were unarmoured but heavily armed and seemed more than a
match for a poor, defenseless engineer. Both men raised their side-arms
to point at Colleen.
    "Ah, good, -there- ye are," said Colleen, as she raised her head and
shot them a haughty glare. "I hae been looking for help with this for I
donae know how long!"
    "Ma'am?" asked the guard, raising his eyebrows without lowering his
weapon. "We had no notification that you'd be up here."
    "Oh? Do I *need* tae give notification for such things? I wasnae
aware of that, sir!"
    "Actually yes," replied the guard, frowning in confusion. "You
weren't... aware of it, ma'am? Are you certain of that? I mean, I
could've sworn that the mission packets we all got were pretty complete.
And those illustrations were just top-notch..."
    "Ah, um..." Pause. Oh right! She had a built-in excuse, for
everything! "I -hae- been on deep infiltration for quite a while now.
Did ye expect me to keep materials in my possession thae may have
compromised my identity?"
    "Hm, she's got a point," said the other guard, shrugging.
    "Yeah, okay, I can buy that," said the first, looking almost
convinced. "But you haven't explained what you're up here for, ma'am. We
can't have just anyone skulking around this floor. It's vital we know
what's going on here at all times, and that includes personnel
movement."
    "Mmm, I can see thae. Well I hae been given instructions t'bring this
prisoner out o'the other universe and take him tae a medical facility,
post-haste."
    "Ah, I see. Why, exactly?"
    Colleen shrugged. "I hae no idea. But t'was ordered, and I obey."
    "Well... it's just that, really you'd think we'd have been told about
-any- extra-universal travel going on. It's not something so routine
that it would slip someone's mind. I think I'm going to have to radio up
the line to see what's going on."
    "Sir!" barked Colleen, with a stomp of her foot. "I hae my orders,
an' they came straight from the top! If ye truly wish t'delay my
progress, more power to ye, but I can tell ye than no one will be happy
with such a thing being done!"
    "Maybe not, ma'am, but it's routine."
    "A pox on such things! T'is yer career if ye do so!"
    "That's nice, ma'am, but it's more likely my career if I don't check
this with my uplink. Besides, since when has anyone lost their
commission for checking orders?"
    "Ah," replied Colleen, deflating. She bit her lip, then grinned
hopefully and pointed over the guards' shoulders. "Look... behind ye?"
    "Nice try, ma'am," replied the second guard, as the first called in
his report. "Why don't you just make yourself nice and comfortable
against the wall over there. I hear the 'I surrender' spread-eagled
position is nice..."

***

    "I'm feeling better."
    "Then only half your body's crippled and battered, Al?"
    "Well, yeah, Chambers... but that's an improvement. In fact it's such
an improvement, that I think I should get up and take a walk."
    "Nice try, soldier-boy. You're willing to risk aggravating near-fatal
wounds to get out of telling me something about yourself?"
    "Hmmm. Hmmmm. Hmm. Yes."
    "God, you men. What is this fascination with being secretive? It
never works, you know. No one really cares that you're all mysterious
and have hidden depths under your shallows..."
    "Then why are you so curious?"
    "Because I WANT TO KNOW, DARN IT!"
    "Ow. My ear."
    "I'm not apologizing."
    "Damned singers. You pitched your voice like that on purpose."
    "Again, I'm not apologizing."
    Peterson sighed. There was a long silence before he finally sighed
again and nodded. "All right. I'll tell you a little about myself. But
you're sworn to secrecy, okay? What goes on in the Beanstalk stays in
the Beanstalk."
    "Sworn, heart crossed and death hoped for."
    "Right. Let me see. Where to start..."

***

    "She doesn't look good."
    "Not one bit."
    The three Doug's Irregulars finished their lay-person examination of
Daphne and moved over to their erstwhile leader to give their equally
lay-person analysis of her condition.
    "Whut's wrong wit' her?" asked Doug, biting his lip as he looked at
the battered woman who lay on a nest made of cushions scavenged from her
office. They'd made her as comfortable as possible, but even to him
there was something decidedly unhealthy about the way she looked.
    "It would help if we had some actual medical equipment on hand,"
began one trooper. "But we lost it in the elevator crash. Her
heartbeat's not strong but it's regular. Her breathing's shallow and her
eyes aren't responsive. We hit pay-dirt... ah, so to speak... when we
examined the warden's arms, though."
    "And?"
    "Track marks. Very recent, too, so odds are she doesn't have a drug
habit we never knew about. They've been keeping her doped up, probably
the whole time they've been in the 'stalk."
    "So... so... " Doug began, glancing back at Daphne again. "D'ja think
it's save t'make a wish?"
    "I'd say maybe," said the first trooper, with a shrug. "That's the
best answer I've got. I mean does anyone know how granting wishes
affects her? I sure don't. So how can we figure on how it'll affect her
when she's drugged up? We can't make a call based on facts we don't
have."
    "I think we should risk it," opined the second trooper. "We've got a
one-shot chance here. A bigger chance than anyone else in this damned
tower's got and I say we go for it. We could put an end to all this
dying right here, right now."
    "Doing that -could- kill her," interjected the third. "The scope of a
wish like that's too big. I don't think she could handle it."
    "And you're the expert on her powers now?" retorted the second. "I
saw some good friends fall to their deaths just a few hours ago. You
know something? I don't want any more of my friends going ahead into
this good night. This isn't just the right thing to do, it's the -human-
thing to do."
    "And if she can't handle it? We might kill her for no good reason at
all. _I_ think, if we do anything at all, we should start small and work
up."
    "What if she's only got the magic-star juice for one more wish?"
asked the first. "Then we've wasted our one shot on a small wish and
blown our big chance."
    "If she's only got the power for a small wish, then how exactly are
we losing anything here?"
    "It might not be size-based, though. Maybe it's all a matter of
numbers. Like the djinni with the three wishes?"
    Doug bit his lip and wandered away from the arguing troopers. They
didn't really need him for their discussion, and no one would miss him
heading off. Times like these, Doug felt useless, as this was a
discussion for people who actually had brains in their heads and who
were used to putting them to good use. Carefully, the brawler levered
himself down next to Wishstar, putting a hand on her shoulder.
    "I kinda wi--whoa." Doug smiled faintly to himself, a touch proud
that he'd caught himself in time. "Wow, that was kinda stupid, yeah?
Almost made a wish, an' I'm pretty much too stupid a guy to make any fer
somethin' this important. But like I was sayin', I kinda would've liked
it if you were awake right 'bout now. Yeah, I know, we ain't 'zzactly
close, but I could really, dunno... would be nice if I had a friendly
face t'talk to." He paused, recalling the few interactions he'd had with
Wishstar. "Okay, okay, a face t'talk to. Better?"
    Wishstar didn't agree, but neither did she disagree.
    "Well good then." Doug sat back, then let out a long sigh. "Y'know
why I came over here? 'cause th'first thing that came t'mind when we
were all, y'know, talkin' about wishin' was... 'hey, why don' we wish
for some beer, 'n get everyone drunk'? Geez louise, I mean, what a
stupid wish, right? I mean, yeah, beer'd be nice right 'bout now... a
tall, cold, frothy bee--"
    Doug punched himself in the face. It didn't sate his thirst for beer,
but it did distract him for a moment. Besides, a punch in the face had
beer-hall memories associated with it, so it almost felt as though he
was in one for a moment. Satisfied that he was not slipping off the
wagon for the moment, Doug returned to his one-way conversation.
    "I been tryin'... tryin' real hard... t'be smart. T'not, y'know, let
th' suds run my life any more. An' it's hard, Daph. S'really hard.
'specially 'cause even when I'm thinkin' okay, I'm not 'zzactly the
smartest guy on th'planet. Makes it kinda hard t'do right, when even
at'cher best yer still a few horses underpowered compared t' everyone
else's engines.
    "It aint' easy, Daph. None've it's easy. I been screwin' up all my
life. My marriage, my work... Hell(tm), I almost even totally screwed up
gettin' this," Doug confessed, lifting Kegtopper. "Makes me sick
sometimes, thinkin' about how great I thought I was. Yeah, everythin' I
did was great when I was on th'suds, y'know? Now... dammit."
    Doug hunched over, hiding his face from the other troopers. "There's
so much I wanna take back, y'know? Maybe s'too late t'show everyone what
I could do, but I jus' hope it's not. Hope it with all my heart... I
jus' wish everyone'd be okay, so I could -prove- to 'em that I'mma new
man... or at least buildin' somethin' outta th'wreck that's the old me.
An' I wish that my friends could be here right now, so we could all
fight t'gether... an' win this. An' damn it, I wish that I'd never seen
touched a beer in my life, 'cause maybe I'd've turned out tons different
an-- oh SHIT!"

***

    "I'm sorry, ma'am," said the Boreallean guard sadly, as he finished
his radioed report. "I truly am. But it seems that 'you', or rather the
person you appear to be, is sitting in her quarters nice and quietly
right now. Which leads us to believe that you are in fact -not- Colleen
MacDonald, but rather this universe's native Colleen."
    "Bollocks," sighed Colleen, looking over her shoulder. "Well then,
perhae ye'll convey me to my cell..."
    "I'm afraid not, ma'am. It's in my Pearl's estimation that you've
just proved yourself too dangerous to be incarcerated. Please
understand, this isn't my decision," he said, raising his sidearm. "If
you would... please just close your eyes, ma'am. I promise there won't
be any pain."
    Colleen tried to think of something that would get her out of this
situation. A thousand plans and schemes flashed through her head, every
one of which was futile, impractical or simply stupid. A deep chill
settled into the engineer's bones as she realised that she could either
be executed now, or she could be executed running down the corridor.
Those were the sum of her choices. A tear fell as she squeezed closed
her eyes, waiting for the last kiss of her life.
    "Hunh," said the second guard as Colleen suddenly vanished from
sight. He looked around in consternation and then glanced to his
dumbstruck partner, who was equal parts angry and relieved that his
prisoner had suddenly gone missing. "Hey. Hey... was the Rapture
scheduled for today?"

***

    "All right," began Peterson. "The reason I got into Aurora... I'm not
proud of it. But..."
    Chambers looked at Peterson, waiting for his next words. She hadn't
realised how much she wanted to know about this man, but it was becoming
clear that he -was- filled with hidden depths, depths she never would
have expected just a few days ago.
    "I--"
    Suddenly, the medical bay was empty.

***

    "I've found a route, sir," announced Clark's scout, dropping next to
his commander. "But you're not going to like it."
    "I already don't like the situation, soldier," replied Clark,
checking his woefully depleted supply of ammunition. "Lay it on me."
    "The best way out, and I use the word 'best' in as loose a fashion
possible, will expose us to enemy fire for a good ten yards. With no
cover."
    "Damn," replied Clark with a sigh. "But it's not as if we have a
choice, do we? We've already taken heavier casualties than we can bear.
We're going to have to deal with getting shot up more to get out of
here. I'll spread the word. You get ready to le--"
    The Borealleans ceased fire as the Auroreans, to a man, ended their
side of the exchange. Could they have all run out of ammunition? At the
same time? Was it a trick?
    It took several minutes before a small squad advanced from Boreallean
lines to see what had happened. The leader of said squad blinked in
confusion as he noticed a total lack of enemy. He blinked again, then
brought up his commo to phrase his very succinct report.
    "Commander! The enemy! They've buggered off!"

***

    There is little that a wish can do for the dead. Once a soul has
passed beyond this veil, it's subject to powers far greater than those
held by mortal (or even arguably immortal) hands. The afterlife holds
onto its prey jealously, Hell(tm) moreso than any other.
    But.
    There are times when a soul is unjustly taken. And sometimes Hell(tm)
gets away with that.
    A wish on its own can do nothing to free that unlucky soul. But a
wish is little more than an arrow, carrying the wisher's intent to its
target. Doug's wishes were each made with a childlike innocence and a
deep desire to repent for the dog's breakfast that he'd made of life up
to that point.
    Hell(tm) -hates- innocence and repentance. They're like sunlight to
vampires or honesty to politicians. Where a wish may be powerless to
help a lost soul, innocence may provide a way to at least set it free
from its eternal torments...

    FROM THE LOG OF ISLAND HOPPER

    Tuesday, Some Time After Lunch-thirty by Six Minutes latitude.

    Ah, it's good to be back in Bermuda after so much time. I've missed
the warm people, the warm climate and the warm hospitality I receive
each time I visit here. Yes journal, I even miss the numerous floating
'TURN BACK! TRIANGLE AHEAD!', 'YOUR SOUL IS FORFEIT!' and 'DEAR GOD,
DIDN'T YOU SEE THE OTHER NOTICES? GO AWAY, THE TRIANGLE IS JUST AHEAD!'
signs that provide Bermudan seas with such quirky local colour. I should
sail to New Brunswick more often to enjoy Bermuda, but duty often calls
like a duck whistle, only one built for humans rather than ducks, and
also the whistle is made just for me rather than all humans who aren't
me and so don't hear it.
    Though I must admit the temperatures have become terribly
unseasonable all of a sudden. My mariner's bones wonder if this is a
sign of a storm, ill-tidings, or red-tide poisoning. Shortly after
sailing ahead to enjoy the sights to be found in this so-famous triangle
about which I've heard so much and yet remembered nothing, the
temperature grew quite excessive -- almost hellaciously so. It grew so
hot that even the lakes themselves seemed to be afire, which I must
admit is truly an awesome illusion and one which I think the joint New
Brunswick-Bermuda tourism board should attempt to capitalize on. I can
think of many a tourist who would die to see such spectacular sights.
    Though I admit it's not my wont to take on passengers -- for mine is
a lonely life, punctuated only by the occasional visit to gram's for
cookies and conversation -- my eye was caught by the sight of a man in
peril. Said young man -- whose skin was so red that I had to assume that
he had forgotten his suntan cream this morning -- was frantically trying
to fend off an exhausted, unclothed, unarmed woman with nothing more
than his wickedly sharp, curved sword. The foul harpy was having none of
this, however, and persisted in tormenting the young man with her wicked
screams and blood-curdling pleas for mercy, until I hoved in to set
things right and show this tormentress what for!
    I succeeded in half my goal, it seems, for upon spying my craft
drawing near the foul woman summoned the last of her wicked strength and
leaped aboard. Clearly she was deranged and in need of a good
psychiatrist's care; a fate to be pitied by those of us who possess
minds so sound that one could bounce a quarter on them (and often have).
    I still recall the strange greeting with which she, well, greeted me.
    "Oh my God," she gasped. "You're real!"
    "No", I replied swiftly, seeking to correct her misapprehension. "I
am in fact Island Hopper. And you are now my prisoner, foul vill-i-an!"
    I sang out an ahoy to the unfortunate young man who had realised that
I was the agent of his deliverance, and who began to wave his sword
cheerfully in my direction, dancing in thanks for my speedy arrival. The
woman, sensing her defeat, let out a long sign and slugged me in the
face by way of surrender.
    I feigned unconsciousness for several hours, noting that my stout
vessel seemed to be moving under its own power. Strangely, we had left
behind the fair shores of Bermuda for an unknown waters, perhaps the
fabled seventh sea itself? The waters on which we sailed were golden
like my chamberpot, and a radiance radiated through the fluffy white fog
that had sprung up of a sudden all around us. For reasons that defy both
intelligence and myself, my faithful ship slowed to a halt. A golden
hand appeared to reach from the well-lit clouds ahead as a shaft of
white light fell upon my prisoner. I heard a voice whispering so softly,
I had to strain to hear it.
    "Langley," it said in a voice so golden that I had to resist the urge
to place it in a chest -- only it would have to be a special chest that
could hold a voice rather than actual gold you understand -- and bury
it. "Come with me," it continued to say. "I will take you where you are
meant to be," it said, ah, more.
    I knew immediately what was happening. These foul golden-handed
pirates had waited for a foggy, sunlit evening and were preparing to
steal my prisoner from me! Right under my now-broken nose! There was
only one thing to do.
    I fired my harpoon at the hand.
    When I regained consciousness, my ship had drifted further.
    By employing the ancient art of reading sextant, compass and
global-positioning-system I ascertained that I was somewhere off the
coast of Alberta. There was no trace of the golden, radiant pirate or my
prisoner.
    Oh well, you win some and you lose some. Off to IHOP, journal. I
shall buy you sausage and I shall have the short stack.

***

    The bulk of people who appeared as a result of Doug's wish could not
fit in the jail foyer, though as many as possible who could be crammed
into that space appeared there. The rest found themselves outside in
corridors and one or two luckless troopers were relocated into --
fortunately empty -- cells.
    Discipline was discipline, however and when Wishstar began to
convulse and when Doug called for a doctor, the troops began an orderly
exit from the foyer to make room. Doctor Honeybear extracted himself
from the large knot of troopers where he'd found himself packed away and
was allowed to squeeze through to where Doug was kneeling, dropping down
to take the warden's pulse. A moment later the Aurorean doctor initiated
CPR, calling over troopers who knew the procedure to assist.
    Meanwhile Clark, Peterson and DeVrai managed to find each other in
the confusion and exchanged notes, drafted runners and began to spread
orders and requests for information through the miraculously
materialized ranks.
    "Damn it, Al," enthused Clark, pumping his friend's hand once the
orders had been sent out. "I didn't think I'd see you again! A few
minutes ago, I didn't think I was going to see anyone again!"
    "Ow. Ow. Please, stop that. ow," replied Peterson, wincing. "You're
making the hurt monster come back."
    "Oh geez, sorry," said Clark, dropping Peterson's hand and taking a
step away. "Though you look a lot better than when I last saw you. I
just assumed..."
    "Be nice if it worked that way, wouldn't it?" said Peterson, rubbing
his arm. "I don't feel like every bone in my body's broken any more, but
I sure do feel like every last bone is bruised right now. Any idea how
in the name of all that's Elvis this happened?"
    "Prison," said DeVrai, gesturing around. "People. Two and two
together means..."
    "Daphne," finished Peterson, smiling ruefully. "Yeah, this feels like
it could be one of her wishes. But why's it so slapdash? I'm only
half-healed, my armour's still in tatters... you'd think if she was
going to get into the game, she'd do it all in one blow."
    "Maybe she couldn't?" suggested DeVrai, though Peterson shook his
head.
    "No, she could. After... well, after some stuff that happened to her
recently, she got the kid gloves taken off. I just wonder..."
    "One sec, Al," said Clark, as one of his scouts returned and the two
spent several moments conferring. Other scouts soon returned and were
similarly debriefed by DeVrai and Peterson. The three then pooled their
knowledge until they could put together a picture of where they stood.
    "Okay," began Clark, ticking off on his fingers. "So here's what I've
got."
    "Sum it for us, Clark," said Peterson, leaning against the wall to
give his battered body a rest.
    "Anyone the three of us has lost in battle is gone. They're not here.
Suggestion... the wish either didn't or couldn't cover the dead."
    DeVrai nodded, hiding a wince. "Makes sense from here."
    "Here too," replied Clark, continuing to the next tick. "Anyone who
was in critical condition is in the bare minimum shape to fight. Anyone
who was already there hasn't been touched.  Lastly...
    "Lastly, some people who we know aren't dead aren't here. Viva isn't.
Some of the troops aren't. One or two of the doctors aren't. We -don't-
have an accurate head-count, but it's pretty clear that some people were
left behind."
    "Damn it," swore DeVrai. "Do we know who?"
    "No. We don't. I--"
    "Wait," said Peterson, interrupting. "Hand me the list of who we're
pretty sure we don't have?"
    Clark handed the list over with a nod. Peterson began to pour over
it, frowning as he ran his tongue along the back of his teeth, trying to
make the pattern fit. There was a pattern here, and all he had to do was
find it. Find the pattern. It was always one of his favourite games, and
all he had to do now was... aha!
    "Aha!"
    "Aha?"
    "Aha. Hm. This is disturbing."
    "What? What is it?"
    "Most of the people who were left behind? They're new. They're
recruits who weren't here during a particular span..." Peterson shook
his head. "I don't like the conclusion, but... someone find Doug."
    "Doug?" chorused both DeVrai and Clark.
    "Please find him? I'll be your best friend if you do."
    "You already are," replied Clark, rolling his eyes. "And I have no
idea what that says about me. But let me see what I can do..."

***

[[CONCLUDED IN PART FIVE! HAVE YOUR COUPONS READY!]]

---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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