Fische Unigo sits across from me on the picnic table, her arms folded. She looks resigned to her situation, troublingly so. She hasn’t spoken, she looks at me, no, through me. It’s deeply unnerving. I wait for her to start the conversation.
It takes a few minutes, but she snaps out of her trance and looks into my eyes. “Okay,” she says, running a hand through her white hair, “Let’s figure this out.”
“Figure what out?”
“Who was the first president of the USA?” she asks.
“George Washington?”
“Phew. Does David Bowie have one small pupil and one large one?”
I hesitate. “What?”
“I’m trying to figure out what timeline I’m in.”
“You’re a time traveler?”
“No. I accidentally sent myself dimension hopping. But what are dimensions if not alternate timelines?”
I nod as if I understand. I don’t. “I don’t know if David Bowie has two different eyes. He’s dead though, if that helps.”
She waves me off. “No, he’s dead in all dimensions. What about Madam Curie?”
“What about her?”
“Okay, nevermind,” she puts her hands to her chin in contemplation. Minutes pass, she eventually gets up and starts pacing. I stretch my arms. Where is Sierra? I hope she’ll know what’s up with this strange woman. She seems nice enough, but unknowingly obtuse? I am new to this whole magic thing though, so maybe that comes with the territory.
“Aha!” she exclaims. She starts to unbutton her overalls. After letting the top flap drop, she puts her hands on the hems of her t-shirt and starts to pull up. “Is this weird?”
“YES!” I shout, looking away.
“Damn. I knew it was unlikely, but I’ve always been curious to see what the nudist dimension is like.”
“Only one nudist dimension is a little disappointing.” I joke.
“Three, I think. One of them’s like kinda creepy about it. Rustling the pidgeon, you know?”
She’s put her overalls back on. “What?” I ask, “No. What does that even mean?”
She breaks out into a huge grin. “Really… What about walking over skin, you know what that means?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Killing killers?”
“No.”
“Loosing an Eagle Scout?”
“Not at all.”
“Fire in the coal mine?”
“Are these all just sexual innuendos?”
She laughs. “You caught me. But seriously, they’re all extremely common phrases. This you isn’t some puritan, right?
It’s my turn to laugh. “No.”
“I suspect all your turns of phrase are slightly off, not just the explicit ones.”
“To me, your turns of phrase are slightly off. Since I saw you the first time.”
She frowns. “I guess you’re right. Oh well, it could have been worse, right? Could’ve been the bees dimension.”
“You’re not going to try and go back?” I ask her.
She purses her lips. “I started dimension hopping by accident, when a spell went wrong. I can’t dimension hop intentionally. If I was to replicate the spell, I’d just end up in another random dimension, there’s no way in hell I could find my way back. Besides, there’s nothing different about this timeline except…” she trails off.
“The weird phrases?” I attempt to finish her sentence.
“Me.”
She turns around and goes to the edge of Colby Rock. She sits down, dangling her legs over it. The sun is setting. The pieces click into place. She lived in another timeline, with her own relationships, her own life. All gone. Did she even exist in my dimension? How many people does she know, but don’t know her?
I look down at myself. One, at least.
I walk over and sit down next to her. “When did we meet?” I ask, keeping my voice soft.
“A few weeks ago. I was sent a message from The Eld, that something big would be happening here, having to do with a guy named Connor. Found Crucible books, Sierra told me about you. Spent most of the last month on Earth getting to know you. Then today happened, and you got the Primix’s Glory, and now we’re waiting for Sierra to show up,” she looks up to me, “We’re friends, you know? We’re trouble twice. You have that phrase?”
“No, but I think I know what it means. We go well together.”
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
“Yeah,” she looks to the sunset.
“I think we can become friends again,” I offer.
“I’d like that.”
We sit in silence while the sky goes dark. It’s bizarre, since most of our view is of the city above us, but if we look straight ahead, to the horizon, we can start to make out stars.
Sierra shows up when it’s fully night. We’ve moved to the campfire, starting a small fire with my lighter and scattered twigs. Fische is an adept woodswoman. We’re swapping strange stories we’ve heard. Every so often she’ll interrupt me to say she’d already heard that part.
Sierra walks up with a huge camping pack on her back, and a tent under one arm. “Sorry it took me so long,” she apologizes, “I needed to make sure I wasn’t being trailed.” Only then does she notice Fische. “Uhh, who’s this?”
“Hi Sierra, I’m Fische Unigo. We know each other from a different dimension. Long story short, I’m stuck here now. I’m on the same page, we need to keep Connor safe while we figure out how to remove the Glory from him.”
“What?” I interject, “Remove? I thought you had to rip out my heart to do that.”
Sierra answers, “Conventionally, but we might be able to dissipate it naturally,” she addresses Fische, “Another dimension, huh? Didn’t properly set up a chronal incantation, got yourself unstuck in The Lattice? That must suck.”
“Bush ablaze, for sure.”
“What?”
I interject, “Just go with it.”
Sierra sits next to us and we spend the next few hours talking. Not about our situation in any meaningful capacity, but as if nothing was wrong. Fische talks about the TV shows she’s been watching, Sierra gushes about Olympic National Park. Somehow she convinces the three of us to go backpacking together at some point. “We’re kinda already camping,” I point out. I don’t talk much, I’d rather listen. I try and glean any smidgeon of information about this place, The Within, from their conversations. I don’t do well, whenever they mention someone here they talk about them in reference to other people I don’t know. They seem pissed at someone named “Point”, who probably put us in the bubble.
If it wasn’t for the crazy day leading up to it, I’d even call it a nice night. Fische and I really do “trouble twice”.
We can’t see the moon from our flipped position, but the lights of downtown above (below?) us act as a brighter night sky then any I’d ever seen. Sierra and Fische are laughing about some place I’d never been when I spot a cloud wafting through the dome.
“Hey,” I ask, “Can things get through the bubble?”
Sierra looks at me, confused, “Just air, why?” I point at the cloud. She jolts up. It’s drifting our way, easily a mile wide. How could a cloud form inside here? I don’t think condensation works that way.
“Fuck, fuck. We need to get the tent set up now!” Sierra tells us. To our credit, we’re ready to go immediately. I’m closest to the bag, so I grab it and unzip the packaging. Fische reaches out and grabs some of the poles, starting to click the segmented rods together. Sierra grabs one end of a tarp, I grab the other and we try to unfurl it.
I slip on a rock while standing still and fall over, onto the tent. “Get up!” Sierra screams, pointing at the sky. The cloud is much closer. It hags maybe a hundred feet above our position, and is raining… something pink. It certainly isn’t water. Could it be acid?
I roll off the tent. The rain is now audible, a warm static I’d otherwise welcome. I shake a little under the stress. What kind of world have I fallen into? I finally pull myself up to see Fische threading the tentpoles through the loops on the canvas tarp. It’s in a modern style, like a dome. I grope around in the dirt for the mallet and stakes, finding them much later then I would have liked. I reach for the tent, line up the mallet, and BAM! Strike the stake into the ground in one swing. I move to the next spot and repeat. “We don’t have enough time!” Sierra says. I abandon my efforts and leap into the fully propped tent. Sierra rushes in after me with her pack and mine. Fische hesitates. “My bag!” she exclaims and runs back to the campfire. We sit in the tent, panting, waiting for her to return. I start to hear the rain-like liquid splash on the roof of the tent. It’s a transparent pale pink, more like Gatorade then acid. It has no smell, and I don’t dare test what it tastes like. Sierra and I stare with awe until we remember---
“Fische!” We yell. She must still be out there. I look out the front flap and see her there, standing in the downpour, very still.
“Uh, I’m fine?” she tells us, “What is this thing supposed to be?”
Sierra piques up, “I assumed liquid lead. I don’t think there’s another non-rain cloud summoning spell. Could it be some sort of concoction made by The Leyliner’s Aeroship?”
“I thought it was acid,” I add.
Fische opens her palms, watching the liquid fall on her skin. “Well, if it’s deadly, I’m neck-deep in quicksand.”
“What?” Sierra questions.
“I think it means she’s already doomed,” I say. Maybe I can learn how to translate Fische.
“Can I come in?” she asks. Sierra furls her brow. I grit my teeth. “You still have it on you, I don’t think we should risk passing whatever it is to the rest of us.” I argue.
“I have an idea for that,” Fische starts for the opening, “Scoot back to the end.”
We do so, moving as far back as we can. Not very far, it’s a small tent.
She steps in, and takes her shoes off, throwing them outside. She’s absolutely drenched in the pink liquid. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out a towel, “A hitchhikers most valuable tool,” she mutters under her breath. She starts to dry herself off, but Sierra shakes her head.
“That’s not going to be enough. Your clothes absorbed too much of it.”
Fische laughs, “Trying to appraise the cut, are ya?”
“We’re all adults here,” Sierra says with absolutely no inflection.
Fische flashes a wicked grin, which I can’t tell if is from nerves or something else. She starts to unbuckle her overalls. I look away, having seen this song and dance before. Sierra does not. She stares right at Fische, watching her dry herself off. I hear the sound of wet clothes being thrown outside the tent. “The towel, can’t take any chances,” Sierra instructs Fische. She throws that out too.
The tent is silent for a while, and I’m unsure of what to do. Eventually I cave in and look to them. Fische is sitting on the far side of the tent, in a simple black bra and panties. Actually, they’re more similar to boyshorts, flat across the hem. She’s not acting bashful or trying to “preserve her modesty”, but is once again running her fingers through her messy hair, checking for wet spots. Her bust is distracting, but I try not to look too closely. They’re not large by any stretch of the word. They’re just breasts, I’ve seen a few before. Why then do I keep glancing over? They do have a pleasant shape…
“You have a towel but not an extra set of clothes?” I ask, trying to sound playful but probably sounding accusatory.
“I wasn’t expecting to be in this position!” she defends, “It’s a small backpack!”
I put my hands up, conceding the point.
“Oh, fuck it,” Sierra says, “You can have the sleeping bag,”
“There’s only one?” I say.
“Unless you brought one,” she throws a stuff sack to Fische, who opens it and hops in a green mummy bag. “Looks like you’ll be roughing it tonight with two beautiful women. What a shame.” She mocks.
I snicker. “Have that high an opinion of yourself?” I counter.
She flips her brown hair, “I have a mirror.” She flips off the tent lantern and lays down on the floor. I take my shoes off and lay in the opposite direction, mimicking my time at summer camp.
“Dude, I don’t want you to kick me in the middle of the night,” Sierra protests. Fische wiggles in her sleeping bag on the other side of me.
“Fair,” I say, and flip around.
Sierra sighs, “This isn’t exactly how I expected today to go. Let’s get some rest and make plans in the morning.”
Fische nods and closes her eyes. She’s out immediately, snoring loudly. Sierra and I look at each other in amazement. Then Fische flips over and lands on me. She grabs my arm and starts to curl her sleeping bag around my body. I look wildly at Sierra through the darkness, silently pleading for her to help. She shrugs and turns away from me.
It’s going to be a long night.