Harvel stood stock still as he watched the members of Team 5 disappear into the fog. They would have to move fast. He’d need to get to both the team and Dibbuk at the same time. Preferably before they had been torn to shreds.

“What’s he doing?” Lemmy called out, fastening the rest of his makeshift control panel to the trip boat. He clipped the ends off of the zip ties for the sake of his own sanity.

“He’s just standing there with his hand in the toilet. Been about a minute.” Aldon shouted, finding himself yet again watching Harvel destroy a bathroom. He was beginning to sense a pattern. Parker peeped her head around the corner to check in.

“You think he can hear us?” She asked, dragging a box out from under a cabinet. It was filled with cans labeled “brake fluid”.

“How would I know? You’re the one he fancies. You talk to him.” Aldon scoffed, grabbing the box from her and hauling it out into the garage.

“He doesn’t fancy me, Aldon! For some reason, and I can’t imagine what it could be, he doesn’t want to talk to you!” Parker shouted, leaning against the doorway.

He did fancy her, and before he had turned his own body into a crimson bisque she had started to fancy him. She knew that, but what exactly would the two of them do about it at this point? Standing up on a chair from the workshop, Parker held her hand up in front of Harvels skeleton-like face and made to snap her fingers. Harvels free hand wrapped around hers before she could move.

“Why does everyone keep snapping their fingers in front of my face? You could do it from a mile away and I’d still hear it.” Harvel said, leaning his spindly body around the corner. Yiddek was currently inspecting his remains. All movement in the garage froze.

“The fuck was that? Sounded like the exhaust on a damn canal barge.” Aldon asked, popping his head into the workshop. Yiddek turned around as well, putting his tablet to sleep.

Harvel attempted to move his jaw again. Oddly enough, he’d somehow kept his bones during what he was now considering his "molting period". They were there under the mycelia. It was a very new feeling, being able to feel one's own skeleton.

He’d been thinking about putting together a set of vocal cords since his brother had mentioned it earlier, and it was like the mycelia had rearranged itself. He moved his jaw again. He was close, he could feel it.

He didn’t have time for this. He let go of Parkers hand and slammed his own full force into his face. He tried to move his jaw again.

“Ah, better.” Harvel said, putting a little more effort into volume control this time. Parker couldn’t really agree. His mouth was less of a mouth and more of a ragged hole. He attempted to smile at her. She might have preferred continuing to take shit from Aldon.

“Lemmy? Are we almost ready to go?” Harvel asked, pulling his hand from the toilet. Little tendrils that had wound their way out of the tips of his fingers slipped their way back into his digits.

“Almost. Why? How soon do we need to go?” Lemmy asked, using a heat gun on a spliced wire. He threw the gun into one of the four seats he had hastily fastened to the deck and tucked the wires haphazardly behind their panel.

“Now. At their pace they have a half an hour before they hit the cart, but we’ve only got a few minutes before we need to be there ourselves.” Harvel said, making his way out into the garage. He lumbered around to the back of the boat and grabbed a few more spare AV seats, placing them purposefully behind the others.

“What are you doing that for? Wait, no, what did you mean by a half hour at their pace but a few minutes for us? If there’s something going on with time I need to know. This could all go exponentially, existentially, excruciatingly wrong.” Lemmy asked, sweat pouring from already exhausted pores. He’d been working furiously, and he still didn’t know if it would actually stop when it was supposed to. He’d done the last month of assembly in a matter of minutes.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“There is something going on with time. It wont matter.” Harvel answered, nodding to the exasperated pioneer. Lemmy blinked a few times.

“No, I really do think it’s going to matter. If our theory of time is off then the predictions I’ve made about how to navigate the rift could be as well. That would be bad, very bad.” Lemmy insisted, stopping Harvel as he pulled a piece of wood out from a pile.

“It will be alright. Time is not a line. It will... compensate.” Harvel said again, continuing to grab a 2x4. He used one of his fingers to carve a set of numbers into the board, looking up occasionally at the control panel near the front of the boat.

“C-Compensate?! What does that even mean? I don’t even know what it’s compensating for!” Lemmy yelled, losing his patience with the fungus. He pulled the board out from Harvels loose grip. They were coordinates.

“I wanted to make sure I used the right format. It should line up. Once we’re down there and everyone is on board I need you to put that into the console. It’ll take you to the right place.” Harvel said, not answering Lemmy in the slightest. Lemmy read the coordinates and did the math.

“This, this can’t be right. We’ll come out three thousand feet above the ground. How do you even know we’ll survive? I’ll be lucky to be able to land it right on top of the damn building!” Lemmy commented, slapping the wood with the back of his hand. Harvel paused for a moment before resting his massive hand on Lemmy’s shoulder.

“I believe in you.” Harvel said, nodding reassuringly.

“Why?! I don't!” Lemmy asked, looking up towards the sky he would soon be attempting not to fall out of.

“That’s a complicated question with a simple answer. Your wife believes in you, and from what I can tell she has a handle on the situation.” Harvel answered, pointing to a spot in the corner of the ceiling.

Harvel could practically taste the camera in the rafters. He’d heard about the button, but until he’d had the capability and clarity to put it together it had just been another soggy detail in his mind. Somewhere in the back of his fungal brain he’d been running a sort of subroutine to put the pieces together, and it had completed about two minutes ago.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

Asha cut the feed in her monitor away from Harvels unsettling, if not supportive finger. She had about fifteen minutes as far as she could tell. She closed her terminal and checked the time again.

Asha watched Cerise from across her office. The floors reflected every word she typed on her screen. Most of what she could read were job applications. She couldn’t blame the woman. This was considered to be one of the highest positions you could achieve in Boris-Valka without running for an executive board position, and she’d just found out it was actually a type of living nightmare.

“Cerise, I need you to run an errand for me.” Asha said, rising from her desk. She made her way towards the door of the office and opened a cabinet set into the wall.

“Yes, ma’am.” Cerise answered, hurriedly closing her terminal. She dropped the device into her bag and slung it around her shoulder.

“I need you to take the large black AV on my personal pad and get to Lemmy’s shop. Take these with you. I don’t want them dripping on the floors.” Asha commanded, placing eight pairs of white, plastic wrapped coveralls into Cerises waiting arms.

“How many of them will there be? I assume you want me to bring them here, yes?” Cerise asked, struggling to contain the mass of plastic bags.

“I don’t know, and yes, bring them here. It should take around thirty minutes round trip I believe.” Asha answered, pointing her assistant towards the door. She gently guided the still struggling young woman through the door and nodded good bye.

Asha waited for the sound of the engines spinning up before she closed the door and the cabinet. She’d bought them about seven minutes. Asha walked back over towards her desk and opened the drawer second from the bottom.

Every Meadows learned to shoot. It was a fantastic skill for one to have at this level of the Boris-Valkan corporate hierarchy. Bodyguards were fantastic until you saw the assassin crawling out of the bathroom ceiling.

The pistol had been her fathers. He had only used it once by all accounts, but she’d been there to witness firsthand how often he had practiced. Despite Ashas lack of fascination with the sport she’d found herself proficient enough to get by. She almost felt guilty handling it, but guilt wasn’t a trait commonly celebrated in the Meadows family.

Asha checked the magazine as she walked back to the door of her office. She took in the whole of the office itself. It was a shame the floors were newly polished. She had been thinking of a more traditional wood and steel affair anyways. Maybe she could have it done by Thursday if she found the right contractor, and the right tow service.