Disclaimers: Characters belong to
Marvel/Wildstorm/whomever.
All standard disclaimers, express and implied, apply.
Shiftworld concept by Alicia MacKenzie.
Many hanks to Alicia for betareading and Falstaff and
Indigo for looking this over.
This is a Shiftworld story with a slightly different cast
of characters. I'm intrigued to see if they're
recognizable.
Feedback is hungrily sought and may be sent to
ibelieve@rocketmail.com
Four Changes Ago
They were playing in the water four Changes ago, she
remembered. Four Changes ago they'd been dunking and
splashing each other like children, gleefully reveling in
the sheer physical sensation of clean water and smooth
bodies and air that blessedly didn't smell like sulfur. He
had reached for her, and she'd slipped out of his arms,
laughing, and then-
She took another step up the steep barren hill, bittersweet
memories pouring over her like flames. This is stupid, she
told herself angrily, pushing matted red hair out of her
eyes. Keep walking. Don't think about it. There's nothing
you can do. Keep going.
It was good advice, she knew, trying to rationalize herself
out of the trap she'd laid. The past was dangerous as
quicksand, seductive as a song, and if she let down her
guard just a bit it would come pouring in and overwhelm
her. She'd spent the last four Changes trying not to do
just that. In fact, ever since the Universe went crazy and
reality began ripping itself inside out it was more
important to focus on the present, the now.
It went far beyond the last four Changes. It was better not
to even remember what happened Before. She knew she
shouldn't dwell on how her team had simply been enjoying a
night off together in Officer's Lounge when the air turned
crisp, sharp, and then blossomed into a shuddering golden
fire that tore all reality apart at the seams. She
shouldn't remember the look on her friends' faces as they,
along with every other living creature in existence, were
swallowed whole by the first of the shifting Changes that
would rend the Multiverse asunder.
It was better not to think about how in the middle of all
that horror she had instinctively held so tightly to the
man laying on the couch beside her, and he to her, that
when the sudden acid blackness swallowed them it spat them
out as one into a lunatic world born anew, a world where
order and reason were subsumed by the unpredictable Changes
that shuffled reality like an obscene card game.
That was the First Change, though by no means the worst
one. That one had deposited them into the heart of a
volcano- and heat held no fear for either of them. In the
twenty-two Changes since then she'd seen far, far worse.
That was how she numbered her days now, by the Changes. No
other time had any meaning since the world- or parts of it-
had begun with unpredictable irregularity.
It was like the Viewmaster toy she'd played with as a
child- with one click of a button the slideshow picture of
a forest became a beach then a mountain then the plains,
one right after the other with no melding or merge in
between. Unlike that simple device, though, here there was
no explanatory button, no rhythm or purpose or meaning
behind the Changes. Sometimes- sometimes- there were very,
very subtle warning signs, just enough so a perceptive
person could prepare enough to possibly stay alive.
And sometimes there weren't, she thought bleakly, then drew
in a deep breath and continued hiking up the hill. She
ruthlessly surpressed the urge to fly, to give in to the
fire inside her and allow it to take flight. She didn't.
She didn't take to the air anymore if it could be avoided.
She was afraid if she did, she'd lose all control and fly
right into the sun.
So instead she walked, concentrating on the difficult
trail, focusing on each next step. There was no sense
reminding herself of what she'd lost. She'd met too many
people who'd gone mad from wallowing in the past, too many
who had lost all grasp of reality in the face of the ever
changing horrors that were their daily lot. Whatever it was
that caused the Changes had happened, and those who
survived just had to deal with it.
Before, she'd lived to help others. Now she just tried her
best to live, to jump through whatever hoops destiny
presented. Destiny. She smiled humorlessly at the word.
For some reason, it made her think of a night, seven
Changes ago, when she was still a they.
They'd been hiking across the desert then, too, she
remembered, when they'd seen a spot in the distance, a spot
that had slowly turned into a man. He'd been some sort of
SPB, that much was certain- he had cybernetic enhancements
all along one side and still wore a ragged uniform, though
she didn't recognize the colors. He was very tall, and
still well-muscled for all the obvious toll that hunger had
taken on all of them. Long silver hair streamed down his
back, and she didn't know if it was that or his proud
bearing that made her think of Nikolas. She remembered
hurting then at the thought of Winter, gone, but she hadn't
really known pain then.
The man had first greeted them in a flowing liquid tongue
that she was told sounded remarkably like Gaelic. The
stranger- Nathan- had soon reverted to English, and after
realizing they meant him no harm had offered to share
provisions with them in exchange for company throughout the
night.
She was ravenously hungry, so she agreed readily enough.
Her lover was suspicious, as was his nature, but even
though he needed no such nourishment he was acutely aware
of how very thin she'd grown during the months since the
world had ended. He'd accepted gruffly, with thanks, though
she could see it pained him to rely on a stranger to
provide for her when he- when they- could not.
Nathan was a telekine, it turned out. A gifted one, even,
able to alter the molecular structure of matter,
reanimating it into any form he desired. They'd watched,
awestruck, as Nathan had scooped up handfulls of sand and
straining with effort, transformed them into steak, into
bread, into blessed beer in, of all things, *frosted* mugs.
Cold beer flowing in the desert. That had won him over more
than anything short of ending the Changes could, she
recalled with something almost like a smile, remembering
how he'd quaffed down glass after glass of beer, shivering
with the sheer joy of it, cajoling the stranger for more.
As for her, she'd eaten so much she'd become embarrassingly
sick.
The man called Nathan had watched impatiently as they
gorged themselves, then when they were sated began talking
urgently with them long into what passed for the night
about the Changes- or what he called Shifts. He spoke for
hours about prophecies and time travel and destiny and an
Egyptian monster and something called the Twelve, and some
way he'd figured out to reverse the Changes-
Grateful for his assistance, they had tried to help as best
they could, but from the first fevered words it was obvious
the poor man was insane. Controlling- even reversing the
Changes? Sheer craziness.
He was persuasive, though. She'd caught herself actually
holding her breath, praying for a moment that what he said
was right, that the Changes *could* be reversed, that they
could one day go home. . . Embers of the idealism and hope
that had once burned so brightly in her had just began to
flicker when stark realization came crashing down.
Nathan had been sitting across the small campfire, eyes
aglow with fanatism. She'd studied him closely, listening
to the rhythmic rise and fall of his words, and slowly the
pieces started to fit. The farfetched story, the classic
messianic complex, the madness glinting in his eyes- it was
textbook.
They'd lived through fanciful adventures Before, and the
Changes themselves were evidence enough of a world beyond
their own, but time travel? Destiny? Prophecies?
She'd glanced at the man sitting crosslegged beside her,
and he'd nodded imperceptibly, and brightly colored fingers
laced in her own squeezed slightly in response. The man was
insane. She remembered closing her eyes and looking away,
unable to bear the terrible bright hope in the stranger's
eyes.
Hope didn't belong in this world.
He *was* crazy, she'd decided, but he was kind in his own
way, and he was so broken, so alone. . .
Alone. She shuddered as she crested the hill, her shadow
falling long and thin across the ground.
"Why are yeh tellin' us this, mate?" Her lover had asked
him quietly, in an unreadable voice he had rarely used even
Before. One strong arm wrapped protectively around her thin
shoulders, and he pressed on gently. "We've never heard of
any of this and, I'm sorry to say, we're not in yer bloody
Twelve. What can we do t' help?"
Glowing golden eyes had studied both of them in turn, and
then broad shoulders slumped despondently. "You can't,"
he'd murmured quietly, in a voice so full of despair she
felt her heart would break for him, for them all. "You
can't. I'm sorry I bothered you- This is my fault. They're
gone, she's gone, and it's all my fault."
There was nothing to be said to that, and the rest of the
night had passed without comment. Full for the first time
in weeks and utterly exhausted from days spent trekking
across the desert, she'd curled up by the fire and slept,
trusting the man beside her to be her sentry. He had, for
like the rest of his physical needs his desire for sleep
was all in his mind, and that could be controlled- to an
extent, anyway. She'd found him absolutely uncontrollable
at times.
When the morning came, Nathan was gone, although their
packs were stuffed with rations and a few precious cans of
beer. Despite his generosity, neither of them were
particularly sorry to see him leave. It was obvious that
underneath the thin veneer of lucidity the man could break
at any time, and they couldn't afford that. Only fools
squandered precious energy on mindless battle anymore.
Besides, something about the big man had made him nervous,
he'd told her later. She'd laughed at him then, she
recalled, made some silly, teasing joke about his perceived
inadequacies- at which point, laughing himself, he'd felt
honor-bound to prove her wrong.
They'd laughed so much Before, and even after the Changes
laughter had flowed even in the chaotic world they'd been
thrown into.
She hadn't laughed in a long, long time. She turned her
face towards the sky, feeling scorching heat impotently
burn into over her fair skin. Without her abilities she
would have long since been boiled in her skin, but even
exhausted and depleted as she was her seedling biology
protected her against the worst of the changes in
temperature. It had saved her life more than once, and she
trusted it would do it again. Truth to tell, she was really
beginning not to care either way.
She picked her way across the top of the hill, spotting a
cluster of weathered oak trees in the distance. It was a
perfect resting spot, an oasis of sorts, she thought as she
trudged the last few steps towards the straggly copse of
trees.
After a detailed inspection to ensure that she wasn't
walking into an ambush, she collapsed at the bottom of the
largest tree, resting in the shade. Pressing her spine
against the tree trunk, she reached into a pocket of the
oversized jumpsuit she'd liberated two Changes back and
pulled out a treasured package of beef jerky, tearing off a
small bite and swallowing it down with tiny sips of
precious bottled water.
I'm so tired, she thought, and leaned her head back against
the tree to stare blankly at the empty field at the top of
the hill. Weakened by exhaustion, lulled by the soothing
sounds of the rustle of the leaves of the tress, she closed
her eyes, allowing her mind to finally rest.
She had a moment's velvet peace, then out of the blue
memory stabbed her like a knife. She struggled for a
moment, then finally surrendered as memories wrapped
themselves around her weary mind like blanket, warm and
soft and smothering.
It had been Paradise.
Five Changes ago, she and her lover had stumbled onto a
perfect beach. It had been so completely, utterly
beautiful, she remembered. The colors of that unearthly
tropical scene had stood out in perfect clarity. The water
and sky had been an amazing crystal blue, just a half-shade
brighter than it had been half-remembered reality.
She closed her eyes, probing at the memory like a wound.
The white sand at that shore had glistened like diamonds in
the incredibly normal sunlight. Even their torn, bedraggled
clothing so carefully folded by the shore gleamed like
jewels in the white sand.
They had found Utopia. After Changes and Changes of hells,
they had finally stumbled upon a garden of delight. They
had lived there for almost a month, swimming, splashing,
making love on the beach. They hunted and fished, and she
lived off of the fruit of the beach. He didn't have to eat
anything, but he did anyway, just because it was there and
he could.
Looking back, she supposed some part of her had begun to
believe that it could be permanent. She should have known
better.
They had been swimming naked in the sea when the Change
hit. This one gave no warning. In less than an instant, the
clear blue sky erupted in a frothing sheet of silver flame
that ripped open the world, wringing out the air around
them like a wet cloth before turning reality inside out to
Change the land around them from a tropical paradise into a
frozen wasteland.
Only reflexes honed by years as soldier saved her from
breaking every bone in her body when the wave spat her
roughly out on the now icy shore. He hadn't been that
lucky. She had watched, horrified, as the fading silver
strip of energy took his body and twisted, stretching him
out like apple taffy before snapping back in on itself and
dropping him from the sky to land crumpled on the earth
only a few feet away.
She scrambled to him, unconsciously increasing her body
temperature to ward off the worst effects of the now biting
cold. The icy ground melted underneath her, leaving a trail
of rapidly cooling water behind her as she crawled to his
side.
He was curled in fetal position, but when he heard her call
his name he rolled over on his back, one arm reached out
towards her, the other pressed tightly against a gaping
tear in his side.
There had been words then, she remembered, but no matter
how hard she tried, no matter how many nights she lay
sleepless straining for the memory, she could not recall
what she said, what he said. All she could remember was the
cold certainty in his eyes as he saw soft green gas swirl
out from the gaping wound he was trying so desperately to
staunch.
She immediately put her hands on the wound, instincts
taking over. She applied pressure as she'd been taught in
training so many years ago, but the forcefield that made up
his skin seemed to buckle underneath her calloused hands.
Frantically, she'd looked around for something to bind it
with, but there was nothing. Everything they had,
everything they'd built had been destroyed in the blink of
the Change.
They were completely and utterly alone. Despairingly, she
had tried to use her own powers to cauterize the wound, but
that just made it worse as the heat catalyzed the plasma
and increased the rate of expulsion.
He was bleeding to death. No matter how hard either of them
pressed against the opening, no matter how hard he strained
to manipulate the forcefield to heal itself, molecules of
sentient gas still seeped through their fingers. The
patches slowed the progress of the gas, but it was still
wafting into the air, bright jade green against a cold grey
sky.
The image slashed through her mind like razorblades. She
bowed her head, pressing tightly closed fists against her
eyes as she now willingly gave herself over to the memories
that burned like wildfire, experiencing them if she were
once more there with him, watching him die all over again.
It'd only taken minutes for him to fade away. During that
time, they tried everything imaginable to save him and
more, and when it was obvious that nothing was working,
shared a lifetime's worth of secrets, made a lifetime's
worth of plans. He'd even laughed, she remembered now, and
made lewd jokes about duct tape and her blowing him back up
even as he watched himself fade away, one hand pressed
tightly to his side, the other clutching hers like a
lifeline.
Of course he'd joked. He was who he was. He'd flashed her
that damn grin and laughed it up until the end, even as he
made a herculean effort to hold the sentient gas that *was*
him in check. It hadn't worked. Slowly, working its way
through the molecules of their joined hands, the pale green
gas exited the hole, making a hissing sound like air from a
leaking tire. As it did so, the forcefield that defined him
became looser, softer, more pliable as the gas that filled
him slipped out into the sky.
If they had been back on Skywatch, the medical staff could
have helped him, repaired him, just as they had the last
time something like this had happened. He hadn't liked to
talk about it even before the world ended, but she
understood something of the pain he'd gone through when his
power grew too much for his first body to contain. He'd
almost died then, she knew, but he'd come back. Toshiro had
somehow brought him back.
Why hadn't she been able to bring him back?
She leaned against the dry oak tree, feeling the rough bark
press into her cheek. She'd been with him the whole time,
kneeling impotently by his side as he bled away. Begging,
cursing, threatening, pleading, she had tried everything
she could to find a way to make his forcefield
spontaneously repair itself.
Weak and disoriented as he was, he'd managed to laugh, eyes
softening as he looked up at her tear streaked face. He
tried so hard, she knew he tried, but his electrical net
wasn't responding. The Change had stretched him so far that
he'd quite simply torn, and the exhaustion of the life they
had lived had sapped away the strength he needed to heal
himself.
She swallowed tightly now, rubbing her cheek against the
rough bark to allow the uneven wood to scratch her cheek.
The physical pain helped dull the searing agony of images
seared into her soul, though she still felt their pain like
a brand. No matter how many Changes she survived, she knew
she'd never fully recover from what had happened next.
Forcefield shuddering to maintain cohesion, he had lifted
both quavering hands and rested them on either side of her
face to draw her closer to him. Silently whispering the
words he'd said so many times before, his lips had met hers
and he had gently kissed her, eyes open so that the last
image he ever saw would be of her face pressed closely to
his.
Foreheads touching, with great effort his nervous system
sent labored messages to the part of the rapidly fading
energy net that served as his larnx. With his last breath
he managed to whisper, in a voice so low and hoarse that
she thought she'd almost imagined it. . .
"Love . . . yeh. . ."
Then the outline of the the man she'd loved collapsed into
an empty bag and dissolved as the last of the sentient gas
that was his consciousness wafted out into the air to
surround her in a thick cloud.
Tears streaming down her face, heart pounding in her chest,
she breathed in, knowing that his plasma wouldn't injure
her fireproof lungs, not caring at the moment if it did.
She reached out a hand, fingers outstretched, but the gas
just danced at her fingertips as his essence began slowly
diffusing into the atmosphere.
Naked, suddenly achingly alone, she made herself stagger to
her feet. Arms outstretched, she savored his last touch as
sentient gas slowly swirled around her, twining around her
arms, her legs, her body, gently caressing her as tendrils
of gas danced along her bare skin. She closed her eyes,
shivering, and for a moment she thought she felt a point of
pressure, fingertips, soft and sure, brush her lips.
She forced burning eyes open and nodded once, slowly. "Love
you, too," she whispered brokenly to the green cloud that
surrounded her.
There was a long pause, and the gas pulsed, a bright
goldgreen glimmer, then slowly ascended into the air. Arms
wrapped tightly around her waist, she forced herself to
watch as the soft wind pulled him away, wondering if he was
gone, if he could still think, still feel, wondering if he
were trapped in that form forever or if his soul could go
on to wherever it was that heroes went when their time on
earth was done.
It was days before she was coherent enough to wonder how
the hell she'd ever make it through without him. That was
Four Changes ago.
She pulled away from the tree, wiping angry tears away.
Dammit, I know better than this, she thought fiercely. He's
gone, and I'm here, and I've got to keep moving. I've got
to keep going.
So she did, clamping down the flames that burned inside
her, locking them away with the memories that she knew one
day would ignite so brightly that she'd be consumed by
them. One day, she knew. One day she'd burn so bright that
she wouldn't be able to hold the flames back, one day she'd
let her powers go just as he had and leave the shell that
bound her to this insane world of Change.
One day she'd set herself free.
Just not today. A faint rumbling sounded in the distance,
and her breath caught in her throat.
With a deep sigh, she braced herself against the twisted
oak tree and rose to her feet to look around, preparing for
the world to move around her.
Change was coming.
____________________________________________________________
Note: A followup story to this one is forthcoming.