Among the Missing

(June 2, 2017)


2: Castaways

Dipper agreed to take some money to Lorena and Sheila, who would be in the coffee shop of the Common Inn motel outside of Morris. Wendy called shotgun, and they drove down. She kept punching numbers into her phone.

"What are you doing?" Dipper asked.

In a tight, worried tone, Wendy said, "Callin' everybody I know—my dad, my brothers, even my cousin Steve, Tambry, the Shack, Soos's cell, Melody's—no use." She put the phone on speaker mode.

Dipper heard part of the recorded message: "—sorry, but the number you have dialed is not in service. Please check—"

Wendy cut it off. "I gotta admit it, Dipper, I'm really scared."

"It's probably a time-change deal," Dipper told her. "Somehow we got switched to an alternate time-line, so reality shifted. We can probably get in touch with Blendin Blandin and ask him to fix it up."

"Wait, wait!" Wendy said. "Hello! Aunt Sallie! Thank God you—huh? Wendy. Wendy! Dan's daughter Wendy! What, no, don't hang—"

She turned her phone off. "Aunt Sallie says Dan doesn't have a daughter," she said bleakly.

"New timeline," Dipper said confidently. "In this one, you weren't born, probably because there was no Gravity Falls for you to be born in. Just wait. Blendin will sort it all out."

"How do we call that guy?"

Dipper shrank a little. "That's . . . a problem," he said.

They found the place and Dipper's great-aunts. Dipper gave them cash, and they arranged for two rooms for two nights—not bad, only $280—and then Lorena and Sheila asked if they could ride back with Dipper and Wendy.

"Sure," Dipper said. The ladies got into the back seat.

Wendy, her voice not steady, said, "You two don't seem too upset by all this."

Lorena said, "Dear, I've lived in Gravity Falls all my life. It takes a lot to upset me."

"More than this?" Dipper asked.

"I won't panic until Stanny does," Sheila said. "I'm sure this seems worse than it actually is."

When they got back to the old high school, another car—Fiddleford's rugged extended-cab pick-up—was also there. They went in, and Wendy said, "Hey, they got the lights on!"

Following the sound of voices, they found the rest of the group in the school library. Mabel and Mayellen McGucket sat at a dilapidated library table—Tripper was napping at Mabel's feet. Ford hugged Lorena, Sheila kissed Stan, and Dipper asked, "Where are we?"

"Fiddleford brought a friend," Ford explained. "He and Mayellen were passing a small carnival, and he spotted someone he knew from long ago, stopped, and the man volunteered to come with him. They've been re-wiring the junction box—the power wasn't really off, just disconnected—and we've decided that the library is the safe room, since it has no windows to show light and attract attention."

Fiddleford came in with a skinny guy in jeans and a red tee-shirt, bald, with head tattoos. Dipper heard him say, "—should never have invented that danged memory gun. Nothin' but trouble—oh, hey, ladies, Wendy, Dipper."

"I'm a lady, too!" Wendy said with a flash of humor.

"Sorry. Hey, look who Mayellen and I found. This here's my old friend—"

"Toot-toot McBumbersnazzle," the bald man said. "Or I thought I was until this gentleman stopped where we were working and called me—called me—"

"Ivan," Fiddleford said helpfully. "Ivan Wexler, if I rememberfy right. Might not, my brain got plumb scramblifried by that memory gun. Which you done forgot about, but that ain't no matter."

"Ivan," the man said in his deep, British-accented voice. "Ivan. It sounds . . . vaguely familiar. But I'm a banjo minstrel with the carnival. I don't remember anything about, um, well, much of anything, really. Except I think I was a gearshift lever at one point."

Dipper gave Wendy a sidelong glance. They'd really hit Blind Ivan hard with the memory eraser. Maybe too hard.

"Think," Fiddleford urged. "Do you remember a spot name of Gravity Falls?"

Ivan shook his head. "No," he said slowly. "I can't say that I do."

"What's Ford doing?" Dipper asked.

Over at the librarian's desk, Ford had set up a laptop computer and a few instruments. Sheila, who had a degree in physics, was assisting him. Dipper and Wendy murmured their farewells to Ivan and went over. "What's up, Dr. P?" Wendy asked. "Have you found a way out of all this mess?"

"Hello, Wendy, Dipper. Thank you for rescuing Sheila and Lorena. No, but we're making progress."

"What are you doing?" Dipper asked.

"Testing hypotheses," Ford said. "I'm sorry to say that my initial one does not check out at all."

"What was that?" Dipper asked.

"That something went awry far in the past to prevent the alien ship from crashing. But that doesn't appear to be the case. My instruments indicate that we are still in our original time-line. No deviations at all. And yet the Valley is not there—"

"And I was never born," Wendy said. "At least, according to my Aunt Sallie."

"What?" Ford asked.

Wendy told him the story—trying to reach Soos and all the others, getting the "no such number" robo-response, and finally calling her aunt, who had no memory of her ever being born.

"Very strange," Ford murmured. "I have discovered another bizarre phenomenon. The high school here has no internet connectivity, of course, but I have designed a device that I think may well be worth patenting and marketing. It's this—as you see, no larger than a computer-phone—and yet it can reach a relay satellite and provide us with a signal that my computer can connect with—"

"It's a wi-fi hotspot," Dipper pointed out.

Ford murmured the words. "Yes, that might be a good name for it! But I'd suggest wi-free hotspot. You see, it doesn't depend upon wires—"

"Dude," Wendy said gently, "they already exist."

"They do?" Ford asked. He shrugged. "Oh, well. That's the curse of missing thirty years of technological development. Wireless Internet, bots, somebody ruined the whole Star Wars saga—there's so much to catch up on that I fear I'm still behind the curve. Anyway, I can connect a browser to the internet. But watch."

He rattled the keys of the laptop, and the Goggle Roam app fired up. "This is my normal home page," Ford said.

It was a black page with only a red A on it. "The Agency?" Dipper asked.

"Yes, and my passwords still work. However—"

He got a search engine up and said, "Let's look up a news service. Name one, Dipper."

"Umm, Fixed News," Dipper said.

Ford made a face. "A little right-wing for my tastes, but—" he keyed in a search and got a result, which he clicked on. "Now watch. This is the strangest phenomenon."

The Fixed News logo—a slyly winking eye, white on a blue background, with the big red FIXED beneath—came up, and then—

"—gonna give you up, never gonna let—" the computer sang.

Ford X'ed out of the site. "That is more than enough of that! Every site I try to access starts playing that inane song!"

"Yeah," Wendy agreed. "It's as bad as "Straight Blanchin'."

"What?" Ford asked. "'Blanching?' That's not even a word!"

"I know, right?" Wendy said.

"It is, though," Dipper said. "Blanch means to put vegetables in boiling water, then plunge them into ice water. It also can be used to mean that someone turns pale from fear or—"

"Makes no sense in context, dude," Wendy said.

"Don't argue with Wendy," Ford said testily.

"Yes, sir," Dipper murmured, blanching.

Fiddleford came over. "Ya know," he said, "I remember how Ivan come to disremember things. I reckon he might could recover with some coachifyin'. But I don't know if that would be a good thing. When he was a young'un, pore ole Ivan was never happy, but he enjoys a-plunkin' that banjo of his'n."

"Ivan? Oh, the carny," Ford said. "Yes, I remember meeting him when he was only a teen. Well, let's worry about that later. Right now, I'm at an impasse. This is not an altered time-line or anything that time-travel can rectify, as far as I can tell. However, I may be wrong, and we must pursue that possibility to be absolutely sure. Where's Mabel? Mabel! Could you come here, please?"

"What, Grunkle Ford?" she asked, coming over, Tripper prancing beside her. "Have you found a way to fix it? 'Cause the phone's telling me there's no such numbers as Teek's cell or house phone, and I know that's wrong."

"You said something about getting in touch with your time-traveling friend?" Ford asked.

"Oh, yeah, Blendin," Mabel said. "We just have to send him a message. He owes me a do-over."

"How do we send him a message?" Dipper asked his sister.

"Duh! Take out an ad in the paper," Mabel said.

Wendy said, "Mabes, wouldn't we have to take out an ad in the far-future paper or some deal?"

"Nope," Mabel said smugly. "The TPAES has a whole crew that does nothing but look through old newspapers for ads with a keyword in them. That's how their squad members communicate if they get stuck in the past and need rescuing."

"How . . . do you know this?" Dipper asked her.

Mabel gave him a smug, superior glance. "Easy. That time when we were in the year twenty sneventy twelve, I took a pamphlet from the TPAES recruiting booth. So You Want to Be a TPAES Recruit."

"And you never told me?" Dipper asked.

"Well, you never told me about kissing Eloise!" Mabel said.

"Wait, what!" Wendy said.

"She kissed me!" Dipper said. "And besides, how did you even know?"

"'Cause you talk in your sleep!" Mabel said.

"I do not! Anyway, we sleep in separate rooms!"

"Yeah, but I got my voice recorder, smart guy! And you never think to look under your bed!" Mabel glanced at Wendy. "If your mental telepathy ever breaks down, just listen to what he says when he's sleeping."

"What did he say?" Wendy asked.

"This isn't fair!" Dipper said.

"Relax, Bro," Mabel told him. "He said, 'Don't kiss me, Eloise, I'm in love with a wonderful girl.'"

"Aw, that's sweet," Wendy said.

"I think I've been Rick-rolled," Dipper groaned.

Ford said, "Interesting though this discussion might someday become, the salient point is that I believe we should attempt to get in touch with your time-traveling friend. Is there a particular newspaper—?"

"The National Expirer," Mabel said. "That's always monitored. The pamphlet says."

Since the Internet wouldn't work for them, it was a long-distance call, but they made contact, and Mabel dictated the ad and paid for it with Dipper's debit card.

It read,


TEEPEE AYE EE ESS! Blendin, Lolph's Gam-Gam needs you! Find her after June 2 at Glam 618 Gfkfkv Vfz Kgkvzq Hnmtgz Sjzier! 13 25 19 20 5 18 25 20 23 9 14 19


"I'm not sure about this," Dipper said as Mabel hung up.

"Aw, they're nuts about solving codes in the TPAES," Mabel said. "Thanks for helping with the vinegar cipher, Brobro."

"It's Vigenère," Dipper said. "And you're not supposed to send the key in the same message—"

"Dude," Wendy said. "It's cool, man. What kind of random geeks would notice that and solve the cypher?"

"The ones who read the Expirer," Dipper muttered.

"Well, let us hope that your message brings results," Ford told Mabel. "I don't believe there's anything else we can do tonight. We'd best get to the motel and try to get some sleep. Fiddleford, will you and Mayellen and your guest go with us?"

"Naw," Fiddleford said. "I reckon we oughta camp out here. Somebody oughta stay in our temporary headquarters. It won't be too bad. I got some sleepin' bags in the truck, an' me and Mayellen have roughed it a time or two. Ivan, do you—"

"Toot-toot," said Blind Ivan.

"Uh, right, Toot-toot, you want us to take you back to the carnival?"

"I suppose," the musician said. "We'll be in Haywell County until Monday, anyway, if you should need me."

"Come on, Mayellen," Fiddleford said.

"She's welcome to come with us," Ford told him.

Fiddleford looked at his old friend. "Thanks for the kind thought, Ford. But I once lost Mayellen for thirty-odd years. I ain't lettin' her outa my sight agin, so long as things are so gummified up like they are."

As they drove back to the motel, following Ford and Lorena in Ford's Lincoln, Wendy suddenly said, "Dipper—can we sleep in the same bed tonight?"

"I'd like that," Dipper told her. "And at this point, I don't think anybody would mind."

"It's just that I'm scared," she admitted.

"So am I," Dipper told her. "So am I."