We were disregarded, (Frag. 11)

Nicole Petros Egbert slammed open the broad pastry oven, filling the air in the kitchen with steam and the scent of fresh-baked lemon cupcakes. She drew out the baking sheet, whirled around, and set it to cool, then slid to the left. She picked up the next baking sheet, its little wells all full of chocolate batter ready to bake, and put it in the oven. That batch would be ready at 2:40, half an hour from now.

Chocolate cupcakes were Andrea's favorite, Nicole knew. From time to time she'd smuggle a batch or two home, which wasn't really necessary because she owned the baker and they were technically her cupcakes in the first place, but by the time she realized that it was already a tradition. Nicole would sneak the cupcakes home in a thermal bag, still scorching hot. Andrea would already be home, as she always was, so Nicole would inside and spring them upon her. Andrea would jump back in surprise, almost always fake, then thank her with a smile and take a slow bite, crumbs falling from her lips. By the end of the hour, the crumbs would be gone, and by the next night, so would the cupcakes. Nicole liked those nights, and she had it on good authority that Andrea did too.

Nicole spun around and plopped herself down on one of the stools by the counter. The kitchen was vacant except for her. She'd closed the shop for today, every shop in the entire Cascade Cupcakes chain, and even given a hefty bonus to each employee, because with the world set to end today, why bother opening a bakery? Ms. Timbal had been very clear about the boundaries of this plan: nobody new could know about it unless there was danger to the plan itself. Those were the orders, and while Nicole pushed them, eking out better wages and benefits for her employees, hiring more staff than she needed, she didn't break them. That would be dangerous. Though Ms. Timbal wouldn't let her add her employees to the plan, the least she could do was to let them take the day off, relax, spend some time with their families. She'd planned to take the day off herself and spend a few hours relaxing with her wife, but noooo, Andrea was too stodgy and dedicated and interested in poking around inside people's brains to see a come-on staring her in the face.

Nicole popped a cupcake out of the pan, almost burning her hands, and bit into it, almost burning her lips. The thin outer crust crunched between her teeth, and even the steam rising from the soft interior was sweet and lemony. With a slurp and a chomp she put the whole cupcake in her mouth and wandered into the office in the side of the kitchen, a cramped room smaller not much bigger than a closet. Where was it, where was it, where was it today? She checked under the desk, in the little compartment in the seat of the chair, in the ceiling, and behind the desk before she saw the large red ledger on the bookshelf. She drew it …nope. This was a fake copy, one of several each shop held to protect from CrockerCorp's prying. There was a computer in the room, but the information there was all fake. Electronic records were convenient, but stealing them was a piece of cake, and if your records were networked? Might as well give your shipping manifests to the Seattle Times. Granted, most bakeries didn't need data security, but most bakeries didn't engage in covert financial warfare against a sinister baked-goods corporation. At Cascade Cupcakes, anything significant was done by hand. That was Nicole's rule back when she'd first won seed money from SkaiaNet, and that was her rule now. SkaiaNet's support came under the condition that she compete with CrockerCorp, which wasn't known to be a safe endeavor. Without her precautions Cascade Cupcakes would have long since been taken over or crushed like so many other challengers to CrockerCorp. Doughtime. Entenmann's. English's Pastries. What CrockerCorp did to English's still made Nicole shudder. Nobody deserved that.

Nicole kept searching the office and found three more identical ledgers: one in the safe, one tucked under the floorboards, and one slipped inside the extra space in the computer. The real ledger was in the wall, inside secret compartment in the base of the hidden gun locker. Moving her shotgun aside and leaning it against the wall, she took all five ledgers and placed them on the desk, making sure to keep the real one separate. Even Nicole couldn't tell them apart at a glance: the only differences were a few key errors here and there that only someone who knew the business in and out could catch.

Nicole thought she might miss this ledger, the real one, most of all. Hidden in its rows and columns was the story of her secret war, a memorial of sorts for everyone at Cascade Cupcakes who fought it with her. For a moment, she considered taking it over to the oven and burning it, then thought better. That ledger meant something. Burning it might symbolize moving forward, it might give her a moment of solace, a sense of purification, but a moment later she would realize she had just destroyed the story of hundreds, employees and friends, coded in numbers that only she could understand. No moment of drama was worth that.

Beeeeeep.

It was the door buzzer. Before Nicole knew it, she had flipped the ledger on the ground, leapt up, and grabbed her shotgun.

A fraction of a second later, it continued: Beep. Beeeeeep. Beep.

Nicole's arm relaxed. It was Morse code, and she was pretty sure she recognized it. Beep. Beeeeeep. Pause. Beeeeeep. Beep. Pause. Beeeeeep. Beep. Beep.

Nicole's arm relaxed, followed by her entire body. Flipping the safety on, she rose from the chair and headed back into the kitchen. The tones continued, and with each correct letter in the Morse sequence, Nicole moved quicker and quicker toward the front of the shop, almost running, almost forgetting to pause and set the gun down and nearly tripping over her own feet on the waxed floor as she slammed the front door open to wrap Andrea in her arms and kiss her before she could punch the final E of CANDYCANE into the buzzer. Andrea started to return the kiss, froze, then picked Nicole up by the armpits and held her at arm's length, firm and graceful. Andrea's entire family were all strong, her brother freakishly so, but Andrea herself moved with such restraint and confidence Nicole sometimes forgot.

"You're early," said Nicole. She stared into Andrea's blue, blue eyes and forgot whatever else she'd planned to say. Andrea look stressed, dazed, but h. "I'm sorry," continued Nicole, "the, uh, cupcakes I made you aren't ready, but I have a batch of lemon-flavored ones. They smell great, and…" Tearing her gaze from Andrea's face, she glimpsed over her shoulder and through her cascade of curly black hair a stretcher held atop a cart, and on the stretcher was a head of hair much like Andrea's only red, and a body much like Andrea's only thinner and very very pale, worryingly pale, and she was in a hospital gown and…oh. Oh no. Andrea's sister Valerie did not look good at all. At all. Nicole glanced to Andrea, then glanced inside the shop. It was all the signal they needed. Nicole darted off to clear space in the kitchen while Andrea pushed Valerie inside. In just a minute, Valerie's stretcher was parked in the kitchen right next to the countertop where Nicole had set the batch of lemon cupcakes out to cool.

"Dear," said Andrea, her voice tense, "is it really time for-mmmph!"

Skipping forward, Nicole wrapped one arm round Andrea's waist, and with her other hand, stuffed the cupcake she'd hidden behind her back in Andrea's mouth.

"Yesh," said Andrea. "Ith delishouth, buth Val ith-mmmmph!"

Standing on tip toes and tilting her head upward, Nicole planted a firm kiss right on top of the cupcake. It tasted of lemons and Andrea, and she couldn't imagine a better flavor. Andrea froze once more, but just for a moment, then relaxed, her entire body seeming to melt downward. After awhile, Andrea started chewing her cupcake, then pulled back just a bit, her face far enough from Nicole's to speak, but close enough that their noses still almost touched. She swallowed and sighed. "I needed that."

Nicole smiled, glad that her skin was dark enough she wouldn't blush. She nodded toward Valerie. "What happened?"

"Meteor."

The lemon cupcake froze solid Nicole's stomach. The game was set to start in two hours, and they said some of the meteors would show up early. She'd expected this. She knew it was coming, she should be calm. The claws of ice that threatened to burst from her belly weren't real, because if Andrea saw them, she'd be afraid too, so they couldn't be. She could be calm. "That makes sense," said Nicole. It was her leader-voice, the solid voice that told others to be solid too.

"Yes, I knew, but…I don't know, I didn't want to believe it was really going to happen."

Nicole nodded, squeezing her hand, breathing to keep her own hands from shaking.

Andrea glanced toward Valerie, then hung her head. "Ms. Timbal once told me Sburb has a sense of humor, a nasty one." She licked a crumb off her lips. "Just like the Greek gods. She said if you doubted it, even for a moment, it would twist the whole world around just to hurtyou."
Nicole couldn't think of anything to say to that. She knew next to nothing about Sburb. She wasn't even part of SkaiaNet, technically. All she could do was be there, watching Andrea watch Valerie. They were both tall, with light-tan skin and fine features impossible to assign to one ethnicity or another, Valerie athletic and trim and Andrea round and plump. On any other day, each was as beautiful as the other, and Valerie's wounds only barely diminished that. Nicole's weapons were numbers and money and the secrets behind the numbers. They had protected against CrockerCorp, but how could they protect against fire out of portals in the sky?

"Do you think this happened because I doubted what Sburb could do?" Andrea said.

"No," said Nicole.

"Why not?"

"I don't know," said Nicole. "Sometimes things just happen, and you just gotta deal with them." Nicole just had no idea how to do that yet. She was not terrified. For Andrea, she couldn't be.

"But there's always a reason."

"Maybe. And maybe thinking too hard about it is just wasting time and making you feel bad."

Andrea made a vague grumbling sound, but didn't argue.

"So," said Nicole, indicating Valerie. "How is she?"

"Awake," Valerie rasped. With a straining twist and a grunt of exertion, Valerie pressed against the strap that held down her torso on the stretcher. She pushed up even harder, voice rising to a hoarse scream. The metal hook that held the strap stretched and twisted, let out a horrific creaaaak, and snapped clean off. And Valerie Egbert, still looking half-dead, panting, her face pale and bandaged and her hair a feral mane about her head, sat up.

–

At the top of the stairs, Roger hugged his knees and leaned his head against the closed door. His face was dry, he noticed. How had he gotten here? He'd hung up on Ms. Timbal. Yes, that was right. He'd wanted to fling his phone down to the street, to watch it fall and hear it crack against the pavement, but he'd used his hands and arm to tuck it in his pocket. By moving his feet he'd got back to the stairwell, shambling and shuffling, tears still streaming down his face. The wind had torn through his hoodie and bitten at his skin, so he'd shut the door to lock it out. But then what? He didn't remember. He was hugging his knees and leaning his head on the closed door. How had he gotten here?

Roger's eyes slid around the room, to this corner and that corner, and the handle on the door, and now to his watch. Watch. It was 2:15. Twenty minutes after that call.

Twenty minutes. Time was important. It would take thirty, Ms. Timbal had said, to reroute that antenna on top of this building and doom every single person in Seattle. No, Roger wouldn't do it. He wouldn't even consider it. Or maybe he would consider it. That was far worse.

Not knowing why, Roger snaked his hand to his pocket and pulled out his phone. He watched his fingers Andrea's number, 253-412-0001. The number looked odd, glowing there on the screen, like it was almost part of part of something far, far grander. Almost. But not quite.

He hit send. After a moment, Andrea picked up. "I'm a bit busy. Who is-"

"The conspiracy was worse."

"Uh. What? Who is-"

"You said there would be apocalyptic conspiracies, and there would be family drama, and-"

"Roger?" said Andrea.

"As it turns out, apocalyptic conspiracies are a little fucking worse than family drama."

"I see you've spoken with Elaine."

"Yeah," said Roger. "She…uh…"

"What did she ask you to do?" Andrea said flatly.

"She wanted me to blow up Seattle."

"That doesn't sound like her."

Outside, the wind screamed, still audible even through the heavy door. "Why not?"

"She probably told you herself."

Roger thought back, but he remembered far more of the moments after he hung up on Ms. Timbal that the conversation itself, the moments with the screaming and the crying and the almost throwing his phone off the roof. "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Let me hazard a guess," said Andrea. In the background, Roger heard other voices, two women. "Elaine gave a half-explanation of what was going on that only raised more questions."

"How did you-"

"Then she suggested some horrifically extreme idea that you rejected on sight."

"How did you know that?"

There was a shout in the background. "I know her." Andrea's words were rushed. "She probably even lectured you on how she only did what was necessary."

"Uh. Yeah."

Andrea made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a growl. "The worst thing about Elaine is that she's honest. And usually, she's right."

"That I should blow up Seattle?"

"No, I'm not saying that!"

"But Elaine said-"

"Elaine probably isn't saying that."

"So what are you saying?" said Roger.

"I'm saying that Elaine believes what she's asked you to do is the only way, and that her information is good. But, she might have missed something. So, I need to know-" In the background, somebody shouted something. "I'm busy, dear!" Andrea shouted back. "Critical phone call!"

"Fine," said the voice in the background, very quickly, "but once you're done could you please-"

"Tell me then!" she shouted. "Sorry about that," she continued, more quietly. "We just got Val back-"

Roger barely managed to grab the railing and stop himself from tumbling down the stairs in shock. "She's okay?"

"I told you she was tough. We picked her up from the hospital. Once we got her parked, she woke up and broke her stretcher."

Roger gaped. Valerie was athletic, sturdy-looking, but definitely didn't look strong enough to break out of a stretcher just a few hours after almost dying about five times over. There was something strange going on here. Maybe Andrea's tales of the Egbert family's toughness weren't such an exaggeration. "Can I talk to her?"

"She's a bit…" A clattering crash came over the line. "…out of it. Besides, we're in a hurry. I need you to tell me exactlywhat Elaine asked you to do."

"Yeah, just give me a…" Roger closed his eyes and thought back…but there was nothing. "I…I don't know. Elaine wanted me to do something Seattle. Something bad, but my head's all fuzzy, I don't…"

"Try to think of it in order," said Andrea. "Tell me aloud what you remember, start to finish."

"Uh. Why?"

"I'm a neurologist. Give me some credit."

"Fuck it." Roger stood up and leaned against the wall. "I climbed the stairs, the stairs out onto the roof. Elaine was explaining things. There was a big radio tower, she talked about it, told me what it did. Then I…then I hung up and ran inside."

"Good," said Andrea. "Tell me again."

Roger opened his mouth to protest, then closed it. Give her some credit. "Okay. I was on the phone, climbing the stairs, and I went out on the roof. Uh…it was windy, so I had to shout into the phone. There was a large radio tower. Elaine explained that it made Sburb work in Seattle…then she started talking about time travel?"
"Go on." Roger couldn't see Andrea's face, but she was probably rolling her eyes.

"After that she mentioned another tower. Um…"

"Where are you?"

"On top of the stairs," said Roger.

"The same stairs?"

"Yes."

"Go back on the roof," said Andrea. "It'll help you remember."

Roger nodded, stood up straight, and walked outside. The wind had died down, but everything else, the radio tower, the view, was the same. Maybe it was the chill in the air, but he felt his mind sharpen by the moment. "After that…Maple Valley. She mentioned a tower that served Maple Valley. It important, but it broke, and there wasn't time to fix it. Instead…oh."

"Go on."

Robert felt queasy even thinking about it, but he forced the words out. "Instead, she wanted me to reroute the signal from the Seattle tower down south."

For a moment, Andrea was speechless. "That would stop the whole city from playing. Block their escape."

"Yeah."

"Holy shit."

"Yeah." For a moment, nobody said anything. "I know you had a plan. Was this it?"

"No. We didn't know that tower would break," she said. "We're all improvising. I just didn't expect her to go that far."

"She wanted to save us using that signal. Kill everyone in Seattle so we could live."

"Not exactly, but…"

"She was sure willing to take advantage of it!"

Andrea was dead silent.

"Uh…look, you wanted me to tell you all this so we could find an alternative. Do you see an alternative? Maybe something about the towers, or…I don't know," said Roger. He glanced upward. Pigeons had begun to flock to the tower. That tower broadcast a signal that made Sburb work, but… "Elaine told me that the client program functions without the tower's signal, it just doesn't do much. When do we actually need that signal?"

For a long moment, Andrea didn't say a word. "Huh."

"Huh?"

"I don't know when we need it," she said." But it's a good thought. Talk to Elaine and look into it."

"I don't really like that idea."

"You'll have to deal with her sooner or later. Besides, I have a confused and incredibly strong sister to take care of."

Okay. That was fair.

"And by the way, congratulations."

"Why?"

"You might get to prove Elaine Timbal wrong."

14:18 Seattle, 17:18 New York, 22:18 Oxford, 3:48 Bangalore