seems like there's a show every night — vi

"You sure?" Wendy asks Dipper she holds the door open for him.

"Yeah, I really need to take a shower. I think I was getting some looks in there," Dipper tells her.

"You smell like the lake. It's not a bad smell, but it is pretty powerful." Wendy looks at the sky, then says, "I should probably bounce before long. Listen, text me when you find out about the Conclave thing, cool?"

Dipper nods and gives her a tired thumbs up. "Sure thing, Wendy."

She ducks back inside the arcade, leaving him on the curb scanning the street for Pacifica. As he suspected, she's out here, sitting on the edge of the coin-operated rocket ride that is rusting in front of the arcade's window. She looks up from her phone when he approaches.

She says something inaudible and stands. Dipper shakes his head and tries to hear her through the sirens howling in his ears. If he ever goes to a show like this again, he's bringing earplugs.

"What?" he says.

"I said let's go," she says more loudly. "Where's Mabel?"

As if on cue, Mabel bursts out of the arcade door. "Wow-wow-wow, I think I set off a fire alarm in my brain," she says, digging a finger into one ear.

"I don't know how you can stand it. That can't be good for you," Pacifica says. "Come on, let's go already. And don't forget, I already called the downstairs shower!"

The walk back is pleasant, the air having cooled slightly from its noon high. It feels like it should be midnight after all that's happened. Despite this, it's still sunny out and the evening has yet to mark the horizon with the first hints of twilight. The energy in the streets has dimmed a little but there are still plenty of people celebrating; Dipper passes a family getting their picture taken with a hawk like big game hunters posing with a tiger. A part of him wants to go over and tell them his family and friends are the reason the hawks were defeated—the much larger part of him is tired and hungry and wants to go home. They never did get to eat all that junk at the festival.

The Shack comes into sight, the patchy lawn dotted with a handful of crossbow bolt-sporting hawks.

"I'm surprised you didn't grab your crossbow while you were here," Dipper says to Mabel.

"Grunkle Stan hogged all the bolts," Mabel explains.

No doubt for every bolt embedded in a hawk there are several more somewhere in the grass and trees. With his questionable eyesight, accuracy isn't Stan's forte.

Dipper notices that one of the hawks near the porch is missing its head and a good portion of its neck. Several other sections of its plating have been pried open, revealing the mechanisms beneath. Looks like McGucket and Ford have been busy.

When they enter the Shack, Dipper is pleased to see Melody in the living room, alive if not entirely well—her left wrist is heavily bandaged.

"You're back!" she says when the three kids walk in. "Ford said you stopped the hawks, thank you so much! I don't know where they would have taken us, but I'm sure it wouldn't have been good."

"Are you okay?" Mabel asks.

"It's just a sprain. My hawk was a little rough on the wrist." She smiles, but Dipper can see the pain in her eyes and the lingering fear.

Melody may be a part-time resident of the Shack, but she's still an outsider in a way no one else here is. She is, in a weird way, a civilian. For the first time, Dipper wonders if that bothers her.

"Ford went downstairs, if you're looking for him," Melody says.

"Actually, I really need to change and clean up. The hawks dropped me in the water. Twice," Dipper tells her. "We're waiting for a call from Brendan to go take care of another thing, but I'm not sure when that's happening."

"Can I ask a favor of you guys?" Melody says tentatively.

Mabel says, "Of course!"

"Soos is a little down since he got captured and wasn't able to help. Could you make sure to take him along on your next, um, thing?"

"Definitely," Dipper promises. "It's never the same without him."

Dipper turns around to go upstairs and discovers that Pacifica left the room at some point, no doubt to make good on her intention to hog the big shower. He plays a quick game of rock paper scissors with Mabel for the upstairs shower and wins. As the hot water chases the detritus of the day down the drain, Dipper's mind wanders to all the unanswered questions that persist.

The fact that people of a supernatural bent have their own organization barely rates as a surprise next to an invasion of extradimensional hawks. In fact, once Dipper accepts that groups of sapient nonhumans exist outside of the valley, it would be strange if they didn't have some kind of governing body.

No, what presses on his mind now are the hawks and the hearts. The hearts have been inscrutable since the day the first one was found, and subsequent events have only deepened the mystery. That the hawks are somehow related to the hearts seems beyond doubt, but that relationship illuminates nothing. Whoever sent the hawks didn't send them to retrieve the hearts, implying that the hearts aren't valuable and may even be unimportant, or at least are unimportant now. This in turn suggests that the hearts have already fulfilled their purpose, whatever that is.

The hearts record the people trapped within the mazes. Why? Why make a maze in the first place? Why make a maze heart and leave it in the woods? The technology seems elaborate and expensive to Dipper, far too advanced to just throw away like that, surely. Unless the hearts are commonplace wherever they come from. The fact that the hawks, which are incredibly advanced, were designed to destroy themselves hints at a level of technological sophistication combined with sheer resources that is worrying. The valley's victory today may be nothing more than an inconvenience to the other side.

Dipper doesn't know who he's up against, or why. At least Bill's objective was clear enough, even if it was totally insane. Bill was evil and completely unstable in every sense of the word, but his goals were personal—they aligned with his obsessions, and his preoccupation with the Pines family was directly related to his history with Ford and how useful the Pines could be as unwitting abettors. Becoming master of the entire universe was a ridiculous, crazy thing to want, but it made sense in the context of the insane demon who wanted it.

The hearts weren't aimed at the Pines. They sat in the ground for who knows how long, being discovered by happenstance. The hawks weren't after the Pines either, snatching people up at random. Nothing about this feels personal.

When Dipper steps out of the shower, he feels refreshed just long enough to dress before the extreme exertion of the day hits him like a robo-hawk and he feels as if his limbs are filled with sand. He slouches down to the kitchen and crams a couple toaster pastries in his mouth, just to have something on his stomach. That accomplished, he limps into his room and passes out almost as soon as his head touches his pillow.

He wakes up suddenly, slightly cold from Ford's supercharged air conditioner, the sunbeam from the window no longer warming the room with the strong glow of the afternoon. The light is now paler and tinted orange, signs of evening. Dipper makes a half-hearted attempt to roll over and the pain in his muscles leads him to abandon the motion immediately.

Mabel's voice comes from her side of the room. "Yep, it's official: I am the bruisiest girl in the world."

"Grunkle Stan can put you on display," Dipper mumbles against his pillow.

"Blehg, the tourists get so handsy…"

The partially closed door to the room swings open. Dipper raises his head enough to look and sees Pacifica standing in the doorway, a knitted blanket draped over her shoulders.

"It's freezing downstairs," she declares.

"It must be cooling off outside," Dipper reasons. "I bet Grunkle Stan forgot to change the thermostat."

"Big robot hawks will do that," Mabel notes.

Pacifica approaches Dipper's bed and sits on it, forcing him to move his aching body over with a disgruntled groan. She swings her legs up and scoots backwards until she sits against the wall, tucking the knitted blanket around herself tightly.

"There, see? We're separated by the blanket, so it's okay," she says.

That can't possibly meet the letter of the law, never mind its spirit, but Dipper is tired and sore, and Pacifica is warm and smells good. He offers no resistance.

A sleepy-eyed, tousle-haired Mabel emerges from her cocoon of stuffed animals and sits at the foot of Dipper's bed, her phone in her hands. "Nothing yet," she tells them.

Dipper doesn't know if that's good or bad. "Maybe they need to get everyone back together before they make a decision," he says.

"They better schedule for tomorrow or they can forget it," Pacifica asserts. "We saved the town, we get a break. I'm going to sit here and do absolutely nothing."

Mabel falls backwards with her arms folded on her stomach, her legs dangling off the bed and her head coming to rest on Dipper's sheet-covered calves. "That's a plan I can get behind."

Dipper pulls a spare pillow out from between the bed and the wall, draping it over his head to cover his eyes. "All in favor, groan loudly."

"Eeeeeeuuuggghhhhh," Mabel groans.

"Motion carried," Dipper yawns.

There's a little more conversation after that, but the room grows ever more still as the light from the window assumes the quiet tones of dusk; by the time the early stars wink around the darkened clouds, all three of them have nodded off.

Again, Dipper awakens suddenly, this time driven towards consciousness by the urgent signal of his bladder. Lit by the faint emanation of the cloud-hidden moon, the room is visible only in pale strips of strange geometry divided by inky shadow. Mabel has relocated to her own bed, but Pacifica is still next to Dipper, wrapped tightly in her separate blanket, lying on her side now with her face partially hidden by her hair.

He crawls off the foot of the bed and makes his semi-blind way to the toilet, one hand outstretched in case he's misjudged the position of a wall. When he turns the light on in the small bathroom the burst of illumination turns the space into a blown-out smear of indistinguishable brightness. He finishes up and stumbles out of the doorway with a purple imprint of the bathroom splatted across his vision, erasing what little detail he could make out in the dark. He stands there for a minute until his eyes adjust enough for him to make out the entryway back to his room.

Grunkle Stan must have gotten to the thermostat at some point, but now he's overcompensated. The AC isn't running, and the attic air is becoming stuffy as the heat of the day rises through the house. Dipper leans over the desk and opens the triangular glass panes of the window, letting in the cool night air and the reedy chorus of the insects. A vast cloud broods overhead, blocking most of the stars; but the shadow that covers it—which must be from another cloud, just out of view—is incomplete, and a rearing white horn of cumulus catches the moon, so bright that it almost looks artificial. A quiet growl of thunder reverberates through the night, reaching the valley from somewhere far past the cliffs. Dipper prudently closes the window anyway.

When he turns from the window, another light catches his eye. Mabel's phone is blinking against her covers. Not wanting to wake her but desiring news, he checks the locked screen.

It's Brendan, the message a few hours old. The Conclave wants to meet tomorrow at the Multi-Bear's cave.

It's not a bad idea. The cave is neutral territory, far away from the eyes of the town, and having the Multi-Bear there as a mediator could be crucial. It definitely won't hurt that the Multi-Bear already knows them and has seen firsthand how Ford's science can be applied for good.

Dipper is about to climb back into his bed when he hesitates. Pacifica is there, her golden halo of hair a bright spot in the darkened room. He remembers how she looked in Piedmont that night she came to him, and though she looks quite different now thanks to the Robotomizer that prompted her haircut, the same peaceful expression is on her delicate features.

This feels wrong. It's one thing for her to come and lay next to him in her own blanket, with the lights on and Mabel with them, and it's something else to come back to bed and join her in it. Dipper feels a pang of guilt—he and Pacifica have really been taking advantage of the grunkles' inattention. Between Stan's aversion to policing the kids (with one huge, super annoying exception) and Ford's scattered attention it's been all too easy to skirt around Mom and Dad's rules for the summer.

It's also been too easy not to think about the possible consequence of undermining Stan and Ford as summer caretakers. It's not just Dipper and Pacifica who stand to get in hot water with the Pines parents, and Dipper needs to remember that.

With a quiet sigh, he pulls a spare blanket out from beneath Mabel's bed and goes down to the living room, where he makes himself comfortable on Grunkle Stan's old chair. Luckily, this is not a bad place to sleep. The chair is well-worn and soft from decades of use, if also a bit musty from those same years. He pulls the blanket over himself and just as he closes his eyes, the gentle patter of rain begins to roll through the Shack. Perfect timing.

The sound carries him towards sleep.

It's about four in the afternoon and fog has settled thickly over the valley, masking the forest in swirls of heavy mist that settle in the dells and drape themselves around the trees; a light drizzle seeps from a ceiling of puffy grey clouds, steadily soaking everything. It's probably raining intermittently, but everything is so wet, and the rain is so fine, that it feels constant, there being no tactile difference between the rain and the mist. The fog and the precipitation combine to make it feel as if the air has been replaced by water. Even the slightest breeze sends a sheet of moisture prickling against Dipper's face.

He cinches the hood of his rain jacket a bit tighter. The temperature in the valley has plummeted to match the rest of the weather, and though summer's grip remains too tight for it to become cold, the day has cooled enough that getting soaked would be very uncomfortable. The sun is buried somewhere behind the monochrome barrier of the unbroken clouds, offering no relief.

The Shack crew is assembled at the mouth of the Multi-Bear's cave. Arrayed around the entrance are Stan, Ford, Dipper, Mabel, Pacifica, Wendy, Melody, and Soos. The idea is to back Ford up and show the Conclave that he's not some lone madman building death machines in his isolated abode, but a stable man of science with friends, family, and the respect of the town. This is hampered by the Conclave being a secretive body, which prevents Ford from having any number of other people present—like, say, Mayor Tyler—who could use their credibility to Ford's benefit.

Dipper can tell his group's opinions on the meeting are mixed.

Melody seems happy to be included and a bit nervous, fidgeting with her bandage a lot. She leans over and asks him, "Where should I stand? Does it matter where I stand?"

"Our job is pretty much just to be behind Great-Uncle Ford and look, uh… stable, I guess," Dipper tells her. "You know, not crazy or dangerous. Like normal people."

"Normal? We're boned," Wendy says. She's joking, but seems genuinely annoyed with the circumstances, though Dipper isn't entirely sure why.

"We can pull it off for twenty minutes. Maybe even thirty," he says with a grin.

Wendy doesn't laugh. "We shouldn't have to, man. We got nothing to prove to anyone, never mind these tools with their fake-o government. Ford's saved the world two summers running and they want to shut him down? That's bull."

Pacifica, examining her nails from her perch on a nearby rock, proves an unexpected ally to Wendy. "Agreed. I don't see why we should listen to amateurs."

In swoops Mabel to take up Brendan's defensive stance in his absence. "It's not that simple, guys! They just don't want everyone to find out about them, it would be really bad. Like, if everyone knew Brendan can turn into a wolf, they'd never stop asking for photos! Who wouldn't want a picture of themselves high fiving a wolf?"

"I know for a fact that would be off-the-charts rad," Soos chuckles as he walks by.

Mabel silently jerks her thumb in Soos' direction with her eyebrows raised, letting her point stand.

"Look, Great-Uncle Ford knows what he's doing," Dipper begins.

"Yes, dude, that's exactly my point," Wendy says.

Dipper doggedly continues, "He just has to show them that our work isn't about revealing hidden communities, it's about the nature of Weirdness itself."

"Right, particles and junk—and alien stuff like the maze hearts. Seriously, who cares about werewolves when aliens are real and make computer hearts that build mazes and unleash robo-hawks? No offense," Wendy adds for Mabel's benefit.

"Brendan cares about all that stuff too," Mabel says stiffly.

Wendy has the grace to look slightly apologetic. "Yeah, I know. Brendan's cool."

Dipper understands Wendy's sense of autonomy and feels it too. But that feeling worries him.

These are echoes of storming into Gideon's office, looking for a fight that wasn't there. He's had the space to think about that and has come to realize that for all the would-be tycoon's persuasive power, Gideon was wrong about a lot of things.

But he was right about one thing: Dipper doesn't own Weirdness, and neither does Ford. The phenomena they study are naturally occurring. And when those phenomena intersect with people's lives, those people have a right to be concerned about the research and what it might mean for them.

There's nothing like that going on, of course. Ford has zero interest in disrupting the lives of those affected by Weirdness and would denounce any such outcomes as completely beyond the boundaries of ethical science. But the Conclave don't know that.

"We at least owe them an explanation. That doesn't mean we have to take orders from them," Dipper tells Wendy.

Wendy shrugs. "If they want to know what's up, I guess that makes sense. But they don't get to tell us to stop."

Pacifica rolls her eyes. "Like we even could."

"For real. We're crap magnets. Especially Dipper."

"Not especially me," Dipper protests.

"Now if Grunkle Stan would just get with it…" Mabel sighs.

Dipper glances across the room to where Stan is leaning against one of the cave walls, exuding that air of bored impatience that he's perfected. Stan's dedication to being a crotchety luddite is unfortunate considering he's a perfect candidate for a mobile phone's distractions. Maybe Pacifica can get him into Begemmed.

Dipper checks his watch. The Conclave people should be arriving before too long.

Nervous and wanting to kill time, he goes to the front of the cave, where Ford is standing near one of the cliff edges, looking out over the mist-shrouded woods. Dipper comes up alongside him, lacking anything interesting to say and hoping that Ford will fill the silence.

"It wasn't supposed to rain today," Ford says conversationally. He sounds calm, which helps Dipper's disposition.

"The Windigo's magic might still be affecting things," Dipper supposes.

"Perhaps, but there's a much more immediate atmospheric anomaly we can look to. The portal above the town decreased the local barometric pressure. It's possible that it lowered it enough to create these conditions." Ford wipes water from his face and looks at his hand, as if the wetness on his palm might reveal the truth. "But this is the Pacific Northwest. A little unexpected rain is hardly out of character."

A moment of silence follows, filled by the hiss of the rain. Dipper jams his hands into his pockets to keep from fidgeting. The conflict they're facing is much more formal than usual—and far less likely to have a physical element—but that doesn't keep him from worrying about it.

Ford speaks again. "I'm concerned as to what they know about Weirdmageddon. That was hardly my finest hour."

"Wasn't Bill trying to get into our dimension for a billion years? If it hadn't been you, he just would have found someone else," Dipper reasons.

Ford sighs. "That's what I tell myself. It's not always convincing." He laughs suddenly, though there's no humor in the sound. "But that's how he tricked me in the first place, isn't it? That egotism—that belief that I was the only one capable enough. Maybe if it had been someone else, they would have had the humility to see through the flattery."

Dipper shrugs, made uncomfortable by Ford's self-deprecation. "I think he would have just kept trying until someone made the portal, one way or the other."

"I'm sure he would have. The Nightmare Realm may be unstable, but its half-life is measured on a cosmological scale. He had all the time in the world to persist."

"We can't talk about that stuff anyway, right? It's too dangerous," Dipper says.

"Yes, we should refrain from detail whenever possible. If anyone attempts to summon Bill, he can no longer answer… but someone else might."

Mabel, who has relocated to the cliff's edge, suddenly shouts, "I see them!"

The Conclave's meeting party can be seen making their way up the rocky, half-overgrown trail that snakes up the mountainside. Dipper is relieved to note that there aren't too many of them. In fact, it looks like the Conclave has sent only four representatives, which should make things easier. Fewer voices at the table might speed things along.

"Better tell everyone to move back and give our guests a little space," Ford advises.

Dipper sees the wisdom in this. While most of them are here with the intention of making a good impression, it's not going to further that aim to have everyone try to introduce themselves all at once.

"Let's go stand at the other side of the table," Dipper says to the girls. With Pacifica and Mabel's help, they relocate everyone farther back into the cave just as the Conclave people arrive.

The only member of the party that Dipper recognizes is Brendan, who has the look of a kid in deep trouble doing his absolute best to avoid attention. Another one of them is shrouded under a balaclava and an enormous pair of sunglasses, both of which seem useless in the current weather. It isn't until the group steps into the shadow of the cave mouth that they remove the getup, revealing a pale woman with short gray hair.

Mabel quickly supplies names. "Oh, oh, that's Lady Rogneda from the Collective Vampire Whatsit! And the other guy is Rodes… Rothes! Rothes from the Wereperson Fund for Helping People Thing."

"That dude is a hundred percent Brendan's dad," Wendy says, indicating the remaining man, though she has the sense not to point.

"Nailed it," Mabel says.

The Multi-Bear pads forward to meet them. "Welcome," he rumbles. "Please, be seated at the table."

Everyone takes a seat. The chairs are tree stumps that are tall enough to give Dipper some trouble; poor Pacifica has to climb hers. The table is a huge, rough-hewn slab of wood that must be from one of the magical forest's enormous trees. It sits comically high up for the Multi-Bear's human-sized guests. If Dipper had food in front of him, it'd be about two inches below his chin.

"Sorry for the oversized furniture. It comes with being an oversized bear," the Multi-Bear says a bit sheepishly. "Would anyone like a blueberry scone? Maybe some tea?"

"If it's alright with everyone, I'd like to get on with introductions," Lady Rogneda says briskly. "Many members of the Conclave have delayed their departure while waiting to vote, so it's best that we make efficient use of our time."

"Agreed," Ford says, equally brusque. "I'm Dr. Stanford Pines, a paranormal researcher based in the valley. Sitting to my left is my brother, Stanley, and to my right is my great-nephew and assistant-in-training, Dipper. Also with us are my great-niece, Mabel; Pacifica Northwest, a former resident of the valley; Wendy Corduroy, a current resident of the Valley; and the two on the end there are Soos Ramirez, my brother's apprentice, and Melody Vesper, one of my brother's employees. They all have experience in my field of study, informal and otherwise, and often support me."

Lady Rogneda inclines her head in recognition. "I am Lady Rogneda, chairwoman of the Conclave and current head of the Western Vampiric Alliance. With me are Dr. Arthur Rothes of the Pacific Northwest Wereperson Advocacy Fund and Michael Cager, head of the Duskwolf Tribe. I'm told you're already familiar with his son, Brendan."

"Yes, of course. Now, I understand that the Conclave has some concerns about my research," Ford says, brushing past Brendan's situation (and Brendan looks happy to let the focus of the group skip right by him).

"If you consider our situation, I believe our reasons for opposing your inquiry are axiomatic," Lady Rogneda says.

"Indeed. But let me assure you that they are unfounded."

"Are we supposed to just take your word?" Michael Cager asks. Brendan quietly winces beside him.

"Not at all. I have a broad overview assembled, a rough summation of my work thus far." Ford pushes a fat folder to the center of the table and thumbs it open. "I began my initial investigations some years ago…"

Lady Rogneda leans forward with the inquisitive eagerness of the intellectual, ready to assimilate Ford's copious data. Rothes and Cager have the same blank look of semi-comprehension that pretty much everyone else in the room has (Rothes must not be that kind of doctor). Dipper understands most of the technical discussion, but he's also heard it all before, and so his attention wanders.

Brendan meets Mabel's eyes across the table. Holding her gaze, he throws a quick look towards his father, then slowly slides off his chair and disappears below the high lip of the table. Her brown eyes bright with mischief, Mabel does the same; Wendy soon follows. Dipper and Pacifica trade a glance, then duck beneath the table as well.

The five kids convene beneath the Multi-Bear's absurdly huge table, hidden in its shadow as Ford drones loudly on above.

Mabel wraps her arms around Brendan's neck. "You came back to me!" she says with (thankfully quiet) joy.

Brendan huffs out a laugh into her shoulder, returning the hug. "I knew you'd be waiting to say that."

"This is actually a pretty sweet fort. How long until they notice?" Wendy wonders softly, looking at the assembled legs around them.

Mabel finally lets up on the hug, leaning back. "I didn't think they'd bring you!"

"My dad said if I was grown up enough to disobey him then I was grown up enough to see it through," Brendan whispers miserably.

"That's a super dad thing to say," Mabel whispers back.

"Yeah." Brendan sighs, his face tight. "I found out it was my dad."

Mabel blinks. "Yeah… I know. You just said he said that…"

"No, it was my dad that took the picture. The picture of Ford at the Conclave." Brendan's voice is quiet, but his eyes spark with anger. "That was the whole trip, the whole thing."

Dipper's eyes widen. "You followed us on the road trip?"

"No, that was coincidence. At the trailer park, I mean, and Portland, sort of. I thought we were just on vacation, but he was supposed to find Ford. We were already going to Portland, like I said. When I told him I was hanging out with friends, he must have known I'd be with you. Then he let me think it was my idea to go to the Conclave. I'm sorry."

Mabel puts her hands on his shoulders. "You didn't know," she says simply.

"It's alright, dude. It's not on you," Wendy says.

"Dads are the worst," Pacifica says bitterly.

"He just keeps telling me we have to protect everyone. Like I don't know that," Brendan mutters.

Dipper asks, "Does that mean the Conclave is going to vote against Ford?"

Brendan shakes his head. "I don't think so. If they called a vote right now, they'd probably vote to leave him alone, if only because the valley people think so. Most of us don't live here, so it's kind of out of sight, out of mind, you know? Besides, if he can convince Lady Rogneda and my dad, he'll be fine."

It sounds like Ford is doing some pretty fine convincing, at least to Dipper's ears. It's going to be advantageous that Rogneda seems scientifically literate to a high degree. That said, they probably shouldn't risk hurting Ford's chances by hiding under the table, even one as enormous as this. Time to get back to their seats before one of the adults notices. In silent agreement, the kids all scamper back to their chairs.

Ford is showing the Conclave members a chart of Weirdness emissions. Dipper recognizes the wavelengths as being from the hearts and the portal that the hawks came from.

"There is strong evidence of a shared origin," Ford says. "It's possible that further analysis of the data will reveal additional correlations, though I should stress that these do not imply causation. That being said, the data is stable enough that finding a lack of commonality is highly unlikely at this stage."

"And this is how you stopped the robots?" Rothes asks. His tone is respectful, far from that of an interrogator.

"Severing their remote connection and destabilizing the portal, yes. The mission was carried out by my apprentice, Dipper, and the others."

"And if the robots were to make a second, ah, invasion attempt, you could intervene again?" Rothes says.

And with sudden clarity, Dipper realizes that this is already over. It's settled.

There was never any real question of the Conclave voting against them or trying to interfere. That went out the window the second the hawks came down and attacked. The Conclave have experienced the same thing the rest of the valley have: an afternoon of undiluted terror followed by a victory snatched, instantaneously and seemingly impossibly, from the jaws of defeat. The fact that it may have been Ford and his family who started the chain of events leading to the invasion is irrelevant, because they are also the only ones who can stop it if it happens again. Ford entered this negotiation with unbeatable leverage.

In some other timeline, no doubt the Conclave could have been a formidable antagonist with which the Pines had to reckon. Now, in the face of a threat no one understands, they are just another group of scared families looking for answers from the only person who can grant them. As long as Ford wants to protect Gravity Falls, he's essential; and Dipper knows his great-uncle will never stop defending the valley.

As nice as it is to know the Conclave won't be a problem, Dipper can't help but muse that they probably would have been a much easier adversary than whoever sent the hawks…

The explanations go on for a while longer, constructed with Ford's careful combination of blunt truth and precise omission; the Conclave aren't the only ones with secrets. Of the three Conclave diplomats (Brendan is only here as a form of punishment, which seems to be working, judging by how embarrassed he appears), only Michael Cager seems skeptical of Ford's intentions—he doesn't look happy with how his associates are comporting themselves. Despite this, he says nothing in objection, so it's clear he understands the reality of the situation. Suspicious though he may be, he's obviously a pragmatic man.

Lady Rogneda leans back slightly in her seat, assessing Ford with calm, dark eyes. "The depth of your research is impressive. You've accomplished incredible things with limited resources, and I am being honest when I say that a part of me regrets that the Conclave is not in a position to offer you funding. Some will disagree, but I feel that our community can only benefit from the answers you seek. However: I still carry responsibility for the safety of that community as the chairwoman of its regulatory body. Personally, you have my support. But officially, I must ask for a compromise."

Ford simply nods. "I wouldn't have arranged this meeting if I didn't want to hear you out."

The faintest of smiles crosses Rogneda's face. "I would like for you to accept a liaison from the Conclave. This liaison would have no power to interfere in or otherwise control your work; rather, they would be the point of contact between you and the Conclave, to whom you can submit an overview of any findings you think are pertinent to us. Given recent circumstances, that would include any dangers you might foresee."

"That's very reasonable," Ford allows. "Just keep in mind that while I am always open to input, I reserve the right as to whether I act on it."

"You would continue as you see fit. We only ask that we be kept up to date, especially when the stakes are potentially so high."

Ford replies, "My only concern is the expected rate. I have my hands full as it is, and I can't stop to type up a report every night."

Rothes cuts in. "I think we're looking for something more informal, Dr. Pines. There aren't too many people in the Conclave who can look over the actual science, and no one at all in your specific field, considering that you discovered it…"

"We have members who may be interested in seeing some of the raw data, but for the time being we only require a summary of anything relevant," Lady Rogneda says. "There's no need for strict scheduling; perhaps the liaison could check in once a month or so? It needn't be someone in the valley, though for the sake of convenience, it should be someone within the state—"

"I'll handle that," Cager says.

Rogneda blinks at this sudden interruption. "Very well. Is that acceptable to you, Dr. Pines?"

Ford opens his mouth, and then shuts it. He glances down to where Mabel is silently rocking in her chair, trying to get his attention with a series of tiny, rapid nods.

"Yes… Yes, that will be acceptable," Ford says after a moment.

A faint hint of relief can be seen crossing Lady Rogneda's otherwise austere expression. "Then it's settled. We'll return to the Conclave for final approval, which is mostly a formality at this stage."

"Well done," the Multi-Bear rumbles from the head of the massive table. "I didn't have to step in for a single argument, which is nice because conflict makes me uncomfortable. Meeting adjourned!"

Everyone begins to leave the table, a low rumble of conversation rising throughout the cave. Ford goes around the table to shake hands as the kids convene again.

Wendy slides down from her oversized seat and sends a contemplative look Dipper's way. "Is it me, or was that too easy?"

"We didn't even have to do anything," Pacifica says.

"It was always going to be like this," Dipper tells them, ready to share his mid-meeting epiphany. "Ford stopped the hawks, but everyone knows they can come back."

"Which means he's the only one who can stop them again!" Wendy says, pointing her finger at him in sudden understanding.

Dipper nods. "Whatever they think about his research, it saved everyone today."

"Ah, yes, the ol' saved-their-butts-from-robo-hawks," Mabel says sagely. "Gets them every time!"

Brendan comes hurrying around the side of the table, looking over his shoulder as if he's afraid someone will follow him. "That went really well," he tells them. "Makes sense, though. Getting attacked by robo-hawks from another dimension kinda puts things in perspective."

"You shoulda been here last summer, man," Wendy says. "We know all about it."

Mabel eagerly grabs Brendan's hands. "You get to visit all the time!"

"What? Oh, the checking in thing. But… aren't you leaving?" Brendan says.

"I'll come back every time I can," she promises. "Spring break, Christmas break, Arbor Day—"

Dipper interrupts her list. "You don't think your dad will give Ford any trouble, do you?"

Brendan frowns. "I don't know. My dad's smart, but he's not a scientist. It's not like he's going to understand everything Ford is doing. But he'll for sure want those reports. He won't forget or make an exception."

As Ford's assistant, Dipper suspects the task of writing those reports is going to end up being his job. "Well, it could've been a lot worse."

"Definitely," Brendan agrees.

"So can we go now? It smells like a zoo in here," Pacifica says.

Despite being extraordinarily clean for a cave, the Multi-Bear's home does still smell like what it is: the home of a bear. Unfortunately for Pacifica, the adults are still talking.

"Go back to the entrance or step outside," Dipper advises. "Looks like it'll be a bit longer."

Dipper leaves Mabel and Brendan talking and follows Pacifica most of the way back to the cave entrance; he decides to loiter in Ford's vicinity in case there's something he can add while Ford talks to Lady Rogneda (if he's honest with himself, he mostly just wants Lady Rogneda to understand that he really is Ford's apprentice and not just some kid benefiting from nepotism). Soos and Melody are speaking with Rothes while Stan, of all people, has struck up a conversation with Brendan's dad. This is a worrying development for all kinds of reasons and Dipper is about to go over and see if he can intervene when Wendy pokes his shoulder to get his attention.

"Dude," she says, "are Ford and that vampire lady flirting?"

Dipper's attention shifts back to Ford and Rogneda.

"I must say, I was impressed with how well you handled the revelations," Rogneda is saying. "Not many people are so readily accepting of the vampiric community."

"I am first and foremost a scientist," Ford says with a smile. He's leaning slightly towards Rogneda. "Bigotry is a crutch for the unexceptional mind."

"I couldn't agree more," Rogneda says, returning his smile. Her eyes are locked intently with Ford's.

Dipper had been ready to refute Wendy, but finds that he can't. "Oh, wow," he says.

"Heck yeah, Ford," Wendy says with a grin. "I gotta show Mabel!"

Wendy goes to tell Mabel (and hopefully prevent the other girl from squealing), and Dipper refocuses on Stan and Michael Cager. To his surprise, they aren't arguing, but instead appear to be in the middle of a perfectly amiable conversation. Deciding that Stan can't be doing too much damage to relations, Dipper leaves it alone.

"I'm glad we could work things out so satisfactorily," Ford is telling Rogneda.

Lady Rogneda sighs. "In truth, we have bigger problems now. The Conclave is also concerned at how many witnesses there were today. The events weren't necessarily supernatural, as I understand, but so much attention could easily lead to other dangerous discoveries."

"Did the denizens of the valley seem concerned to you?" Ford asks.

A slight frown creases Lady Rogneda's brow. "No… In fact, I can't recall any natives of the valley expressing concern about the festival attendees."

Ford nods. "I believe if you pursued this line of inquiry, you'd find them indifferent to the exposure, and for good reason."

"How so?"

"Gravity Falls protects itself from discovery. I will grant that the sheer volume of witnesses in play is an unusual strain on its method of self-obscuration, but I'm confident that it will be up to the task."

Rogneda takes a moment to consider that. "Now that you've phrased it thusly, I suppose such a mechanism may well be at work… and I'm left wondering if my failure to recognize this is the outcome of the mechanism, or if that's merely a self-serving compensation."

"It may well be the former. I myself did not recognize the process until many years after I began my research."

"But what is the process?"

"I believe it relates to my theory of Weirdness Magnetism, but I can't yet say exactly how. Today's events may finally present the opportunity to amass some data on the subject."

Dipper isn't sure how they're going to gather that kind of data, but he's interested to hear what Ford's come up with.

The meeting winds to a close soon after, as the Conclave members need to return and initiate the vote. There's another round of handshakes and some last-minute exchanges of information. As the Conclave party begins to file out of the cave, Michael Cager stops to speak to Ford.

"I'd like to stop by soon so we can talk one on one," he says. "I figured it'd be easier in person, and I'll be in the valley for a while yet."

"Certainly. Whenever you'd like to arrange a meeting, you can call me directly or just let Brendan know, and he can reach me through Mabel," Ford says. "I admit I haven't quite got the hang of texting just yet. I prefer email, anyway; it's remarkably useful."

If Cager finds this at all odd—which he probably does, considering he doesn't know Ford was missing for thirty years—his expression does not show it. "I'll do that. Say goodbye, Brendan, we need to be going."

It's still raining. Brendan follows his dad out of the cave and towards the path back down, turning to offer them a wave goodbye as he slips into the fog. Cold mist settles across Dipper's face as he watches them leave, prickly against his cheeks.

"You spoke to Brendan's father, Stanley. What do you make of him?" Ford asks as they all watch the four Conclave diplomats walk beneath the tree line.

"Cager? He's alright, got a good head on his shoulders. He was a real blue-collar kid, like us," Stan says.

"Hmm. Hopefully our working-class backgrounds will give us some common ground, then." Ford looks at his watch. "We should thank the Multi-Bear and return home."

It's a long, wet trek back to the Shack. They can only move so quickly with Ford on his crutches, a situation made even slower by the poor state of many natural paths. The forest drips wetly in the rain, its density made all the greater by the fog that swallows up the trees beyond a certain distance, giving the woods the appearance of melting into a gray infinity. Dipper checks his compass periodically, ensuring they don't get turned around. The sun stays cloaked behind the low clouds and there is no sense of time or direction.

Pacifica walks beside him, short blonde hair swinging in and out of the cover of her hood as she moves, her blue rain jacket a splotch of vivid color against the gray surrounds.

"I think that went pretty well, huh?" he says.

She sniffs, either a sound of mild disdain or a natural reaction to being inundated by the mist. "I guess they didn't waste too much of our time."

It's funny how invested she is in Ford's freedom from oversight, but now that Dipper is thinking about it, it makes sense. She's spent a year forging a better identity, and a big part of her new self has been coming into her own as a part of the team. She's not invested in something she has no part in; this is who she is now. This is her life too.

Dipper is so proud of her. But he can't find a good way to express that, so instead he says, "Diplomacy is going to pay off in the long run. Besides, now we might get to see Brendan more often."

"That's true." Pacifica hops over a tree root, her shoes squelching against the loam. "Do you think they'll send more hawks?"

Dipper glances upwards, the fine rain cold against his face. "No… I think they'll do something else."

Pacifica quietly sighs. "Me too."

It's late and the Shack is dim and quiet, most of its occupants settling in for the night as the rain continues to fall, too light to make any noise save for the gentle rush of the wind. Entering the empty gift shop, Dipper approaches the vending machine and descends to the basement lab. He's ready for bed, but feels the urge to check with Ford before turning in. While the hawks are defeated and the Conclave are placated, there is still a great deal left to do, and Dipper wants to prepare for whatever tomorrow brings.

He finds Ford sitting at one of the tables in the former portal room, now the large laboratory proper. Ford is pecking idly at the keys of a laptop, his face creased in thought.

"Great-Uncle Ford?" Dipper says to get his attention.

Ford blinks and pushes back from the table. "Dipper. Turning in for the night?"

"Yeah, I just wanted to see what you have planned for tomorrow," Dipper says.

"I'm still working on that. We need to gather data while we have so many people at our direct disposal, but I'm not yet certain on the best way to go about it." Ford pauses. "There's… something else."

"Something else?"

Ford turns the laptop so that Dipper can see the screen. An audio editing program is open, the waveform paused. "I was monitoring their frequencies closely while you dealt with the portal. Initially, it seemed all that I captured were errant signals caused by the portal's interaction with the atmosphere." Ford moves the mouse pointer over the 'play' button. "It's the easiest thing in the world to hear voices in white noise—a trick of the human brain, always seeking patterns. I may have missed this if it hadn't triggered my translator." He clicks.

The recording is static, buzzing loudly and erratically. Then, unmistakably, Dipper hears someone speak, a woman:

"—full liquidation of primary components. They saturated the band and we've lost—" the voice disappears into the static again.

Another, different voice. This one is male; he sounds almost amused. "How about that. You… —something new every day." A long stretch of noise follows, ending with one last burst of clarity: "—eye on it. I got a good feeling about—…"

Ford stops the recording. The silence that follows hangs heavily in the vast room.

Dipper is stunned. "Who are they?"

"The people who opened the portal; or perhaps just those operating it. They were communicating with each other at distance, or we wouldn't have picked up the signal. The female voice seems to be informing the male voice of the destruction of the hawks." Ford frowns, his eyes troubled. "The male voice does not seem overly concerned by it."

"What do we do?"

"What can we? Barring any new developments, all that's left is to be ready to react." Ford removes his glasses and rubs at one eye. Dipper can't help but notice how exhausted the older man looks. "We'll take all possible precautions."

That's not a comforting answer, but it's one Dipper must accept. "Right," he says, trying to sound unworried. "We can do that."

Ford smiles tiredly. "Get some sleep, Dipper."

As Dipper turns to leave, a thought occurs to him. "Um, this isn't just between us, is it?"

"No, I don't care to repeat that mistake," Ford says. "Let Soos and the girls know. I'll discuss this with Stanley in the morning."

As Dipper returns to the upper reaches of the Shack, he finds that his relief at Ford's decision is tempered by the nature of the news—and not just in the sense that it's bad. The recorded conversation isn't just alarming, it's also disappointing. It offers so little in the way of concrete information. The way so much of it is swallowed by the static is maddening, giving the constant feeling that if it were just a little clearer, everything would make sense. He knows that's probably not true. Still… after all they've been through, some real answers would have been nice. Too bad it's never that simple.

He swings by Pacifica's room but there's no light coming from within, and when he returns to the attic, he finds Mabel already asleep. Looks like the recording will have to wait until tomorrow. He flops into bed and stares up at the rafters, willing himself to put everything out of his mind and go to sleep.

It takes a long time, but it eventually works.

Seems Like There's a Show Every Night by Various Artists (Chumpire, 2014)