Chapter 7

Somewhere in the Appalachian mountains
The future...

The King battered his way up the overgrown path, and the platypus followed, hot on his trail. A dense patch of thick, green brush with nasty thorns caught at his robes, flaying the expensive gold threads, slowing his movement. He braced against the snag and tugged himself free, tearing his cloak in the process. Onwards he rushed, willing himself to go faster.

Pine trees were everywhere, tall and mighty evergreens that blanketed the steep mountain banks. If his long legs were an advantage in flight, it was nullified by the slope he had to climb almost as it were a flight of stairs. Still, the crunching sounds of his pursuer seemed to fall behind. His goal lay just ahead. Only a few more bends in the path to go, if he remembered correctly. He was close, so close to reaching it―

The King burst into a small clearing. The grove of pine trees on the far side towered into the sky. He whipped around, still panting heavily, drawing his Glock. The platypus had to be close. Squinting down the sights, The King scanned for any signs of movement.

The platypus darted around the final bend and into view. The King pulled the trigger, flinching as the hammer slammed down on the barrel. He had always been repulsed by the weight of the weapon and by the dirty work of killing things himself, and his lack of training showed. He missed his mark, allowing the platypus to dive behind the cover of a big pine trunk at the edge of the clearing, quite unharmed.

Keeping the gun aimed at the base of the tree, The King backed away slowly. The platypus peeked around the left side of the trunk. He fired two more bullets into the tree to force it to retreat again behind it.

"You know, usually, this is the part where the bad guy starts to monologue," the platypus said. "Telling me about their evil plan, about how their tragic backstory set them on a path inevitably leading them along to this very moment."

The King cautiously took another step back.

The platypus peeked around the tree again. He fired one more round into the tree, but this time the platypus swooped out at unbelievable speed, close to the ground and practically on all fours. The King got off two more rounds before a beaver tail swiped across his hand, slapping the gun out of his grasp and knocking it clear across the grove.

As always, The King was ready for this part. He ducked down and used his long legs to sweep the platypus' webbed feet out from under it, sending it tumbling to the ground. The animal rolled out of reach and quickly regained its feet. The King extracted a knife, extending the point outward.

He sliced and lunged, trying to skewer the platypus, who easily dodged his attacks. The animal twisted and spun too quickly for him to keep up, making him feel like he was being toyed with. He threw the knife at it, failing again to make his mark, and elected instead to take a whack with a wooden baseball bat.

"How many weapons do you have?" it asked.

"Every time that I bring something bigger than this, I don't even make it this far," he replied. He swung, missing as the platypus somersaulted out of reach.

The bat was heavier and less wieldy than the knife. The King swung again and again, only to hit air. The platypus was too small, too agile, and in far better shape than him. He tried to back the platypus against the trunk of another tree. Swinging with all his might, the animal ducked under and he whacked the tree trunk. The hard impact stung his hands, forcing him to drop the weapon.

With that, the platypus found its opening and the fight was over. A barrage of punches landed on The King, packing far more power than their deceptively small fists seemed capable of unleashing. The King felt himself keel over in pain to face plant into the ground, making him spit dirt out of his mouth while his arms were craned behind his back and snapped into restraints. The platypus stood on his shoulder triumphantly. "Your Conspirium is no more," he sneered.

Only a few paces away, The King watched unnoticed, quite hidden by the trunk of another majestic pine, as his time-clone was cuffed by the platypus. It seemed that no matter what weapons he had, no matter what traps he laid, no matter how much he studied his enemy's movements, he just couldn't defeat the platypus. He was running out of options.

WFN News Studio
New York City
September 27, 2049

"Welcome back to WFN News. I'm Jan Claymore, and joining me today, we have a special guest: Chad Vincent, Head of the U.S. History Department at American University, and best-selling author of many books, including How America Almost Wasn't America. Hello, Chad."

"Hi, Jan. Thank you for having me."

"And to my right, we have WFN News analyst Shawn Whisksfromaneyebrow, who always brings a certain amount of flair to every debate.

"So, Chad, recently you have gone public with claims that George Washington wasn't an anti-palindromist, even putting your career at stake with your unpopular opinion. Can you explain for us your position?"

"Certainly. You see, what most Americans don't realize about the issue at hand is that anti-palindromism only really became a moral issue in the last century. We can't judge historical figures for using 'anti-palindromist slurs' in the eighteenth century, because those words had a different meaning back then."

"Now, hold on, Chad," Shawn Whisksfromaneyebrow interrupted. "Whether or not the issue was at the forefront of everyone's moral compasses at the time, it's still wrong to treat palindromes, people, or people with palindromes for names, differently than we treat people who don't have palindromes for names. And George Washington did this. It doesn't matter if everyone else in his time did it, too―the fact remains: George Washington was an anti-palindromist!"

"Incorrect. We have one recently discovered letter where George Washington uses the P-word. That is different from treating people poorly specifically because of the way they spell their name, and as far as the large body of historical evidence about him is concerned, he treated everyone the same whether they were a Hannah or a Susan or a Bob or a Jacob."

"Well, for me and most Americans, we find just calling someone the P-word to be equally offensive and akin to discrimination."

"Now, hold on a moment, and let us consider some historical facts. The P-word, and I'm going to say it so that I am being perfectly clear―and I apologize in advance to all the viewers out there who are triggered when they hear the word, but for the sake of debate, we have to be completely clear what word we are talking about here―now, the word George Washington used in his letter was 'pal,' and he used this word in the context of describing his friendship with Henry Knox. What's going on here is that over time, languages evolve, and the meanings of some words change. In the 1700's, the P-word had a different, and much more innocent meaning than it does today. It was something you called a friend, someone you were chums with, a buddy, someone who was like a brother. After all, why would George Washington be applying an anti-palindrome slur to someone whom he respected? And who, it should be obviously clear, did not have a palindrome for a name.

"Furthermore, if you actually go back and study the history of anti-palindromism, you'll find that the P-word didn't start being thrown around as an epithet until the highly charged anti-palindrome atmosphere of the mid-1950's, in fact originating in Britain. Even then, it still didn't enter mainstream culture or language until the infamous resurgence of anti-palindromism in the 2020's. Therefore, the offensive connotations involved with the P-word today didn't emerge until over 150 years after George Washington used that word. It couldn't possibly have been what he meant."

"Nah, nah, don't try and confuse me with your sorcerous ways―there's nothing that I've ever seen that could make me believe that George Washington wasn't anti-palindromist."

"You didn't believe he was anti-palindromist until a couple days ago."

"Yeah, well now I know better. And if there's one thing that you have to do to survive in this day and age, it's that you have to jump to conclusions about people you hear about online doing something that doesn't conform to your political agenda. No matter how much evidence stacks up against your hot flashes down the line, and no matter how much spreading that information about them defames and degrades their character. I'm sticking to my guns on this one."

"George Washington accomplished a great many heroic and wonderful deeds in his life―"

"I'm sorry," the news anchor interrupted, "but we're out of time. Get this crackpot outta here!"

"He was a great man! Erasing him from the history books is a big mistake! Can't we give him the benefit of the doubt? Those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are doomed to repeat them!" He shouted at the camera as some security guards came and dragged him away. "You can't tear down yesterday's monuments because they're offensive today or our youth will never learn from the horrors and tragedies we had to overcome to get to where we are now―"

"Stay tuned," Jan Claymore practically sang, not appearing to be ruffled in the slightest by her guest being gagged and carried out. "After the break, we'll take a look at the developing story of a shark that escaped containment in a Seattle aquarium, almost injuring some children as it splashed and flailed around, suffocating."

Washington, D.C.
September 28, 2049

"Are either of your communicators working? We need to call Coombs and have him send an extraction unit."

PJ watched Tui and Willy fumble with their pockets. Willy frowned when he inspected his. "Mine's busted, too."

"Mine looks like it works," Tui said, bending down to hand it over. PJ immediately radioed HQ.

"Coombs! Are you there? Coombs, come in!"

After a moment, someone answered. "This is Coombs. Agent PJ, sir, is that you?"

"Affirmative. We had an incident with the flying car, and we're gonna need extraction. Are Eliot and Ramirez there?"

He could hear shuffling on the other end. "Right here, boss," Eliot's voice rang.

"Right. Our location is―" he checked the lamppost at the nearest intersection― "We're at about 15th and K street. Maybe a block south of Fannie Mae."

"Roger. We're on our way now, sir," droned Coombs.

"Make it snappy, I want to get to that time machine as soon as possible." PJ slipped Tui's communicator into one of his vest pockets. "All right, let's get up to that rooftop to make it easier for them to get to us, plus it'll also provide some cover in case more of these Conspirium goons are hiding around." PJ kicked the ribs of one of the still unconscious thugs. Then he froze.

A block away, he was sure he'd just seen a flash of distinct golden curls round the corner of a brick wall and vanish. The shade of blonde was just a little too familiar.

Without any explanation, PJ bolted down the sidewalk, leaving a perplexed Tui and Willy to stare and puzzle for a few moments before chasing after him, too.

The USS Idaho
About 60 nautical miles off the coast of Nova Scotia

Captain Lana Foster ordered her XO to hold a steady south-southwest course at a leisurely 23 knots and took another sip of coffee from the captain's chair. As the Ohio-class nuclear submarine spliced through the briny depths 40 yards below the water's surface, she couldn't help but feel colder than the chilly seawater surrounding them. She shivered again at what the Conspirium were going to do.

They had gotten to her three years ago. After the man she loved abandoned her for someone else, leaving her heartbroken, her life fell into a terrible spiral. Drugs, alcohol, narcotics, the whole shebang. She couldn't control her addictions, and they soon consumed her. She had become such a mess she should have been dishonorably discharged from the Navy. When she pleaded to her superior officer to give her one last chance, she was surprised to actually be given it. But it came at a cost. Before the Conspirium offered her a chance for a new life, she was nothing but a chronically depressed, self-destructive addict. Now, she had everything she'd ever wanted, and she owed the Conspirium her everything. Her life, her rank, even her soul. And they gave her no choice but to do this horrible deed.

It had been one thing when they brought her ex before her, blindfolded and bound, and put the gun in her hand so she could have her revenge. That was one person, and he deserved it. But this? This targeted millions of innocent people. And not enemies of the state―these would be American lives. The worst part of it was, it wouldn't even be the blast or the radiation that would kill them.

Her instructions, including the time she was to launch the missile, had been very precise. And that moment was almost here.

She steeled herself against the guilt welling up inside. For the Conspirium.

Washington, D.C.

PJ's arms and legs pumped fluidly, propelling him to the spot he'd seen Suzy at. He rounded the corner at top speed and kept going. His instincts were screaming at him, telling him to run as fast as he could, but he realized he didn't know where to go. This street was narrower than the one they had crashed onto, only one lane wide in both directions. It appeared to be lifeless, no movement caught his eye. He slowed to a stop to look for possible escape routes.

Tui and Willy rounded the corner behind him. "What the heck is going on?" Willy said.

Without turning to face them, PJ held up a fist, asking for silence, while exerting all his senses to penetrate his surroundings. He could hear the wind murmuring, he could smell a hint of perfume. "I just saw Suzy Johnson," he whispered. "Split up and search for her. Check those two buildings." He pointed across the street, and although he knew he must look crazy, the men obeyed without hesitation. PJ then carefully approached a small alleyway ahead. He reached for his holster, and upon feeling nothing, remembered that he had lost his weapon to the magnet grenade. After the briefest pause, he entered the alley.

There was nothing but trash strewn about and a fire escape scaling the wall to his right. He moved deeper into the gap, checking that nobody could be hiding up the fire escape. Upon passing an overflowing dumpster, he saw that there was a door behind it that he hadn't noticed before. Listening to his instincts, he tried the handle, and found it unlocked. He swung the door wide and went in.

The first thing he noticed was that the lights were out. His eyes slowly adjusted and he started to make out the blocky shapes in the dark. Workbenches, conveyor belts, grinders, huge meat processors. The sanitized scent of ammonia. He guessed he was in some sort of kitchen, probably the back end of a restaurant on the block. There was some natural light coming from somewhere. PJ used that to locate a window and saw it led to the dining area. He tiptoed past some grills and cookers that looked a lot more menacing in the dark, especially since they were all so much taller than him.

SCREEE!

The sound of metal scraping on metal set PJ's fur on end. As he looked in the direction of the noise, one of the countertops obscured his view. He climbed up on top for a better look.

From the shadows, his eyes detected motion, and he reacted before he even realized Suzy had hurled something at him. Just in the nick of time, he dove aside, and a butcher's knife spliced through the air, like it was in slow motion, where he had just been. It clanged into some pots stacked away in the corner.

"Tag! You're it!" Suzy giggled playfully, before taking flight towards the dining area. PJ tore after her.

She gracefully hurdled over a table and some chairs on her way to the exit. PJ jumped up on the counter next to the cash register in time to see her skedaddle past outside the windows, out in the golden sunlight. He launched himself off the counter and lunged from table to table, taking the shortest route possible across the room by using them like stepping stones. Springing for the windows, he crashed through one of the wider panes to land in a crouch on the pavement outside.

He looked up. Suzy was making her break for it just ahead. He exploded like a sprinter off the starting blocks in pursuit. She turned a corner into another alley, and PJ made a beeline for it.

Upon reaching the gap, he found that the alley was blocked by a chain-link fence. He had no trouble climbing it and leaping to the other side, though it cost him precious seconds. Suzy was already out of sight. Sprinting to the far end of the alley, he stopped and looked both ways. There was a flash of golden hair to his right, and his legs churned forward. By the time he got clear of the gap and was back on another road, his lungs were burning. Suzy was running up the sidewalk just ahead. He was almost to her.

Willing himself onward despite the burning in his chest and legs, he was gaining ground on her, fast. Closer, closer, he was almost on her tail. He dove to trip her by the ankles―and phased right through her body as if she had been a ghost.

PJ face-planted into the pavement. Groaning, he slowly pushed himself back up, his chest heaving in desperate need for oxygen.

"Hahaha!" Suzy's voice twittered in a high-pitched laugh. He looked back at her visage. Now, as he looked at her properly, her appearance would slightly glitch out every once in a while.

"A hologram!" he grunted in realization. Suzy waved by wiggling her fingers at him while her body began to fade away into oblivion. "Where are you?" he shouted at the spot where her visage had been standing.

He rose to his feet, still panting heavily, but quickly catching his breath. To be operating a hologram decoy, she had to be close. PJ cast his eyes across the way. Then, he remembered: Suzy had thrown a knife at him earlier. Holograms can't do that! The real McCoy was back at the restaurant!

If there was any chance she was still there, he had to take it. He ignored his burning muscles and ran as fast as he could back the way he had come. He located the gap he had emerged from a minute ago and sped through it, not paying any attention to his surroundings. He was rounding a brick corner to go back down the alley he had taken, when something lifted him off his feet and slammed him against the wall.

"Oof!" He hacked a little at the strain the impact had on his ribcage.

"PJ, stop! It's me!"

PJ was pinned by strong arms. He raised his eyes to see who was holding him down so tightly, and when he saw who it was, he thought for a moment that lack of oxygen was causing him to see things.

He panted for a moment, catching his breath. "Oh. Hi, me."

The one holding him pinned against the wall was none other than his mirror image: PJ the Platypus.

PJ started struggling. "Look, I don't have time for this, future me," he said. "Suzy could still be close by!"

"Forget Suzy!" his time clone barked in return, slamming him against the wall again. "It's a trap! Listen to me, if you chase after Suzy now, everyone is going to die!"

PJ stopped fighting. "Confirmation code?" By this, he meant the contingency password only he knew. Time travel is serious business. As part of his training, PJ was taught that if one of his time clones from the future came to him with critical intel, the only way he could know it was really himself from the future would be by using a confirmation code only his future self could possibly know. In other words, a password he had created and never told anyone.

Future PJ leaned in close and reverently whispered the password. "Perry."

He released PJ from his grip. PJ was still breathing a little heavier than normal, but was almost fully composed now. Looking at his doppleganger, he asked, "What else are you here to tell me?"

The platypus from the future looked him over. "I really wish I could stop you from making the biggest mistake of our life, but I know you―we―have to be allowed to make that choice for ourselves." He stepped back a pace. "Let's see, what did I tell myself when I was in your shoes? It's been so long, I can hardly remember."

Irritated, PJ pushed past his future self. "Look, Suzy is just over there! I'm so close to getting her and stopping everything the Conspirium is trying to achieve! And you're saying that that's a mistake?"

"She had this all planned out from the beginning," Future PJ responded. "She knows exactly what she's doing. The best thing you can do right now is ignore her. You're the only one who can stop the nukes from going off, and she knows it, that's why she's stalling you with these little diversions."

"Nukes?" PJ's face twisted in fear.

"Oh, yeah, nukes. Probably should have led with that."

"How did the Conspirium get access to nuclear weapons?"

"I don't know, but they have a hidden bunker deep in the Appalachian mountains. It has a command center. Get there soon enough, and there's a chance you'll be able to stop the nukes from detonating."

PJ turned back to look across the street. If his time clone was right, things were already far worse than even he could have imagined. But still, he was sure that if he could just apprehend Suzy, he could stop everything right here, right now.

"PJ," his Future Self said, "I know what you're thinking. If you go down that road, all you'll see is suffering."

Looking back, he saw that his other self wasn't lying. PJ saw deep sadness brimming in those all-too-familiar eyes. What should he do?

Before he could decide, a roaring noise belched from the sky. PJ looked up to see a squad car with his team piled in, descending to the street in front of him. He glanced back, and saw that his Future Self was gone.

PJ climbed the chain-link fence to go and greet his team. As soon as the car settled on the ground, Eliot was already filing out, followed by Ramirez, and Coombs and Lee, and Olsen and Waters. Even Tui and Willy were with them, too. They must have picked them up first.

"Hey boss," Eliot greeted.

"Everyone ready to go?" PJ asked.

"Yes sir!"

"Okay. Tui and Willy, did you explain the situation to the others?"

"We told them you saw Suzy Johnson near here," Tui said.

"I believe I have cornered her inside that restaurant." PJ pointed. "If she's still in there, now's our chance!"

Lee held up an electronic device and pointed it at the restaurant, watching the readout. "The scanner says there is someone still in there," he announced.

"It's Suzy!" PJ exclaimed. "We have her outnumbered and outgunned. We're taking this shot right now! Team, this is the moment we have been preparing for!" He broke into a jog in the direction of the building, leading the way. Obediently, his teammates followed.

PJ stopped as he reached the main entrance. He took cover against the wall next to the door before turning to face his team. "Remember, Suzy is a master of hypnotism. If you try and reason with her, if you let her speak at all, she will start finding ways to manipulate you."

Everyone nodded in understanding.

"Good. We're ready. Everyone, move in!"

On cue, the eight humans on PJ's elite strike team charged through the front door. PJ waited for them all to clear the threshold before entering the building himself.

An explosion engulfed the building in an all-consuming ball of fire. PJ's eardrums burst from a shockwave that flung his body out the building and across the street. Laying dazed on the far sidewalk, he felt himself rapidly blacking out, and from then on knew nothing else.