My Ship trilogy

by deb-h

Amy says: "A cruel twist in fate begins this epic tale-in-progress chronicling the end of my innocence." Most recently posted is the nineteenth part, in which there are quite a lot of confrontations. The title "My Ship" now refers to parts 1-6, and "Down for the Count" to parts 7-19. M for strong language and some sexual content.

11. Down for the Count part 5: Recognise

Down for the Count, fifth part: Recognise

by Deb H

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Thursday 09 August 3004

I woke up in a small room. A hot, small room.

The springs made a metallic creak as I got my naked body up off the bed.

The yellowish orange light of street lights slipped through the blinds and projected stripes across the wall over the bed. That wall had a couple of cracks in it.

I scanned my surroundings, trying to figure out where the hell I was. There were two doors on one side of the room, the wall to the right side of the window. One door was the bathroom, and one was a nearly bare closet: a coat, a couple of hats, and a pair of shoes, nothing more. A dresser stood along the wall between the doors.

Tucked into the opposite wall were a kitchen sink, stove, and refrigerator. They were all in the antique, maybe even ancient, style. The refrigerator, for instance, had a big silver handle that I had to pull down. When I did, I found a half empty bottle of wine and another glass bottle that looked like milk.

The other remaining feature in the room was the desk, which stood against the wall, below the window. It had an envelope sitting on top.

READ IMMEDIATELY, it was marked. When I opened it, I found a memo addressed to someone named Alexandra Malden.

Great work, I thought. Just opened somebody else's mail.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose. So on top of figuring out where the hell I was and what the hell I was doing there, I also had to figure out how to reseal the envelope.

Then something hit me.

Since when does my nose have a bridge?

I pulled my hand away from my face and studied it. There was deep red polish on each nail.

I don't always use nail polish. But when I do, I can never get it to look that perfect.

Gingerly, I stepped into the bathroom. And when I found the mirror on the back of the door, I gasped.

Not because I had two eyes. I'd figured that out already.

Not because I had auburn red hair cut to just above my shoulders. Although that was a surprise too.

No, it was the reddish brown spots that shocked me.

Everything else about my body was the same as I remembered. The broad shoulders and muscular calves looked just like normal. The moles on my stomach and hips were present and accounted for. I traced the curve from my hips to my waist, thinking of all the times Jazenny had done the same thing. Other than my breasts and my pussy, I think this was the part of my body that she liked the best.

But as I traced up, my fingers crossed a number of discoloured spots, all perfectly circular, all about the size of a golf ball. There were four on my left side, another two on my right.

The bottom two on my left felt sore and sensitive. The other spots were harder. They felt more like calluses, or maybe scabs.

What the fuck had they done to my body?

And who did it? And why?

And where was I? And when was I?

I needed to find out.

As I left the bathroom, I saw a purse on the desk. I started to open it, but then I thought about it. If this really was Alexandra Malden's room and she was to walk in, would she really want to find a naked girl going through her stuff?

Well, maybe.

Just in case, I found some clothes in the dresser and put them on.

They all fit perfectly.

And when I opened the purse and looked in the wallet, I found what I had begun to suspect.

It was a driver's license with the name Alexandra Malden, along with my face.

My new face, that is.

The birth date said JAN 25 1957. It had the seal of the State of New York in the corner.

So there was one answer. No, Alexandra Malden would not want to walk into her room and find a naked girl going through her stuff. Well, unless it was Jazenny.

I looked at the desk again.

There was one more thing: a newspaper. The New York Times. The date said Friday, January 24, 1987.

"It's my birthday tomorrow!" I said.

I realised it was the first thing I'd said out loud since I appeared here.

I decided maybe I should keep the talking to myself to a minimum.

So, instead of continuing the conversation with myself, I emptied my purse.

The first thing that clattered onto the desk was a gun. And no slouch of a gun. It was a Colt Detective Special, the snubnosed double action/single action revolver issued to police detectives in this era.

Then that must mean...

As if to say correct for ten points, the NYPD shield and identification card, marking me as a Detective Third Grade, also landed on the desk, along with a set of keys, a pack of cigarettes, and a lighter. A watch, with the little hand pointing to the nine, appeared too. Finally, there was a compact and a tube of lipstick.

I slid the watch onto my wrist and replaced everything in the purse except for the gun. Then I picked up the envelope again and read the memo. It was my assignment: Alastair Fisher, the owner of a speakeasy, had gone missing a couple of days ago. The body, pumped so full of lead you could have picked him up with a magnet, had just been dredged out of the East River today. His wife, a lounge singer named Rosalyn, was to be leaving town on a train tonight.

My sergeant believed that she was the murderess, and so he was sending me to the club where she would be giving her last performance tonight before skipping town. I was to find out what I could about her. If I could find enough evidence, I was to apprehend her, or at least contact my sergeant. He would be staking out the train station and would be ready to stop her if necessary.

But at the same time, I was not to let anyone know that I was a cop. It seemed that the Golden Finch Room had some sort of "special arrangement" with the department, one that my sergeant was keen that I not disrupt.

I paused for a moment and thought it all over.

Something didn't add up.

For one thing, they expected me to believe that I was a smoker.

Eww. Just, eww.

But there was more. Something else was wrong, and I couldn't put my finger on it.

I looked at the newspaper again. Something had been written onto the page, right next to the article about how the Mets were hoping for many more World Series titles to go with the one from last fall.

The note said, Meet Roz at club at 10.

No problem. I could look through the newspaper for a while, maybe call my sergeant in case he was still in the office. Try to find some more clues. Then at 21:50, I could take the tube and get there with plenty of...

Wait.

This was 1987.

I was going to have to take the subway.

Damn Stupid Ages, I thought.

How long would it take to get over there, anyway? The club was in Midtown, and I lived in... um...

I had to fish out my driver's license again. The address was in the Bronx. I didn't know how long it would take to get there on the subway, but I decided to get going. If nothing else, I could get there early and talk to some of the other employees.

I stuffed the newspaper in the purse, and then went to the closet to retrieve the trenchcoat. There were a couple of fedoras in there too, so I grabbed one of those. There was only one pair of shoes, a traditional set of patent leather pumps with medium height stiletto heels.

I took about ten minutes looking for any other pair. They were nice shoes, but there was one problem with them: they were high heels.

I fucking hate high heels.

Finally, I sighed and put them on, vowing to launch them into a supernova if I survived the night and made it back to my own time.

I opened up the desk drawers until I found what I was looking for: a box of .38 Specials. I took out five cartridges and loaded the gun, leaving the empty chamber in the firing position. I slipped the weapon into a coat pocket, along with a few extra rounds.

Just before I left, I stopped in the bathroom and looked at my reflection in the mirror.

The brown silk dress, with a belt, hugged my figure. My hair was short, but I still had fairly long bangs, brushed to one side so that they covered my right eye. My lipstick was a dark red, almost as dark as my nail polish. It really stood out against my pale skin. The trenchcoat and hat were both a light brown.

I drew the trenchcoat around me, but then I had to laugh. I said to myself, "Looking like Carmen Sandiego there, Alexandra..."

Then I had to check my purse again to remind myself of my last name.

Alexandra Malden.

You're not Leela. Leela won't be born for a thousand years.

Hey, how are you, Leela? Who the fuck's Leela? I'm Detective Alexandra Malden, NNYPD – I mean, ONYPD – I mean, NYPD.

I leaned forward to open the bathroom door – manually, on a hinge – and was rewarded with a whang on the side of my head.

"Owwww!" I cried. "Dammit!"

Well, apparently having two eyes wasn't helping my depth perception.

I sucked it up, grabbed my purse, and left.

I stopped in the hallway to lock my door, and just before I turned away, I saw the apartment number.

2I.

With a frustrated groan, I held up my hand and flipped off the door.

Once I got to the subway station, it was about a ten minute wait for the next train. I stood below a lightpost – this was an above ground station – and looked through the newspaper.

There was one item about Fisher's disappearance, somewhere in the middle of the front section. It reported only that he had not been seen since Tuesday morning, and that police had begun a search.

Naturally, it made no mention as to what exactly the Golden Finch Room was. It was merely described as "an eveningtime entertainment venue near Sutton Place".

Once the train arrived, I held on to an overhead rail and cast an eye around.

The train was mostly empty this time of night. There was a group of women who all wore floral print dresses and black stockings. I saw three couples. It was suits and ties for all three men, while each woman was wearing something different. The oldest woman wore an elegant black evening gown with a shawl around her neck. The one who was about forty wore some rather fine business attire: a black blazer and skirt, a white blouse with an embroidered collar.

The youngest woman, in her early twenties, was the most adventurously dressed. She had a white shirt with a black necktie, and her bespectacled face was set off by the light brown curls peeking out from under her derby hat. A pair of suspenders, distorted by the convex curve of her heavily pregnant belly, completed the effect.

Trying not to stare, I watched her take the hand of the man sitting next to her and place it on her belly.

After a moment, she whispered something in his ear and giggled. Then he leaned across and kissed her.

As I stood there, swaying back and forth as the train accelerated and decelerated, I started to see this environment, this city of Old New York, as more than just a setting for this half baked detective story.

What if I was stuck here? What if there was no way back to my time? What if I had to live like this from now on?

Or... what if this was my real life? What if Turanga Leela, the 31st century mutant spaceship captain and sometime environmental activist for at risk planets, was a fiction? A character created by my overactive imagination while I napped in my stuffy Parkchester apartment, fuelled by... whatever the hell my vices were as Alexandra. Cigarette smoke, presumably.

Well, if Fry could live in this time, so could I.

"That's it!" I shouted.

The other passengers turned and stared at me.

What did I tell myself about talking to myself?

Just then, the train stopped at 59th Street. With no small portion of relief, I slipped out the door and climbed the stairs to ground level.

On my way to the club, I settled down and thought it over.

This was 1987. Fry would be alive now. He and his family would be living in Brooklyn. Maybe he could help me.

Well, no. He'd be twelve now. What would he be able to help me with?

If this entire case came down to which Ninja Turtle used the nunchuks, I'd be all set. Otherwise, I was on my own.

I crossed Second Avenue, and there it was: the Golden Finch Room. It didn't have a sign out or anything, but its location, in the shadow of the Queensboro Bridge, was unmistakeable.

There was a large man, no doubt a bouncer, standing in front of the door.

Well, how about the direct approach?

I raised the front of my hat a few millimetres and said, "Good evening."

With a pleasant smile, he said, "Evening, ma'am."

"I'm... um... I'm here to see Mrs Fisher."

"I know," he replied, pulling the door open.

I looked up in surprise. "Sorry?"

"Better hurry, Miss Malden. I know you hate to miss the start of her set."

"Oh," I said. "Yes, of course."

I tipped my hat again and went in. Immediately through the doorway, there was a narrow staircase heading downwards to a landing. Here there were two doors marked GENTS and LADIES, and another set of stairs down. And at the bottom, there it was.

I could see a stage at the opposite end of the room, with plenty of circular tables – all occupied – between it and me. There were no seats to be had at the bar along one side wall, nor was there room to stand along any of the walls.

I made my way to one end of the bar and waited.

Everyone was dressed well. The men were all wearing either suits or tuxedoes, and the women all had fine dresses.

People were talking to one another, but it didn't seem like they were serious about it. The mood in the room was anticipatory, as though people were talking just to force the time by until the singer's appearance.

"Whats can I get ya?"

I turned back to the bar, where the bartender had stopped shouting at a patron about the relative merits of the Giants as compared with the Jets and had decided to grace this end with his presence.

"The usuals?" he aksed me.

"Just a whiskey," I said.

"That is your usual, ma'ams."

"Shut up and pour."

He shrugged and fetched the glass.

"We haves a good banters, you and I," he said as he uncapped the bottle. "Shames we won't gets to see you no mores."

I answered, "Yeah, that's too bad. Why?"

"I tolds you. I enjoy exchangings witty remarkses with a shield suchs as yourself."

I looked up at him with a start.

"Oh, chillses," he said as he placed the glass down. "We all knows. We just don'ts care."

"Oh," I said.

I reached for my purse, but he waved me off and said, "It's ons me tonight."

"Um... thanks. Appreciate it."

"Not at alls. Besides, you knows how things ares. You and your copper friends try anys funny businesseses withs us, things is goings to escalate very quicklys. Someones's liable to act all hastys-like, maybe someone says somethings they doesn't mean about someones else's integritys, maybe that persons responds with an unjustifieds conjecture as to the identity of the first person's fathers, things come to blowses, only just as the mood appearses to settle, someone else enters the frays with a more capables weapon, yet another individuals pulls a weapons on said weapon bearings person, there's a tense Mexican standoffs, and everyone's just realisings that they've all gone toos far, and just as they'res all about to lowers their weaponses, a door slams, and immediately everyone's triggers fingers gets a littles itchys, and befores you know it, there's bodies stackeds this high, and you and Is are left to clean up the bloods and watch the whole thing in freeze frameses to try and figure out who shotses Nice Guy Eddie."

He paused for a moment, and then he added, "You know whats? That was wrongses of me. I didn't mean to spell it all outses for you likes that. I apologise for treating you as thoughs you just fells out of the sky into this time and place and have no idea whos you are or what is going onses."

"Oh. Yeah, it's fine, I guess. But... anyway... I meant, why won't you get to see me any more? Who says I'm not gonna come back?"

"You're leaving tonights, ain'ts you?"

"Am I?"

"Well, ifs you ain't sures, I recommends you straighten thingses out with hers," the bartender said with a nod toward the stage.

I looked down at my whiskey.

"So... I'm supposed to be going with her."

"I believes that is her generals expectation."

I downed the whiskey and said, "All right. Well, let me aks you something. Think she did it?"

"Did whats?"

"The boss. The head honcho. The big cheese. Mr Fisher. Did she off him?"

He froze.

Then he leaned in close to me, his face serious as all hell.

"He's deads?"

"Yeah."

"I... I don't believes its."

I nodded. "Fished the corpse out this morning."

"I just saws him the others day. So fulls of life. So jovialses. Just likes always."

"You liked him," I said.

"You bets. Everyones did."

"No enemies?"

"Nones."

"Never pissed anyone off?"

"Not that I evers heard of."

"Not even his wife?"

He looked at the stage again.

"Listens," he whispered. "That broadses's a lots of things. You know that betters than anybody. But there's ones thing she ain't, and that's a killer. You know thats better than anybodys, too."

I stared at the empty glass and tried to sort out what I'd heard.

He didn't know of anybody who could have killed Alastair. There was one woman who had the opportunity, but what about the means and the motive? How would she have done it? Did she have a six shooter or a Chicago organ grinder at her disposal?

And why? What would she get out of it? Was she set to inherit his riches? If so, how did she know? And why was she leaving town so soon?

Over my head, there was a heavy click, and the spotlight came on. A woman stepped out on stage.

As the pianist began to play, she stepped up to the microphone, and I edged forward through the crowd for a closer look.

The sight I had seen in the mirror earlier tonight was the human me.

This was the human Jazenny.

She had light skin, with a little bit of a tan. Long blonde curls cascaded down her shoulders, almost to her waist. They bounced entrancingly back and forth whenever she turned her head.

A long sequined dress in a pale violet, with a plunging neckline and a slit down the leg, wrapped around her body. She wore a pair of opera gloves in a matching colour on her arms – just the two.

I was barely listening to the song, so dazzled was I by her look.

Even so, I noticed a couple of odd things.

For one, she was short.

No, not short. I'm short. She was tiny.

Oh, and when I say I'm short, I mean me. You know, Amy. The girl who's writing this.

Well, I guess I'm not actually writing. I'm just dictating into my wrist. But just indulge me on this and call it writing, okay?

I know I've been writing these dream sequences like I'm Leela.

But that's what they felt like.

It wasn't like I was just in her body or something. I was Leela. Like, I knew what she knew, felt how she felt, got bossy the way she got bossy.

So whenever I write like I'm her, it's a dream. And whenever I write like I'm me, it's real life.

And whenever I write like I'm Alexandra Malden, it's a dream about being in a simulation.

Unless this is the dream. If that's true, whenever I write like I'm her, it's real life. Whenever I write like I'm me, it's a dream. And whenever I write like I'm Alexandra, it's being in a sim in real life.

Of course, if this is the dream, I'm not actually writing this.

Simple, right?

Well, imagine living it.

Anyway, in the sim in the dream, Rosalyn was short. I'm, like, a metre sixty seven.

Where me equals Amy.

But in the dreams, when I was Leela, I would always be looking up at Jazenny. I figure she would have been a shade under two metres.

As I got closer to the stage, I could see that she was really short. A metre fifty, or a metre fifty five tops.

Oh, and from here on out, me equals Leela.

I mean... Alexandra.

I mean... fuck it. You'll figure it out.

Anyway, the raised stage made it a little tough to judge, but it was still clear that she was a short woman.

The effect was disorienting. I mean, her face clearly belonged to Jazenny. It was the same piercing blue eyes, the same smooth lips, the same graceful ears. She even had a nose that turned up a little, like a human version of her snout.

But I was clearly going to have to get used to looking down at her.

I stood there for a while and listened to a few of her songs. With each one, a strange feeling grew within me.

This isn't how the real Jazenny would sing, I thought.

What made me think that?

What was so different about the way Rosalyn was singing?

How the hell did I know how she would sing?

I shook my head and backed up a step.

"Ooh! I'm sorry!" I heard behind me.

I turned around and saw a waitress, a young black woman almost my height and with a hairstyle much like mine.

"Oh, hey there!" she said, giving me a little wave.

"Um... hi."

"Sorry 'bout that," she went on. "Little crowded in here tonight."

"Yeah," I said. "Her last show."

"Yeah, exactly. Everyone come out of the woodwork to see her before she's gone. And you're going too, right?"

"Yeah. I... I guess."

"Well, you lucky. You gonna get to hear that voice all the time."

"Yeah, about that," I said suddenly. "Does she sound a little weird to you tonight?"

"Weird? Weird how?"

"Don't know. Like... like she's rushing it or something. Or... running her words together. You know? Like she's being lazy about it. It sounds like..."

"Half assery?" the waitress suggested.

"Yes! Half assery! That is the height of half assery! In fact, that's twice as half assed as anything I've ever seen Fry do!"

"So... fully assed?"

"What? No. Quarter assed."

"But... two halves make a whole."

"But half of a half is a quarter."

"But... a half spent is a half earned."

"But every ass has its half."

"But... the ass that halves together shits together."

"But if your ass lives in half of a glass house, you shouldn't shit stones."

She lowered her arms, letting her tray dangle from her hand.

A grin formed slowly, and she finally said, "Well played, Detective."

I whispered, "What makes you think I'm a detective?"

She rolled her eyes and sighed. "G'uh! You had your big promotion party here last week!"

"Oh."

"Didja forget already? Or did Roz there get you that plastered?"

"Musta been plastered," I said with a nod.

"Anyway, yeah, we all know. Just be careful. Because, you know, if anything happens, things could turn to shit real fast. Like if somebody misinterprets a gesture, or –"

"Yeah, I know," I said. "Bartender was just saying that to me."

"Oh. Sorry, I guess I wasn't being fair to you. I was treating you like someone who just walked in off the street with no idea what kinda shit's going on."

"He was just saying that to me too."

"He was? Shit."

I took her arm and led her to the back of the room. "Listen," I said in as low a voice I could manage and still have her hear me, "what do you think about what happened to her husband? Do you think she did it?"

"What, kidnap him? No, not at all. She's not like that."

"He was found dead this morning."

She reacted much as the bartender did: shock and denial. She stared at me for a long moment with her mouth agape.

"That... that's impossible," she finally said, in a weak voice. "You're sure it was him?"

"We're the police. What kind of morons do you take us for? Wait, don't answer that."

She wasn't listening to me.

"Hey," I said.

I still wasn't registering with her.

"What's your name?" I aksed.

"What?" she said. She blunk a few times. "I'm Hope. You know that."

"Hope, listen to me," I said. "Concentrate. Think about it. Is there anybody you think could have killed him? Any enemies he made? Relationships gone sour? Anything?"

She shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.

"All right, Hope," I said, patting her shoulder. "Thanks. Let me know if you think of anything."

"Yeah, I will," she said. "Shouldn't you be getting backstage?"

"What for?"

"Wasn't she gonna meet you in her dressing room? I saw her when she was coming in earlier. She was holding an envelope with your name on it. And a jar of pills."

"Pills?" I aksed her. "What kind of pills?"

"I couldn't see. But I figured they were for you."

"Why? What makes you say that?"

"Well, because of your... you know." Hope leaned in close and whispered, "Your... condition."

"What's my condition?"

"Psh. Like I know. How many doctors you been to? Nurses? Surgeons? Healers? Witches? Mystics? Quacks? Frauds? Christian Scientists? Any of them ever figure out what the fuck was wrong with you?"

I stared back at her.

She went on, "So, yeah. When I saw her with these pills that I didn't know what they were for, I figured they were for you. You know. Maybe she went to a pharmacist or something, found something she thinks could help you."

I said, "So you think those pills she had were for me?"

"She does owe you," she answered. "I mean, you remember what she was like, Alex. If it wasn't for you, she wouldn't be here on that stage. She'd be..."

"She'd be what?"

Hope was silent for another moment.

Then she said, "I'm sorry. Been taking up way too much of your time. I mean, you two have to hurry to Penn Station, right?"

"I... I guess we do, yeah."

"Then get goin'," she said. She waved her arms at me, a shooing motion.

I nodded and turned away.

"And... Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Hey, if I don't see you before you leave," she said, "I just wanna say... you know... it's been a real pleasure. Gettin' to know you, I mean."

"Um... thanks."

"Did you... did you really mean what you said last week? I mean, I know I'm not getting that good grades this year, but, well, I've been working long hours here, and I should have more time to study next semester, and I'll be... anyway, did you mean it? Do you really think I could be a detective? Like you?"

What do you say to that?

I really had no option. I said, "Of course, kiddo. You'll be cracking more cases than the Beta Phi Taus during pledge week."

She stared at me, perplexed.

"Because they crack open a lot of cases of beer," I explained.

"But I don't drink beer," Hope protested.

"It doesn't matter," I sighed. "You're gonna be a great detective, is what I mean."

"Oh. Thanks, Alex."

I tipped my hat to her, and then I went searching for the way to the dressing rooms.

It didn't take long, in fact. Other than the stairs I descended on my way in, there was only one door in the room. The bouncer guarding it gave me a friendly nod as he stepped aside to let me through.

I thought about what I'd learned from the staff. They all knew me, and the bartender and waitress also knew that I was a detective.

Did everyone else know that too?

Well, they must. That's what Hope said. I'd had my promotion party here.

Was there more about me that they knew?

As I was pondering that thought, I reached the end of the hallway. It formed a T intersection with another hallway. I went to the left, toward the stage, and immediately after I rounded another corner, there was a door with Rosalyn's name on it.

It was unlocked, and so I slipped inside. The room was just about empty. There was a vanity on one wall, a dresser on the opposite, and a closet opposite the door. There was nothing left in any of them.

I could hear the band through the walls. The room must have been awfully close to the stage.

I was about to leave, but as I turned away, I noticed something, just for a second.

Sitting on the corner of the vanity, tucked underneath the corner of the mirror, I saw a small glass jar, with some white circular tablets inside. An envelope was slipped under the base of the jar.

The envelope was marked, in long, graceful italic handwriting, Alex.

I reached for it, but just as I touched the edge, I heard the band stop, and then applause.

I held my breath for a few moments until, finally, the band started up again.

I exhaled and picked up the jar and envelope.

The jar had no labels anywhere. It was filled with about twenty of the tablets. I held the jar up to the light, but I couldn't discern any markings on the tablets.

I sighed and put down the jar. The envelope contained only a letter, in the same flowing handwriting.

My dearest Alexandra,

By the time you read this, I will be well on my way out of town. The train will have left by now, and you must never know to where.

I am so sorry that I must leave you in such an abrupt manner. I know I had aksed you to come with me. I had aksed you to help me start a new life somewhere else, somewhere far away from here.

However, I simply could not bear to put you in harm's way. Already my husband's business partners are plotting to eliminate me. I am sure they will stop at nothing to exact their revenge.

If they do, if they track me down and find my hideout, I must face them alone. If you were here with me, you would throw yourself in front of the bullet. That selfless, noble willingness – no, urge – to sacrifice yourself is exactly what I most admire in you.

It is also the reason that I must not let you follow me. Last night alone, I was woken several times by a vision of you doing just that, taking the bullet for me.

Alex, until I met you, I never knew the meaning of the phrase "a fate worse than death".

I know now. I don't fear death. I cannot outrun them forever. They will find me, and they will kill me. It may be tomorrow, or it may be twenty years. It will happen, and I am at peace with that.

But Alex, I could never let harm come to you. As it is, because of what I have done, they are watching you. They may hurt you. If they do, please know that I am sorry, so deeply sorry, for the position I have put you in. I hope you understand that this is my only option.

They will be spying on you. They will be aware of your every move. They will be content to let you lead them to me.

You cannot let that happen. You must never know my fate. Your only option is to stay there in New York. Stay in your city, Alex. Live well. Find love. Become the best detective that New York has ever seen.

I hope these pills will help you do that. Dr Rosenberg says they are "metformin". He believes they can help your condition. Please take them, and if they do help, then that means I have done something, however small, to repay you for what you have done for me.

I know that this is not how you wanted to spend your birthday, Alex. But this has to be goodbye. We can't ever see each other again. Please don't try to find me. Instead, just think of me every time you take one of the pills, just as I will think of you every time I read about the Occupy Wall Street movement.

I never thought I would be able to say that the best night of my life was the one I spent in jail. But it was. I'll always treasure that night, Alex. Always.

With eternal sorrow and gratitude,
Your loving Rosalyn

Below her signature was a bright red lipstick print.

It had a faint perfume scent.

I folded the letter, and then I searched the room again. Nothing new.

The letter was basically a confession. If her husband's "business partners" intended to kill her, it could only have been because she had killed him. The phrase was clearly a reference to the mob.

Regardless, the letter left me with more questions than answers.

I still couldn't be sure about the nature of my relationship with Rosalyn. I had already ruled out the possibility of anything serious between us. She was married, after all.

But what I had heard hinted that there was something there. And the letter seemed to back that up.

After all, I thought, being married doesn't stop some people.

Whatever it was, it clearly went beyond friendship. "Lovers" was still the leading candidate in my mind, but there were a number of other possibilities that I couldn't rule out.

Beyond friends.

Beyond friends with benefits.

Beyond friends with beyond benefits.

Business partners with benefits.

Singer and singing coach with benefits.

Detective and informant with benefits.

Or, maybe we were just sisters.

About then, I had to go to the bathroom. I backed out of her dressing room and found the ladies' room, just a couple of doors down.

After I finished and went back to her dressing room, my keen detective instincts were acting up again.

I pulled the letter out of my pocket and read through it a second time. Something was definitely wrong. Something big and important that I just wasn't getting.

I sat down to wait for her to finish her set.

All of a sudden my leg kicked up violently, jolting me awake. It almost made me fall out of the chair.

I sat up straight and checked my watch. Only thirty minutes to midnight? What the fuck? How long had I been out? I leaped to my feet. I left her room and dashed toward the stage, where the band was still playing.

When I got to the wings, I looked out.

She wasn't there. The band was on its own.

I turned back toward Rosalyn's dressing room, but behind me, I heard someone say, "Alex?"

I turned around, and Hope, the waitress, was there.

"What are you still doing here?" she aksed me. "Shouldn't you be at the station?"

I shook my head.

She said, "What? What's wrong?"

I shook my head again.

I guess I was still in a daze.

"What's going on?" she demanded. "The train leaves at midnight! You gotta get going! Hurry!"

She grabbed my hand and ran, dragging me behind her, toward the stairs in the back of the room.

All while holding the tray aloft in her other hand. None of the four glasses spilled.

We arrived at the foot of the stairs. She pushed me forward and said, "Come on, Alex. You've got enough time. Just hope you can find a taxi."

"Oh," I finally said.

I put a foot on the stairs, still looking down at Hope.

She kissed her hand, and then she reached that hand out and pushed my ass up the stairs.

"Go on," Hope replied with a wink. "She's waiting for you."

I nodded and hurried out.

Giving the bouncer a hat tip on my way out, I raced down the street.

Okay, I wasn't really racing. It was more of that straight legged shuffle that we women do when we're wearing heels.

By the way, I hate those goddamn things.

Have we talked about that already?

Well, I do. And this time, I vowed that if I made it back to my own time, I would slice the heels off these shoes and feed them to an owl. When it choked on them, I would feed it to Zoidberg. And when he choked on it, I would feed him to Lrrr. And when he choked on Zoidberg, I would feed Lrrr to a space bee. And when it choked on Lrrr, I would feed it to Nibbler.

The idea was that I would run to the intersection with Second Avenue and try to pick up a cab there.

But there was no traffic. None at all.

I was definitely not expecting that. No traffic? In New York City?

Well, it was Old New York. Maybe things were different in this time.

But in my time, there's always traffic in the city. Day or night, any day of the year.

I waited at the intersection for a few minutes.

My watch kept ticking toward midnight.

"Fuck it," I finally moaned. I kicked off my heels, jammed them into my purse, and dashed down the street.

Penn Station, Hope had said. Could I really get to Penn Station in twenty minutes? I was going to damn well try.

It wasn't easy. I hadn't run barefoot like that since gym class at the orphanarium. And the sidewalks were not the easiest surfaces. There were plenty of cracks, ridges, and uneven concrete slabs. I caught myself using my toes a couple of times, and then I had to force myself to use a normal stride, with my heels.

Why the fuck couldn't she be leaving from Grand Central? I thought. That's closer!

Once I passed Lexington Avenue, I saw more traffic. There were a few cars and trucks going down Lex. I stopped for a moment and watched for cabs but saw none. The same was true when I got to Park, and then Madison.

My heart was racing, and my lungs were getting tight as I reached Carnegie Hall. I made the left turn onto Seventh Avenue, still with about two kilometres to go.

I had covered barely a block and a half down Seventh when I suddenly realised something.

I was heading straight for Times Square.

Son of a bitch. That place was going to be crowded.

There were plenty of other routes I could have taken. Going down Sixth Avenue would have been the right call, and Madison or Lex would have worked too. Hell, even Fifth would have been better than going through Times Square.

"Hey!"

I looked around and saw a guy on a bicycle swerving around me as he turned onto 51st.

"Sorry!" I shouted over my shoulder, not stopping.

The lights of Times Square dominated my view now. Every sign seemed to carry either the word NUDE or the word XXX.

And yes, in Times Square, XXX was used as a word.

The sidewalks started to get crowded at about 47th Street. For the next few blocks I was pushing people out of the way, trying not to collide head on with tourists, school groups, and even a group of nuns.

It wasn't until I got through the thick of the crowd, about 40th, that I actually wondered to myself why one of the nuns was wearing a pair of sunglasses.

Finally, I got to 34th Street. And none too soon; I had less than three minutes according to my watch.

But just as I rounded the corner, I saw someone pushing a shopping cart in front of me.

Einstein was right. Time is relative: those last couple of seconds felt like hours as I bore down, helplessly, on the cart.

The guy pushing it caught my eye.

My eyes, I mean.

He turned toward me, eyes gradually widening.

I looked down in front of me.

Space for two steps.

I slowed, just a little, so that I could bring both feet down and turn that last step into a leap.

I didn't get a whole lot of height, but it was enough. I grabbed hold of the side of the cart and pushed.

Just like that, the shopping cart had become a gymnast's vault table.

I brought my arms in, my purse swinging from my shoulder, and started the twist.

This street was a little darker than Seventh Avenue, but I could still use the streetlights to get a fix on my orientation.

Thankfully, I pulled out of the rotation at the right time and landed the right way up.

I didn't quite stick the landing, though. I had to take a little step to the left. Still, I raised my arms in salute to the nonexistent judges, and my vault earned a smattering of applause from a group of people on the other side of the street.

Except for one of them, a short girl with brown hair and wearing a grey jacket. She simply stood there, rock steady, glaring at me with her arms folded and her face screwed up in a scowl.

She was not impressed.

Crossing the street, I haphazardly stumbled down the stairs to the concourse levels.

I didn't actually expect to see MIDNIGHT TRAIN GOING ANYWHERE on the departure board, but there it was. Track 5.

One more flight of stairs down to the platform. I ran along the length of the train, looking for anyone I could see in the windows.

But when the conductor called out, "All aboard!", I was out of options. I jumped onto the next car.

I sat in the nearest available seat to catch my breath.

That took a few minutes. I took off my hat and wiped the sweat off my face, a little frustrated that I didn't have any handkerchiefs or tissues in my purse.

I did still have my shoes in there, so I put them on. I also replaced my hat.

It was no small wonder that it hadn't flown off during my vault.

The train had left the station, and by then, we were out of the tunnels and above ground. And as one set of lights passed us by, at the other end of the car, I saw one other person.

I couldn't see a face, but I could see blonde curls cascading down past her shoulders.

I got to my feet, which were crying out in soreness exacerbated by high heel pain, and stepped as gingerly as possible toward the back of the car.

"Funny meeting you here, Rosalyn," I said.

"Don't know what you mean," she responded.

I sat down next to her and looked her up and down. She was still wearing the pale violet dress from the club, but the opera gloves were gone. I didn't see a suitcase under her seat.

She wasn't talking, so finally I said, "I got your letter."

"Mmkay."

"Don't you have anything to say to me?" I aksed her.

She leaned back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. "Not really," she said.

While I was running to the station, a lot of things were going through my mind. Mostly, though, I was thinking about what would happen when I found her. What I would say to her, and how she would react.

But I wasn't prepared for this reaction, the one of total indifference.

"You said you didn't want me to come with you," I finally prompted.

"Then don't," she said.

"What? But... but I did a handspring 1½ twist for you."

She shrugged.

I said, "You... you really don't want me to come?"

"Or do. I don't care. It doesn't affect me, Rosalyn."

My eyes got wide.

In a flash, I jumped to my feet, whipped out my revolver, and pressed the muzzle to her forehead.

"Bender," I whispered in what I thought was a downright heroic attempt to keep calm, "what the fuck are you doing here?"

"What?" the singer said. "Can't a guy steal from a virtual resort in peace any more?"

"Seriously?" I aksed. "You came all the way out here for a heist?"

"Psh! I didn't come anywhere! I'm back home! I logged in remotely!"

"Well, I am not going to let you get away with stealing something as big as this. You understand me?"

"What's the big deal? So what if I steal a few interface cards that have been used by famous celebrities like Calculon and... um... are there any other celebrities?"

"Wait," I said. "You're stealing interface cards by logging in remotely? How?"

"A master criminal never reveals his secrets."

It was really freaky to hear Bender's arrogant cadence in that smooth, silky, feminine voice.

"I wasn't aksing a master criminal," I replied. "I was aksing you."

She gasped, "How dare you! You know nothing of what you speak!"

"I know you blew your big jewelry heist in February because you couldn't fit all the models into your chest compartment."

"Hey, it's not my fault they built such fine mannequins! No way I was gonna leave them behind! They came equipped with forty different modelling modes by default, plus you can load your own! Imagine how much fun that woulda been!"

I said, "Yes, and I saw the video of what they did while you were trying to escape. It was hilarious."

"Wait, I deleted that video," Benderosalyn said. "There's only two people who saw it. And Lucy Liu's head is asleep in Scruffy's washbucket right now. So you must be..."

"In the flesh," I answered. "You enjoying that virtual human body?"

"Meh," she shrugged. "Seems a little fragile. But the singing circuits are pretty cool."

"Well, you want to find out how fragile it is? Like whether it can take a bullet in the head?"

"You can't scare me, Leela."

I pulled the gun back for a moment. Then I backed up and kicked her, right in the throat. My heel didn't puncture her neck, which I felt a little disappointed about.

Still, it made her squeal and hold her hands to her neck. Her face twisted in pain, and it was a moment or two before she was able to breathe again.

"So come on," I said. "Why are you here, and how are you stealing those cards?"

"All right, I'll tell you!" she whined. "Just promise never to wear heels around me again!"

"Maybe."

"All right. I'm logged in to distract the resort's computer. As long as I'm here, it won't know that I'm routing the dumpster to a rocket car that I've got standing by."

I aksed, "So if the connection broke, you'd lose the shipment?"

"Right. Just another few minutes."

"Assuming I don't stop you, of course."

"Fine. I'll give you a cut of the profits."

I replied, "I don't care about that. That's not the theft I'm mad about."

I bent down and jammed the gun against her head, pinning it against the seat back.

"This body was supposed to be for my girlfriend," I hissed. "And I'm taking you out of it, one way or another."

"Wait," Benderosalyn said. "Girlfriend?"

"Oh lord."

"You've got a girlfriend?!" She attempted an evil laugh, but suddenly had a coughing fit.

"Fry already knows," I said with a weary sigh. "You've got nothing to blackmail me with."

"Oh. Well, did you at least get me a picture of his reaction?"

"Something amiss, Malden?"

I looked up. There, at the other end of the car, was a man in a police uniform, with sergeant's stripes on his sleeve, entering from the next car. He was a bit overweight, and he was breathing heavily. The receding hairline didn't help his appearance either.

"Sir," I said, not taking my eyes off Benderosalyn, "we've got to stop her."

"Do you have some evidence against her?" my sergeant aksed.

"Yes, sir, and we've got to hurry."

"Tell the conductor to stop the train, and we'll lock her up."

I said, "That's not enough."

"What?"

Keeping the gun pressed into her forehead, I said, "Sir, she's not what she seems. We have to stop her right away."

"Then get back and let me arrest her."

"We can't do that, sir."

"Malden, get out of my way."

"I'm sorry, sir. I have to. She's not what you think she is."

I heard a click.

Sure enough, when I looked up, my sergeant was pointing his gun at me.

"Wait," Benderosalyn said. "Before you arrest me, can I tell you something?"

"Of course," my sergeant answered.

"Not you," she said. She pointed to me and added, "Just you. Come here."

I relented and lowered my Colt. I leaned in to her and turned my head.

She whispered into my ear, "Just between you and me, I'm happy for you."

"Really?" I whispered back. "You are?"

"Yeah. I mean, Fry's always been way too self assured. Wish I coulda seen it when you told him."

"What?"

"You completely destroyed him, didn't you? Now he'll finally shut up about how great you are, and how much he's in love with you, and how if you ever fall in love with someone else, he'll totally lose the will to live. I couldn't have done it better myself."

In a fraction of a heartbeat, I raised my gun and fired a single shot, right between the eyes.

I knew I had only fired once, but I heard a second shot.

When I looked down and opened up my trenchcoat, I saw blood seeping through my dress.

"I'm sorry about that," my sergeant said. "But you have no idea what you just did."

There was a wisp of smoke extending upward from the barrel of his gun.

Things were getting blurry now. I dropped my gun and staggered back a step or two.

He went on, "You were right. She's not what she seems. She's like no one I've ever met. She's... she's everything to me. An exotic princess. My exotic, cyclopic princess."

I stammered, "J...Jaze? Is that you?"

He dropped his gun.

His jaw fell open.

"Eel?!" he whispered.

I took a couple of steps forward, but that didn't help my balance. I fell forward, into the arms of my Jazergeant.

"Oh fuck," he whispered. "Oh fuck. Oh fuck. I... I thought she was you. I thought..."

"That's okay," I coughed. "I thought you were her."

"I shot you. I... I shot you."

"It's all right. It's just a simulation."

My Jazergeant looked away, with tears in his eyes.

"Right?" I aksed. "You didn't just shoot me in real life, did you?"

"No," he smiled. "You're right. I didn't."

"Then don't worry."

He held me tight. I tried to do the same, but my arms weren't working.

Then everything stopped.

The words END OF UNREALITY – STAND BY FOR RETURN TO REALITY appeared in red text in front of my face.

They went blurry and faded out, along with everything else.

Then I heard a hissing sound, and some sort of dark panel moved away from my face.

I looked down at my body, now back to normal. Those strange markings were gone from my sides. And the hair that dangled in front of my eye was the right shade of purple.

Although I was completely naked.

I staggered forward, leaving the tubes and cables behind me.

Once I had my feet on the floor, I turned around and tried to get a look at the device I had been lying in. It was sort of like a hospital bed, but the whole thing was inclined steeply, past forty five degrees. And instead of the rectangular shape of a hospital bed, it was more of a custom fit to the human body, with arms and legs marked out.

Then I saw another one next to the wall, just past mine. This one was at a lower angle.

And it had Jazenny in it.

There were cables attached all around the crown of her head. Tubes led to her mouth and nose from a panel that hung in front of her face, and there was another set of tubes coming from her ass and her pussy.

Her eyes were closed, and she wasn't responsive.

I ran my hands around the perimeter of her bed, noticing as I did so that it had only two arms. Each one had two of Jazenny's arms strapped into it.

Finally, on the other side of her head, I found some buttons. They had strange symbols that I couldn't understand, except for one that was an isosceles triangle with an upward pointing vertex atop a horizontal line: the eject symbol. I pressed that one.

Immediately, it went to work. The bed tilted upward slowly, and a display next to the button lit up, counting down from thirty seconds.

I watched the straps disengage, the tubes fall away, the panel retract, the cables disconnect.

Finally, Jazenny's eyes fluttered open.

"Hey," I said.

"Hey."

"You okay?"

"Yeah. You?"

"Yeah."

I took some of her hands and helped her out. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a bed – a normal, mattress-sheets-pillows kind of bed – and so we went over there and sat down on it. We kept the stumbling to a minimum on the way.

"I'm sorry, Eel," Jazenny finally said, tears starting to form.

"What for?" I aksed her.

Without lifting her head, she looked up at me.

She had given me that look a few times before. The first time had been the night we first met.

On one of the other occasions, after she gave me the look, I mentioned it to her. She called it her You're the blondest purplehead I've ever met look, something that usually got both of us giggling.

But she wasn't laughing this time.

"I shot you," she whispered.

"It's okay," I said.

"I... I shot you, Eel."

I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed her. Then I put my hands on her shoulders and turned her toward me.

"You shot Alexandra," I told her. "Not me. And... and actually, you didn't shoot. The sergeant took the shot."

"But I was the sergeant. And you were Alexandra. Only... I thought you were Rosalyn. Because, like, I was supposed to be Rosalyn. So I was trying to get to the station the whole time, because, like, if I wasn't Rosalyn, then I figured you had to be Rosalyn. But other things kept coming up, and there were papers I had to sign, and interrogations that I had to witness, and all kinds of crazy shit. And so when I finally got there, I got onto the train just in time, and then I was running up and down the length of the train until I found you guys, and then I saw Alexandra pointing the gun at you, and so I pointed my gun at Alexandra, and then Alexandra shot you, and so I shot Alexandra, only then you turned out to be Alexandra... and... and..."

"Shhh," I said. I hugged her tight, letting her cry into my shoulder. "It's okay. It was all a simulation."

When she was done, I lifted her chin and gave her another kiss.

Then I aksed her, "So... why are we naked...?"

"Oh," she replied. "That's for the sim beds. Our clothes are... yeah, right here."

She reached over the other side of the bed and picked up my boots, and then the rest of my clothes. She handed it all to me as she lifted up her own clothes in her other hands.

While we dressed, she began to tell me the story. "See, what happened was, I took the shuttle from the spaceport to here, and when I went to check in, the clerk thing said that you had already checked in to our room. Then you jumped me from behind, like a complete psycho. I screamed."

"Yeah, I remember that," I said. "You shrieked. Like a little girl."

"I did not!"

"You totally did, Jaze! Like a tiny little girl!"

"Did not! Anyway, these two other things appeared out of nowhere and, like, zapped you or something. You kinda went unsteady, but you were still holding my arms. They had to hit you a couple more times before you finally went out. You know, your arms are like a fucking vise! Even after you went out, I couldn't move. You were, like, slouched over on my back. We damn near fell over together. The guys finally pulled me free, and they were all like, 'Miss, are you all right?' I was just like, 'Fuck is the matter with you?! Don't tase her, bro!'

"Then they said, like, 'Don't worry. We'll take care of this assailant.' And I just went totally insane on them. I was like, 'That's no assailant, you jackasses! That's my girlfriend!' And they were like, 'What? What do you mean?' And I had to explain, like, that you were playing. I don't think they understood the concept."

"What concept?" I aksed her. "Playing?"

"Yeah. It was like, they had never heard of it. I was like, 'What the fuck kind of beings don't have a concept of horseplay? Like, how do you evolve without being able to do gags on each other?' Finally I convinced them that we know each other, and that we're going out, and that I totally did not want to press charges against you, and if there was anybody I was gonna press charges against, it was them. So the manager thing came out and apologised and gave us an upgrade."

"So... wait," I said. "What did they think? Did they think I was, like, attacking you or something?"

"Who knows what the fuck they thought!" Jazenny said, waving her arms. "We got ourselves an upgrade out of it, and you came away with no permanent damage."

She leaned in and kissed me. Then another one.

"That's good enough for me," she said.

She held me tight for a few moments before finally saying to me, "Listen. I don't know about you, but I could use something to eat. That sim was supposed to be our candlelight dinner."

"That sim?" I aksed.

"Yeah. We were supposed to get together at that club, have dinner, and then you and I would give your boss the slip, get on the train, and ride together to freedom."

"Oh. Then how come we got completely boned like that?"

"I don't know," she said. "Why did you shoot Rosalyn anyway? Who was she really?"

"She was Bender," I responded.

"Bender? Isn't that..."

"My coworker, yeah. He was logged in remotely."

"Why?"

"To steal stuff."

"How?"

"He said he was logged in to distract the computer while he –"

I was interrupted by a screen that lit up next to the door. Some kind of orange thing with gray swirls on its face said, "Attention all patrons. Due to a security incident, all simulations have been deactivated and will remain so for an indeterminate period. We apologise for any inconvenience this may cause and invite you to join us in the physical lounge for complimentary meals, drinks, and entertainment. Thank you for your understanding."

"Security incident?" Jazenny aksed.

"Dammit, Bender," I said.

"Well, whatever," she answered. "Come on. Let's go over there and see if they have some good food."

We lifted one another up off the bed and, hands in hand, walked through the hallways to the lounge. On the way, Jazenny explained how the place worked. It was a virtual resort, so that they could plug you in and take you to any time, any place you wanted. Not only that, the tubes that I had seen leading to Jazenny's mouth actually worked, so that if you ate something in the virtual world, the same nutrients would be channelled to your physical body.

"So wait," I said. "Does that mean I really just had a whiskey?"

"Yeah. How was it?"

"Not great. Anyway, does that work for other body functions, too? Because I saw those tubes coming from your ass."

"Apparently, yeah," she said. "So, like, if your real body has to pee, they'll send that signal to your brain, and then if you go to a virtual bathroom, then that signal will go to your real bladder."

"So I really peed into that tube?"

"You used the bathroom in that sim?" Jazenny giggled.

"What? I had to."

"Oh, right," she replied. "I know what it was."

By now we had reached the lounge. It was fairly small, with a few tables at one end, and a bar at the other end with some high tables near it. There was also a small area with couches and lounge seats around a coffee table. The orange thing showed us to a narrow booth along the wall.

Once Jazenny sat down across from me, she aksed me, "So you knew it was a simulation?"

"Pretty sure," I responded. "I mean, there were a couple of times when I started to wonder. You know, when I aksed myself, 'What if this is reality? What if I'm a detective who dreams about being a space pilot?'"

"But you were pretty sure that it was a sim. How did you know?"

"Well, for one thing, getting shot didn't hurt."

She looked down at the table. "I'm really sorry, Eel."

"It's okay," I told her again, taking her hands. "It's all right. Also, everything was wrong."

"What? What was wrong?"

"The timing," I said. "It was supposed to be the 1980s, right?"

"Yeah?"

"Then where were the 1980s clothes?"

"What?" she aksed. She leaned back, pulled her hands out from mine, and spread them out across the back of her seat. She tilted her head and aksed me, "What are 1980s clothes? How did they dress?"

"Bright colours," I told her. "Big hair. I was expecting to see, you know, green tube tops, orange parachute pants, yellow leg warmers, pink headbands. Bracelets up and down everybody's arms. Shoulder pads."

"Shoulder pads?"

"That's what Fry says. Everybody wore shoulder pads then. And why was there a speakeasy? Prohibition was, like, the 1930s or something. Way before the eighties. And the cars were wrong too. They looked like 1950s cars. And that's not how they spelled aks, either. Everything was all wrong. It didn't make any sense."

"Maybe you should complain," Jazenny suggested.

"Maybe I will."

Another thing, this one more of a yellow ochre, took our orders for dinner. After it left, Jazenny reached all her arms across the table. I took two of her hands in mine, and she wrapped her other hands around them so that my left hand was holding both of her right hands, and vice versa.

She leaned forward and rested her head on the table, a relaxed smile forming on her lips. Then she looked up at me and whispered, "C'mere."

"Hmm?"

"C'mere." One of her hands let go of mine and reached up to my neck. She drew my head down onto the table, lying next to hers. We were facing each other, but her head was upside down from my point of view.

"Eel?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

"You said that already," I said.

"Well, this is for something different."

"Oh."

"This is for... well, you were probably, like, totally confused."

"Confused? About what?"

"When you first woke up in the sim?"

"Oh. Yeah, a little."

"Yeah. Sorry," Jazenny said as she sat up again. "I... well, they had just tased you, and they said you would wake up fine, and... and then I didn't want to miss our appointment."

Reluctantly, I lifted my head up off the table and faced her. "What appointment?" I aksed.

"For the sim."

"There was an appointment for that sim?"

She responded, "Yeah. See, I guess they... they have only so many computing nodes. I had that one reserved for us. So I told you it was a dinner reservation, to, you know, surprise you. But then you were running late, and so I was going to use the sim by myself. Like you aksed. But then when they tased you, they were all apologetic about it, and they said I could still plug you in and you'd be fine. And I could see your vital signs on my virtual dashboard, and they monitor everyone anyway. So it was completely safe. It's just... well, I thought we would be together in the sim. Like, we would be in a simulated bedroom, and then when you woke up, we could have dinner together like we planned."

"It's okay," I said. "It was a little confusing at first, but I figured it out."

"Good."

"Most of it."

Jazenny explained the preparations as we waited for our food to come. When she first made our reservations here, she told them about the type of simulation she wanted to have and what roles she and I were supposed to have. Apparently she had gone into some detail about the types of bodies our characters would inhabit.

I stopped her and aksed, "So that means you wanted to be short like that?"

"Yeah," she said. "Totally."

"You don't like being tall?"

She shrugged all of her shoulders. "Not that much. Sometimes it's just so... so annoying. You know? I mean, you're tall too. Doesn't that piss you off? The way people stare?"

I responded, "Yeah, people staring piss me off. But they're not staring because I'm tall."

"Oh. Yeah. I... I forgot about that."

"No you didn't," I said. I pointed to my eye and added, "Nobody ever forgets about this."

She took my hands again and paused.

Then she said, "Eel... I forget about it all the time."

"Psh," I said as I rolled my eye.

"I mean it, Eel. I never think about it any more. It's just part of you. Like that gorgeous hair. Those strong hands."

She leaned in close and added, in a lascivious whisper, "Those firm breasts. That tight, tight ass."

I looked away.

But then she leaned back in her seat and said, "What?"

"Nothing," I replied.

"You don't believe it, do you?"

"Believe what?"

"That you're attractive."

I shrugged.

"Eel... listen. Listen to me."

I looked up at her again as I felt her grip on my hands tighten.

"You are the most beautiful person ever. Ever. I mean... you're, like, the perfect woman. If I was going to design a body from scratch, this would be it. This body here." She let go of my hands and waved her own hands at me, moving them up and down. "This would be it. The greatest body in the history of bodies. If it was up to me, everybody would have this body."

She paused again.

"Although, then I'd never get anything done. Because, like, there'd be one of you everywhere I looked, and I'd stare at your tits each time one of you walked past, and then as you walked away I'd stare at your ass. I'd... I've never been able to tear my eyes away from that. From... you know... the way your hips move. It's... it, like, puts me into a trance. I'd be entranced all the time if everybody had your body. I'd be coming every minute of every day, just from watching all those yous walk past.

"But you know something?" she went on. "You would still stand out. The real you... the original you... you'd be different. You've always been different. I'm not quite sure what it is. You're... well, it's not quite anger."

"Anger?" I aksed.

"Not quite. I mean, you get mad sometimes, but you only get mad at people when they deserve it. Same thing when you get impatient. Only when people deserve it."

Our dinner arrived then. It was some sort of stir fry of various meats and vegetables, of which I recognised no more than seventy percent.

I was about to scoop some of it onto my plate when Jazenny reached across the table. She took the straps of my tank top in two of her hands and the back of my head in the other two. She yanked me forward and kissed me.

Hot. Steamy. Intense. Passionate.

Those words were all too small for this kiss.

It was hot and steamy in the way an ocean is hot and steamy when the star is expanding into a red giant, about to swallow up the planet.

It was intense and passionate in the way a woman asphyxiating in the vacuum of space is intense and passionate about that first gulp of air.

We finally broke away, and then I saw Jazenny inhale deeply. I found I had to do the same.

"Sorry," she said. "I just... I've been wanting to do that ever since we got out."

"Out?"

"Of the sim."

"Oh," I said.

"I love you, Eel."

"I love you, Jaze."

We kissed again, a bit softer and gentler.

She took the spoon and put some of the stir fry onto her plate, telling me, "Yeah, so that's why I gave you pretty much the same body. Except for, you know, the obvious. It had to be something that made sense in that time."

"Yeah," I replied. "But... what about the spots?"

She looked up at me, her eyes aksing a hint of a question.

I continued, "I had these dark spots on the sides of my body." I ran my hands up my sides, pointing out where the spots had been, alongside my ribs.

"Oh, yeah," she said. "That was because of your condition."

"My condition?" I aksed. "You mean the fact that I'm –"

"An alien?"

Silently, I let out a breath.

I had been on the verge of saying mutant.

She didn't know yet.

Then she said, "No, no. Alexandra's condition."

Of course. Her mysterious condition. "What was it supposed to be?"

"Diabetes."

"What's that?"

"Not quite sure," she said. "Some kind of chronic condition where, like, your blood sugar is too low or something. Makes you pee a lot. That's why you had to go to the bathroom in that sim. I mean, it's pretty much gone now. Most people have it anyway because of all the sugary foods we eat, but they all also have some kind of additive that, like, suppresses it and makes our bodies normal again. Something like that."

"Oh. So this condition, this..."

"Diabetes," she repeated.

"Diabetes, it... it gives you spots on the side of your body?"

"No, that was because of the leeches."

I nearly choked on the buggalo-like meat.

"Yeah," she said. "They used to treat diabetes with leeches."

"Leeches?" I aksed.

"Yeah."

"For diabetes? In the 1980s?!"

"That's what they said," Jazenny responded.

"Who's 'they'?" I aksed.

She said, "I was planning this whole sim with the historian they have here. He said – I think it was a he – he said that they used leeches a lot in the Stupid Ages. Because it was, like, before they knew what really caused diseases. So they just used leeches because they thought they had to get rid of the tainted blood, or whatever the hell they thought. I dunno."

"That doesn't sound right," I responded. "That sounds like more of a nineteenth century thing. It wasn't like that in the twentieth century. They had modern medicine by then. Not, you know, what we would call modern medicine, but something that wasn't that far off. Something that, you know, we could look at and not laugh at. Well, not laugh much."

"How do you know about Stupid Age medicine?"

"I was a fate assignment officer for defrostees," I reminded her. "Half of them were freezing themselves because they had a condition that was untreatable in their time. Which... which is exactly the point. By the end of the twentieth century, they had the technology to freeze people. So they had a lot by then. It wasn't just, you know, caveman doctors hitting the patients with clubs, or anything like that. There was a lot of stuff they could treat. People were freezing themselves just for the really complicated diseases, like neurological disorders, or cases of the Mondays. Why are you staring?"

Jazenny had stopped eating and was giving me a fixed gaze.

Finally she said, "I... I'm just impressed."

"Oh."

"Have I mentioned how much I love you?" she aksed.

"You may have brought it up before."

"Well, I do," she said. "I totally love you. I mean... I don't know if you saw it, but in that sim, there was a letter that... that Rosalyn left for Alexandra. Because, like –"

"Yeah, I saw it."

"You did?"

"Yeah."

"What did... what did you think?"

"I... I thought..."

When I looked across at Jazenny, she was looking right at me.

It seemed like she was awfully anxious to know what I thought of it.

Well, actually, it seemed like she was awfully anxious to know what I thought of it but was trying to hide that she was awfully anxious to know what I thought of it.

"You wrote that, didn't you?"

"Yeah," she said as she blushed and looked away.

I said, "It... it made me..."

"What?"

"Well, it... tore my heart up."

She looked up at me.

"I... I remember what it said," I told her. "That bit about 'a fate worse than death'. It made me think... what if... what if I couldn't see you any more?"

I could feel the tears forming around my eye. I went on, "What if something like that happened, and you had to go into hiding, and you couldn't even tell me where? I... I don't think I could do it."

I reached across the table for her hands again.

"Eel," she said. "I... I meant every word. I mean, I don't have to run away or go into hiding or anything. But... like... I tried to think about it like I was. I sent that letter to them the other day, because they said they could incorporate it into the... into the scenario. So when I was sitting there writing it, I tried to imagine it. I tried to imagine how I would feel if I... could never see you again."

Her voice got a little unsteady as she added, "Because, like, the point of that simulation was, you and I are so in love – I mean, Alexandra and Rosalyn are so in love – that they can't do what they know they have to. Which is to split up and for Rosalyn to go into hiding. They can't. We were supposed to have our last dinner together, and then I was supposed to sneak away to the train station because I couldn't bear to say goodbye. Then you were supposed to find the note. You were supposed to know that the right thing to do was to split up, to not follow me. But you'd be like, 'Fuck it', because you knew you could never abandon me. You knew that if my life was at stake, you could never just sit there and wait. You had to do something."

I nodded.

She continued, "That's... that's why I put in that part about taking a bullet for me. You'd do that. I know it. You'd take a bullet, or a laser blast, I guess, for me. And I guess... I guess that note was a way for me to... talk you out of it. Because you shouldn't. You shouldn't sacrifice your life for me."

I started to talk, but she held up a free hand and stopped me. "No, I mean it. I mean, well, I probably can't change your mind. If it happens, you'll jump in the line of fire. That's... that's how your brain is wired, or something. And I think I'm the same way. I'd totally take a laser blast for you. No, don't say it. You're going to say you don't want me to. Well, I'm still gonna. And I don't want you to take one for me, but you're still gonna."

She lifted up one of my hands and kissed it. Then the other.

I lifted up one of her hands and kissed it. Then the other. Then the other. Then the other.

Then we kissed each other again. This time, it was the tenderest, most delicate kiss we'd ever had. The tenderest and most delicate I'd ever had with anyone.

My nose brushed back and forth against her snout. Neither of us wanted it to end.

Three kisses this dinner, each one different.

Our tears were dripping into the stir fry, but we didn't care.

Eventually, Jazenny said, "I love you."

"I love you," I answered. "And..."

"What?"

I looked around.

The place was mostly full now, with people who seemed disappointed that the sims were down.

Well, the people who were still waiting for their food were disappointed.

Those of us who had tasted the food were no longer disappointed. I think we were silently hoping the sims would stay down, if it meant we could have more food like this.

But it was still not the right place to say I'm a mutant.

"I'll tell you later," I said.

She nodded, but I could tell she was filing that away. No doubt she would aks me later.

And I would tell her.

I knew then that I would. The time was right.

She had shown that she was dependable and trustworthy.

I wasn't sure how it would end up between us. I didn't know if she was the right woman for me.

But I suspected that, assuming the existence of a right woman for me, she was it.

Anyway, I felt like she would keep my secret. I felt like I could trust her with my one huge secret, the one that was only known to my nearest, most trusted friends.

And Zoidberg.

I thought of something then, but I waited until after we finished dinner. Then I aksed her, "What about everybody else in the sim?"

"All the other people?" she said. "NPCs."

"What?"

"You know. Non-Player Characters. Just, like, the computer. The computer was simulating everyone except us. And Bender."

"All of them?"

"Yeah. Why?"

I pointed across the room.

"What?" Jazenny aksed. She looked over her shoulder.

"See that couple over in the corner?" I said.

"Which?"

"The pregnant girl with the glasses and the hat?"

"Oh. What about them?" Jazenny aksed.

"I saw them in the sim."

Jazenny turned back toward me, surprised.

I nodded.

She looked again. "You're sure it's them?"

"Yeah. I saw them on the subway when I was going to the club."

"Did you talk to them?"

"No. They were just, you know, there. Sitting on the subway. Like..."

"Background characters?" Jazenny said. "Extras?"

"Yeah."

"Weird," she said.

"Wonder what they're doing here," I said.

Jazenny replied, "I wonder what they were doing in our sim."

She sat watching them for another moment or two. Then I heard her mutter, "Wow."

"What?" I aksed.

"Oh," she said, turning back toward me. "Nothing."

"No, what is it?"

She shook her head and waved a hand sideways.

"Jaze, what?" I aksed. "Do you... are you attracted to her?"

She looked up at me. Her eyes widened into a stare as she started to open her mouth.

It seemed I had actually flustered her. A rare accomplishment for me.

Finally, she started to say, "How... how did you..."

"You kinda turned red there when you turned around toward me."

"Oh."

She looked away.

I reached out and held her hands. I waited until she looked at me again, and then I told her, "It's all right. I mean, I know you're still... I know you still like girls."

She said, "Yeah, but..."

I cut her off and said, "But what? You're still going to stay true to me?"

"Well... yeah. Of course I am."

"I know," I replied. "I know you will. Really, I don't mind if you stare at other girls."

"You don't?"

"Of course I don't."

I leaned in close to her.

"Just as long as you come back to me."

"I will." Jazenny ran one of her other hands through my hair and continued, "Of course I will, Eel. And... and you go ahead and stare at guys. Long as you come back to me, that's totally fine with me."

"Deal," I giggled.

She smiled in response, but then she turned toward the outside of our booth.

When I looked, I saw the couple, the one from the subway, standing right there.

"Hey," the guy said. "Sorry to interrupt."

"It's okay," Jazenny said.

He pointed over his shoulder and said, "We could always come back."

"No, really, it's fine," she answered. "Come on. Pull up some chairs."

"No, that's all right, thanks. We just wanted a quick word. It's Jazenny, right? And Leela?"

Jazenny and I looked at each other uncertainly.

"Who wants to know?" I aksed.

"Oh, sorry," he said. "Joey Birkdale. And Joey Fernandez." He put a hand on the girl's shoulder as he said the second name. She waved in response.

He handed me a business card and went on, "We're quality control for the sims here at Binary Gardens. You may have noticed us in there. The intrusion was in your sim, is that right?"

"Yeah," I said.

"And was either of you displaced from the body that was supposed to be yours?"

"Yeah, I was," Jazenny answered.

"See? Told you!" the female Joey said to the male one. She turned to us and added, "See, that's what my analysis showed, but he didn't believe me. He was like, 'No, couldn't be. There's no way that coulda happened.' Well, there was a way. Wasn't there?"

He said, "Yeah, guess so."

"Sorry, which one are you?" she aksed Jazenny. "Jazenny, or Leela?"

"I'm Jazenny. That's Leela."

"Great. Good to meet you."

We all shook hands, and then they aksed us a couple more questions about what happened in our simulation. I told them I was in the right body, but the intruder was in the one that Jazenny was supposed to have. Jazenny, in turn, was in my sergeant's body, and the Joeys said that he was supposed to be an NPC.

I didn't identify the intruder, and they didn't aks.

Then the female Joey said, "Okay, that should be enough. Thanks for your help. And, you know, sorry about all this. We'll make sure you get a free weekend here. Any time you want to come back. Just call the reservations desk, and they'll get you set up."

"Oh," Jazenny said, looking down at the card in my hand. "Wow. Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Listen, we have some more people to talk to. A lot of sims got fuxxored tonight. But, um... it was really nice meeting both of you. And... oh, before we go, anything else you noticed? Anything you think we should know about?"

Jazenny said, "Well, not me, but..." She turned and looked at me.

I looked at the Joeys, and then back at her.

"What?" I aksed her.

"Don't you want to tell them about your complaints?"

"Complaints? What complaints?"

"You know." Turning to the Joeys, she pointed to me and said, "Yeah, she thought some of the... she wasn't happy with the history."

"The history?" the male Joey aksed.

"Go ahead," Jazenny prodded. "Tell them."

I sighed, "I just thought, you know, there were some inaccuracies in terms of... in terms of history. Like the traffic. I was walking around empty streets, but in the 1980s, there was traffic in Old New York at all hours. And it wasn't Prohibition. That was way before. And Occupy Wall Street was way after. And the clothes were all wrong. That's not how people dressed at all. It was supposed to –"

"Maybe you guys should pull up some chairs," Jazenny suggested.

They couldn't find any extra chairs, so they squeezed into our booth, the female Joey next to me and the male one next to Jazenny. I described all the errors I spotted, from the horsecarriages that weren't supposed to be that far from Central Park to the suicide booths that hadn't been invented yet.

Finally, the female Joey aksed me, "Wait, so how do you know so much about history?"

I told them about my old job. It was basically the same speech I had just given Jazenny.

The Joeys stared at each other for a moment, and then the male one said, "So no Prohibition?"

"Not in the 1980s."

"No speakeasies?"

"No. They had dance clubs, or discos or something, but that's different."

"No leeches?"

"I highly doubt it."

"Our historian sucks," he said to his counterpart.

The female Joey nodded. Then she turned to me and said, "So, listen. We spend a lot of time here developing new scenarios for our sims. A lot of them are set in the present day, or the recent past, but there's some based on history. And, you know, we have a historian to help us develop them and make them accurate, but, well, based on what you've said, he could use some help. Would you have any interest in joining us here?"

I looked back and forth, from the Joey next to me to the Joey next to Jazenny and back again.

"You... you mean work here?" I aksed them.

"Yeah," the female Joey said.

"As a historian?"

"Yeah."

There was a pause, but eventually I managed to shake my head and say, "I'm... I'm not a historian."

The female Joey adjusted her glasses and answered, "You sure seem qualified to be one. And, you know, even if you're not a professional historian, you still... it seems like you still know enough to be able to help us develop some more scenarios."

"Well, I'm not a professional historian," I insisted. "I'm a pilot. And I already have a job."

"A pilot?" she gasped. "Wow. And a history buff. That's a... that's an unusual combination."

"Yeah," Jazenny said. "She's so incredible. I am so lucky to have her."

The Joeys smiled and nodded. Then the female one added, "You're sure we can't change your mind?"

"I'm sure," I said. "Sorry."

"That's all right. I mean, what you've told us now, that'll help. It'll help us fix that scenario."

"Good."

"Yeah."

They were quiet for a moment.

Then the male Joey said, "Hey, we should get back and finish talking to everyone."

"Yeah, you're right." The female Joey tried to get up, but then she slumped backward into the seat, leaning sideways into me. The male Joey got out of the other side of the booth and lifted her to her feet.

"Sorry," she said to me as she put her hands over her belly. "The little guy has really been slowing me down lately."

"So it's a boy?" Jazenny aksed her.

"Well, we don't know."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I just call it the 'little guy'. We don't want to find out until it's born. Of course, we have a name either way."

Jazenny aksed, "What?"

"Joey Junior."

Jazenny grinned and nodded.

"Listen. It was great to meet both of you," the female Joey said. "Um, we'll probably see you around in some of the sims. Once they, you know, get everything back up." Turning to me again, she went on, "And, you know, if you ever change your mind, we'd love to have you help us make some more realistic historical scenarios."

She must have noticed the face I was making, because she quickly said, "Sorry. Had to aks."

"It's okay," Jazenny told her. "We're glad we could help."

The male Joey waved and said, "Good night."

"Good night," the female one said. "Lovely meeting you. Oh, and if you're having dessert, try the turtle cheesecake. Utterly... fantastic."

After they left, Jazenny aksed me, "What do you think?"

"What?" I aksed. "About working here?"

She laughed. "No, dessert. Want to try that cheesecake?"

"Sure."

"Great." Jazenny leaned in toward me and, with her tongue slowly licking her lips, she added, "Let's get it to go."

---

A couple of days later, Fry and I were lying on the couch. He was watching a movie, and I was listening to it.

The day before, I had made my first public appearance since the quake bomb. It was on the street, outside the front of the clinic.

There had been a huge cheer when I came out of the door, with Fry at my side.

It had caught me off guard.

Sure, I had heard Fry and Clara. I heard what they had said about how everyone felt about me.

But hearing it for myself was different.

Most of the mutants under New New York, around ten thousand, had moved to Epsilon Eridani 4. We had also sent out the call to other mutant communities underneath other Earthican cities, but not many of them had made the move yet.

They told me later that there were more than five thousand people there at the clinic. Just to hear me say hi.

They probably left disappointed. It wasn't much of a speech. I just said that my body was mostly working the way it should, with one notable exception. I said thanks to everyone at the clinic who had worked on me. Then I thanked the crowd for their support. That seemed to go over well.

Finally, I announced that I had decided to stay and help run the clinic.

The immense cheer that rose up at that point was overwhelming. I couldn't believe it. It was late in the afternoon. People must have skipped out of work early just to hear me.

That was one of the many things I was thinking about as I lay there on the couch.

Fry and I were still sleeping in the same bed. We had been doing that for months.

But the difference was that now my libido was peaking. I wanted that cryonaut so bad. And lying there with him wrapped around me was just not helping.

That was the same day that we met with the doctors and found out the bad news.

They said that they couldn't do anything about my eyes, at least not right away. There was some kind of bacteria or something that kept eating away at my optic nerves. So even though my eyes were working fine, the signal wasn't getting to my brain.

Ordinarily they would send some nanites in to zap the bacteria. But there was something about the funny chemicals or something that the bacteria had in them – the chemicals would have leaked into my body and fucked me up if they tried that.

So they were going to consult with some other doctors and see if this kind of thing had come up before. Maybe there was a cure already.

They didn't seem optimistic, though. They had already searched the literature. They were some papers about the bacteria, and some about the chemical, but nobody knew what would happen if you put the two together.

So, the end result was that I would have to stumble around in the dark for a while longer.

"Amy?" Fry whispered in my ear.

"Mmm?"

"What do you want to do tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" I aksed. "I dunno. What do you wanna do?"

"I dunno. We can do anything we want."

"Anything we want," I repeated.

That was a new experience.

I had been a full time employee at Planet Express, despite the "perpetual intern" title. Before that, I had a class schedule at Mars University. And before that, my parents set my schedule.

It was true. I had never had the opportunity to do anything – anything at all – with my time and my money.

I knew I wanted to help with the clinic and with our new planet.

I knew I wanted to keep Planet Express up and running. BW and Bender were supposed to be making all the deliveries in the new ship, but they seemed to be spending a lot of time here.

Maybe it was time to meet with Hermes and Choto. Planet Express was in need of more attention, I thought.

And we were supposed to have our big grand opening for the clinic soon. If I was going to be in charge, I would have to go down there and meet everyone. Learn everyone's names.

Finally I said, "Let's go to the clinic tomorrow. I want an update on that. I want to know if we're going to make our opening date. And I want to get to know everyone. And then... um... we should also go back to Earth at some point. See how Planet Express is coming along."

"Sure."

He brushed some of my hair away and kissed me on the cheek. I reached up for his head. I found his short hair, and feeling around some more, his ear.

He slipped his arms around my waist again.

I wanted him to slip his arms lower, more toward my snatch.

That wasn't going to happen, of course. I would have to do it myself, in the shower.