Near Light

by novalounge

This is a sequel to 'One Way Trip', so read that first. If 'Life is Strange' was their origin story, 'One Way Trip' was a re-awakening. An introduction to new friends, hidden enemies. Warnings for the future. Early power-ups for what lies ahead. 'Near Light' is the continued adventure of Max & Chloe, picking up where 'One Way Trip' left off. Pricefield, etc.

17. Arcus

Chloe pulled the door to Casa de Steve closed behind her, followed Max to a spot in the smushy moss, off the front deck. The low mist swirled in her wake.

One of their moons drifted over the sea; the other soared high above them. Both showed curious crescent patterns, sequenced layers of bright tinted lines and shadowy overlaps. Interfering twilight zones. Gave Max just enough light to make her way ahead without stumbling.

Chloe counted the abundance of critters studying them from the fields and forest. Noted a few leafy wandering somethings taking station on the ocean side. New migrants to the grounds.

Max made a disappointed sound, turned, started back. "Did we turn off the coffee pot?"

Chloe slipped her hand into Max's as she passed, pivoted, redirecting her back to where she started. "It's off. I checked."

Max crossed her arms. "Did you lock the door on your way out?"

Chloe, hands in her pockets, "Aren't you the same girl who said if interstellar burglars ever made it this far, they probably deserved whatever they could carry?"

Max fought back a smile.

"We could go buy locks if it'll make you feel better." Chloe shrugged.

"No, it's okay. I'm sure it'll be fine. Unless some of our critters get curious."

Chloe responded with her best mock-horror voice. "Or thumbs? Oh my god! What if we come back and they all have thumbs? And they're inside our house!? With all their thumbs!?" Silliness.

Max gave her The Look, with a slight shake of her head. Started toward the door again. "You sure you checked the coffee pot?"

Chloe stood her ground. "Max." Hands on her hips.

Max stopped short. "Kidding. Stalling, maybe." Pouted, "I don't want to go back yet. Is that bad?"

Chloe walked her backward, off the deck. "Nah. Come on, human."

"I'm happy we did this, even if it's short. Think we both needed it."

Chloe reconsidered, took Max's hand, pulled her toward the house again. "Well, I mean, if you're serious about not wanting to go yet, we could stay. Take a month, hang out, clothing optional, maybe engage in some of 'the sex' all the trendy kids are talking about?"

Max batted her eyes at Chloe. "Tempting. I can jump back after, bring you a cube…"

"It'll be like Total Recall, but like, the porn version, and with less shooting and stuff." Chloe stopped halfway to the door, swung Max's arms.

"I thought you liked the shooting and stuff?"

"When I could miss. Back to Monday's picnic convo…"

"Yeah. Well. Paper zombie hordes have never been so terrified." Max pushed Chloe doorward.

Chloe considered for a moment. Almost to the door. Resisted. "Hmmm. But…yeah - give it another few years. Never know. Might be a market for cubic-recall-porn?" She rooted in place. Resigned. "But for real, fun as it would be, we prolly should, you know, head back to the world? Our people need us?"

Max leaned into her. "Nice U-turn to that cube topic. And yeah. I guess. Sigh. Okay. Fine. Enough. Gotta go back to work sometime. Uh. Here we go. This is us. …leaving. Meh." She slumped.

Chloe held her up. "Come on, Sprout. Somebody's gotta be the strong one here." Chloe slipped past Max, pulling toward the front moss. "What if we took a last little detour on the way back?"

Max gave in, returned to the smush. "I vote you. And yeah. That could be cool. Long way home? Ehn.…buh-bye, Steve! Keep an eye on…well…yourself for us, I guess."

Chloe slid in behind her, one arm around her waist, the other diagonally across her chest. Rested her chin on her hand, both on Max's shoulder. "Long way home."

"We're pretty close, all things considered. It's an amazing view though, huh?"

"Yeah…"

The ground dropped as Max took them up into the night. Chloe felt a slight flutter in her belly. Breeze. Held on, but only lightly. She was in Max's frame of reference, so didn't experience gravity or acceleration - beyond the visible. Floaty, if anything.

The tight curve of their world closed on itself after only a few seconds. Max bubbled before leaving the atmosphere. A few more seconds and they exited the shadow of Steve, joined the bright light of their three sister-stars.

Chloe looked back. From here, it was apparent how different their adopted world was from home. Half sparkling seas, with most of the rest rendered in shades of greens and crimson. Much smaller patches of desert, with no polar ice-caps to speak of. The blue edge-line of its atmosphere appeared wider, a contrast further amplified by its smaller diameter. Steve's clouds were taller. Faster. Overall impression was of a multi-colored jewel hanging in the black. Beautiful. But so tiny. Its fragility already tragically proven once before. "Be safe," Chloe whispered.

Returned her chin to Max's shoulder.

They passed the highest moon. It fell behind with the rest. Chloe glanced a final time. Their stars, their world, grew smaller, closer together in retreat.

"Here. Come in beside me? Sidecar?" Max offered.

Chloe let go with one arm, moved to her side. Held one arm around Max's waist.

"You be navigator, gator." Max made eye contact, gestured ahead. "Know where we are?"

"Here." Chloe projected a star-chart around them. "Only a few hundred light-years, give or take." She marked their position with one dot, Sol with another. "Stay inside the arm, and head down to get home."

Max smiled. "Or up. Okay. Good. Now, think of me as your adoring spaceship - you point, I go. You can speed me up or slow me down—"

"I'm good at that." Chloe gave her hip a playful squeeze.

Max giggled. "Yes, yes you are. As you so helpfully reminded me this morning. But…for serious now. Maybe…let's see…you can turn my hand this way for faster, that way for slower?"

Chloe applied gentle pressure. "Max Caulfield is a joystick. I'm so telling everyone when we get back."

Max returned her squeeze. "You're flirty today. We should do this vacation thing more often." She took them into a lazy barrel roll.

Chloe, puzzled, "We're always flirty?"

Max nodded. "No, I know. But you're also flirty today. You know, and we should do this vacation thing more often."

Chloe shrugged. "I accept that." Looked out, ahead, to the wall of stars.

"Ok. You get the idea. Where to, Cap' Chloe?"

Chloe traced potential paths. "Straight line takes us that way. We'd pass a few hundred star systems, which would be pretty cool to see. But I want to go…here." She zoomed way out, drew a long line up, off the plane of the Milky Way by half its diameter, then back down near where the line began. "If it's not, you know, too much trouble?"

"You wanna leave, see the whole thing, huh?"

"Just…fuck yeah! No one ever has - besides you, I guess. We always fold everywhere, which is fast, but not very scenic. I wanna go! Without any light pollution, just us. I wanna feel the galaxy drop away from us like a…big…thingie…dropping away from us. But not so far that we can't still see our home systems, you know?"

Max chuckled. "Eloquent Bear is eloquent. You have to tell me when then. You see more than I can through my plain old peepers. I'm a little jealous of your multi-spectral whatsits."

"Could always trade? I'm more than a little jealous of your warp drive. And…you're a multi-spectral whatsits." Chloe smiled, nibbled Max's ear. Whispered, "You forget, babe - I can project. Here. Look."

Chloe projected against the inner wall of the bubble, cycled the holo-replica of the space around them through the full spectrum, down to the longest resolvable wavelengths of radio, bouncing back up through microwave and infra-red, visible, out to ultraviolet, x-ray and gamma. Walls of gasses, a few stars highlighted, obscured, grew opaque, then transparent again. Galaxies jumped in brightness, faded, dust visible, blocking, invisible, unblocking stellar formations inside. Pulsed back through visible with endless multi-billion pinpoints of starlight. On to the intense wash of giant stars, blowing bubbles in the gas and dust, triggering hot new waves of baby suns. The other direction, the frenetic and crowded core, just beyond the central bar. Above and below, bright pinpoint flares from other galaxies grew, faded.

Blues and reds and yellows and…

"Chlo - that's so fucking cool. See? This is why we're a team. Today, I'm the engine, and you're the eyes. Ready to play?"

Chloe collapsed the holo to one view, incorporating all of the various spectral layers into what she hoped was an artistically pleasing display; close to the composite images put out by space agencies, borrowing that common language she knew Max was familiar with. Gas, dust, stars. There are so many.

Max raised an eyebrow. "Do we care about sleep before morning? We gonna make it back in time?"

Chloe nodded. "It's only midnight at home. We can goof around out here for a couple hours before we have to get back. If that's cool? We'd have to roll with the planet-version of jet-lag tomorrow anyway."

"Okay. Wanted to make sure. I'm your spaceship." Max chuckled to herself. "It's so funny. I wanted to show you, you know, wanted you to see all of this…shine way out here like I've been seeing it, far away from home. And now here we are, and it's like, you're showing it back to me - and it's so true - you can see so much more. Everything is always so beautiful through your eyes."

Chloe side-eyed Max. Whispered, "True statement."

Max crossed her eyes, puffed up her cheeks, stuck out her tongue.

"Uh. …nevermind." Chloe deadpanned. Held it, giving way to a grin.

They returned attention to the space around them. From two-thirds of the way to the outer-rim, the disk was a brilliant everything-swirl, a thick, blazing ring of matter and energy, fading above and below. Filaments, sheets of dust gave depth to uncountable bright stars, massive structures hundreds, thousands of light-years across.

Chloe tugged. "We see things different, is all. And fuck, movies have this shit so wrong. No way to get this back home. I…I'd only ever imagined there could be so many. That the whole thing could be so bright, and goddamn colorful. It's…almost alive. So yeah. I mean, guess I can see more, but, you're the one who got us out here. You're the one who makes it all real. You know? You always have."

"Aw." Max hugged her arm. "Told you before. The universe and I are your playgrounds. Where to, love?"

"Here. Aim right there." Chloe pointed up, to a quiet patch of sky. Squeezed Max's hand. Held it tight. The stars, the dark streamers, the closest arms of galaxy flew by as they raced silently between. Backgrounds became gigantic three-dimensional structures. The disk itself finally dropped away. The galactic core nearly blinded them as they shot above the edge, beyond its obscuring veils of dust.

Chloe's breath caught in her throat at the sheer enormity, the…reality - it was such an alien view, so near, immediate, utterly massive. The central bulge was far taller than she'd expected…seeing in every wavelength at once, her mind had trouble, the scale, eyes wide, but it still filled more than half of everything. Not stars, not systems, but the whole entire galaxy.

The details…a billion pinpricks of hard light.

Each bright point, a star.

So crystal clear. Sharp. Independent. But moving together as one.

Chloe's words came slowly. "I had a picture in my head. Before. But I didn't expect it to be so…physical, I guess?"

It was all right there. The connected structures, the wave-definition between the arms, the brightness - but also the bound interconnections, the flow. Half a dozen captured galaxies sharing the edges. Everything where it should be. If Chloe only reached out, she could have touched it. So close. Close as furniture. Two-hundred-billion points of light. Incredible depths.

The galaxy tilted down, away.

Max moved them at impossible speed.

A small, instinctive part of Chloe marveled at the lack of blue and red-shift. While a much older region calculated and catalogued the optical effects of various warp bubble oscillations around them. She had a keen awareness of the mechanics, if not the raw energy available to replicate the bubbles herself.

They ascended far above the edge of a swirling pool of infinite light, outshining anything she'd ever imagined.

There are no words for this…

Max giggled softly at her side.

Like they were kids.

She slowed, held them at the apex. Rotated them slowly above the whirlpool.

Quiet. Content to see. Feel.

Side by side in a bubble of air, holding hands, silhouetted against the bright spirals of their home galaxy.

Chloe's mind raced. No thrash of chaos, no noise out here.

Instead, peaceful. Harmonious.

Thoughts swimming in the same direction.

Racing still.

After what might have been minutes, or could have been hours, Chloe found a few measured words. "You know. Every time I doubt myself - every time - I see you, and you go and do something so incredible, so…effortless, that reminds me it doesn't even…it's all gonna be okay."

Max squeezed her hand. Whispered, "Chloe. Course it is. Promise. When we have doubts, it's okay, I think. Whatever. It's…we just don't know how we get there yet, is all. But we will. Together. And it will be okay in the end. It has to be. I just know it."

After a few more minutes of quiet contemplation of their place in the cosmos, Chloe whispered back, "I know you. And…I don't doubt, you know? Not…never you. I forget, sometimes…but…still, I don't think it's hit me, babe. Not since Africa…looking up…but maybe not even until just now - how mind-blowingly powerful you are. I get too used to the small day-to-day stuff, but I mean, watching you navigate, manipulate, at this scale…when I know what kind of energy it takes…this…I don't know. Different perspective. Reminder. I've always teased that you were practically a god, and I've known, you know…but I don't think I've fully internalized how for-all-intents-and-purposes that might be.

"And with all this…overwhelming, industrialized planet-murdery bullshit going on out there, and the total fucking insignificance of Earth and me in the face of any of it and…and then there's you. My Max.

"And it's kinda like the whole wide world is like this baby bird that's falling out of its nest. And even though other birds have fallen out of their nests before, you're right there when this one does. And you being you, you can't help but catch it. Nurse it back to health. Keep it safe from predators. That's what you are for us. For me. And even with everything you carry, all that weight, you still go out of your way to make sure I feel safe in the middle of it."

After a minute, "Yeah."

Max pulled herself in front of Chloe, wrapped her arms around her, blocking her view of the Milky Way. Forehead to forehead, kissed her lips softly. "But we're a team effort Chlo. Don't ever sell yourself short. We take turns. Compliment. Always have. Using your same analogy, you're the one who figures out how to repair the nest, so it's impossible to fall out of. Sets up turrets and lasers and fire-shark-guns and stuff. Then learns bird-language so you can teach other bird parents in the forest, send out baby-bird jet-packs, and deploy hover-nets and…"

Chloe rolled her eyes.

Max continued. "You know what I mean. I can't do this without you either, Chlo. I don't wanna. I don't tell you enough how much I admire you. For being my partner in this, for thriving under these stupid, ridiculous pressures. For keeping me laughing. Every day. For keeping everyone going, for the late nights and early mornings and sarcasm and snark and coffee and so much more love than one person could ever deserve. I don't tell you enough how thankful I am, how fantastically lucky I am to have you. You. Here. Now. Whenever I have doubts of my own, I see you, and everything's clear again. I love you, Chlo. You're my universe. You know that, right?"

Always know what to say… Chloe, lips touching Max's, breathed, "Mine too."

Chloe closed her eyes, returned Max's kiss, little space left between them.

---

Max startled awake, heart racing, a little sick to her stomach. Not yet light outside. Too early. Chloe's warm, naked back against her. Must have fallen asleep watching the lights downtown. Max caught up to where they were. Rolled. Distracted, her eyes traced the curve of Chloe's neck, shoulder. She smelled like Chloe.

It was hard to come back down to earth. Harder still to fall asleep after.

Chloe said it was the best therapy ever.

Right call.

A dark half-whisper shattered the moment. "You're not one of ours."

Max shot bolt upright, shedding her bedcovers. A large shadow of a man loomed over the foot of their bed. She froze everything. But there was nothing, no-one there. Looked more closely.

Got out of bed, walked to where he must have been.

Might have been?

Awake now.

Shit.

Her view of the strip was unobstructed.

She rewound slowly, deliberately.

Nothing between.

Only air. Lights.

Cautious, she let out a breath. Relaxed. Let time flow.

She caught herself. Where the outline of a man had been, where nothing had been, a woman. A reach away. Long, dark, curly hair. She was middle-aged. Studied Max. Unthreatening brown eyes met hers, expression neutral in the dim. The woman, puzzled, whispered, "Where do you go?"

Max froze the world again.

The woman vanished when the freeze came.

Nothing.

Okay. Seriously - what the fuck?

Switched sides, rewound, restarted time, ready to grab whoever, but - there was only Max.

Chloe slowly pushed herself up on one arm. "Mmph. Doll?"

Must have felt the Max-shaped dimple in the mattress snap back with the last rewind.

Max felt the edge in her voice. "Chloe - get up!"

Chloe, half speed, "Ehnn. We just got here. What's up? …not time for another two hours."

Wake up! Chloe!

Max, under her breath, "Fiat lux." Their suite burst into a bright blue-white, as every bulb spread across the top two floors of all three wings came to life at once. It was funny when Chloe set it up.

No shadows, no hiding places.

Max checked Emo's drawer. Still at Sophie's.

Chloe was out of bed, squinting hard, uncertain, but didn't seem alarmed. "Uh, Max? What's the what, dude? Why are you up?"

"Somebody was here, Chloe. Two people, one after the other. Or…during the other, I guess? Maybe fast teleporty peeps or—"

Chloe closed her eyes, a diffuse blue pulsed behind her lids, checking. Checked. Shook her head slowly. "I don't see anything, Max. I've got us sleeping, then you woke up, from a dream maybe? Then you rez'd in at the foot of the bed, then again on the other side. But there's only you…"

"Are you sure, Chloe? They were there. Swear it. Disappeared when I hit pause."

Chloe closed one eye, rubbed her head. "Okay, that…seems super unlikely…could anyone possibly time that? I've got you in real-time, clear as day, but…sorry - there's nobody here but us. Is it…possible you had a bad dream, and like maybe weren't all the way awake yet?"

Max checked the bathroom, the closet. Under the bed. As useless as she knew it would be, it made part of her feel better. She wasn't anxious so much as confused. Chloe wasn't helping. Or, maybe she was a little too calm and a little too reasonable - which annoyed Max more than she thought it might. Like she wasn't taking her seriously. I saw them! They were right here! "I don't know, Chlo. Yeah, maybe. But this felt really real. One of them said something like I wasn't theirs? Other one asked a question. Asked where I went or something? But you…yeah, I guess I rewound behind that dude, so you won't…there won't be anything for you to see. But you should see the woman who took his place? Unless - shit - I rewound through her too. And they didn't come back. Dammit."

"Max. Slow down. Does any of that that make sense?" Chloe got out of bed, played back a full-scale holo of the past few minutes, overlaid on the room along with a callout displaying Max's vitals.

"Not that I don't believe you saw something, but from outside, it looks like you woke up from a nightmare. See your heart-rate spike there? Before you even opened your eyes. Might have carried over into waking. It's common enough they have a word for it. Hypnopompic hallucinations."

Room sweep done, Max met Chloe at the foot of their bed. "You just looked that up. And you're a…pompy…hypno-toad."

Chloe responded automatically. "ALL GLORY TO THE HYPNO-TOAD!"

Max shrugged. "All of it. So much glory. And…sorry. Yeah, maybe. I dunno. Might be that, or it could maybe be something super-fucky?"

Chloe sat at the foot of the bed, "Thanks for rollin'. I'm not sure why I…anyway, I'm betting it's not teleporters or anything physical - near-zero-probability for so many reasons, and they'd have shown up in the data anyway - or would have shown up again after you rejoined us. Cause people don't suddenly change - or deviate course on their own when you rewind. True?"

"…yeah," Max ceded.

"Which maybe leaves mindfuckery, but it can't be anything whispery, cause we've been gone, and you're still on autopilot with your defenses, right?"

"Yeah. No. I'm clear." Max flopped down next to Chloe, fell back, head poofed into the bunched-up comforter.

Chloe turned, leaning back on one arm. "I know how…well, let's say I've had my share of recreational hallucinations over the years, and I know how absolutely real they can feel. Is it maybe possible that the simplest answer may be the right one here?"

Max stared at the ceiling. Sprinkler head. Dusty. Should clean those. She pictured them going off, water spreading that initial burst of dust everywhere. "Yeah. I guess. He…wasn't there when I hit rewind, and a person-swap makes even less sense, and vanishing in the freeze is…so…yeah. No, your version is...I'm sure that's all it was. Sorry. False alarm I guess."

Chloe crossed her arms. "It's cool. What I do. Voice of reason for naked inter-dimensional space-goddesses who wake me up in the wee hours seeing shit that isn't there." Chloe launched a pillow at Max with her brain.

Max caught it overhead in a bubble, rotated. "Brat." Tossed it back. Touched her hand to Chloe's back. "And sorry for the harsh lights. But, you know, thanks for checking for me? And yeah…for playing the voice of reason too. It's prolly like you said. Just a whatever-thing. Let's, um, go back to bed?"

"Plan."

"Plan. …hello darkness." The lights obeyed.

Chloe got up, walked to her side of the bed, climbed back under covers. "Come. In. Lazy cuddle party. Few more hours at least?"

Max scooted up the bed, crawled in beside her, pulled the covers over. Too awake to sleep, she rested her eyes, little-spooning as Chloe drifted off.

---

Chloe jerked the left paddle, downshifting to first as she accelerated through the corner. Pushed hard up the ramp onto the freeway. Kept going. North. The deep thrum of the engine rose in time with the exhaust, pushed the vibrations up her spine.

"It's total fucking bullshit!" she projected into their comms.

Max was at her desk upstairs, on holo. First coffee of the morning, bed-head. "No, Chloe's right. It's not even that I'm quoted out of context - the interview they printed doesn't resemble the conversation we had, like, at all. It's complete fabrication. And these other stories since…" She squinted, shook her head. "…none of this feels like Juliet. She wouldn't—"

"People change." Jillian was on camera, at the head of a full conference table, at the back of a bustling ops floor she'd assembled into a war room days before. "And if it sticks, it'll make her career. Look, the lowercase 'truth' doesn't matter. Once these kinds of accusations are thrown out loud, with authority, they take a life of their own. Our mystery works for them now. In a post-truth world, it's a perception game. And we're flat on our asses."

"So, truth doesn't matter? That's…we give up?" Max asked.

Chloe shifted. Beat me to it.

"How much truth?" asked Jillian, irritated. Backtracked. "It matters, of course. What I mean is, the fact of a different 'small' truth doesn't help us win the battle for public sentiment. Everything's equivalent out there. We have almost nothing to fall back on, and aside from you two, we don't have a lot to work forward with.

"The level of disclosure that would shut this down, three days in, isn't for public consumption. Unless you decide to change that, anything short of the Journal publishing a full retraction and statement of fabrication is going to end with an ongoing he-said, she-said. Doesn't help that it snowballed to tabloid-global while you two were away. Everybody loves a goddamn fall. You're catching up, but you've at least seen the raw clip count, social volumes, sentiment analysis? It's not good."

Chloe absorbed what was available. "64. Down from 97. Why didn't we see this coming?"

"Can't speak for the precogs," Jillian shrugged. "Blind-spot, maybe? We could have headed this off a year ago with the right green lights. Figured some of that was finally sinking in; it's why I was almost thrilled that Max agreed to do an interview. Any interview. We expected a missed quote or maybe something mildly unflattering from it, but not this. The unpredictable is sometimes…unpredictable. But at the highest level, this wasn't entirely unpredictable."

Chloe blew past a Prius, a little too close for the other driver's comfort, judging by his expressive 'greeting' fading in her rear-view. "Why didn't we respond when it first broke? Why wait and let it take off?"

Jillian demurred. "With you guys unreachable, and all these guardrails around what's public, I made the call to play it close. 'Til you got back - with the firm assumption our timeline might go fluid one way or another."

"Okay, but no response at all? I'm no genius, but…" Chloe caught herself before she could complete the lie.

"And say what, Chloe? Yes, as it turns out, we do have hundreds of weaponized viruses more-or-less lying around on the 16th floor? Largest and most diverse concentration of biological WMDs on earth? Strains we've managed to beg, buy or steal from secret labs spread across half the nations on earth? No import clearance, no CDC oversight, no federal oversight, inspections or controls. Why do we have them? Oh. You know. Because we're letting our hive-minded microscopic hyper-dimensional nanites from the future train themselves to recognize the viruses, understand their lifecycles and come up with methods for destroying them and clearing out genetic debris while leaving the host cells unharmed. Because we know when the shit hits the bio-warfare fan they'll wipe out hundreds of millions, maybe even billions of lives. No, that happened in a different reality, but…

"Respond like that, you mean? I had to ask about all that, by the way. Had no idea. But in that one statement alone, I've outed illegal WMD development by half the world's governments, dozens of examples of our own espionage, theft, countless violations of sovereign, national and international treaties and laws. Plus, you know, time travel, and whatever else makes us sound like crazy people. That's tip of my tongue. Think it's uncomfortable now? Just wait 'til they realize we're acting like a rogue government with our own military, space program and the rest. Nevermind you two. And that's only one data-point.

"Even without going that far, if we offered up a spokesperson for every accusation they've thrown at us, there aren't enough hours in the day. And it's certain-death in the public court, where it's all about how things look. Taken together, across cycles and story trajectories, every comment we make triggers a new twelve-hour news cycle that echoes back and forth between broadcast, print, online, with comments and social and people's reactions re-coloring the coverage. You've seen it, Chloe. It's like an echo chamber inside a feedback loop. And that doesn't work if all we have to play with is bland, nonsense corp-speak.

"Besides, with so many mistruths, each individual denial we make gives the collection of accusations increasing legitimacy as a whole. And inevitably, anything we say in that context sounds defensive.

"We could have denied them ground with even the most basic profile-building effort. We might have also had a chance to kill the narrative before it took off first thing Monday morning. Offered one of you up to one friendly publication for a single blanket denial. Ride the rest out. That would have been an okay plan. But that was three days ago. It's still possible if the reboot is on the table. It is, yes?"

Chloe pushed long slaloms through light freeway traffic at nearly 170 mph.

She streamed the ECU and vehicle sensor data in real-time, augmenting her own physical sense of the road, the engine. Traffic cameras. Chase drones plotted the route ahead. Snorted data from other cars around her. Mixed in her brain with HQ holos, video feeds, reports, the raw public opinion data. She was in a tight, annoyed bubble, and the Veyron was her second skin.

"Okay, I guess that was a reasonable call. But seriously, like, fuck these guys anyway! Right in their puckery little assholes! Why are we the ones arguing about this? We don't need a reboot, Jillian - let's push this shit live - we have digital records of the actual interview. Mic drop. Done. You're welcome." Chloe drummed the steering wheel conclusively.

One of Jillian's executives spoke up. "Mrs. Price, I'm sorry to interrupt - we have a few days head-start on you. In addition to more traditional analysis and modeling, we borrowed time with a predictive AI—"

"Algorithms," Chloe snipped.

Confused, "Sorry?"

"You said 'AI'. The class of predictive algorithms you used - they're barely strings - not even close. That's like fuckin' saying…I don't know…a few stray organic molecules floating in space are the same thing as an entire, grown person, deeply in love, in the midst of writing their master symphony, while wearing a fluffy blue bathrobe and obeying every major rule of planetary society. You…used a few loosely coupled decision chains. That's all. Real artificial intelligence, real artificial consciousness - those are…something else entirely."

Even the alpha, nearly a god. Wish I knew what they grew to become after—

Max, tone flat, "Chloe."

Snapped her out of her peeved pedantry and her sideways reminisce.

"Sorry, Mrs. Price. I stand corrected—"

"No, no, sorry. I'm…obviously…being a dick. It's not you. Go ahead?"

"It's okay, but thank you. We uh, borrowed time with a…predictive algorithm…as well as a couple of our precogs, once we saw what was unfolding. We've run scenarios, including the live data release you suggested. It wouldn't even have to come from the Journal - anyone could effectively de-position our recordings with a simple question about their legitimacy. Just the question. With all the mystery and internet nonsense about us, it's not difficult for people to imagine we have the technical capacity to synthesize a voice recording. That's enough. And they wouldn't even be wrong. Doubt is all they have to introduce for people to discount our evidence completely."

Another teammate continued, "And the trouble isn't only in the Journal anymore. In fact, with everyone else piling on with new angles and commentary everyday…sorry…that's already ten cycles and thousands of stories ago. Tens of millions of social mentions."

Chloe sped out of town, en route to S-6. Resigned. "Well. Okay. This is fucked. Max?"

Max sipped. "Obvious question, but what has Juliet said to you guys about all this? Is she—"

"Sorry. She's nowhere, Max." John spoke up from the opposite end of the conference table. Motioned above its surface, pushing holos of her local neighborhood, a few indicator dots. "Last ping from her phone was early Monday morning, down the road from her campus dorm. She hasn't been to classes, appeared on any camera feeds, no social or other electronic activity, credit cards, transit pass, pizza delivery, nothing."

"Is that even possible in New York?" Max asked.

John shook his head. "One camp says she stepped out of the public eye, sequestered, holed up somewhere. Until the Journal's able to publish everything they think they know. Not unprecedented with whistleblowers or real bombshells, but—"

"Other camp," Max stated.

"Might be in trouble. Or worse. Elephant time. If this is the opening move of a coordinated post-Wallace response, and the Journal's ownership and editorial are in on it…I don't know what that means for your friend; may depend on how much this means to them. What rules of engagement, which playbook they're running. What they think she might say on her own. You and I are familiar with that game."

Max ran her hands through her hair. "So…Juliet in the crosshairs. That doesn't work for me either."

John stressed, "It's an unknown, for now, Max. Drone's on her dorm, but it looks empty. We have a tap on her roommate. And we have a team staged mid-town. They'll head up, drop in, crack her room open later this morning. Hopefully get a read on what's happening."

Max waved a hand. "Hold, please. What about the others? That Elliot guy who was with her? The editor? How do they justify what they've written? We've been in contact?"

"Journal's EIC, Patricia Tanner, is all business as usual." An ops analyst reached into the pile of breakfast snacks on the conference table. "Left home this morning, caught her daily Uber to the office at 6:40 eastern. Stepped out the building an hour ago for her mid-morning snack-walk. Came back with a no-foam latte and a blueberry scone. Left her usual two-dollar tip. She's going through the motions, but we think she's nervous about something. Gait analysis against the last 30-days of city archive has her moving more quickly, less deliberately. Almost slipped coming out of the building. Take from that what you will. As for Elliot Portnoi…last seen blurred in the background of a tourist's Insta post, right outside his home in Portugal. But not again since Sunday."

"Huh. Okay…but has anyone tried talking to Tanner?" asked Max, eyes on her ceiling.

"On advice of counsel, no. Aside from my initial round of WTF calls, our only proactive contact with the Journal has been through legal," said Jillian. "They registered defamation complaints with the ownership, as the start of a more formal libel litigation process on Monday, but that could be a long road. Discovery won't be immediate. They're walking a tight line in their actual editorial copy, using very exact language; I'd assume their legal must have taken a pass at it before print. Might have a better chance under UK law. We both have offices there, so they're pursuing that angle as well.

"And there are so many other people reaching out to us right now, looking for comments, interviews, responses…thousands of new inbounds each day from around the world. Print, online, broadcast, bloggers, you name it. Retreading each other's stories in our absence. Our regional offices are being hammered too. Some news orgs are doing end-runs, shotgunning our employees directly over social. It's real. Nobody's taking the bait. But, Slack-pulse - everybody's pretty pissed about the coverage.

"So our judgement to this point, going at Tanner directly probably won't give any answers, but may open us up. Legal's advised against it. Journal's dead for now. We've got other, more friendly outlet options when we're ready to get our side out there in a coherent way. Assuming we keep moving forward, and not back. Backward has some compelling appeal though. Worms all the way back in the can?"

John shook his head. "We need more on these moving parts first. Is there intent, a plan? Or is it all just a fluke? Who's behind it? Specifically? What are their motivations? What's the end-game? Wish Sophie wasn't down with her migraines. Stick her in their lobby and passively scrape everything."

"Wait, what? Is she okay?" asked Max, concerned.

John nodded, "Sorry, yeah. Hector stopped by her place on his way to training this morning. He and Ari flew back commercial as soon as this mess dropped. Anyway, he dropped off food for Soph and wonderkitty. Said they were power-napping. He didn't seem worried, so I'm sure she'll be okay? You know. She gets these once or twice a year. Only be out for a couple more days."

Max made a sad face. "I remember migraines. Ugh. I hope she feels better."

"Yeah. Meanwhile, we've upped our electronic attention to NYC, with special emphasis on traffic in or out of the Journal's HQ. Plus a few lasers on the tall glass. See if there's any Them-sign. Nothing yet, but it's a long-shot they'd use phone or e-mail anyway."

Chloe chucked. "Assholes are happy to video conference though. We have header patterns - here. Just dropped in another signature. Should trip on anything new, but have our peeps re-run over the archive too. And Tanner's home lines, or whoever else going back. Might get a hit if anything's there."

"Got it. Thanks, Chloe"

Max, thinking out loud, "Okay. I'll say it. What a frikkin' mess. And not what I thought I'd be waking up to this morning. Sorry I contributed to all this extra work, guys. Easy-bake version, I rubber-band, don't do the interview at all. I mean, if it's only bullshit - and not part of a planned response - that removes the catalyst for all this and we're golden, right?"

"If," said John.

Max nodded. "Yeah. If. I can do that any time…but hate to say it, on instinct, this feels like the other thing. Not organic. These articles…I'm barely through the first two Journal pieces, but they're too broad. And also, too weirdly specific in a few places. Like they pulled bits and pieces from the real interview, mixed in some bad interpretations from our final meeting timeline with Wallace…and then spun elaborate, calculated fogs that are scary enough to raise questions, but so vague they aren't talking about anything concrete or directly defensible. Too many third party 'experts' and statements without proof, wiggle-words…opinions of randos. Obviously, close enough to a few truths that fighting it gets uncomfortable for us. Far enough to make legal work for it, apparently.

"Getting a few facts wrong, I'd totally understand. But they went out of their way to publish full-on made-up bullshit, and that pushes me strongly toward 'agenda'. But like, I don't get it. If this is their response or part of a new line of attack…it's irritating, but hardly fatal."

"Don't be so certain, Max," cautioned Jillian. "It's our reputation. For brands, that's everything. And we've unfortunately neglected ours, or at least, left it up for interpretation. MCCP has an unusually high profile for a company desperately trying to keep a low profile; outside interest is high, but public information is low. That's a lot of grey area to play in. And it's possible we've handed those who might disagree with our…unique style of interference an opportunity."

"That was a choice we all made - to roll low key. You think that'll bite us."

"I think it bit us. And that was a choice you made. There was never consensus. We've presented alternate approaches what, four, five times? I always considered it a missed opportunity; said as much. You may not recall in quite the same way I do, and that's okay; I understand. Some execs naturally want to be rock stars. Others want to be invisible, make it all about the market or their people or vision. Different kinds of companies, different goals. But we might be out of alignment for what we're trying to accomplish in this environment.

"We've been shy but enigmatic, which invites curiosity. Which we don't seem to want. We mix absolute secrecy with ongoing waves of public altruism and the occasional burst of extreme-science-fiction-by-press-release. A vision is implied, but our drivers are unstated. And we've ridden on that, so far unchallenged. Chloe tracks pretty well. I think people generally like whatever it is that she does, in an amused sort of way. But the public doesn't register strong opinions about you, Max. Or didn't previously have strong opinions, at least.

"Which is a shame. Because we know what effect your leadership, styles, and personalities have on our own folks. Imagine that multiplied."

Max shook her head, "I disagree with your premise. We've put tons out there in the world. Maybe more than we should, faster than we ought to. People have repeatedly made the point that we've come out of nowhere. Here we are, fewer than three years into our hundred-year plan - trying to make sure they're around to build their own plans for the next thousands. There's plenty of time for all that publicity stuff if we need it. I didn't want to paint a target."

"They don't get much bigger." Jillian rested her eyes, collected herself for before continuing. "Did you know - not one single employee has ever rated us as a workplace on any online rating site? Out of nearly twenty-thousand people. Not one." She shrugged. "We don't have a policy against it - but we have a company full of people who are in on your Big Secret. What can they possibly say to the world outside about their time here that will reflect anything real?"

Max made a face. "I'm not sure what that has to do—"

"Everything. Self-inflicted wounds. Any stranger can say anything about us, and it's probably more than we've told about ourselves. Definitely more than you've ever shared, Max. It's profile, not publicity. What do people associate with our name? Secrecy is deeply embedded in the culture here. About things that probably don't need to be secret.

"It's the barrier to doing the job my team and I were hired to do. And I firmly believe it's a decision that works against our mission. I'm still learning new things we're doing every day, mostly by accident. And I work here. I've always thought it was weird that we're trying to save the world without their awareness or participation. I don't know if that scales. Maybe it's like you all said - with fusion and medicine and those kinds of quantum jumps, it doesn't matter. Maybe you're right. But…technology for sure isn't the whole problem out there. It won't be a complete solution by itself, either. Nothing you don't already know.

"I don't want to speak for others, but crisis aside, we could have been so much more. More open, setting an example, leading the world. Or going farther - opening their minds to a different kind of day. We'd be in a different place right now if we had. But instead of leading, inspiring, we're hiding. Spinning our cycles doing damage control against the tweets of thugs. We're not hidden from them.

"We're keeping our secrets though. Which are about the fate of the world and everyone in it. For all the good it does us. And no-one here pushes back on that philosophy, cause it comes from the top."

Chloe knew where Jillian was heading. Didn't want to pile on Max. But she was also disinclined to interfere. She could stand to hear some version of this again from someone else. Maybe if she hears it enough…

Jillian continued, "I don't think you guys realize how rare it is for anyone inside the company to question you. Outside your core leadership team."

Max interrupted, "That's so not true."

Jillian scratched out a doodle. "It is. I'm not talking about 'to your face'. I mean at all. To have the thought that you might be wrong. You should walk around as someone else for a day. That's one thing the Journal stories got right. Our folks all believe in you. And obviously in each other and our mission. Because we know - from you - it's the only thing that matters. But we're the only ones who know. And we're the only ones who know the character of the two women leading us. Even as insiders, we only get a partial picture, and we take a lot on faith, Max. Why wouldn't we? I mean - you're from the future. Heh. And Chloe - you have unimaginable libraries of knowledge from two realities at your fingertips. Who are any of us normals to have a question? How could either of you ever be wrong in their eyes? See the problem?"

Chloe raced to the horizon. Kept quiet.

Max's brows knit together. "Jillian, you know it's not really like that." She put her coffee cup down a little too loudly.

"It is though. You just don't see it, because you're you. Of course, I'm talking to you now, and I don't feel fearful or prevented from speaking at all. It's not like that. And everything's fine as long as you're right. And if it turns out you're ever wrong, I'm sure you'll drop behind and change things forward until you're not. We're not any of us wrong to trust you and stay focused on our own teams and problems and fields of expertise. But you're also not trying to do bio-engineering when that's not your job, so there isn't often a real need. Though in a way, you are trying to shape our approach to managing public perception, when that isn't your thing.

"There are different ways to conduct our agenda, deeper levels of engagement with the public, and they haven't all been given a fair hearing. We do a million awesome things every day that no one knows about. We should own it. It would have prevented all this wasted motion."

John looked uncomfortable.

Jillian sounded like she'd been holding this in for a while.

Chloe figured Max would see it too.

And Max being Max, she'd let Jillian speak her piece.

"Your bent has always been to have us carry out our work behind the scenes," Jillian continued. "Okay. It's how They work. If that's the template we want to emulate. No one outside knows why we're doing anything we do. And we can't explain it. There's no benefit of the crowd - or benefit of the doubt. No outside enthusiasm cheerleading us all along, no tailwinds. But sure, we can pull them all along with us. Not sure how they relate to us in the mean-time though. I guess the science nerds think we're cool. That peer level is the only place there's real dialog, but even then, it's very tightly controlled.

"You've said our deeds should speak for themselves, but…you know that ninety-nine-plus-percent of the time if we do our jobs right, no one out there ever knows we were there for them when they needed us. Or that there may have even been a reason for us to be. It doesn't accrue. And the times they do know or suspect, we've allowed it to be treated like fiction. Passive gas-lighting in a way, because it already reads like fiction. We just ignore it. Because as crazy as it sounds, you two are goddamn superheroes, we have a private army, our own space program, and robot tech from the future. And without us, the world is going to end. And we can't say a helpful word that might position us. Can't acknowledge the connections we make with people's lives when we lend a hand. Can't celebrate when they go on to do the same for someone else. Cause you won't let us. Instead, these vague mythologies grow in the wake of our actions. To some people, that's what we are. Leaving others inspired for all the wrong reasons.

"And maybe that trade-off would be acceptable in a vacuum. Except there's this other team out there; as you've all taken great pains to point out - they're powerful, organized, and adept at shaping the world to their own desires. Maybe they're pushing a very different point of view about us into the marketplace of ideas now. Cause we've chosen not to sell. We've chosen not to involve the public in their own salvation. In my heart, I can't believe that's the best call. We've given them no protection from manipulation or lies. All so we can go it alone on their behalf. In secret. Why? What good are your butterflies' wings when you keep them all locked up in jars?"

Chloe raised an eyebrow. Bold move, Cotton.

Max stared ahead. Or is it inward?

Jillian tossed her pen onto her notepad. "I'd normally chalk it up to inexperience – first company, young founders, but we know better. By the time you got to this place last round, you didn't have to sell. You didn't have to try to make anyone understand. Just did your thing quietly, and that sounds like it was the right approach for those circumstances. But this is a different world.

"We only operate with the consent of other people. And there's no discussion about a coherent counter-narrative based on the deeper truths that might keep them on board. Or talking points that might allow the few outsiders who understand us to defend us to the others who don't. Because you said no. And everyone inside trusts that you know what you're talking about. But this hasn't ever been your field."

Max scowled behind her holo. "I may not be an expert, but I'm not as unsophisticated as it might appear; I'm aware of the bigger patterns. Speaking of benefit of the doubt - you don't know everything we know. The line we're trying to walk, the tensions we're trying to maintain outside your area. But…I'm a little confused here. As the expert, what is your advice? Jump back and undo the interview with Juliet? Or stay and investigate? What are you asking for? Or are you saying that at the first sign of resistance, we should abandon our philosophy of gentle guidance, and just go completely public with the capital-T version of the truth? Expose ourselves, scare the ever-loving shit out of everyone? Probably unravel society, upend faith, history and social grounding for billions of people before they're ready? Why? Cause you don't think we can weather a misunderstanding or some bad press? Isn't that your job?"

"If I was allowed to do it," countered Jillian, without missing a beat. "Respectfully, Max, there's no audience for our advice. There hasn't been. Ounce of prevention, but I don't have permission to do my job. And my team's hands are tied behind their backs. This is the most important story, company, group of people, effort - probably in modern history. And we're leaving it untold. I've…been waiting for you guys to come around because there's no other game in town and…because I believe we can be more for people. But fixing this little tempest? That's easy. That's all you. You should just go back and do your thing and undo it all. And then keep jumping around undoing, until a million variables have been altered, and you build the perfect timeline where you get to keep your head down. You don't need me for that."

Chloe was torn between reflexive defense of Max and a new respect for Jillian. She doesn't pull her punches. Even if she doesn't know exactly where the line is.

Max, gritting, "You know the situation is more nuanced than that."

Jillian shrugged. "Not really. We engage, or we're at the mercy of others. It's how it is for everyone. Look, guys, if this is a bad-guy effort, it's a smart one. It's not about guns you can take away. They've gone after the core of our reason for being here, and exploited weaknesses we're obviously not prepared to defend.

"If we launched any of our suggested programs even six months ago, their attempt would have died in the planning stages, cause they'd know they'd be laughed off the internet. But there's no groundwork in place. We have decent goodwill based on unproven claims and a few good deeds. Third party endorsements of the tech. Tech I didn't even know was operational, and I edited the press releases. But as we're learning, third parties can also say bad things. And in the absence of prior engagement or bridge-building, it all sounds just as reasonable to people."

Jillian paused again. Spoke deliberately. "But we are where we are. If we're to stay here, moving forward, I'm only saying that our reputation is under attack, and regardless of who gave the push, that attack is snowballing beyond its origination in a predictable way. And if we're to continue to have a meaningful impact on the world, overtly or covertly, maintaining a positive reputation matters. I'm saying that this could easily spiral into operational problems. Because trust matters and the cooperation of outsiders is essential. But you'd know more about that. What I know is we don't get but the slightest benefit of the doubt in this vacuum we've created. We may need to re-examine all of our options if we're to get past this. Even the uncomfortable ones. Because the mission is supposed to be what matters most."

Chloe held her tongue. Not wrong. But too far?

"I'm not even advocating full disclosure, by the way. Just running competent strategic PR, social, advertising and marketing programs for a brand our size, at our stage, with our level of funding - and our aspirations for the world. Profile building. But…there's been no willingness to consider any of the plans we've put together. Because everybody already knows better. It requires your participation, and for you to take on more public personas and roles. Get you guys - and your personalities - out there. Which you don't seem anxious to do. I don't want to make you be something you're not, Max. But someone needs to do this work. Someone needs to represent us. Represent these ideas we care so much about. There have been some disjointed efforts, but it's so minimal…

"We all know you can jump around the timeline fixing things if this craters, so I trust you to sort it out. I do. But if me sharing my perspective, as the lone subject matter expert who's willing to question you, saves you some loop time, that's all I can offer."

Chloe took a read on Max. Micro-expressions…conflicted. That's probably enough for now. "Let's table this topic for the moment, Jillian?" Chloe briefly debated sending her a side-text. She and Sophie each explored aspects of these themes with Max in their own ways. And she knew Max was lately near the fence herself, if not remotely on it. Not there yet. May not ever get there though, when there would always be another way. Still. Worth a try.

Jillian nodded.

Each remained silent.

Max doesn't look pissed, but she's not happy either.

Hard to separate out the day from the rest though.

She'll think about it.

The analyst next to John eventually filled the void. "I don't know about all that awkwardness, but it doesn't seem like the big-bad. Their style. Aren't they usually more direct? Is there a phase 2?"

Another, opposite, argued, "I don't know. Could be a distraction for something coming. Or, for all we know, this is how they usually drive history, or…whatever it is they do."

Chloe had a strong sense of deja-vu. Probably not the only one.

John, between bites, "Chloe? You're quiet. I'm sure you've been over everything in the last half-hour. What are you dying to say?"

Chloe downshifted, hit the brakes, changed lanes. Accelerated. "I'm multitasking. What you've all already said. Guns don't work, so maybe it's a new tack. Need more intel to be sure. Otherwise, we're guessing. And other-otherwise, I'm mostly pissed. Journal motherfuckers…bunch of hit and run chickenshit assholes. Sorry. I've been rootin' around, no pun. Hang on. You know what? Fuck it. I'm in their infrastructure anyway…nothing obviously incriminating jumps out, but…gimmie a sec, just adding few new files over here…and…I'll publish their sincere, heartfelt retraction and apology for them. Boom. Solved."

"Chloe, please - wait. They'll only come out later and say they were hacked," suggested Jillian. "Your internet fan clubs are visibly running amok in their own ways. Which, unfortunately, plays right into the growing 'fanaticism' story angles."

Max groaned. "Oh. Shit. That's right, 'wacky internet fringe'? That's gonna get interesting. Since when are they all hackers though?"

Jillian shrugged. Folded her hands. "Some are. It's a…large, diverse fringe? Fringes. And they're all acting like this is their goddamn day to shine. Talking openly about brigading, campaigns, petitions, boycotts. Doxing, harassing journalists. Which will go predictably. I'm sure it's only a day or two before the wildest speculations of the fringe conspiracy people share mainstream airtime and column-space with the skeptics and accusers. It's going to get more complicated-weird than it will be 'interesting'. The fuel for this fire is potentially endless. Which should be concerning."

Chloe passed a truck like it was standing still, where the freeway narrowed to highway. "Meanwhile, our intrepid hero Chloe is driving into an atomic test range, toward early fallout…still no pun."

"Yeah, sorry, Chloe," said John. "Tried to take that one, but with Mitchell out of the country on vacay after closing Lombard…they said it had to be more senior - you or Max. They'll lift the lockdown on our folks once you get there. Their math isn't hard to grok."

Jillian put down her cup. "That's what I'm…these are direct effects. Three days in, and Chloe's having to go off and deal with all that, Jeremy's fielding early SEC rumblings. It's already beginning. Certain to get worse, if we don't get a proactive handle on this soon. Or before. At the most conservative, we have a crisis plan, talking points. We've done a lot of the research and messaging; you could take it all back to Sunday night if you're reluctant to undo the interview itself or…any of the rest, Max. Give us a heads-up, the plan, benefit of the specific coverage data. Minimizes damage while leaving the bad guys in play - if this turns out to be a bad guy thing. Which, it sounds like you're all trending toward."

Chloe cut in with a sharp jerk, narrowly avoiding an oncoming car. "Whatever this is, it's damned inconvenient. I had other plans."

John shrugged, "Alternative to your little adventure is an asset seizure under the general heading of 'national security concerns'. Also inconvenient - and as Jillian keeps reminding me, won't help the shape of the emerging story-snowball if they announced it. Let's not give them a reason to want that?"

"Yeah. No, I know, dude. They're doing us a courtesy, coming in person. They prolly just need to look one of us in the eye. Acquisition's fresh, and with this media nonsense, fed stiffs have to be a little nervous about supply continuity, potential blowback on them, and, you know, our provisional clearances. Since S-6 is essentially a giant SCIF inside a controlled access mini-state…nevermind Area 51, right? I mean, DOD guys should be pretty easy to manage once I'm there - I'm into their digital lives already but…I don't like that this has put us back on the DOJ's radar. Bad memories. SEC is new. We're private, not sure why they care. Guess I could snoop. I'll, uh…try to be my most charming self for the DOD peeps and hurry back."

Max cautioned, "Not too charming, Chlo. And hey, while you're driving, maybe you could go back over the Juliet dragnet stuff yourself? I know our folks are good, but…"

"…I see things different. Yeah. Already ahead of ya. You're going then?"

"Course. I'll be lower profile than a team. Oh, good reminder - um, have them stand down, John? If she's there, it'll go better one-on-one. And if she's not, I might notice something you guys would miss. I remember how she keeps her room."

"Okay. All yours. Low key. Are those the rules of engagement? Is this 'line a keeper? Or are we in a recon loop?" John rose from the table.

Max pulled her hair above her into a pineapple. "We'll see. Play it like it's forever, and that way, if it is…"

Hands on the table, he said, "Got it. And after you're done in New York, maybe you should bump north, hunt down your new beady-eyed, floppy-headed bestie, Wallace? Since he's the highest-order bad guy we have an address for? See if he has anything to say. Or meaningful silence?"

Max looked up, pondering. "If it's them, they'd expect that. He probably won't know anything on the chance. Watch him, but no contact? He's got a different role to play in this. If we hit a wall, I'll do a mini-loop. But for now, I'm inclined to leave him be."

"Noted."

"Okay - you guys keep going. Jilli - quick circle back - I hear you, even if I don't entirely agree. We did spend time with the various plans, in some detail. I felt at the time they were too ambitious, too early. In my experience, interviewers always zoom in on our apparent ages, our education - it's a mechanical function of where we are in the timeline. But it's a distraction. Couple more years, it won't be an issue. We'll have more tech functioning in the world, hopefully fewer skeptics.

"But…I've been doing some thinking as well. About the friction between secrecy and influence, and between helping directly and encouraging self-empowerment. Maybe we can talk again once this is behind us - if you want. It's possible we've…dogmatically overcorrected; there might be some other things we can do in the mean-time.

"For now, I feel like we need a better handle on the lay of the land before we commit to a short-term direction. Thank your team for all the hard work. I think we all understand and share your urgency and concern. Can always reboot. Give us a day or two to decide." Max pushed back from her holo.

"Of course. No malice. Just trying to help. And few more hours won't be what suicides us on the altar of public opinion." Jillian cracked a smile. "I'm more than happy to let this be a reboot too. Clean. Not that I'm pushing." Jillian leaned back in her chair. "But to be clear, I'm pushing. About the other, yeah - any time. I think we'd all welcome that discussion, see if there's some beneficial middle ground."

Max nodded, reached for the holo-controls. "Cool. Heading off-comms for a few. Shower. Change. I'll jump back on once I'm in New York? What's it like in the city today, Chlo?"

"Uh. Let's see. Fashion Week. Also, Dog Fashion Week - that's cute. Jedi lightsaber combat exhibition going on…buuuut that's not what you were asking. Uh, as far as weather goes, layer up. Snowed a couple days ago, you'll have two or three inches maybe in open spaces, some black ice. Galoshes if you're feeling splashy, it's slush off the curbs. Cloudy, upper twenties over the next few days, twenty-mile-per-hour winds, blah blah blah, let's see - nothing new hit the city until next week, which shut everything down. TL;DR: uh, it's cold, but you should be fine today. Watch your step is all."

"Thanks. BRB."

---

Max adjusted her wooly scarf against the chill wind, crunched her way up the last of the steps from Morningside Park to the western road that shared its name.

Snow blanketed the city, blended with low, cloudy skies, leaving sharp vertical shadows as the only contrasting relief. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, even the shadows faded with distance. It's like I've stepped into an old black and white photo.

Juliet's contemporary dorm towered twenty stories above her.

Chloe's voice in her earpiece, "Come on. Turn 'em on, dude."

"Gimmie a sec, your royal impatientness. Just got here." Max unfolded the glasses, put them on. They fired up with her body heat. Her eyes tracked the boot-up calibration prompts on the overlay. Sync. Test patterns dissolved to standard telemetry. Geo-markers, temperature, structural wireframes, and other background information, lightly drawn. Most faded to near-transparency until she needed it, leaving her vision clear.

A fog built up, the lenses heated in response, cleared.

"There you are."

"Bossy." Max smiled. "I'm not even your best eyes." Made her way between two parked cars, stepped over the plow of slush. Crossed the slippery road.

A hummingbird snapped in, hovered in front of Max. "Nope," Chloe disagreed and agreed at the same time. "But you are pretty goddamn adorkable in those frames." The drone shot straight up, joining the others. "You'll blend right in."

"Where am I blending?"

"Hang on - I gotta navigate the outer-gate guys, guys. Just follow the hud, Max. You'll be fine."

John's voice replaced Chloe's. "We have your position and cam live on the floor. Shoot the left gap; you can get in on the far side."

Max turned toward the locked steel bars to the left of the building. A thick, blocky arrow hung in space like a semi-transparent holo, steady, tracking with her head and eye movements. She folded across the small gap of the gate. Glasses stuttered, caught up to her new position.

Followed the nav to the side entry door.

Keycard. Nope.

Folded across again.

Transit-style gates inside, bypassed. "I'm in."

A few students relaxed in lounge-chairs on either side of the main floor lobby, notebooks, textbooks or tablets in their laps. Quiet. Light, transparent circles around each face, their names lined out in space above their heads. "Why do I ever take these off?" Max mused.

One of the students looked up. She smiled at Max.

Would you still be smiling right now if you knew everything we know? Max kept walking.

"I'm in too," said Chloe. "And back. Let me know if you wanna see through walls or anything?"

"I think we can leave these peeps free from the peeps for now." Max wandered to the elevator doors. Fifteen arrows of various sizes, shapes, and degrees of pulsation helpfully highlighted the 'up' call button for her.

Max rolled her eyes. "Smartass."

Chloe chuckled. "Don't want you to get lost."

A ding.

"After all this time, what must you think of me?"

"Well, to be fair, you do sometimes get a little bit lost."

"Hey. Easy." Max smiled, entered the elevator. "Let's take a moment to remember who warped us halfway to Andromeda and back. Without course correction, I might add."

Chloe stayed silent.

Everyone the ops side of the line did too.

That's…they don't…they're probably processing that last bit.

A soft amber circle pulsed around the '18' button. Max pushed it. "Better."

The elevator stopped to pick up a student, releasing him a few floors up. Continued. Opened to the 18th floor. Max exited, turned right, passed a common lounge area, continued down the long, central hallway.

Yeah. Mind is best on the present. Table it.

Narrow, dark. Flat wooden doors, unadorned. Number-plates. Arrows traveled halfway to the far side, stopped with an abrupt left.

Here we are. "Chloe, gimme a pulse?"

"You gotta learn the menus, Max. Hang on."

In her glasses, the overlay brought forward the wireframe of the rooms beyond the door, outlines of furniture, plumbing, residual thermal on the electric stovetop, but no one inside. The electronic lock clicked open.

"You're welcome," lead Chloe.

Max played along. "Thank you. Not breaking and entering if nothing's broken."

"My lifetime spent enabling your life as a criminal. Wouldn't even be the hundredth time for that…" trailed Chloe.

Inside, a small futon, flat-screen. Behind the futon to one side, the kitchen. To the other, a bathroom. Dim light pushed through the small windows of each. Left and right, closed doors. The one to Max's left blinked in overlay.

Max tried the knob. Locked.

John's voice. "Try the top of the door-jam?"

On toes, she reached up. Amidst the dust, her fingers found the small, flat key.

Unlocked.

Max opened Juliet's bedroom door.

"Controlled access," deadpanned John.

Her room was small. Half the size of their old dorms at best. Only enough space for a bed, desk, chair. Books. A few bright tchotchkes from her childhood and her family travels.

Her bed was made, but not overly so. Comforter. Poofy. Pillows.

Framed pictures livened up the gloss-painted cinder walls. Downtown Manhattan, in wide-angle black and white from above. Promo posters from a few musicals. Her parents, wood-framed, on her desk.

Max opened the closet door. Clothes, shoes, grouped and ordered by brand. Ironing board. Steamer. Hamper. No spare hangars. Empty suitcases tucked above. Nothing loose. Everything had a tidy, organizing bin and lid, just like her room at Blackwell.

Max checked the trashcan under her desk. A few crumpled papers. Homework figures. Nothing interesting. Leafed through a few books. Nothing fell out. Lifted the mattress. Only sheets, tucked in.

Under the window, a flat wall radiator. On either side, plain, inset cubbies. Jewelry boxes. A few more books, keepsakes. In one, down low, a black box. She took it, sat on the bed. Opened the box.

Lifted the stack of photos out. Set the box aside. Flipped through them.

Chloe, in her ear, "Ouch."

Max, voice withdrawn, "Yeah." Candids from classrooms. A skeleton with a cigarette. A close-up of Victoria Chase, unaware. Vic. Sky, trees, through a paned window. Max lingered before going to the next. The old lighthouse from the beach. A few early photo assignments. Dana over-dramatically reclining near a tree outside the old dorms. Trevor, tossing a football to Zach. A crystal ballerina from a low angle, macro probably, blurred, backlit by a window, printed in high-contrast black and white. Couple of old childhood snapshots.

Max set the photos back, nestled in the box with a couple of party fliers, programs, spirit ribbons. Half a small gold charm. Be Fri.

"Only ghosts," whispered Max. Gently laid the box to rest in the bottom cubby.

"Okay, Max?"

"I'm okay. It's…nothing we haven't seen before." Flashes of the deconstruction. Paid for, but not attended. Until once, later, in the rebuilding. Brick by brick. The remnants of Arcadia gradually dissembled in the first pass. Over years. Not this timeline. Least they could do, even if from a distance.

Max shook it off. Opened the closet door one more time, closed it.

Backtracked to the small living room. Bathroom. Kitchen. Refrigerator was stocked. Fruits, vegetables. Insulin? Roommate. A few mismatched bottles of beer. Frozen meals. Pint of ice cream, half-eaten.

Cabinets half-full, cereal, peanut butter, ramen and microwave popcorn. Pasta on the counter. Max blinked at the menu-surround at the edge of her glasses. See-through one more time, looking for anything hidden. Nothing.

"What do you think, Max?" asked John.

"Nothing you guys haven't identified on your end. Whether she left or was taken, it was unexpected. No sign of a struggle here. No empty hangars or half-empty drawers. Her books, luggage are here, along with her toothbrush, hairbrush. No purse anywhere though. She left thinking she was coming back. Whatever changed, it happened was while she was out in the world."

Chloe jumped in. "'Bout that. Dipped into the surveillance archive like you asked. It looked for all the world like a big fat blank. I'm not surprised our gang missed it."

"Missed what?" asked John, concerned.

"Like Max said…ghosts. Only this time, in the data."

"Chlo - what do you see?"

"She went out. But somebody followed behind after, erased her from all of the streams. Somebody really fucking good."

"Wait - what? Like your kind of erase?"

"Okay, not that good. But…almost. They tried. Left artifacts behind. Nothing an eyeball could ever see. But the upside is, I have a trail that starts with Juliet on Monday morning, outside her dorm. I'm working it backward and forward from there. Takes a little time going from one source to the next. Could use some pacing help. You up for a quick walkabout, Max?"

---

Chloe wasn't reconstructing the missing visual bits of information from the recorded streams, so much as extrapolating and chasing the edges, the data outlines of erasure of where Juliet had been.

Almost like watching a small, thin piece of glass swinging outside a window, but from a distance. Painstaking work, further limited by the throughput of the various source streams. The resulting holographic recreation in Max's lenses unfolded in real-time as a result.

"Okay - so this is how it'll work, Max. Just follow the holos like they're people. John, I'm duping the feed to you guys too. Plus archive."

Max said, "She's coming out of the door. This is cool, Chlo. She's turned, heading down the street. …and we're walking…"

Chloe authenticated herself to the gate security system on the turn in from Mercury Highway. Rolled through to the site, engine tamed back to a civilized burble. Parked in their reserved space. Exited to the cold, dry Nevada air. Vague hints of asphalt and vinyl on the wind.

Three black Chevy Suburbans with government plates hunkered in the no-parking area next to the main office entrance. Dust patterned around their wheel wells. A young uniformed soldier watched over the vehicles, smoking a cigarette.

Another John. 24, southern Florida native, just re-upped. Started life poor as fuck. Cute wife back in Norfolk now. House. Pictures. New baby; looks like a tiny alien. Just a normal dude.

Chloe partitioned, splitting attention between navigating her present and uncovering Juliet's recent past.

Gave DriverJohn a nod on her way in.

Game face.

---

Max kept pace behind Chloe's holo-sim. It wasn't Juliet, exactly. But it was a person-shaped form, rendered in light, glitching somewhere between two and three-dimensions. Good enough reconstruction to mirror her every move, if none of the detail between the lines.

Max's breath turned to fog, clouding her glasses.

Her foot slipped a little as she stepped down off the curb.

Oops. That'd be bad.

The fogging stopped. The thin layer of snow and ice melted around her.

Better.

Before Juliet was halfway across the street, another light-figure entered the crosswalk from the other side. Someone else who was erased? Collided with Juliet. They both stopped, fumbled, bent over in the street. The figure returned something. Kept walking. Looked back. Faded.

Juliet stepped up the far curb. Took something out of her pocket maybe. Paused. Examined it. Turned. Looked in all directions, then continued, a little more quickly.

"Chlo? What did we just see? What just happened?"

Chloe's inner voice responded, "Not a hundred percent sure. Might be nothing. Hesitation in her step says uncertainty after. Maybe she got a text? I'm digging in parallel…oh. That's interesting."

Max followed a few steps behind. "What?"

"She got a text, but not on her phone. Shit. I think…I think we just saw a hand-off. In the crosswalk. That was a burner."

"From who? Any idea what it said?" Juliet's figure continued to walk, turned once, kept going.

"Not yet. Following the hander-offer in both directions now too. I've got the tower and device ID, walking that to the source. Metadata's faked, and nothing on the message content. Looks like the transaction logs were altered too. Shit. Wide open backdoor at the carrier. Someone's been busy."

"Might help if we knew what it said."

"Patience. Hey - John - while I'm polytasking with this and our DOD dudes over here, can you have somebody break in and pull Juliet's message archive from NSA backups? Her carrier's a dead end. I'm gonna keep working on this burner back-end."

"On it."

Max made it another half block before Chloe came back on. "Okay, guys. Max. We got something big and noisy coming up. Next intersection. Shit."

"What is it?"

"Big, freaky ball of eraser-trace. And I recovered a fragment of the burner text…sending."

At the lower end of Max's field of view, a text. It read,'…shoo…ros/…hedral station.' "What the hell?"

Chloe in her ear, "Ah, fer fuck's sake."

Max hit the intersection as Juliet's ghost was halfway through. A big blocky vehicle, probably a van, rendered in, skidded next to her. Figures jumped out at her, reached to grab.

"Here we go…"

Juliet's form dropped, deadweight, kicking.

Smart. Good girl.

Two pulled at her arms, up, into the vehicle, glitches, blurring. The head of one of the figures snapped back. It dropped, fell on top of her. The other let go.

"Chloe?"

The render froze.

"…ahead of you, Max. Hang on. Narrowing. There. Left. Top of a brownstone, opposite side of the park. Caught a barrel-shaped artifact over the edge of the roof, in an ATM cam across the street. Hello, party number two. Someone waited for this."

Max traced the dotted line of the projectile to a highlighted shape on a rooftop. "Is she okay?"

"Wish I could focus here. Hang on. There's more."

The reconstruction resumed. A smaller vehicle entered the scene from the opposite direction, the intersection, pulled to block the van. Three shapes exited, leaving the driver. Visual noise, then Juliet was up, bent, running away, covering her head, ears. Slipped. Slid behind cars. Ran down the broad steps into Morningside Park.

"She must have been scared to death. Do you have her through the park?"

"Yeah - no - lost her, going wider, artifacts pick up again on the lower street."

A marker appeared in Max's glasses. She folded the space between. Picked up the glow of residual Juliet heading quickly away. "I'm here."

"So looks like the guys upstairs kept at it. Two down on each side. Van's taken off, left their dudes in the road. Second vehicle pulled their peeps. Both have taken off. Need to keep an eye on that intersection, see who came in for the cleanup. Plenty of witnesses. And why wasn't any of this in the news? Fast-forwarding. Following both vehicles forward and back. Shit. Fragmenting. Lots to trace in all directions. Hang on. Spinning up a couple of core-bot helper-monkeys for the autopilot handoff…there. Okay. I'm back. Scouting ahead. We hit another dead-spot, but she probably keeps going. Got her. Up there."

Juliet's outline snapped forward, halfway down the block. Max folded again to catch up. Juliet crossed left onto Cathedral. "…hedral station…"

"Yep. Looks like. Couple blocks up on the left. Northwest corner of Central Park. Right direction."

A holographic vehicle shape jumped the curb in the distance. Aimed at Juliet's outline on the sidewalk.

Juliet scrambled over the hood of a parked car, jostled off it in the sideswipe. Fell to the street on the far side. Got up, sliding, running.

Another vehicle from a cross-street entered view, ran at Juliet, aiming to pin her between itself and the row of parked cars. Less than half the distance to her, it was pushed off course by another passenger car.

"Okay…" Chloe sounded puzzled. "That's interesting."

"What the fuck is going on, Chloe? It's like two separate groups are fighting over her? While someone else is trying to warn her or help her maybe?"

"Uh. Yeah. Keep after her for a minute. I'm on to something…"

It was weird seeing the visuals, but no sound. That, plus the transparency gave it an otherworldly feeling.

The van hit by the passenger car spun out. Figures emerged, unsteady, apparently firing weapons toward her. Juliet, moving in a panic, hid between two parked SUVs, huddled. Hands covered her head and ears again. Frozen.

One firing shape dropped. Went straight down.

The other flew up into the air. Cartwheeling before coming to land in a crumpled heap in the middle of the intersection. A lone boot thrown off. Faded.

Chloe said, "Fuck, dude. Somebody's playing. Wow. Okay. Context. Somebody greened that whole intersection. There's a lot here that wasn't erased - near misses, cars blowing through. But it looks like Juliet has at least one friend."

Juliet stayed in place. More cars. Men. On her phone again. Hesitated. Made a break on the sidewalk-side. Figures fought amongst themselves.

Ahead of Max, between two parked cars again, Juliet's shadow, her head up, ducked, ran behind the cars down the sidewalk toward the underground. Car to car, stayed low. Stopped. Looked down. Continued.

"I think someone's guiding her." Max picked a spot ahead, folded. The glasses caught up, Juliet-shape continued to run toward her. Through her. Max turned.

A roundabout intersection. Lights. To the left, a narrow stairwell entrance to the subway. Juliet ran toward it. Stopped too quickly. Skidded, almost falling back.

Two figures ran up the stairs, onto the street toward her.

"That was a preemptive stop. I think you're right, Max."

She paused at the edge of the roundabout, then ran full-tilt across to the center island. Statue. Steps. Stone seats. Continued to the far side.

The two figures ran into the curving street after her. One flew sideways.

"Bus," said Chloe.

The other kept going.

"Okay, hold up, Max. Helpers are taking the load, and I'm getting better at this. You can stop here for a sec. Up ahead, it's more of the same - there's some back and forth, I think you're right on the burner. Someone's talking to her. Looks like she went into the park, couple of asshats in vehicles tried to intercept, another maybe firefight between third parties, she noped out through the underbrush and doubled back to the other subway entrance. Another text. Yeah…okay. She dropped her old phone in a trash bin. Looks like some dudes went down after her, got tangled in uncooperative turnstiles. Let's see…fast forward. I've got a dead end. She got on an A train. Artifacts stop there. Dead zone, and…nothing. She didn't get off anywhere down the line. But she's not there on that train, either."

"What does that mean?"

"Means we lost her. But it looks like they did too. Should develop a better picture on the other assholes as soon as my little agents finish doing their thing."

John interrupted, "Guys, we've got her personal text and geo-history. You want to see this. She was into something else over the last couple weeks. Not sure what, but copying you both on the report."

---

Juliet startled as the drone flew through the top of the open window. Every sound was too loud, too sudden. Even the ones she expected.

Not as bad a fright as that first night here. Bumping against the window. Fucking heart attack.

It was one of the big consumer types she used to see flying around the city parks.

Daily ritual now. She removed the chocolate. And lifted the fresh prepaid phone from the wire basket under it, put the old one in its place.

Unpackaged the device, powered it on.

Text message waited for her.

:: Need anything?

She replied.

:: Where do I start?

Hit send.

A moment. A reply.

:: Hang in there. :)

The drone retreated through the window, tilted against the crosswind. Flew low over the island grounds, vanished in the general direction of Brooklyn.

She raised the double-hung window, sealing out the chill. Mostly.

Her new 'friends' said she was secure in this…safehouse. Whoever they were. Called themselves The Collective. Whatever. They warned her. Helped her get through the city to safety. Like they could see her.

All the way down to Governor's Island, off the southern tip of Manhattan. Mostly deserted in winter. No ferries. Construction stopped with the snow. The few artists, maintenance workers were on the other side of the old fort and weren't keen to wander out in this weather. Aside from the general freezing temperatures and drifted snow, a stiff wind blew across the island, amplifying the extreme chill. She was alone. For now.

She closed the thick, light-blocking curtains, shivered. Sat on the floor in front of the gas wall-heater. Blower on the highest setting. Stayed long enough to take the edge off. Got too warm otherwise. Left her skin red. First night, she didn't even notice. It was something she could feel.

They'd guided her to a well-stocked, fully furnished historical residence, albeit small and poorly insulated. Old tube TV. Books. She noted several that looked to be about dealing with trauma, PTSD. Picked one up, but… There was also food. Blankets. Hot water. An orange and white house-kitty. The heater was on most of the time. She had internet access through the mobile devices they changed out. They said they were secure for browsing but warned her against reaching out to anyone.

Absolutely fucking crazy. Awful.

Guns.

She'd never even been around them before.

Always scared her, in the abstract. Before.

Just…

Exploded in her ear, right next to her. The brass shells flew off, hit her, burning.

People were running away.

Still had a high-pitched whine on her left side days later.

No blood though. Not…hers.

She couldn't find any mention of Monday.

Didn't make any sense.

Or maybe it did.

The black vans, with their discreet square MCCP logos outlined on the lower corner of the doors. The black-clad soldiers. And the others in grey. The…fighting…endless thunder…and all that blood. Everywhere. On her. And…

Was just a regular day. Coffee before class.

She watched six human beings die in front of her. Maybe more. One fell close, held her eyes. Both of them afraid. Then he was gone. That they a wanted to hurt her didn't make it any less terrible.

She couldn't clean the pools of red snow from her memory.

Shuddered.

Didn't matter what from.

Light feet.

The tabby found her lap again. Crawled over her thigh, curled between her crossed legs. She stroked it absently.

When her eyes were open, she wanted to squeeze them shut.

But when her eyes were shut, she needed them to be open.

She didn't have a scratch.

One minute distracted.

The next, her heart raced for no reason.

Too much death. For one life.

It didn't make any sense.

The Journal pieces. Her name was on them, but she didn't recognize anything of herself, anything in the story. Or did she? She had their drive. If that was even what it was, after what Alex said…did they know? The messages said Alex was okay, that they covered her tracks, but…what did that mean? And what the hell was on that drive? If any of what was in print about MCCP was even partially true, and if they believed she was behind the story or anything else… Would they do this? The vans.

Could Max Caulfield do this?

Juliet never did see Chloe. But there were too many times in that interview, and employee interviews later that week, where she didn't feel like she knew Max at all.

But if not them, who? Why?

I don't know what to do.

You'll stay with me, won't you?

No one answered.

Who am I talking to?

The kitty purred softly, making biscuits against her ankle.

At least the house was quiet.

Even if there was nothing solid to grab onto.

The wind whistled vaguely.

She was hidden. Huddled.

Content to keep her head down.

Wanted to go home. Home home.

Mom. Dad.

Instead, she was alone on an island, less than a thousand yards from millions of people.

Some of whom had guns.

And might still be looking for her.

Sleep came each night, but only late, and only then from exhaustion.

She finally passed out in a pile of blankets in the living room, in front of the blazing gas furnace. She didn't want to dream. Not again. Didn't want to see their faces. Their insides.

Too much.

Stop.