A / N: I'm aliiiiiive!
Full disclosure - I had no idea it had been so long since I updated this story. I got sucked into another story and other (significantly less fun) things, but it was always my intention to continue A Fine Line. To everyone who waited patiently for an update, I can only say thank you. Ready to get back on this train of pain with me?
"-another assault-"
"-soup down N42-"
"-Brynda's getting worried-"
"-running low-"
"-surface reports-"
Leela shut her eye and inhaled sharply through her nose. The smell of the sewer made this unpleasant, but the cyclops needed to ground herself somehow.
She was sitting at the head of a long table in Undercity Hall, facing maybe forty mutants, and every one of them was trying to tell her something different. None of it made any sense, and the cacophony of voices was giving her a headache. She caught Munda's eye across the table and grimaced.
Munda immediately took charge of the situation. She nudged her husband in the ribs. This must have been some kind of husband-wife code, because Morris glanced at his daughter, then stood on his chair and whistled sharply.
The sound was ear-splitting, and silence fell in an instant. (When her father whistled, Leela had noticed he reached a higher pitch than anyone else she'd ever heard. It was probably something to do with the shape of his mouth. Whatever the reason, she was grateful for it now.)
"One at a time!" Morris said into the silence. "You're all acting like it's Muck-Rake Monday and my Leela's the prize clam. Stop tossing questions at her, you'll make her dizzy." He grinned. "I think we're all big enough and ugly enough to wait our turn."
Leela cleared her throat.
"Thanks, Dad. That's, uh . . . that's broadly what I was going to say, if I could get a word in edgeways." She sighed. "Maybe we could go round the table, and everyone could air their grievances." She turned to the man beside her. "Leg Mutant, why don't you start?"
Leg Mutant hopped nervously on the ball of his foot.
"We're – we're running low on food," he stammered. "We still have meat: crocodile and rat are still easy to come by, and the mushrooms are thriving. The problem is that since we shut off contact with the surface, they stopped sending down food and medical supplies. They used to send that stuff as payment for our work in the sewer. It was never much – a lot of it was past expiry, but it was stuff we can't come by down here. Grains. Canned fruit and vegetables. Rice. That kind of thing. We used it to bulk up our meals, and it kept away the worst of the malnutrition." His expression was dour. "We're already hungry, but if this keeps going much longer, we're going to be starving."
"It's true," a woman to his left nodded. "I'm going without to feed my children, but they still go to bed with empty stomachs."
Leela stared at her.
"Why didn't anyone tell me this before?"
"We believe in what you're doing," Leg Mutant said simply. Those around him nodded.
Leela swallowed.
"Well," she said, humbled, "I'll see what I can do. Make a list of what you need. I have a contact on the surface who'd be only too happy to hold up a grocery store. Who's next?"
"Me," a gruff-voiced, bear-like mutant rumbled. He had to be eight feet tall, and his shoulders were covered in shaggy green fur, a mutation Leela had never seen before. "It's not all bad news," he said. "We've successfully blocked or sealed off most access routes from the surface, and the others are under guard. So far there hasn't been any trouble. Not for us."
Leela raised her eyebrow.
"Then for who?"
The green bear mutant shifted uncomfortably.
"There was an incident up at N42," he admitted. "It's a manhole near Cookieville. Some kids from the sewer snuck up there looking for food. The old guy who runs the orphanarium talked to them through the grating, heard they were hungry. He poured down some soup."
"Warden Vogel?" Leela frowned. "I don't get it – what's the problem? That was kind. It was a kind thing to do."
The mutant nodded.
"I know," he said. "But Cookieville's a trouble spot. There are soldiers posted there now, because of the connection to you."
Leela went cold.
"What happened?"
"Not much. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, but they didn't like what Vogel did. They roughed him up with fists and rifle butts, mostly. He's an old guy, and he looked in a pretty bad way, but he definitely got up again, and he was able to walk off, so . . ."
"Oh my god."
"I'm sorry."
Leela swallowed. Warden Vogel. The old man had looked after her and the other orphans, when she was a child. He had been harried, and detached, and Leela knew she had never been his favorite orphan . . . but he had cared for her, in his way. He had had a way of enforcing the institution's rules that suggested he didn't necessarily agree with them, he was just too tired to fight them. And now he had been hurt, because of her. Too many people had been hurt because of her.
She looked around the room and her gaze settled on Raoul. The man had been Supreme Mutant for years – re-elected by his people three times in a row – but he had been noticeably reluctant when it came to war with the surface. It made sense, Leela supposed. Raoul's specialty had been maintaining the status quo. He was a comforting choice with a proven track record – a reassuring leader, sure, but not a radical one. Open war had been beyond his imagining, and now it was upon him he didn't seem to know what to do. He was getting older too, which couldn't help. When it came down to it, he had simply fallen in behind Leela, like everyone else.
"What about the cop who mutated?" she asked him. "How's he doing? Who's looking after him?"
Raoul grimaced.
"Our newest citizen? Hasn't left the med center since he mutated. Won't eat, won't talk . . . Brynda's thinking about force-feeding him. I tried to extend a formal welcome, but I don't think he took much of it in."
"It's probably the shock," Munda said kindly. "It takes them that way, sometimes."
"We don't get a lot of mutated topsiders these days," Morris put in. "It happened a few times when we were young, but Munda's right – mostly they just shut off. It's a big adjustment."
Leela frowned.
"Well, why don't you send one of them to talk to him? It might help."
There was an awkward silence, then Munda squeezed her hand.
"It was a big adjustment, sweetie. Too big in the end."
"You mean -"
"Best not to think about it."
"It's okay," a small voice piped up. "I don't think he's going to do that. We're keeping a real close eye on him. Well, Mr Filmore is. He's the only one who doesn't make him scream, because he's from the surface too."
It was Skreem. She had squeezed through the crowd and was smiling shyly at Leela.
Leela didn't smile back.
"I appreciate your input," she said stiffly, "but this is really a meeting for adults, Skreem. There are things you shouldn't hear."
The young mutant's face fell. Her gills flapped nervously as she sucked in extra air.
"I only came to tell you your friend from the surface is here. The one who likes pink."
Across the table, Vyolet hissed.
"There's a topsider in our sewer?"
"Mr Filmore says we can trust her," Skreem insisted.
"He would. He's surface."
Skreem scowled, gills flaring.
"Don't you talk about him like that! He's fighting with us, and he's my friend -"
Leela decided to intervene before the situation could escalate any further.
"Relax, everybody. It's Amy. She worked with me on the surface. She's known what I am for years now and never breathed a word. We can trust her. Besides," she added, "she's the one bringing me reports from the surface. Without her help we wouldn't have a clue what the mood is up there, or what Nixon is planning." She shot Vyolet a quelling look. "I'm telling you we can trust her, and my word should be enough for anyone."
"You're the reason the surface came after us in the first place," Vyolet retorted.
"Oh, and you were happy before, I suppose?"
"We weren't dead!"
"You weren't being killed in the streets," Leela corrected. "The surface was still killing you. They were just using substandard medical care and exploding sewer pipes instead of guns. You can't possibly think that's better."
"I don't."
"Then what's your problem?"
Vyolet didn't respond, but her gaze dropped to Leela's stomach and something twisted in her expression.
"Nothing," she said. It was a blatant lie – that much was obvious – but she was gone before Leela could get into it. And Skreem was already tugging her out into the street, determined to get her to Amy.
So when Leela muttered "What was that about?" she wasn't expecting an answer.
Skreem surprised her by providing one.
"She thinks it's wrong you're breeding with the surface," the girl said innocently.
"What?"
"Some people think mutants should only be with other mutants," Skreem elaborated. "They think surface people can't be trusted, and . . . um, they think maybe you think you're too good for mutants. But I don't think that," she said quickly. "I think people love who they love and they can't help it." Her shy smile returned. "And you love Philip."
Leela stopped.
"Who told you that?"
"Mr Filmore. I asked him about the baby. And he said he loves you, and you love Philip, and it's complicated."
"Philip?" Leela frowned. "He said Philip? Not Fry?"
Skreem nodded.
"Is that wrong?"
Leela sighed.
"It's complicated."
They walked in silence for a minute or so, but Skreem obviously had more she wanted to say.
"What is it?" Leela asked, figuring she might as well get it over with.
Skreem flushed a darker green.
"Is he nice?" she asked hesitantly. "Philip, I mean. Is he nice? I didn't want to ask Mr Filmore about him because, well . . ."
"I know." Leela went quiet. They were approaching her parents' front door. "He is," she said at last. She felt for the soft swell of her stomach, hidden for now underneath her sweater. A strange kind of laugh burst out of her. "He's a good man, whoever he is. I don't think I could do this with anyone else."
It was the truth. Lars had it right – the man she loved was Philip, and Philip was two people at once: he was Lars, the man who made her feel safe and couldn't give up on her if he tried, and he was Fry, the only person who had ever really seen her. Fry, who had found his way under her skin so long ago it should have been no surprise to find evidence of it when he was gone.
She left Skreem on her doorstep and stepped inside to greet Amy.
"Leela!"
The Martian girl was on her in an instant. She was wearing a fluffy pink belly parka for fall, and matching mittens – being hugged in them was like being smothered by an oversized Lovey Bear. It didn't help that she was also wearing a sickly sweet vanilla perfume, which made Leela uncomfortably aware that she herself probably reeked of greasy sewer soap. She endured the hug as long as possible, then politely pushed Amy off.
Her friend beamed.
"Oooh, you're all soft and feminine. You must be getting pregnant-er. It's a good look on you."
Leela rolled her eye, ignoring the slight affixed to the compliment.
"How are you, Amy?"
Amy smiled again, but there was a nervous edge to it this time.
"I have something for you," she said.
"Is it soap? Lord knows I could do with some."
"No, although I totally agree." Amy took a deep breath and called over her shoulder. "You can come out now!"
Leela stared.
Of all the people she could have expected to appear in her parents' home, Lieutenant Kif Kroker would be at the bottom of the list. Not only had he split up with Amy months ago (prompting her kneejerk engagement to Bender, of all people) but he was a prominent figure in the DOOP, and Nixon was on the brink of involving the DOOP in his war on mutants. What the shy amphisobian could want with her, she couldn't guess.
"Kif?"
"Hello, Leela. Please don't be alarmed – I'm not here with the DOOP. It's a . . . a personal visit. I believe I have something I owe you."
"Owe me? What could you possibly owe me, Kif?"
The alien smiled wanly.
"You left your husband," he said. "I don't mean to be crass, but if what Amy says is true . . . he isn't the smismar – father - of your child."
Any residual fondness Leela might have felt for Kif evaporated.
"No," she said stiffly.
Kif wriggled a little. He looked supremely uncomfortable.
"Fry?" he managed at last.
Leela nodded.
Kif pulled himself up. The confirmation seemed to have given him an extra jolt of confidence.
"Then I have something you need to see. You helped me during my pregnancy. It's only right that I help you with yours, whatever it might do to my career."
"What do you -"
Kif pulled a holodisc from his pocket.
"He tried to call you," he said simply. He put the device into Leela's unresisting hand. "He tried to warn you, Captain. I'm afraid . . . I'm afraid he's in very great danger. And he may not be the only one."
Leela sank into the couch, the holodisc cradled in her hand.
"Where did you get this?" she asked.
"I'll explain when you watch it," Kif said. "It really makes more sense that way."
He stared at her expectantly and Leela realized there was no getting out of it – she was going to have to watch the message in front of him. And Amy, of course.
She swallowed back the lump in her throat and hit the button. Better get it over with.
"The recording was made at a gas station payphone," Kif told her, but Leela was no longer listening because she was staring at Fry.
Fry.
He was thinner and dirtier than he had been on Mars Vegas, and there were dark circles under his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping. His hair was tickling his collar, in dire need of a cut, and he obviously hadn't shaved in some time.
Still, some things never changed – like his default expression of confusion.
"Um," he said. He stared into the camera for a beat, evidently bewildered. "Hey, Leela. I don't know if you're asleep or busy or whatever, but, um . . . if you're screening my call, please pick up."
He paused again, for longer this time. His face crumpled slightly.
"Oh. You're not screening my call. That's good." His throat bobbed up and down. He was nervous, Leela realized. The urge to reach through the screen and touch him rose up again, just as it had on Mars, but it hit more forcefully this time around. It wasn't just the urge to touch him, she realized with a jolt. It was the urge to kiss him. The memory of how it felt had returned in full force at the sound of his voice.
No, no, no, she told herself. We are not going there. Get a hold of yourself.
"I mean, not good that you didn't pick up," Fry went on, oblivious, "because I really, really want to talk to you, but good that you're not ignoring me. Because I miss you and I still love you, and I have to tell you something really important too."
He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. Counting. He was counting in his head to try and stop himself talking. Had he always done that, or was it new? Leela cast her mind back, but as hard as she tried, the only image she could conjure up was one of Lars doing the very same thing. Lars did that. He forced himself to go quiet like that when he was nervous, or he would suddenly say -
"Leela."
. . . focusing on her name like it was the most important thing in the universe.
Okay, that was surreal.
"I'm really sorry I left," Fry said quietly. "I know you were probably mad about that. And I know you're probably worried about me, but I'm okay, I promise." He stepped back from the camera and spread his arms, grinning. "See? No dismembered anythings." His smile faded all too fast. "But. But. I can't come home yet. Nibbler was right, the universe is in danger, and I think I'm the only one who can stop it. Which is crazy, I know, but – yowwww!"
Amy yelped. Leela sat up so fast she almost knocked the holodisc over.
She knew what had just streaked past Fry's head. It was a bullet. A bullet. Someone had shot at him. At Fry. It didn't make any sense.
He tumbled out of shot, rolled, and came into view again sprawled in the dirt. Blood was running in rivulets down his neck, soaking his collar, and Leela was briefly seized with horror. Then Fry looked up, obviously in shock.
"You shot me," he mumbled. "You shot me."
The bullet had clipped his ear but the delivery boy seemed otherwise unharmed. Leela had never been more relieved in her life.
The feeling was short-lived. Fry was still on the ground when a strange man stepped forward and thrust a gun under his chin.
"No spreaking way," Amy gasped. She grabbed Leela's arm. "Leela, do you know who that is?"
"Should I?" the cyclops snapped.
At this point in time all she knew or cared about was that someone was pointing a gun at the father of her unborn child. Kif had chosen this moment to freeze the frame, and Amy looked like their friend had just been attacked by a serial killer.
Apparently, he had.
"That's Captain Glottus," Amy whispered. "He's a mass-murderer."
Kif winced.
"Ah. Not, ahah . . . not exactly."
"He killed five hundred people!" Amy protested. "At least! It's all over the news, Leela! I mean, when you're not all over the news, globviously. The DOOP -"
"Needed a scapegoat," Kif said wearily.
"Wha?"
Kif sighed.
"It's a lie. All of it." He wet his lips. "The DOOP began logging unexplained deaths and disappearances almost two years ago. Our best people couldn't make sense of them, so the incidents were kept from view. We gathered what information we could discreetly, and kept the truth from the public. It seemed the best way to handle it. If civilians knew there was an unquantified threat at large in the universe, the DOOP would be placed under enormous pressure to -"
"You kept this from me for two whole years?" Amy interrupted. She was glaring him, obviously furious. "I was your fonfon ru! What if something had happened to you? What if something had happened to me? Or my friends?" She waved an arm at Leela. "What then?"
Kif seemed to shrink under her gaze.
"I don't know. I'm sorry, Amy."
Leela frowned.
"Can we get back to the scapegoat?"
She pointed at the holographic image. The man pointing his gun at Fry looked as disheveled and underfed as he did. There were thick streaks of gray in his hair, and he was wearing DOOP khakis that had seen better days. Once the cyclops might have thought he looked the part of a killer, but now all she saw was a fellow fugitive. If he hadn't been pointing a gun at Fry, Captain Glottus might have been her kind of guy.
Kif nodded gratefully.
"Captain Eric Glottus," he said. He drew up a file on his wrist device and swiveled the display so Leela could see. It showed the captain in full DOOP regalia. The man looked better dressed and in much better health than he did now. "He's fifty-five years old," Kif went on. "The son of a former officer and a camp, ahem . . . prostitute." He blushed fiercely. "The DOOP had a rather more relaxed attitude to women in those days."
"You mean Zapp Brannigan hadn't enlisted yet."
Amy snickered. "That was nearly funny, Leela."
Leela sighed.
"Go on," she said to Kif.
"Well, yes. Haha. Ha. Where was I?" He adjusted the display again. "Glottus, yes. Well, he enlisted young and survived a lot more war than most recruits. He rose to the rank of Captain eventually. He was a good soldier, by all accounts. Well-liked by the men, and a pragmatic thinker. No aptitude for administrative work and very little patience for officers not on active duty, but an army is a machine, you understand. Men like Glottus have their place." He glanced at Amy, his cheeks pink again. "Even men like me have their place."
"Hmmph."
Amy folded her arms, indicating how little she thought of Kif's current role in the DOOP.
Kif bit his lip, staring miserably at the floor.
"You're right to be scornful, Amy." He sighed. "Captain Glottus and I had differing views on loyalty. I believed the highest loyalty a soldier could owe was to the DOOP. Glottus believed it was to his men. The idea of covering up their deaths was abhorrent to him. He used the promotion we offered him as a pretext to break in to DOOP headquarters and gather evidence against us. He intends to reveal the truth to the people of Earth."
Leela nodded.
"He wants to blow the whistle."
"Yes. In fact, he was almost captured on Mars several months ago, but he suddenly changed course. At the time it confused us. After all, he was nearly home. Now it makes more sense – he must have met Fry there and gained more information about the deaths of his men."
Leela frowned.
"So . . . what? Him and Fry are in cahoots somehow? They're working together?" She gestured at the screen. "If that's the case, why is he trying to kill Fry?"
Kif smiled. His expression was now some strange combination of fear and excitement.
"Exactly! It's completely out of character for him. Which means that he didn't attack Fry of his own free will. The DOOP aren't the only ones trying to silence Captain Glottus, don't you see?" His eyes shone. "This message Fry left you is the first real look at the force which threatens us!" He sobered slightly. "I think you should watch the rest of the recording. It seems Fry is right. I don't know how, I don't know why . . . but he seems to be the only one who can fight these things."
A heavy silence followed his words.
Leela found herself staring at the frozen video message, at the man pointing a gun in Fry's face. Her world was spinning again.
"This is crazy," she told Kif. "You can't expect Fry to save the universe. You can't expect Fry to tie his shoelaces, most days."
"I thought so too," the alien mused. "But he did neutralize the threat. He may surprise us all."
"No way!" Amy gasped. "Fry beat that guy?"
Kif nodded.
"You really ought to watch the recording," he said.
Leela didn't respond. She couldn't, but she couldn't make herself stop him when he hit the play button either. Instead she sat down, swallowed the lump in her throat, and watched Fry fight for his life.
Fry was on the ground straining for air. The snout of the shotgun was pressing against his windpipe, cutting off his oxygen supply, and his face was slowly turning purple. He stared up at the captain in shock, his eyes wide . . . and then he caught something in the man's face, or something outside Leela's field of vision, that hit him even harder. Shock spasmed across his features again, and his face clouded with rage.
"Get out," he growled. He lunged forward, barreling into the captain's kneecaps and slamming him to the ground. "Get out, get out, get out! Get out of my friend's head!"
Leela watched the two men fight, frowning.
"He knows it isn't Glottus," she murmured. "How -"
She cut herself off, air hissing through her teeth, as Glottus kicked Fry square in the stomach. The delivery boy flew ten feet, easy, and fell to the ground. For a long minute he lay like a crumpled rag doll. Then he pushed himself up on his hands and knees.
"Get out of his head," he wheezed. "I know you're in there. You can't make him do this. You can't make him kill me. He's my friend!"
If Glottus could hear him, if he felt anything at all at the sight of his friend crumpled on the ground, it didn't show in his face. The way he looked at Fry made Leela feel nauseous. It was like he couldn't even see him properly. He stared blankly down at him as the delivery boy struggled to rise, and then he lashed out with his foot. His boot smacked hard into Fry's side, and Fry screamed. The sound was high and thin, and the crunch of boot on bone was audible. Fry had turned paper white, his eyes bugging out of his head so much Leela could make out a clear ring of white around the iris.
"That just healed!" he screeched out.
He scrambled to his feet, ducked his head, and charged at Glottus, knocking them both to the ground again. They began to wrestle for the weapon.
"This is awful," Amy whispered, as Fry took a series of blows to the face. "I almost can't watch!"
Leela shook her head, mute.
And then the gun discharged, with a firecracker bang that made Amy shriek. Even Kif flinched, and he had seen the footage before.
There was blood everywhere, and neither man was moving. For a long, horrible minute Leela thought that maybe Kif had misled her. Maybe Fry hadn't survived this. But then he rolled away, dragging himself to his knees, and she felt herself breathe again. He was alive, and the blood soaking his shirt wasn't his. It belonged to Captain Glottus, who was bleeding profusely but still looked blank and unfeeling. Even as Leela watched, he made to get up and continue his assault on Fry.
Fry was wild-eyed, moving on automatic. Leela recognized it as a kind of battle-high, a primal instinct that bordered on the crazy. Fry had always been a survivor, but he'd lucked his way into survival. He talked his way out of trouble or befriended people who knew what they were doing in a fight, and when all else failed he simply turned tail and ran. On the rare occasions anyone cared enough to single him out as a target for violence, Leela had always been there to save his ass. It helped that he was as resilient as india rubber. He bounced from one zany life-threatening situation to the next, and never stopped to really absorb the danger he was in. But now, for the first time in his life, someone was seriously trying to murder him. For the first time in his life, it was fight or die.
And Fry had chosen fight.
Watching as he instinctively slammed the butt of his rifle into Glottus's temple, Leela didn't know whether to feel proud or disturbed by that.
This time, when Glottus went down, he stayed down. Fry checked his breathing, heaved an obvious sigh of relief – and then just plain heaved, vomiting out of the blue. Shock, Leela supposed.
He straightened up, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, and raised the rifle to his shoulder. His hands were shaking.
"I know you're there," he called out. He looked around. "You want me? I'm right here!" He fired the rifle, a hail of bullets bursting fruitlessly into the sky. "Come and get me!"
On the edge of the video-camera's scope, something huge and pink nudged into view. A miasma of purple appeared and wrapped itself hazily around Fry's head; he swatted at it, smacking his own forehead in frustration, and then a kind of realization seemed to dawn on him and he laughed. There was a manic edge to the sound.
"Nice try," he gasped, choking on his own laughter. "But that doesn't work on me -"
There was a rattle of metal rain – a sound like teeth in a tin cup – and a screech of static, and then the screen went dead.
Leela lunged for the place holo-Fry had been, her mouth already open to yell . . . and then she realized what had happened. The bullets Fry had fired into the air had come back down and shorted out the phone.
Leela felt her hands ball into fists. She wanted to swear. Scream. Anything. She kicked out at the first thing she could reach – a crappy table leg made of salvaged plywood – and felt a brief flare of satisfaction as it smashed into splinters.
No-one seemed overly surprised by her reaction.
Amy was frowning.
"What was that thing?" she asked wonderingly.
"We don't know," Kif admitted. "This is the only video footage we have of the threat, and as you can see, it isn't very clear."
"Can you zoom in?"
"Not without losing resolution. Whatever this creature is, it doesn't match anything in the DOOP species database. And its powers are unparalleled. It seems to exhibit some kind of telepathic field - "
"Maybe it's just hypnotic," Amy suggested. "Or parasitic, like the brain slugs."
Kif shook his head.
"I don't think so. Brain slugs feed off the electrical energy generated in the victim's brain – they require direct contact with the skin. This creature seems able to move independently."
Amy nodded.
"And it's not turning them into zombies," she mused. "Like the brain slugs do. Glottus had pretty good reflexes, and he wasn't drooling or anything. He was just being controlled. Like a puppet." She shuddered. "You think he could feel anything in there? You think he knew what it was making him do?"
Kif looked troubled.
"It's difficult to say. But there is a pattern of amnesia in our records. It seems as if anyone who survives an encounter with the creature forgets it soon afterwards."
"You keep saying creature," Leela interrupted. She had been watching Kif and Amy's scientific discussion of the threat with a rising sense of rage.
They turned to her, obviously confused.
"What?"
"You keep saying creature," Leela repeated. "You don't know there's only one. There could be hundreds of them."
A horrible silence fell as they all considered this possibility.
Leela rewound the footage, zoomed in on Fry until he turned fuzzy at the edges.
"You don't know they were after Glottus either," she told Kif. "You think he's a target because the DOOP thinks he's a target. But for all you know, the target could be Fry. He knew what that thing was, and he was immune to its attack. He was fighting it."
"He was," Amy agreed. "He was kicking ass, for Fry. And he knew that mind control thing wouldn't work on him. He was laughing about it, when he went all crazy and fired the gun. He knew what was happening. He was mad as hell about it."
"We need to find him."
"That's easier said than done." Kif flicked off the holo-show and put the disc back in his pocket. "We've already launched a DOOP manhunt for Captain Glottus. If I bring this footage to my superiors it's almost certain they'll use it to find him. But if Fry is found with him – if they seem to have formed an alliance . . ." He hesitated. "He'll be in danger."
"He's already in danger," Leela snapped.
The corner of Kif's eye twitched.
"You don't understand." He stared at the floor, resolutely avoiding Amy's gaze. "The force assigned to track down Glottus doesn't have to capture him alive. If they do, they're authorized to execute him."
"But he didn't do anything," Amy said. "You said it yourself. And even if he did, he was being brainwashed. The DOOP can't find him guilty if you show them this. If they see what we just saw -"
"It wouldn't make a difference," Kif said wearily. "Captain Glottus was tried in his absence. He's been stripped of his rank and sentenced to death."
The unspoken implication was clear to Leela. The DOOP wanted to silence Glottus before he could blow the whistle, and if they thought he'd told Fry what he knew . . .
"Keep the DOOP out of it," she ordered Kif. She indicated the holo-disc. "Do they know you have this?"
Kif shook his head.
"Good." Leela held out her hand. "Give it to me. And do what you can to throw them off the scent."
Kif hesitated, but handed over the disc. Amy's disgust seemed to have awoken something in him, as if the person she saw now was someone he had never imagined he could be. Someone he had never wanted to be.
"I'll do what I can," he promised.
"It's not enough," Leela insisted. She stood up, turning the disc over in her hands. "We need – I need -"
Amy grabbed her arm, alarmed.
"Leela, you can't go after him. You're pregnant! And hello? You'll be arrested if you leave the sewer! You're fighting the surface, remember? The mutants need you."
Leela stopped, stung. She could have argued with the rest of it, but . . . the mutants. They did need her. She had dragged them into this war with the surface. They were fighting and dying for her. How could she leave them now?
She couldn't.
Amy gently pried the holo-disc out of her clenched fist.
"He'll be okay," she said softly. "It's Fry. He's always okay."
"Amy's right," Kif said. He and Amy shared a look, and he sighed, turning his attention back to Leela. "Even if you could find Fry, there's nothing you could do to help him. He seems to be the only one unaffected by this telepathic field. "
Amy squeezed her hand.
"Yeah," she said. "If he can fight these things, he's probably the safest person in the universe right now."
"If he can fight them, he's a target," Leela rebuffed.
"There's nothing we can do, Leela! We don't know anything about these things! We don't know what they want, we don't know how they work - we don't even know where they come from! I mean, unless Fry calls you again and tells you everything -"
Oh, no.
It hit her with the force of a thunderbolt.
"He doesn't have to," she said faintly.
Amy stared at her, confused.
"What?"
Leela tugged her hand free and shut her eye. Part of her had been hoping it would never come to this.
The part of her that still cared what people thought of her had hoped this whole mess might never see the light of day – that she, Fry, and Lars could keep it between the three of them. It was bad enough that everyone knew her marriage had failed. Bad enough that most people knew it had ended because of her feelings for Fry. Bad enough that her infidelity and subsequent unplanned pregnancy had become common knowledge.
She had really, really been hoping to avoid having to tell everyone that her ex-husband and her lover were actually the same person.
And that it had taken her two years to notice.
Or that she had only married Lars because she had been too blind to realize she was in love with Fry – something even Bender thought was obvious.
She took a deep breath.
"Fry doesn't have to call for us to ask him. He's already here."
Kif and Amy exchanged a look of mutual concern.
"Um, I really don't think that, um -"
"Maybe you should sit down -"
Leela overrode them.
"I'm not crazy," she said forcefully.
She took another deep breath, and laid a hand on the bump under her sweater. It steadied her enough to damn the consequences of what she was about to say. Some things were more important than her pride.
"Lars is a time-travel duplicate. Lars is Fry."