The Wrath of the Con: Part Three

By William A. Hainline

When Gadget and his friends arrive at Fantazmagoricon, they have no idea what is in store. Like mad scientist superheroines and even more mad supervillains. Aliens, time travel, alternate realities, virtual realities, vampires, werewolves. shapeshifters, Elder Gods, sentient programs, deadly fantasies, and dreams within dreams within dreams. It's all there, like many worlds collided, just like those angel-headed, cosplaying cyberpunks dancing downstairs, all burning for that heavenly connection to that starry dynamo of the Machinery of the night. To quote the Hacker's Manifesto: "Damn kids, they're all alike."

 

But so what? Right? Fasten your seatbelt, Buttercup, 'cause Florin is goin' bye-bye . . . to the outer limits and the twilight zones of strange, new worlds where no one has ever been before. (Either that, or they have been there, and now the Mirrorshades have them safely locked up on Altair 4. Don't worry; it's for their and others' realities' safety. Er, that is, I mean, uh . . . they're on a farm. A happy little farm somewhere. Promise.)

 

Say goodbye to the primal mainstream as Ensign Mariner Beckett sets the TARDIS's spare Spore Drive (damn, that's hard to say) to stardate 86753.09 beneath Sunnydale, California, and bounces a graviton particle beam off the main deflector dish. Doesn't really matter 'cause, umm . . . So anyway, if you're a Trekker, a Browncoat, a Jedi, a Whovian, a 'Scaper, a Whedonite, a Marvel buff, a DC fanatic, a Leaper, a Lovecraftian, a Shifter, a Furry, a SubGenius (or Pope), a reality-hacking Magickian, a video-game wizard, or a code-hacking badass, we bid you welcome to the Monkey House. Even if you're a more Casual traveler of these and other worlds, may the fnords be with you as you enter these dragon-haunted dungeons; might you live long and prosper as you have fun storming the castle; and may you scream, "Never say die, never surrender!" with all the other nerf-herding truffle-shufflers of tomorrow. . . as you run, screaming, your hair on fire, into the mad, mad multiverse of infinite improbability we've curated herein.

 

Please bring your towel

 because I've got a bad feeling about this; never tell me the odds, dammit!

 

(This is Part Three of a Three-part Series.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: William A. Hainline
• Release date: Nov 8, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223318057

Book preview

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Number Of The Beast

1

THE THUNDEROUS, RHYTHMIC thuds grew louder with each one that sounded. As though a giant fist were smashing into the side of the building, then drawing back for another punch, then ramming into it again, then drawing back again . . . And repeat. Gadget looked around for the source, and then went to the ledge of the roof and looked down, as did the others. What he saw there would stick with him for the rest of his life.

Uh oh, he said. "Uh, Mystikite? I think I just met Orogrü-Nathräk. And he looks pissed."

There, scaling the side of the building, was a creature unlike any he had ever laid eyes upon. Huge, monstrous, and evil-looking, it grappled the stone of the building in tentacle-wrapped pincers that lay at the ends of its large, powerful arms. It was bipedal, or at least appeared to be. It was eighty feet all, at least, and about fifteen feet wide, or thereabouts. Its musculature suggested a somewhat simian origin, or something like one, but the rest of its physiology suggested it had some cephalopod in it, as well as some insect — and some flying rodent, as well. Its general mishmash of evolutionary ingredients suggested that its species had long ago left behind natural selection and had grafted onto themselves whatever features they desired from other species. It had claws protruding from its enormous two-pronged feet, which dug into the stone of the building as it climbed. Its back arched forward in a curve, sharp spines protruding from either shoulder-blade and erupting into a flowering neck-brace made of hardened bone, from out of the center of which the head erupted like the bulb of an eggplant inflated and ready to burst open. Its reflective, horizontally-oriented, teardrop-shaped eyes stretched out to either side of its rounded, metallic-looking skull, the base of which bloomed out to either side, its mouth a voracious maw of teeth and dangling, squid-like tentacles . . . of which it had about ten more erupting from out of its backside that writhed in their air behind it, flowing out of it like a cape or a cloak made of trembling, undulating fleshy tendrils. To either side of those, nature — or whatever forces had fashioned it — had placed enormous bat-like wings that stretched for a good forty feet in either direction when fully unfurled, the huge thoracic bone in front making its chest look misshapen and disgorged. Why it hadn’t simply chosen to fly to the rooftop was anyone’s guess; perhaps it simply wasn’t strong enough yet. Perhaps it needed to build up its strength. It had just awoken from thousands of years of slumber, after all. Its skin had a grey, dusty shine to it colored a slightly-bluish hue, and those metallic-surfaced, reflective eyes shined up at them with all the malice in the universe contained within them. The beast opened its maw and roared at them, a powerful, ululating cry of archangelic fury that carried up the side of the building like the wail of an electrified banshee.

Gadget had just enough time to think: What he wouldn’t give for his alter-ego Gadgorak’s proton pack right about now! Then, swiftly, almost before he realized what had hit them, the attack came. He saw the glowing energy build-up occur in Orogrü-Nathräk’s eyes just in time to throw-up a forcefield in time to protect him and the others, right before the blast came rocketing up the side of the building and knocked them all off their feet — it impacted the forcefield and sent them all flying up and backward and onto their backs — just as the creature roared yet again and drew another thunderous, clawing step closer to the rooftop.

Ugh, said Misto, getting up off the gravel and rubbing his head. "That does it. I have officially been knocked on my ass too many times today."

Jeez . . . Did anybody get the number of that star-freighter? said Darmok as she got to her feet and dusted herself off.

Everybody okay? asked Gadget, getting up. Anyone seriously hurt?

Only my enormous penis, said Mystikite as he recovered and stood up.

"What was that? asked Buffy. Some kind of . . . directed energy weapon? That thing has an energy weapon in its face? Why didn’t somebody tell me?"

It’s getting closer to the rooftop, observed Giova, looking over the side of the building again. I think it knows we’re here.

That’s it. We’re dead, said Vivacia. "We’re all dead."

"Shut up! said Ripley. We’re not dead yet. We can still get out of this."

Bryce had finally recovered from his injuries and had gotten to his feet. He joined them at the edge of the rooftop, and looked down at the climbing creature. "Jesus. What the hell is that?"

It’s Orogrü-Nathräk, said Viktor, his voice hollow. The creature roared again. Buffy covered her ears and winced. "The Elder God. One of the Eidolon. Just one of the creatures whose entire race Ravenkroft plans on ushering into our world! We have to stop him. He should be our paramount concern right now. This is all just a distraction. That’s why he ensnared us into this confrontation with this Vampire and his minions here. So we would be busy with them while he prepared the way for the Eidolon to come forth! Don’t you see? This was all a part of his plan. Weatherspark was all he wanted all along."

Dizzy! said Gadget. He grabbed Misto by the lapels. "Misto, we’ve got to get her back!"

"And we will," said Misto, grabbing him by the shoulders. "We will. But first — "

"First we have to deal with this, said Darmok. This thing will destroy the city if we don’t deal with it first."

"And we can’t have that on our conscience, said Buffy. At least, I can’t."

Behind them, Vynovich stood up, still laughing. Buffy and Mystikite turned to face him. I told you, he said, grinning at them and shaking his head. "You’ve lost. I’ve won! Orogrü-Nathräk will destroy the Human world, and will usher in a New World Order of Vampire rule on Earth! When he’s done with your pathetic world, there won’t be shit left standing. All we’ll have to do is walk into your cities and take whoever we want, whatever we want, and will be free to do whatever we want. It’ll be glorious. The curtain of the Dark Ages will fall once more, and you Humans will learn to fear us . . . all over again. He chuckled. It’ll be a Vampire’s paradise, all over the globe."

You know what? said Mystikite. "Fuck it. I am so sick of this guy. Buffy, grease this asshole like the awesome Vampire Slayer your ‘nym used to say you were."

"With pleasure," she said. The blue, flickering sheath of flame once more enveloped her, and the twin tentacles of fire shot out from her chest and raced through the air. They wrapped themselves around Vynovich, and he screamed, throwing his head back, embracing his fate, clenching his fists as he howled in pain. Blazing cracks appeared in his flesh as the flames cooked him. He writhed, emblazoned and aglow with the fire for a moment before becoming a burning mannequin, and dropped to his knees, still screaming, his flesh disintegrating, then his bones, as he turned to hot coals and then firefly-like embers, then to ashes, finally crumbling into powder and then blowing away on the wind. Buffy smirked. "Damn good riddance to really bad rubbish."

The creature roared another banshee-like cry to the stars. It was three-quarters of the way up the building now, almost to the top. Below on the streets, chaos reigned. Fires had broken out and crowds of people were, if not rioting, at least clashing violently as they tried to go in every direction at once to escape the horror that had come from deep beneath their streets.

"So does anyone have a plan?" said Mystikite.

Darmok’s ship, said Gadget, as he turned to look at it. It occurred to him that he and Darmok were the only ones who could see it. Darmok — your ship — does it have weapons?

Well, yeah, she said, blinking. "Of course it does. Not very powerful ones — the Angel is an experimental exploratory ship, mostly — but she does have some basic pulse-cannons and some explosive quantum torpedos mounted on her. We could use those, I guess, though I don’t know how effective they would be."

We have to try, he said. "Quick. Deactivate the cloaking device, and let’s all get onboard. We’ll deal with this thing, and then we’ll get Dizzy back, come hell or Mundanity."

Cool ship, said Mystikite as they stepped onto the bridge of the Renegade Angel. Darmok sat down at the Helm controls.

I’ve rerouted the ship’s controls so they all work through here, she said. I’m changing that as of now. Misto. Sit down at the Navigation console.

But I don’t know how any of it works! said Misto. Besides, all the labels are written in Shyphtorilaen! How can I understand any of it?

Like this, said Darmok. She reached up onto the Helm console and tapped in a code onto the touch-sensitive surface. A moment later there came a hissing noise from the overhead ventilation ducts.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! said Buffy, seeing the thin clouds of vaporous gas pouring through the vents and onto the bridge, and noticing the pungent odor. "What the hell are you doing — gassing us?"

Relax, said Darmok. It’s a harmless gaseous compound that contains neuronanonic nanobot probes.

"Excuse me? said Gadget. We’re breathing little robots?"

"Uh . . . said Vivacia. Say what?"

Fascinating! said Viktor, and he sucked in a huge breath and let it out. Quite pleasant, actually.

"They’re translator bots, said Darmok. Otherwise harmless. They’ll infiltrate the synapses of your brain and reprogram your language centers so they can instantly understand any written or spoken language. It’s a shortcut system we use to help us translate other races’ languages. How else do you think I can understand you so well, and how I came to speak English as well as I do? The bots did it. Just relax. It should start to take effect any minute now."

Gadget blinked a few times, his vision blurring slightly, then righting iself. He staggerd, then caught himself on a nearby chair and steadied himself. And sure enough, a few seconds later, he found he could clearly read the text on a nearby control panel. COMM STATION, it read. Wow, where had this tech been when he’d been struggling to learn German his first year of college! He gathered himself up, and sat down at the console labeled ENGINEERING STATION. It seemed like the placed he naturally belonged. The smooth contour of the seat fit him perfectly and it adjusted to his form automatically, the cushions inflating and separating just a bit as he sat on them. The controls lit up as he rested his hands on them. It all looked pretty straightforward, actually. The whole thing was one big touchpad that could reconfigure itself on-demand. Currently it displayed a keyboard and a whole host of buttons whose functions seemed fairly obvious, if a bit arcane. They said things like ENGAGE PRIMARY ENGINE CORE and TAKE STANDBY POWER OFF/ONLINE. In the center of the screen there appeared a skeumorphic graphic representation of a rack of equipment with varioius plugs and sockets with various wires and cables connected to between them. He found that if he held his finger on one of the connectors, he could drag the cables and wires around and reconnect them to other connectors, rerouting the flow of information from one device to the next. The devices were labeled, saying things like FORWARD SENSOR ARRAY and SYSTEM COMPUTER CORE. Okay, so that was how that worked.

Whoa, said Misto, sitting down at the Navigation console. "So what do I do here?"

You help fly the ship, of course, said Darmok. As for you, Gadget, said Darmok, "Well, Dizzy’s not here. So you’re in charge, for now. This is your show. Run it."

"Who, what, me?" said Gadget, pointing to himself. He had to have misheard that. There was no way she had just said what he thought she had.

"Yes, you, said Darmok. She turned to him. Take the con." She gestured to the seat positioned in the center of the bridge, the Captain’s Chair. It had rows of touchpad buttons to either side of the armrests.

"Er, shouldn’t you be in charge? said Gadget. It is your ship, after all."

"I’m going to be too busy flying her and telling everyone else how to fly her to also be making command decisions, as well, said Darmok. Someone else has to step up and hold us together as a team. That’s gonna be your job. Besides, I saw you out there on the rooftop. You can do this."

I can?

Yes, you can.

Well . . . I . . . I just don’t know . . . He had serious reservations about this. Him? In charge of things? Actually responsible? For other people’s lives? He wasn’t sure. Then again, they didn’t have a whole lot of time, here. Orogrü-Nathräk would arrive at the roof of the building in less than a couple of minutes. This was it, then. Time to stop being afraid, he thought. Time to stop being afraid of people, and time to start leading them, I guess. So be it. He swallowed a hard lump in his throat, and nodded. Okay, he said. I’ll do it. He got up from the engineering station and walked over to the Captain’s Chair, the place on the Enterprise he’d dreamed of sitting ever since he’d been a child, watching Star Trek reruns on Sunday mornings.

Now then, said Darmok. Gadget. Captain. Tell your crew what to do.

Gadget licked his lips, straightened his shoulders, and cleared his throat. Okay. Mystikite, man the Weapons Console. Do we have a weapons console? Darmok nodded, and pointed. "Okay. Over there, to the left side of the bridge, opposite side from where I was just sitting. Buffy . . . You man the Engineering Console, where I just was. Viktor, you take the Sciences Console — right, right, over there — and monitor that thing’s lifesigns and vitals. Misto, you’re Navigation, like Darmok just said. Help her fly. You — Giova, is it? I want you on the Comm Station. Uh, right, over there. If that thing tries to talk to us, I want to hear its voice and I want whatever it says translated . . . and monitor all transmissions from the police and emergency responders. I want to know what’s going on in the city. As for you, Bryce, Ripley, and Vivacia . . . Well . . . I guess just hang loose. And grab onto something. Okay. Darmok — lift us off. Upwards, one-quarter impulse power . . . Or something."

Darmok touched the controls on the Helm station, and the ship rumbled. The forward viewscreen showed the rooftop of the hotel, facing the ledge they knew that Orogrü-Nathräk would soon appear over. The scene shifted somewhat as the ship rose up from the rooftop, its thrusters whining, its engines roaring.

And then, the monster appeared from over the edge of the roof, pounding its giant pincers onto the ledge and lifting itself up and over and onto the rooftop. It roared at them and reached for the ship.

Darmok moved her hands on the console, and the ship lurched backward and away from the monster, narrowly escaping its grasp.

Mystikite! Forward weapons, now! cried Gadget.

Roger that! said Mystikite. The viewscreen lit up as the front of the ship came to life with a bright green light, the forward weapons array blasting at the creature. The weapons’ fire collided with the bony crest situated around its chest area, cracking the bone and blasting bits off of it, but not destroying it nor doing it much damage beyond that. The creature roared mightily and was taken aback, but did not release its grip on the rooftop. Instead it climbed all the way onto it, and stood up. Darmok flew the ship further upward to rise to its astoundingly-high level — it stood up to its full height, the rooftop cracking beneath it, caving in on the top two floors of the hotel — and it spread its arms and roared yet again, throwing its head back, craning its head to the sky, its arms out to either side of it. A gesture of power and dominance. Darmok kept the ship’s forward guns aimed at the monster. It turned its head toward them and glared at them with its silvery eyes, and Gadget saw the energy building up in them again.

Darmok! he said. Does this thing have forcefields?

You bet it does! she said.

Mystikite! he cried. Activate our shields!

Damned straight! replied Mystikite.

The attack came swiftly. The energy blast washed over the ship, colliding with the forcefield, the shockwave from it translating through it and coursing through the ship. Sparks flew from the various consoles on the bridge as the ship quaked and rumbled. The sound of twisting metal came from all around, the sound of groaning support struts and straining girders, electric discharges as Darmok cried out, the console in front of her sparking, smoke rising from the controls. Behind him, Vivacia screamed as she was thrown from her feet by the force of the blast. Fuck! she cried. Bryce and Ripley both grabbed onto the bulkheads for support.

Damn! said Mystikite. "Forcefields down to seventy percent, dude! We took a major hit!"

As the noise and the smoke cleared, Gadget swiveled in his seat and turned to Buffy.

Damage report! he yelled.

Doesn’t look good, she said. "Computer says that decks ten, twelve, and fourteen have major damage . . . The ‘transdimensional conduit’ has taken minor damage to the gravitational containment field . . . whatever that means. The ship’s power matrix is . . . overloaded, and it says we’re on backup power until the auto-repair systems can kick in and fix the power relays in the matrix’s core. Should be about . . . five minutes before we’re back at full power. And since we’re on backups, we won’t be able to fire our forward weapons again for another . . . uh . . . looks like two minutes, at least."

Shit! said Gadget.

I told you, said Darmok, shaking her head. She’s not really built for a fight!

"Well, we’re in one now, said Gadget. So she has to fight. I’v got an idea that’ll maybe buy us a couple of minutes. Darmok . . . see if you can get that thing to chase us for a minute or two. Make it want us."

"What — are you crazy?" she said, turning to him. "You want it to come after us?"

Yeah, said Gadget. I do. If we can just out-maneuver it for a few minutes, we can buy ourselves enough time to recharge our weapons.

Darmok sighed. Okay. I’ll see what I can do. Misto — you have the nav-stick with me. Help me guide us.

I’m tryin’, said Misto. "I guess this is a bad time to mention that I suck at video games, right?"

The ship drew back from Orogrü-Nathräk, her course unsteady but mostly straight through the air. Sure enough, the monster roared and grabbed at it with its tentacle-like pincers and took a step forward on the rooftop, crushing even more of it beneath its enormous, clawed, two-pronged feet. Gadget saw the energy begin to build-up in its eyes again and luckily, Darmok saw it too — she engaged in evasive maneuvers just as the energy-flash came blasting toward the ship again and narrowly avoided it by lobbing the ship to the left suddenly. Everyone onboard lurched to one side along with it, the g-forces palpable and strong. Darmok continued to reverse course, and Orogrü-Nathräk followed. She backed the ship up until they hovered over one skyscraper across from the Renaissance Regency Hotel, and Orogrü-Nathräk then leapt across from one building to the next, flying through the air, unfurling its enormous, forty-foot batwings to glide across the distance. The wind caught its wings and it settled to the roof of the next building with a mighty thud, collapsing that roof as well, and it roared at them again and once more reached for the ship. Darmok quickly caused the ship to rocket to the right, yanking her crew along with it, narrowly escaping the creature’s clutches.

Whew! That was a close one! cried Viktor.

Okay, Mystikite — how are we on weapons? asked Gadget.

Mystikite pressed a few buttons on the console. Uh, okay, according to this, it looks like they’re at full power again.

"Well then lower the shields and fire those motherfuckers then!" said Gadget.

I don’t think — began Darmok.

Don’t have to tell me twice! said Mystikite. Firing! He stabbed a button on the console, and the forward view-screen lit up with green light again as the forward weapons array came to life and blasted at Orogrü-Nathräk. The creature roared as the bolts of energy impacted with its head and chest. Sparks, bone, and gallons of blood flew from the burning wounds they opened up in its skull and shoulder-plating, but the monster remained undaunted. It roared again, now angrier than ever. It bore deep, smoldering burn-wounds on its head, chest, and shoulders now, though, signs that they had dealt it severe damage. Smoke rose from the places on its body where they had hit it, and it appeared weakened. It grasped at the wounds on its shoulder with its left pincer and turned to look at them, then turned back to them and narrowed its metallic eyes at them, all the anger in the cosmos burning in them. The energy build-up came quickly — too quickly — and it unleashed another attack upon them.

The blast wave hit the ship before Gadget could tell Mystikite to re-raise the shields. The entire ship vibrated, then shook, the sounds of twisting, groaning metal coming from everywhere at once as every console on the bridge all shorted out at once, sparking and vomiting electrical arcs of lightning. Buffy cried out as a bolt of lightning arced from her console to her, throwing her out of her seat and onto the floor of the bridge. Misto cussed loudly as an arc of electricity leapt out of his console and burned his hands and face; Darmok winced and turned away as sparks flew from her console as well. Vivacia, Ripley, and Bryce all tried to hold on for dear life to the bulkheads near the rear of the bridge as the power conduits near them ruptured and started spewing coolant vapor out into the room. Ripley cursed as she lost her grip and hit the wall next to her. Viktor fell out of his chair with an "Oof!" and hit his head. The floor of the bridge ruptured, cracking in two, fire breaking through the split in the seams of the material as it exploded upward, uprooting the Command Chair and tossing Gadget to one side. He lay sprawled on the floor, and saw stars as he hit his head on the base of a nearby console-chair. As he rubbed his head and got to his feet amidst all the shouting, sparks, electrical arcs, coolant leaks, and flames, he heard Darmok shout — 

"We’re going down! Everyone — brace for impact!"

He saw on the view-screen that they were headed for the rooftop of a nearby building, and that Orogrü-Nathräk was in the air, presently leaping from the building he had lit upon to the building they were headed toward. Darmok worked the controls of her console — whichever parts of it still functioned, that was — to bring the ship in safely, but they headed in fast, and the force of impact tossed Gadget up into the air and then back down again — hard on his ass — when they finally crashed down onto the rooftop below. He managed to get to his feet — luckily, the ship had not exploded and everyone else was still alive, somehow — but the Renegade Angel would probably never fly again.

He opened his eyes — he had shut them without realizing it — and saw that Darmok stood over him and now offered him her furry hand.

"Come on, get up! We have to get out of here! she said over the noise of the exploding, sparking bridge consoles and the licking flames everywhere. Come on, all of you! she cried to the others as she helped Gadget to his feet. God, did his head ever hurt. It didn’t help that he still wore the Mind-Weirding Helm. She was a good ship, she said, her voice sad and frustrated as she took one last look around and they headed toward the elevator doors. She grabbed a sharp, fallen piece of bulkhead and pried the doors open. Hopefully the transdimensional conduit is still functioning. If not, we’re stuck in here forever until I can get it working. The good news is we’d be safe that way. The bad news is we’d eventually starve to death. Good times, eh?"

You have a weird definition of ‘good,’ said Gadget. "Now what’ll we do, though? How can we ever beat that thing? It’s unstoppable! Unkillable!"

Nothing is unkillable, said Darmok. "We just have to find its weak spot. Everything has one. Everything. The question is — what’s its? Now come on — let’s get everyone out of here before the Angel goes belly-up and takes us with her!"

THEY made it out of the Renegade Angel’s transdimensional conduit alive — the elevator system had broken down halfway down, and they had had to drop down out of an emergency hatch; thankfully the the ship had flooded the conduit with atmosphere first — and stumbled out of the ship one by one and onto the rooftop of the Bank of America building. Orogrü-Nathräk awaited them there, looming eighty feet tall and roaring. A moment later it stepped on the ship, crushing it with the weight of his titantic, two-pronged foot as he roared at them from behind his tentacle-strewn maw of teeth. The exit to the stairwell of the building — the top floor of which was presently on fire in places, from where it had partially caved in where Orogrü-Nathräk had stepped on it in places — stood only twenty feet away.

Come on, let’s move! cried Darmok.

Come on guys, you heard the lady! said Gadget. Let’s go!

Hurriedly, they all ran for the door. Misto ripped it off its hinges and tossed the twisted hunk of metal aside and in they all went — first Buffy, then Darmok, then Vivacia, Ripley,  and Giova; then Bryce, Mystikite, Misto, and Viktor, then finally Gadget, who took one wary look back at Orogrü-Nathräk as it wreaked havoc on the rooftop. They all hurried down the stairwell, down into the building, and didn’t stop until they were three landings down.

"Okay, everybody stop," said Gadget. "Stop. Where the hell are we going? We need a plan. And I think I’ve got one."

"Well, what is it dude? said Mystikite. We’re all ears."

Yeah, said Darmok. Just what did you have in mind, Gadget?

Well, said Gadget, "first we need to get airborn again. Then, I’ve been thinking . . . Maybe we need to fight fire with fire. This thing is interdimensional, right? It comes from another dimension. So maybe we need to fight interdimensionality with interdimensionality. Dizzy’s car. The Fangirl. It can cross over into the Eighth Dimension. If we could use the Fangirl to travel through Orogrü-Nathräk at just the right moment, and somehow use the effect of Dizzy’s ‘oscillation overthruster’ gizmo to destabilize its subatomic structure . . . We could destroy it!"

That’s . . . That’s Brilliant! said Viktor. "I never would’ve thought of that. Kudos to you, dear boy."

Even coming from Viktor, the compliment made Gadget feel better. He had never been a leader before. In all the jobs he had worked, he had never been considered for a management position because, he had always been told, he lacked what it took. What it took had always remained undefined. Well, if only the regional manager at Radio Shack could see him now! He was scared, though. Instinct told him, however, not to let the others know just how scared he was. He had a feeling that Dizzy, despite her unflappable and sarcastic demeanor, also probably spent a good deal of her time being frightened. This must’ve been how it felt to be in charge. A scary, on-the-edge feeling. At once thrilling . . . And terrifying.

Damn good plan, kiddo, said Misto, clapping him on the shoulder. "Best thing I’ve heard all day. Now then. If only we had a way back to the Fangirl. It’s still on the roof of the Renaissance Regency. Only thirty flights of stairs in this building, about four city blocks, a bunch of panicked crowds and total chaos on the streets outside, along with a bunch of emergency vehicles and crews, plus thirty flights of stairs in that building — plus all the death and destruction that thing has caused — between us and it. What do we do about all that?"

Well, said Gadget, "I’ve been thinking about that, too. I’ll get to that in a minute, though. Darmok, these Twizion particles. How powerful are they? You say that can impart the property of reality to things, the way the Higgs boson imparts the property of mass. Is there any upper limit to that? Or does it really mean that for a few minutes, anything is truly possible? Like, magic is possible? And how many shots at using them do I get? And couldn’t I just use them to just wish Orogrü-Nathräk didn’t exist? Or to wish that the Renegade Angel was fixed and not broken?"

"Well . . . began Darmok. No, not really, you couldn’t, no. For one thing, they only work in a positive context. They can only change reality and physics; they can’t break them. They can’t create or destroy matter or energy . . . and they can’t ‘undo’ entropy or rewrite history . . . Or erase history’s mistakes from existence. They can only really make things happen now, not unmake things or prevent things from happening earlier."

Great, said Gadget. "So if I wanted the power to defeat Orogrü-Nathräk, I could use them to just do that, couldn’t I? Or couldn’t I just use them to change the laws of physics enough to set up a situation where he could be defeated easily?"

Not really, she said. "The Twizion particles work in proportion to the mass of the objects involved. It’s easier to change the laws of physics — for a short time — for smaller objects than it is for really massive objects like Orogrü-Nathräk out there. In the distance, up on the rooftop — as though to puncutate her sentence — Orogrü-Nathräk roared again. She continued, For things our size, it’s easier. You can bend the laws of physics all day long for things our size, and pretty much get away with it. Just don’t bend them too far, or else you’re in trouble."

Ah ha, then! said Gadget, snapping his fingers and pounding his fist on the concrete wall of the stairwell. "I’ve got it! Here’s how we get to the Fangirl! We — well, I — will open a Portal!"

A Portal? said Mystikite. Like the video game?

"Yep, a Portal, just like the video game, said Gadget. Like the kind Dr. Strange opens with his sling-ring all the time. Using the Twizion particles. We open a Portal back to the Fangirl on the roof of the Renaissance Regency, and we . . . just go there. Easy, right? Here, everybody stand back. Okay. Darmok. How do I release my first shot of Twizion particles?"

Uh, she said, "you press the red button I mounted on the right side of your Helm . . . Right there on the bottom rim. No . . . Move your hand up . . . There. Right there. You might want to prepare yourself, though. If you’ve never encountered Twizion before, it can be . . . quite a shock to the system."

Nah . . . I’ll be fine. Gadget felt for the button, and found it. He took a deep breath. Then another. Darmok was right. He had no idea of what to expect once the Twizion particles hit him, once they were injected into his brain. He took one more deep breath, closed his eyes, and hit the button. He felt the needle go into his skin, and then a tingling in his scalp.

Then, he gasped as the whole universe exploded before his eyes.

HE was adrift in a sea of exploding stars, far out of his body, far from the reality he called home.  His feet had long-since left the ground.  Wait, what feet?  He floated, disembodied, amongst nebulae and gas-giants, stranded in the cosmos like a castaway floating in the seawater off the shores of an uncharted island.  He felt ever-so-slightly anxious, but relatively calm for all that; a serenity he had rarely known in this life had settled over him, and he clung to it, fearing it would depart at any second. A moment before, he had been standing in the stairwell, with the others . . . But now, he drifted here, among the stars, waiting . . . But for what? He felt as though he anticipated something, though he wasn’t sure of what it could be.

He vaguely remembered that he was supposed to do something . . . but he had forgotten what it was.  If only he could remember!  But remembering involved the past, and the past, present, and future were all one unified whole here, in this transcendent realm that time could not touch. This was a place of dimensionless existence, a world of pure consciousness where the mind roamed free.  Time as a construct did not exist here; he knew that intuitively. Here, all moments were but an ebb and flow, a vortex whirling around him, with its abundance of events a swirl of meaninglessness. Time was spirit-voltage here, but nothing more. Memory was experience, and experience was but the sum of all memories, and his were all happening at once, here. Mind was all there was in this place, where reality was plastic, as malleable as thought itself. Pulsating orbs of wonder whirled about his head, spherical angels made up of infinitely complex geometric topologies . . . the shapes of souls transforming, becoming.  They were much like tiny elves, these orbs; they giggled and laughed, like children at play, their jungle-gym the whole of space and time.  They danced all around him, casting their swirling lights upon the eddies and whirlpools of existence, majestic in their glowing, rainbow-colored infinitude, baby universes exploding with stars.

From out of one of these orbs, a vaguely human shape began to emerge and come toward him, gradually gaining feature and distinction until it consumed his field of vision. He could no longer feel his body — had he left it behind?  He wasn’t sure — and had no sense of proximity — and knew only that this creature was mammoth in complexity, a being of pure mind-light. It beckoned to him, wearing what his mind conjured to be a 1940’s three-piece suit and fedora, its head and face a snowstorm of white mist, with flashing synaptic fireflies trapped within its endless folds . . . the geometry of mind, laid bare.  For a moment, it regarded him with what seemed silent curiosity . . . Watching, as it were.

Be welcome! it said, its voice a symphony of intertwining harmonies.  And know peace!  You have nothing to fear here, Tiny One.  At least, not from me.

Uh . . . Tiny One? was all Gadget could say.  His voice was its own echo, here.  It sounded the way it did in his head.

Ah, forgiveness, said the light-creature.  That is what we call you.  The Tiny Ones.  For your lives are so short and you are gone from the ‘verse so quickly.

Who . . . he asked, and licked his lips — for they were dry, and suddenly real again, as though that mattered — . . . who are you?

Some call us the Aletheiaeon.

The Aletheiaeon?

The light-creature inclined its head.  "Yes.  I wish