Cosmic Dander

Ted was having an ordinary day - which is to say, everything was going wrong and driving him nuts.

First off, his RTF subdermal was on the blink, which meant that he had one hell of a time getting the door to his flat to work - not to mention, he had to settle for cold water in the shower that morning, and had been unable to authorize his stove to function. Getting into the coldbox with a fritzy RTF subdermal was akin to breaking into Fort Knox, so Ted didn't even try: Breakfast had been the greasy remains of Malaysian takeout, still in the pressed paper box. He hoped that the bits of fish in among the rice were fake, and made from soya; otherwise, he feared, the fourteen hours he'd left the container sitting out unrefrigerated were going to make themselves known to his digestive system.

All that had been before he'd even hit the street. Once Ted had begun his daily rounds, he'd only gotten into more trouble. It took almost twelve minutes to authorize a simple purchase of nicodraw, since his RTF wasn't working and he had to resort to biome sampling to confirm his identity. Then his account - never fat with credit in the best of times - turned out to be dry. Ted suspected hackers had hit his bank again, since he'd had eighty deen in his account the night before, after paying for his rice and (thankfully) fake fish. Come to think of it, it could well have been the delivery guy who'd ripped him off - which would also explain the fried RTF. If the guy used a transact reader deliberately miscalibrated to funnel additional funds to a secondary target account, that could very easily have done it.

Luckily, Ted didn't need his RTF or credit on hand to enjoy the delights of the sports parlor. They knew him there - they knew him better than the garda, in fact, since they had samples of his DNA, a complete rundown of his biome, and quantized recordings of his physical stats, including gait analysis, personal EM emanation, and even dusty old ID markers like his retinals and his fingerprints.

But that kind of convenience invited a steep price tag, and come fourteen o'clock the tab was well rung up: That was when Ted lost another bet. He went double or nothing on the Wheezers vs. the Smack, which ordinarily would have been a good wager. Not this time, though - forward runner Olaf McKenzie had ploughed hard into second defenseman Linus Linkoz, which caused the coach to rearrange the team's deployment. That meant centerman Thurlis Agnew had to double as second defensive - a case of split attention that allowed Tim Arangas to slip through a split-second gap in the Wheezers' defense and score the winning points just as the clock ran out. Now Ted was in debt to the tune of four thou to his bookie, Crazy Leo. He'd have to move a lot of blass to earn money like that.

And he was late for his appointment with Greta. She was a great gal, Greta, but she had a tendency to lose her sense of humor when Ted was tardy for his weekly confab. The rules were strict about keeping such appointments, and Greta was a stickler - not out of moral rectitude, but just as an effect of her OCD. It could have been worse; some guys had parole supervisors who were not only sticklers, but self-righteous assholes. That wasn't Greta, though, and why should it be? Parole carried less stigma these days - five out of six people were in one or another phase of parole and / or social rehabilitation, thanks to the shit-ton of new laws that had been implemented over the past six years, ever since the Theopublicans got their man into the White House. Gender laws, sex laws, faith laws - who could keep up with what you were and weren't supposed to do? The Testaments said that a man pure of heart would still commit a sin every day, but under the Kirsch administration you could hardly draw a breath without committing a felony... especially if you were using a pirated rebreather, rather than shelling out for the officially approved models, which tended to run through filter cartridges three times faster than knock-offs of the old-style ones.

As he hurried up the pavement, sucking hard at his rebreather, Ted was trying to figure what angle he was going to work when the time came that Crazy Leo got tired of waiting for his money and sent his enforcer Lisa. For a petite Thai woman, Lisa sure knew how to hurt a guy. At the same time, he was trying to formulate an excuse to offer Greta, just in case he should arrive at her office thirty seconds late. It was looking like he probably would.

Ted decided to take a shortcut and started to cut across the street, heedless of traffic. It was the New Amsterdam way: No one would dream of using the crosswalks or waiting for the lights. He paused halfway to let a rattletrap purple bus full of sightseeing hippies pass by... or maybe they were grandmothers from Dubuque? No sooner had the bus clattered past, though, when: BAM!

At first Ted thought Lisa had got him, right there in the middle of the street. Then he thought one of those Fuchsia Cabs might have plowed into him, going 70 kph. The Fuchsia Cabs were the only denizens of the city crazier than Crazy Leo, ever since their dispatch the Malawi Worm corrupted software. It was with a fleeting sense of relief that Ted realized the situation was much more tame than either of those scenarios: The manhole cover he'd been standing on had exploded, hurling him into the air.

On second thought, Ted reflected as the ground receded and he tumbled into the sky, maybe this was as bad as falling into Lisa's clutches. His left leg felt to be broken in about seven places, and his right leg was missing. So much for his artfully distressed jeans, Ted mused bitterly. They had cost more than he could afford, having been exquisitely ripped and rubbed thin with river cobbles before being given a finishing acid wash. Goddamn manhole covers, Ted thought, as gravity asserted itself and started his long downward plummet. This was why he couldn't have nice things.

The tarmac was ripped to shreds, with flame boiling in long deep rents and cars, buses, trollies, and pedestrians scattered around in various chaotic attitudes and states of, well, death. Then Ted collided with the ground and he, too, was dead.

***

It was nothing like he was expecting. Instead of silently ringing blackness or a mind-baffling null, Ted abruptly found himself in a black light-illuminated disco, surrounded by shirtless hunks. They seemed to be gyrating to some sort of crisp Euro-rave techno music; that ended after a few seconds, though, and Robert Palmer's "Simply Irresistible" started up. The crowd cheered and fell, in unison, into some kind of elaborate choreography complete with arm gestures and head waggles. Ted realized that his own body -- now intact once again, mirabile dictu -- was also flowing gracefully through the same movements: A fencer's lunge, then a pelvis rock back and forth as his arm pumped, then a step backward, a pivot, a crab-step to the right as his crooked arm snapped up, his elbow at eye level... Then a whirl...

Ted saw waiters circulating with trays of something delicious, some sort of cocktails in tall, elegant glasses. One waiter was drifting closer and closer... Then Ted's eye caught on a handsome man looking right at him, watching with eyes so blue they seemed to glow, smiling in that particular way that started his blood rushing in a silver-tinged, vanilla-flavored tingle through his entire body. Wow, he thought. The afterlife is a sexy place...

The handsome man jostled closer. Never breaking eye contact - and his eyes really were glowing, Ted realized as the club's lights flashed on and off and shadow strobed over the crowd - the man stepped smartly up to Ted. His grin sexy and steady, the man asked him, "Having fun?"

"Yeah!" Ted returned, laughing.

"He's so fine, there's no other way to go," Robert Palmer sang.

The man smiled sweetly, his eyes deeply entrancing. "Good... but now it's time to wake up."

Just like that, Ted did: He awoke safe and whole in his own bed, and still very much alive. The music and the crowd were gone, but the tingle in his body lingered. He checked next to him, hoping the disco guy would be there, but he wasn't; it was another morning when Ted was waking up alone. That was something else about his life that pissed him off.

Ted kept having bouts of d�j� vu as the day progressed. He wasn't sure exactly what parts of the day before were real and which he'd dreamed, but the part about the RTF subdermal was real enough, and so were all the complications that came along with it - including the tepid, greasy rice and fake fish that sat in the pressed paper box on his table, neglected from the night before. Ted winced as he dipped his chopsticks into the disgusting morass.

Obviously, he hadn't gotten blown up - Ted was relieved to see that his jeans were in impeccably tattered shape - but he must have gone and gotten thrashed on grain or something at some point in the day, because Ted really couldn't recall what had happened. With a sudden sensation of panic he checked his chrono: The dynamic pigment and lumentic particles embedded in his wrist told him that it was Tuesday the 12th. He hadn't missed his appointment with Greta after all; that was today at 14:30. All he had to do was avoid Leo and Lisa, skirt the sports parlor, avoid going into the public house, and he should have no problem getting to his check in on time.

But as the day dragged past, Ted found himself drifting toward the sports parlor. Standing in the foyer, he decided the prudent thing to do would be to check and see if he really was four thousand in debt to Crazy Leo, or it that had also been part of the dream. To his surprised delight he found that he was still only two thousand down - right at the edge of his credit limit, but still more than he could pay, given the measly 800 deen in his account.

Which sparked another thought: Had his account been hacked? Or was that one more relic from what now seemed to be nothing more than a crazy anxiety dream? It was possible to find out within the confines of the parlor, so Ted surrendered to the will of the universe and stepped inside. There, the concierge used the establishment's fastchannel connection to Ted's account information to verify that yes, sadly, his account had been ransacked to the very last sou.

"But," the concierge smiled with oily good cheer, "what better time to try your luck? There's a special double or nothing offer on today's game. You could more than recoup double what you lost from your account, plus I would be happy to add in a bonus: Our own housemade security software, guaranteed to protect your accounts far more effectively than the banks can manage. After all," the concierge purred, "the miscreant who stole your funds was probably using our product to hack your account. So what better way to protect your funds?"

Put that way, Ted reasoned, it would be inexcusable not to give it a go. He had a stab of doubt when he saw the game in question - the Wheezers vs. The Smack, just like in his dream. But the Smack were heavily favored to win, and really - how likely was it that reality would play out the same way his dream had?

Two hours later, at 14:12, Ted emerged from the parlor, blinking and upset, tugging his rebreather into place and squinting into the afternoon's bright, shit-yellow haze. The game had gone wrong exactly as his subconscious had predicted it would, resulting in Ted ending up right where he'd been at the start of that crazy dream: Down double his money, dangerously in debt to Crazy Leo. "God damned fool," Ted cursed himself. "You had a chance to walk away with a less than lethal slate, but... Idiot!"

Realizing he was about to be late for his meeting with Greta, Ted started off at a jog. All this seemed so familiar - late, running, seeing that the HardGlas refit of Mifflin Avenue was now finished and that offered a potential shortcut that could get him there in time...

Mifflin Avenue! Ted was saved!

It wasn't until he was in the middle of the street with the purple bus going by that Ted remembered about the exploding manhole cover. He looked down in alarm and sure enough, there it was: Like a gigantic coin, flat and round beneath his feet. It looked solid and unflappable, but Ted knew in his bones that it was about to detonate and send him flying.

And then -- !

And then the street didn't blow up, and the bus went along on its way.

What the hell? Everything else in his dream had come to pass, so why not the explosion too? Ted was too pressed for time to stand there puzzling about it, and he was also wary of the many careening Fuchsia Cabs streaming by, so he darted across the street and ran up Mifflin Avenue. A quick right onto Morse, then a left onto Hollenbee, and he was at the Penroy Building next to the city courthouse. He strolled into Greta's office at 14:30 on the dot.

Twelve minutes later, having dutifully submitted to Greta's questions, probes, and scans, Ted emerged from the Penroy building with a smile of relief - a smile that changed to a fake, tight grin when he saw Lisa waiting for him. With a movement he didn't even see, she snatched the rebreather right off his face.

"Aw, Lisa, come on, man," he coughed, his eyes tearing up in the acrid air. "I only lost that latest round a little while ago."

"But you don't have money to pay," Lisa shot back, her words quick and rhythmic, her face serene, her tone relaxed. "You taking advantage of us?"

"No, no, Lisa - no - " He coughed again, tried to swallow the burbing grit out of his throat, and bent slightly, his body shuddering.

Lisa's tranquil half smile didn't flicker as she produced a knife from thin air and drove it into Ted's gut. He was so surprised he didn't even flinch; he simply stood in that same attitude, half-bent, his eyes level with Lisa's as she stared back with infinite amusement. For a split second he saw that blood was cascading from the wound onto his designer jeans; then pain hit him like a wrecking ball. In that slender moment between heartbeats he had the irritated thought that this was exactly the reason he never bought expensive things. Something always had to fuck it up.

That prompted one final thought - actually, less a thought than a late-breaking recurrence of d�j� vu. Something about an old popular song... and a good looking man...

Ted leaned against the building, gasping, choking, trying to collect his thoughts. Pedestrians streamed past, paying no attention to the bleeding man or the woman with the redly gleaming blade in her hand. Then Lisa -- still looking cool and impeccably put together -- thrust the knife into Ted again, piercing his heart and sending him to the pavement.

***

Death this time was a dry, brilliantly lit landscape. Ted looked around. He was on a mountain top; a valley swept away below; scraggly trees formed a river-like skein of green all down the wrinkled slope.

"This is the ancient Amalric city of Hinsu Chort," a voice behind him piped up.

Ted turned around and saw a handsome man with hypnotic blue eyes. The man was dressed in rugged explorer wear. Suddenly, Ted recalled the disco, the Robert Palmer song... This was the same man. His face was crinkled with a friendly grin, his hair dark red under the bright sky.

Ted's insides seemed to jolt and flip over. It felt like his brain sank into his pelvic bowl while his guts rose into his skull. His blood did a similar tidal reversal and Ted felt light in the head.

"Well hey," he said stupidly. "What the hell's going on here, man?"

Instantly, he castigated himself. If he was dead and about to spend all eternity with a hunk like disco guy (now archaeology guy, judging from his outfit), his first words could have been smarter -- or at least smoother. If his brains and his guts had traded places, Ted thought, it was no wonder he was talking shit.

"Sorry," Ted said quickly, then cringed inwardly at his lame note of apology. "I mean... I just mean..."

"Simmer down," the handsome guy suggested. "Take a breath."

Ted took him up on it, inhaling deeply. His gut, lacerated only moments earlier, was now healthy and whole. The air entering his nostrils was warm, dry, and suffused with soothing aromas - sage, some sort of wild mint... The calming moment seemed to help. It gave him a moment to orient himself, look past archaeology guy at a scattering of ruins -- they just looked like stone blocks strewn among stubborn, homely weeds -- and reflect that wherever he was, it wasn't too different than life on earth.

Then he glanced up at the sky, and knew something was wrong. Ted scanned the heavens, trying to pinpoint what seemed off. There wasn't a cloud in sight; the sky was a deep, gorgeous blue, gathering deeper and darker in hue as it rose from the horizon and arced infinitely far overhead. Heavenly blue, Ted thought -- pardon the pun.

But the sky's innocence of clouds wasn't what seemed strange. Ted couldn't quite put his finger on it --

The sun. Ted's gaze scoured the sky once again just to be certain. Despite the bright direct light -- sunlight, clear and warm on the skin -- there was no sun.

Ted looked back at disco guy, who was watching him with those insanely blue eyes, a friendly, maybe even flirtatious, look on his face. "If you're wondering whether this is Hell," he told Ted, "well... not exactly."

Before Ted could ask for more, he started awake.

In his own bed. Alone. Again.

Ted stared up at his own confusion, and at the water-stained ceiling beyond. Then, acting on a sudden suspicion, he rolled over, reached down to where his PCD was charging on the floor, and snapped up the protective cover.

The HardGlas screen lit up with the time and date: 7:01 am; Tuesday the 12th.

Tuesday the 12th.

Just like when he woke up yesterday, after the disco dream. Just like when he woke up the day before that, the day the manhole cover erupted in a gout of force and flame and sent him flying.

Ted lay there thinking until 7:06. Then he kicked the blanket away, pushed himself upright, and spotted his trousers draped over the chair -- just like they'd been draped twice before. He was in for more d�j� vu... and, he realized, maybe another bout of dying.

"So if this isn't hell," he wondered aloud, "what is it?"

***

Ted didn't have the heart to face the leftover rice and fake fish. He did brave a cold shower, however, and after quickly lathering up and rinsing himself down he dried off briskly. His thoughts raced the whole time, returning again and again to the one person he knew who might be able to help him: Jason Darius.

Jason knew all sorts of odd and occult things. Ted was determined to give the sports parlor a miss and avoid going deeper in debt to Crazy Leo, but he was willing to bet that Jason would have some idea of what was going on and what to do about it.

It was a long walk, because Jason lived halfway across the city and Ted's RTF wasn't working, which meant that even if he'd had money in his account he couldn't have accessed it. That in turn meant that a cab or even public transport was out of the question. It took Ted nearly an hour and a half to reach Jason's building, and then he had to tromp up twelve flights of stairs to reach Jason's apartment because the rattletrap elevator wasn't working, as usual. When he arrived at Jason's he was hot and thirsty, and sucking at his rebreather like a dying man.

Luckily, Jason was home and not particularly busy.

"Now," Jason said, offering Ted a glass of something sweet and cold. "What's the problem, exactly?"

Ted began his strange tale of the repeating day. Jason scowled as he listened, and Ted wondered if he was about to announce that he didn't believe a word of the story and order Ted out of his flat. But Jason held his peace and Ted described both iterations of the day as well as could recall them. By the time he'd finished, the scowl was gone and Jason looked deep in thought.

"What do you think?" Ted asked.

Jason got up from his kitchen table, crossed into the living room, and then returned, an ancient-looking book in his hands. He pried the heavy cover open - it seemed to be made of some sort of metal - and leafed through the pages, muttering. Then he traced lines with a fingertip, nodding to himself.

"Dander," he said, distracted.

"What's that?" Ted asked.

Jason looked up and slowly closed the book. "The cosmos has become allergic to you," he said. "You've become the psychic equivalent of dander. The cosmos is trying to sneeze you out of existence, but so far all that's happened is you've been sent from one universe to the next. Not ejected from reality, but shifted between its many fibers of cause and effect."

"Uh huh," Ted said, as if he were following Jason's explanation. In truth, he had no idea what the hell he'd just been told.

"From your point of view, you've repeated the same day - not been expelled into oblivion," Jason added, shutting the book with a heavy thump. "But that, I'm afraid, is only a matter of time. Or, well, technically - hypertime."

That didn't sound promising, and Ted said as much. In fact, it sounded bug-nuts crazy, but Ted bit his lip and didn't say that. Instead, he asked, "How can we fix it?"

Jason looked at Ted somberly. "We," he said, "might not be able to. But your spirit guide might."

"Spirit guide?"

"That man you saw. With the bright blue eyes. The handsome guy. I'm thinking he's your spirit guide. Or your guardian angel, if you prefer. Many ancient cultures have secret knowledge about these beings, and they interpret them in a variety of ways. In some traditions, they are thought of as devils; in others, they are a manifestation of a person's own soul, the part of a man or a woman that is real in a transcendental sense of the word, with the person who lives in this flawed reality only a reflection of those supernal agencies. I don't really buy that, though. I prefer the idea that they are spirit guides."

"So... how do I contact him?"

"Well," Jason said, pushing himself up from the table and stepping over to a cabinet, "obviously, you have to die."

"Uh - "

Jason was rummaging inside the cabinet. He drew a gun from its depths. A rather large gun, Ted noted with alarm - and there was a cylindrical extension attached to its muzzle.

"Is that a silencer?" Ted asked.

"Don't worry," Jason said, pointing the gun at Ted's forehead, which began to tingle in an alarming fashion. "You won't feel a thing."

***

"Hullo, stranger," the handsome man said, giving him a wink. His eyes didn't just glow, they were phosphorescent. They emanated. Ted tried not to stare.

"You look kind of stunned," the man said. "Are you okay?"

Ted realized that in spite of himself, he was, indeed, staring. "Um, well, not really." He looked around to see what form hell... or, not hell... purgatory?... took this time around.

He and the handsome man were standing on the shore of a lake. Pine trees with dark green needles rose up behind them as they stood looking out over the calm, flat water, and the sky was a wonderful clear blue. Ted had seen a sky like that in a holo virt once, before holo virts showing such images were banned. This was the world the way it used to be. Ted sparked to an idea.

"Hey, you told me that this isn't hell," he said. "It is the past?"

The Blue Eyed Man looked surprised and amused. His grin grew wider. "No," he chuckled. "Why do you ask?"

"Because isn't this the way the world used to be?"

"I'm not sure the world... your world... ever really was like this," the man said. "Mine certainly isn't."

"Are you from Heaven?" Ted asked.

"Ha!" the man said. "Not hardly."

"But you're a spirit guide, right?"

"Ha!" the handsome man said again.

"Look," Ted said, "a friend of mine who knows about these things..."

"Yes, yes, Jason Darius, friend to angels, white magician, and all of whatever else he calls himself."

"Jesus, I thought he was just a drag queen," Ted said.

"Your friend Jason doesn't understand what's going on here," the man told Ted.

"Jason says I'm irritating the cosmos and it's trying to sneeze me out," Ted said.

"Not really a sneeze, though you could say forces are ejecting you from one parallel reality to the next," said the handsome man.

"So you're telling me that's not true?"

"Well, it is true," the man replied. "But it's not what you need to focus on."

"Okay," Ted said slowly, feeling aggravated. Why did no one have a straight answer for him? "What should I be focused on?"

"Dreams," the handsome man said. "Reality." And with that, he stepped forward and put the tip of his finger on Ted's forehead. Ted thought about how Jason had pointed his gun at the same spot, and wondered for a moment just which was the dream and which was the reality.

"Atta boy," the handsome man said.

Ted woke up. In his own bed. All over again.

This time he didn't even bother to look at his clock or his watch. He didn't take time for a cold shower. He just jumped up, grabbed his designer jeans - they looked great, he marveled; they really were holding up well through all of this; maybe the exorbitant price he'd paid for them was worth it after all - and ran out the door, slipping his rebreather into place as he went.

Jason looked as out of sorts when he answered the door this time as he had last time. As before, he offered a sweet, cold drink to Ted.

"Look," Ted said, and paused to gulp at the drink. His agitation was making him feel hot and dehydrated.

Jason eyed him with a jaundiced expression. "This better be good," he said scratchily. "I got in late last night, I broke a heel on the way home, I think I'm coming down with something."

"Cosmic dander," Ted said, coming up for air.

Jason looked at him quizzically. "Are you cussing at me? Or is that your diagnosis for my sore throat? God, I hope don't lose my voice. I'm playing at Pranx tonight."

"No, you goon," Ted said. "You told me that I've become cosmic dander. And now the universe is sneezing me out of existence, from one parallel reality to the next, and eventually I'll be sent right out of existence entirely."

"I told you this? When?"

"Yesterday. I mean, today. I mean, last time we had this conversation..." Ted gave up, confused.

Jason slumped into a chair. "Oh, Christ," he said. "Really? I don't need this right now."

"Except, listen. The Blue-Eyed Man said you don't know what you're talking about."

"Wait." Jason held up a hand. "What blue eyed man?"

"My animal spirit."

"Your spirit guide? Jason asked sharply.

"Um, something like that," Ted said. "Look, I don't know."

"Sit down, sweetie," Jason said, "and tell it to me from the start."

Ted did as Jason asked. When he as finished with his account, he looked at Jason expectantly. "So," he said, "here's what I'm wondering."

"Yes?"

Ted stood up. "Come on," he said.

"What do you mean?" Jason asked. "What do you want? Are we going somewhere?"

"Just help me out here."

Jason stood up.

Ted smiled at him, then charged, caught Jason in the midriff, and half carried him across the room.

"What the fuck?" Jason yelped. Then they crashed through the window.

Twelve stories wasn't really so high up, Ted though as they tumbled, Jason screaming the whole way and struggling in his arms. Ted held tight, hoping the fall would do the trick.

***

Ted and Jason walked through the endless desert. Ted could tell that Jason was super pissed. But really, what did he have to complain about? Jason was the one who had put a slug through Ted's skull. He'd started it.

The sand was bright and blinding; the sky was deep and vivid dark blue. Ted wondered if they'd get sunburned. Probably not; after all, they had been walking a couple of hours and neither of them was feeling thirsty.

Finally, Ted sought to break the silence.

"Listen," he said.

"Shut up," Jason snapped.

Ted gave it another twenty minutes before trying again. In that time they covered half a kilometer or so. The air was dry and clean - gloriously clean, carrying a faint scent of something mineral. Or maybe floral? Or both?

"Jason," Ted said.

"You asshole!" Jason snarled.

"Yeah, well, about that - "

"You've really fucked up my life, you realize that - don't you?" Jason barked at him.

"Jesus, you're one fierce queen," Ted muttered.

They walked on.

Finally, Ted stopped. Jason walked on for a few seconds but then he stopped, too, and turned to Ted.

"You got an idea?" he asked. "For how to get us out of this?"

Ted shrugged. "Usually the Blue-Eyed Man is right there. I don't know where he is this time."

"Maybe," Jason seethed, "he's not here because he's you spirit guide. Not mine. Why would he show up now if we're both here? And why in the name of all that's fucking holy are we both here?"

"Because I took you with me," Ted said.

"Because you took me with you," Jason repeated mockingly. "And why the hell did you do that? What possessed you?"

"I thought I could bring you here with me. Then you and the guy with the blue eyes could talk to each other. I thought it would save time."

"What feeble nerve sputter deep in your necrotic brain ever gave you an inkling of an idea like that?!" Jason screamed.

"Well..." Ted gestured around. "I mean, here we are. So, I dunno, but I guess it worked."

Jason had to give him that one.

They walked onward. Ted wondered if Jason had a destination in mind, but then decided it didn't matter much.

"You know," Ted suggested at length, "there's not much point to you being so mad at me. This place isn't a trap, you know. I come and go all the time."

"This is the afterlife, idiot," Jason snapped.

"No... well, I guess so, yeah, but it's a also a dream," Ted reasoned. "And any dream you find yourself in, you can also wake up from, right?"

Jason stopped and turned to glare at him.

"I mean, can't you?"

"What makes you think this is a goddamn dream?"

Ted pointed at the sky.

"Yeah. Pretty, Blue and clear, just like those old virts. But that doesn't mean - "

"No sun," Ted pointed out.

"Of course there's a..." Jason looked up, searched around. Deep blue, endless blue, but no clouds - and no sun.

"Well how about that," Jason said, and it was the first thing Ted had heard him say since they got here that didn't sound like he was cussing.

Jason looked back at Ted. "All right," he said, a trace of a smile tugging at his face. "All right, then, let's stop and think this over. You're unstuck. The cosmos is shifting you from reality to reality. If this is the afterlife, then it's also a place between realities. If it's not the afterlife, it's a still a place between realities. If you can leave here, so can I... we'll just assume that's true for the moment. So let's figure out why the universe is trying to... whatever."

"Sneeze me out," Ted said.

"Right. But why?"

"You said it's allergic to me."

"Okay... but why? Getting thrown out of one reality into another makes sense if it's the cosmos' way of herding wayward elements. Maybe you ended up in the wrong reality in the first place, before all this started. But how?"

"I dunno. I just woke up and..."

"And the same day kept happening, but are you sure the first day you remember is the first time you actually went through that day?"

"Well... not certain, no, but I don't remember it before then."

"So what do you remember before then?"

"Well, I mean, just he usual. It's a Tuesday, right? I mean, it keeps being a Tuesday. Monday I worked for Two-Nip Sally."

Jason looked like he wanted to question the nickname, but he didn't.

"Nothing happened then out of the ordinary. Sunday I hung out and fucked Gus."

"Gus?"

"This guy I know. Nice guy. Comes from Romania or something. I dunno. Anyway, he's always hot to get busy, and he has this box with all these strands of beads - some of them are electrified, they have these little rice grain-sized batteries - "

"Yeah, we don't have to get into that right now," Jason said.

"Anyway, I fucked Gus. But that was after I roughed up some tenement squatters for Mister Applecake. And before I threw this old lady out down a flight of stairs in a wheelchair."

"Ha ha," Jason said sarcastically. "Look, we haven't got time for jokes. Leave out the old movie references."

"That was in a movie?"

Again, Jason looked like he wanted to challenge Ted, but he held his tongue. He did turn a couple degrees paler, though.

"So, anyway, that was Sunday, and it was pretty much the usual."

"Did you ever occur to you maybe the universe just thinks you're a piece of shit?" Jason interjected.

"No," Ted said, his feelings hurt. "Look, I just do my job."

"Old ladies in wheelchairs?" Jason asked.

"She had a fuckin' shiv! She was gonna gut me! Anyway, it didn't hurt her. You shoulda seen her jump up and light out running."

Jason rolled his eyes. "What about Saturday?"

"Well, I think I got drunk."

"You think you got drunk."

"I don't really remember. It was pretty raucous."

"Raucous?" Jason asked.

"You know. Wild."

"I know, but I'm surprised you know," Jason said.

"Of course I know!" Ted said. "I was there!"

Jason shook his head and rubbed his eyes with his palms. "Fine," he sighed. "Let's take this from the top. Saturday. It was raucous. Why? Where were you?"

"Well, Trudy the Teut said there was this popup club in a warehouse. So she and I, we went over there... took a cab, took some balss. When we got to the warehouse there was a bunch of people, but no lights or anything. Fuckin' place was dark and spooky! I was gonna go home, but then these guys came up and they took me with them. And I was gonna freak out, but I had just taken some blass, so you know... I thought maybe I was just tripping and I should chill."

"Blass?"

"BJ. Joyce. You know, Bliss Jism."

"Holy Christ," Jason muttered. "You use that shit?" He was starting to sound mean again.

"Well, but look," Ted hurried on. "The thing is, they took me inside the warehouse, and there was, like, all these people in wrenchworker overalls, and a lot of them were yelling, and they had these machines, and they kept arguing and pointing at me. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to, like, perform... you know I sing the open mike nights, right? Well, okay, so, maybe they were looking for some musical talent. And I even said, if you have a guitar..."

"Can you just get to it?"

"Get to what?"

"Get to the goddamn point," Jason said.

"But that's it! I mean, it was a weird night. I wasn't sure if they were trying to kidnap me or what. I mean, the way they talked, I was pretty sure they were a cult."

"A cult?"

"Yeah, I mean, all this stuff about judgment and the ruin of the world and the sins of the father... then there was this coffin thing. Or maybe it was a tomb? And all this talk of the resurrection and the judgment. Whattaya call it? Apocalypse? It was pretty downright biblical. I mean, really biblical, like, as in, the Bible."

"So you thought they were a cult."

"Yeah, but then there were all these lights and sparks and noise and so I changed my mind and decided that this was the party Trudy the Teut was talking about. I mean, it was pretty much the same as a typical Saturday night at the Saddle."

Jason's glare had softened into a slack-jawed gawk. After a minute he shook his head as if clearing cobwebs from his brain.

"Keep it up, and you won't need me," said a voice.

The Blue-Eyed Man had appeared from nowhere. He was leaning on a staff, wrapped in a ragged tunic, smiling at them. He looked like Lawrence of Arabia or St. John or someone.

Ted broke into a smile. "Hey!" he said.

"This is the blue eyed man?" Jason asked. Then he answered his own question: "Of course he is. With eyes as blue as that, he'd have to be."

"Jason," the Blue-Eyed Man greeted him.

"Uh, hi," Jason said. "So do you know what's going on?"

"You don't?" the Blue-Eyed Man said. "He just told you the whole story. Power surges. Jury-rigged equipment. Sins of the father."

"Sorry," Jason said. "None of this makes any sense to me."

"And you call yourself a master of the supernatural. Although this isn't supernatural, it's just a bunch of clowns running up against nature."

Jason looked like he was putting two and two and a bunch of other numbers together.

"Ted," he said at length, "did you say there was a lot of weird machinery around in the warehouse?"

"Yeah. But it was a warehouse," Ted said. "And anyway, how else were they gonna make all that noise? And all those sparks and lights and everything? It was a real show!"

"And when they argued, what were they arguing about?"

"I think they were arguing about me for a while. Which was why I thought maybe I was supposed to sing, but of course I didn't have my guitar with me. And one guy was really rude, he was like, 'This guy isn't important enough,' and I'm like, what the hell do you want? Bob Dylan? And then he's like, 'I don't care if he fries, test it out on him, if it works we get what we came for and if it doesn't we have plenty of other options.' And I'm like, what, you're gonna get every guy with a guitar in here and you don't even know how to set up a goddamn mike? Because the place was crackling, man! They had a lotta juice but their equipment was set up all wrong. But also, they were arguing about Trudy the Teut, but they kept calling her Tessie."

"Tessie the Teut?" Jason asked.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, no, they didn't call her that. They just kept saying her name wrong. Tessie this, Tessie that."

"Tesseract?" Jason said.

"Right!" Ted cried. "Because I was thinking, Tessie has an act, too? Does she sing? Are we supposed to perform a duet or something?"

Jason looked at the Blue-Eyed Man. "This can't possibly be what I think it is."

"Because it's more impossible than all the other impossible stuff you get up to?" the Blue-Eyed Man asked.

"Because it's..." Jason looked alarmed.

The Blue-Eyed Man laughed. "Now you get it!" he cried, delighted.

"What?" Ted asked. "Are you guys talking about that cult?"

Jason looked terrified. "Ted... that wasn't a cult."

"So? Who were they?"

Jason looked at the Blue-Eyed Man, who cocked an eyebrow teasingly and flashed them an appealing smile. Ted thought he looked adorable and wondered if he was the sort who liked guys like Ted.

Then Ted and Jason were standing on a street.

"We're back," Jason gasped. "Except... were not."

They looked at each other. Ted suddenly realized what Jason was saying. They were standing on Delacourt, a street Ted knew very well, but somehow Delacourt now had trees. They were growing from gaps in the wide sidewalks. And the air seemed fine, even though they didn't have their rebreathers. Usually a few breaths without a rebreather - or even with a rebreather but a purification cartridge that was shot - was enough to have Ted on his hands and knees puking, but this air was fine: Fresh and cool. Not as nice as the air in the desert, but fine.

"We're not in our same reality are we?" Ted asked.

"You haven't been for a while," Jason said. "And I no longer am, either." Jason looked around and got his bearings, then started off down the street.

Ted tagged along after him.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"We're going to the one guy who might be able to help us," Jason told him. "A guy I know in HomeSec. He deals in shit like this. In fact, he had a run-in with the same people you did."

"The cult?"

"Yeah," Jason said, distractedly.

"Do you really think they're a danger to national security?"

"I mean, who's the threat here Ted? For Christs's sake? Who is it who stumbles into stuff like trans dimensional crossings and weird-ass afterlife bullshit and spirit guides... ?"

"But your friend can help us," Ted said hopefuly.

"I guess he might, only Jesus, Ted! Leave it to you to get mixed up with them."

"With who?" Ted asked.

"You don't want to know," Jason told him. "And even if you do, I don't want to know."

"So what were they doing? Was it really a party?"

"Not the kind of party you're thinking it was," Jason said. "From what Henry told me about these goons, it was a trial."

"Really?"

"You better believe it, and now I think of it, it's the only thing that makes sense - the only reason you'd be jumping from one reality to the next."

"Why?" Ted asked.

"Because they basically fucked you up, man."

"How?"

"Because they were trying to do something that's not possible. They were trying to take you into the future."

"What? Why?"

"Because that's where they came from."

"I don't understand," Ted objected.

"I don't either," Jason said. "But I'm pretty sure they couldn't do it. What I think they might have done, though, is sent you into a different reality, one where you didn't belong. You know, there are people who do that sort of thing professionally, and they have to use special equipment so they don't get lost in the omniverse. What were those clods thinking? They must have know you can't just shove a guy into some random parallel causality matrix... I mean, of course it's just aking for trouble, right?"

"Right," Ted agreed, uncertainly.

"And so now the cosmos is trying to put itself back in order by shuffling you around. More likely than not, though..."

Ted stopped cold. "It's gonna push me out of existence."

"Probably," Jason said, his voice retreating. Ted looked up and saw that Jason hadn't paused along with him; he was rapidly advancing up the street.

Jason's long stride made it hard for Ted to caych up. "Do you even want me to come with you?" he cried out in aggravation.

"Stay, go, or get lost," Jason called back. "Keep up if you're keeping up, but I can't slow down."

God damn, Ted thought, struggling to keep pace. This was getting to be one long day.

Then Jason came to stop so suddenly Ted crashed into him. The two of them steadied each other, extricated themselves from their awkward embrace, and then turned their attention to the man who'd crossed their path.

"Jason," he smiled.

"Randall? Aren't you dead? This is a bad time to be haunting me, man."

"I'm not dead," Randall told him. He looked at Ted. "aren't you Ted McCormick?"

"Uh, hi," Ted said.

"What the hell are you doing?" Jason said.

"Are you on your way to see Henry?" Randall asked.

"Yes. Why? Are you on your way to see him too? He thinks you got topped, you know. It's been a longtime since you sent him a letter."

"You mean those rocks? Well, Jace, you don't know everything in the world, do you? We use a different system to communicate now. He leaves me messages in the stones of the old public library. I go by once each week to check them out - pardon the pun."

"And he left you a message?"

"He did. I picked up something about... a trial? Did I hear you talking about something along those lines just now? And people from the future?'

"It's rude to listen in," Jason told him, scowling.

"Hey, pace, buddy. Henry let me a very strong impression he needs me. I'm just trying to answer the call."

"Yeah, well, the last friend of mine who got himself hooked up with you got himself killed."

"Fucking hell, what is this? 'The World Spins?' " Ted complained, irritated to be left out of what sounded like a really juicy backstory.

They both glanced at him, then went back to their own friendly chat. Ted stewed.

"Let me tell you about another old mutual friend," Randall said. "You remember Cole Stasio? Used to be with the NSA, did a little work with the Bureau before Kirsch killed it? Lost a hand thanks to Mark Inverness, gained a hand thanks to Doc Arkenbess over at the uni hospital, but the new hand turned into a psycho killer?"

"Yeah. The transplanted hand belonged to a serial strangler," Jason said. "The hand kept on keeping on, and Cole didn't know what was going on."

"Well, I saw him about twelve minutes ago," Randall said. "He had both hands and seemed perfectly happy with them. Which is strange, because as I recall it, when Cole finally did catch on to the fact that he was the serial killer he was looking for, he turned to a butcher's cleaver for a little solace. Are we remembering this the same way?"

"Yeah, of course we are. Why?"

"Because you're from a different reality, just like Ted here is. Maybe things shook out differently over there."

"How the fuck do you even know that?" Jason snapped.

"Because Jason Darius is with Henry right now," Randall said. "Our Jason Darius, that is. And I saw you arrive here. And the Ted McCormick I knew died two years ago." He glanced at Ted. "Sorry."

"Hey, no problem," Ted answered, wondering how he and this Randall guy knew each other.

A great crash of thunder resounded across the skies above them. They all looked up.

"Problem," Ted corrected himself.

The night sky was clear, but the stars had vanished from a great swatch right across the middle of heaven. Instead, writhing skeins of energy twisted in a strange void: Red, blue, orange, green. More colors flickered into existence and then snapped off. It looked like some sort of novelty lamp - a plasma bulb or a lavathode. Only it was gigantic, and it looked as though it might be devouring heaven itself.

"What the fuck is this?" Randall muttered.

"I hate to sound self important," Jason said, "but I think it might have something to do with us."

Randall tore his eyes from the terrifying sight above. His gaze flicked from Jason to Ted and back. "That probably is a little self important," he said, "but for all I know it's possible." He craned his neck and looked up again and looked deep into the sky. Dancing flames in a thousand vivid hues danced and writhed above. The stars looked sickly - the stars that were still visible, anyway. "Shit," Randall mumbled.

Then the three of them were moving again. More thunder pealed from overhead. Ted was afraid to look up. Colored light strobed down into the street, giving everything an aquatic look.

Ted had never felt so confused and afraid. But then he caught his reflection in a great plate glass window as the three of them walked rapidly past a vintage store. Ted paused for a split second to admire what he saw.

The sky was on fire, weird shit kept happening, and his hot spirit guide was kind of a dick. But his jeans were holding up great, so there was that.

TO BE CONCLUDED