I woke up to the sound of crashing waves. It was dark, misty, and cold. I was sore and wet. I slowly sat up and took stock of my body. Two feet, two legs, two hands, two arms, a body. So far, so good. I reached up and pulled at my ears. They were both there. The fingers of my left hand trailed through my hair. It was long, tangled, soaking wet. My right hand slid over my face. A nose, two eyes, and a mouth. I was all there. Even better.

I climbed unsteadily to my feet and glanced down at my body as my hands slid down my sides. Breasts, long legs, hips. Huh. I was definitely all there. Good to know. Where the hell was I? I looked around, squinted in the spray blowing off the water and opened my mouth a bit. The taste of salt; this was the ocean shore. A quick glance behind me revealed a mountain whose top was clouded in a thick fog. No help there then. Trees, lots of pines, wind-swept, gnarled and twisted, lined the cliffs above a grey stone shoreline. So, somewhere windy then. Pacific Northwest? Puget Sound maybe? British Columbia? Jesus, I was so cold. I had to get dry.

I started walking up the shoreline, scanning the cliffs for an easy climb and possibly some sort of signage to help me pinpoint where I was. Nothing in the way of ?You are here? signs, but there was a staircase cut out of the cliff-face. I headed for it, trying hard to ignore the pounding in my head and the fact that apparently I was wearing a fur coat on my tongue. As I walked, I tried to remember why I was here, wherever here was, and what I was supposed to be doing. Did I live here? Had I fallen off a boat and washed ashore? Why did my head hurt so badly? Had I been drinking on the boat I might have fallen off of? I stopped suddenly, brought up short by a horrible thought. I felt the back of my head tenderly and discovered a matted bump the size of my fist at the nape of my neck.

Jesus Christ, someone had tried to kill me! I started panicking, a bubble of hysteria threatening to burst inside my chest. ?No, calm down,? I said softly, leaning forward at the waist and bracing myself on my knees. ?You?re fine. Figure out where you are and go from there.? I noticed that I was wearing sturdy black boots and tight black pants with pockets on the thighs and at the hips. I slipped my hands into them, systematically searching through them. I found a folding butterfly knife, five or six pieces of plastic that looked like they might be either cable ties or possibly riot cuffs, an extending lead-weighted sap, and a sodden piece of paper that had been folded into a small square. I could make out letters but not enough for it to be legible.

So, no help there. I continued climbing up the cliff and soon came out into a pine forest. It was dark and quiet at the edge of the woods. No birds cried in the night, no animals rustled in the underbrush, no insects sang. There was only the soft soughing of the breeze through the trees and the pounding of my heart in my ears. A quick glance around confirmed the lack of signs and the lack of civilization as well. There were no lights shining through the trees, nothing to indicate that this was some sort of park or public beach or hell, even a private one. It was almost like I was completely alone.

?Oh, sh-t,? I said softly. What if I was the only living thing left on the planet? What if that nuclear winter thingie had happened and somehow I was the only person?only animal?left alive? ?Oh, God,? I moaned, feeling the sting of tears in the back of my throat. No. I would not give into tears. I would not cry. I wouldn?t even sniffle a little. I would figure this out. Nuclear winter? Seriously? ?You are such a girl,? I chided myself.

I pulled myself together and continued into the forest, using the butterfly knife to mark trees every thirty feet with a small X carved into the trunk at about waist-level. I had no idea why I was doing that or what I hoped to accomplish by leaving marked trees, but it felt like something I should do. As I moved through the forest, I kept in a generally southern direction, keeping the moss-lined tree trunks facing me. That meant the ocean was to the west of the land, further cementing the idea of being somewhere in the Pacific Northwest. Then I stopped as another thought suddenly struck me. Could I be in New Zealand? Maybe the South Island? Sure, that might fit. Where else would fit? Japan? The Baltic states? ?Crap.? The only places I was certain I wasn?t was anywhere on an eastern shore, or near the equator. That left a whole hell of a lot of ground left.

I started walking again, hopeful that eventually I?d figure out where I was and what I was supposed to be doing there. After about half an hour of walking, the trees began thinning, giving way to birches and aspens. I caught sight of some lights flickering through the trunks. It looked like firelight. Campers? I picked up my pace and then nearly skidded to a halt. Why was I carrying cable ties in my pocket? An extending sap? Was I a cop? Jesus Christ. It suddenly dawned on me that I couldn?t even remember my name.

Apparently I have Nordic blood, because I went berserk. I stood up and transferred all my weight to my left leg as I took a step back. Then I swung my right leg up and stomped down with all my might on the outside of the green creature?s knee, eliciting a series of snaps and crackles. The creature?s eyes went wide and?honest to God?it squealed just like a piggy being slaughtered. I didn?t wait before reaching into my pocket and extending the sap. Winding up like an all-star pitcher, I swung the sap down on the forearm that was still somehow reaching for me and I swear I heard bones snap. The squealing ramped up a couple of octaves and the first little piggy went down hard, curling around its broken arm on the forest floor.

From behind me, I heard more squeals, though these were more of surprise than of pain. I whirled around to face the fire once more and saw that the pagan pigs had stopped their weird summoning and were staring at me in open-mouthed shock and anger. They, too, were armed with wooden clubs, which they brandished in a menacing manner as they lumbered towards me. I could have done my nails in the amount of time it took the second little piggy to reach me and get smacked upside its green head with the sap. It sounded like a ripe melon and its eyes rolled back in its skull as it dropped like a sack of potatoes to the ground at my feet.

Seeing their comrades laid out so quickly apparently gave the other three pause and they decided to switch tactics. They spread out in a line in front of me then slowly began walking towards me, the two on the ends moving a bit more quickly and closing in from the sides. I couldn?t let them get behind me with those clubs.

I lashed out immediately, bringing the sap to bear on the forearm of the third little piggy on my right. The sap didn?t connect and I?d over-extended, leaving myself open to attack from the left. The fourth little piggy smashed its club into my ribs. I felt a few break and grunted in pain, bringing horrid grimaces and squeals of glee from the creatures.

They stalked in once more, brandishing those clubs and exhibiting more than a passing familiarity with the weapons. Despite my ribs, I knew that I had to keep moving. One person can only fight three others if they move around continuously. I?m not sure how it was that I knew this, but that was something to think about at a later time. Like, say, when I wasn?t being attacked by green-skinned Satanic pigs.
I turned and ran for my life, my left arm clamped down tightly against my side, trying to keep the shooting, sharp pain of broken ribs at bay. I didn?t know what else I knew about hand-to-hand combat, but I couldn?t trust that I would survive another smacking with those clubs. I just hoped that I could outrun these beasts and lose them in the maze of trees.

Or perhaps I could find a convenient gulley to tumble down, which is what ultimately happened. One moment, I was running on solid ground, the next my foot found nothing but air beneath it and I went ass over teakettle down a steep incline, hitting every God damned rock on the way down. Somehow I managed not to scream (or squeal) in pain and even found some covering scrub once I hit bottom. I scrambled beneath a bush, flattening myself against the cold, wet, muddy bottom of the gulley, and peered out and up the hill.

The three little piggies popped out of the tree line soon after, and fanned out in a line to search for me. They didn?t leave the crest of the hill, instead kept to it, walking along and peering down into the dim bottom of the ditch where I was cowering beneath a bush. After some time?I had no idea how long, really, because my world was nothing but scarlet pain?they left, muttering amongst themselves and shaking their clubs.

And I promptly passed out, redness then darkness then nothingness.

It doesn?t matter how much training you have, a broken rib is still a broken rib. And I had at least three, maybe four of them.

I woke up some arbitrary amount of time after passing out, still damp, still cold, still under a bush at the bottom of a gulley in some forest near the ocean. My ribs were still broken, my head still hurt, and I still had no idea who I was or what I was doing in this forest near the ocean.

I carefully looked out of my hiding spot and strained to listen to the ambient sounds of the forest around me. The sky had lightened substantially, turning from nearly solid black to a sort of soft pearly grey. There were bands of salmon pink and golden yellow along the far eastern horizon, gilding the tops of the waves that lapped at the rocky shore. The coast appeared clear. I carefully, painfully, climbed to my feet and took a look around.

The gulley ran in an east-west direction, becoming wider and shallower as it met the beach behind me. The cliffs were steeper and closer together in front of me and less vegetation grew on the floor of the ditch. I thought perhaps it was a seasonal channel, something that only flooded during the spring run-off or perhaps summer rainstorms. Again, I had no idea how I knew this, I just knew it?and perhaps more importantly, instinctively believed it. So far my instincts had been kind to me so I decided then and there that until I knew what the hell was going on, I?d listen very closely to those instincts.

I began walking west, up the gulley and deeper into the forest. The trees high above my head suddenly exploded with birdsong as the sun rose over the water behind me. I saw flashes of red and blue and yellow in the branches and a tiny smile crossed my face. Bird song meant there were no predators or otherwise scary people in the trees. I was safe for the moment. I took the opportunity to think about the dream I?d had while passed out.

Could it have been a memory from my childhood? Rebekah. That?s what the woman had called me?the tiny blonde girl in the dream. Was that my name? ?Rebekah,? I said experimentally. It felt right. It sounded nice. ?Becky,? I said. I shook my head. No. Not Becky. Never Becky. Rebekah it was then.

Leaving the question of whether the woman in the dream was my mother and her corporal punishment alone for the moment, I considered the other details revealed. A sea gull, a palm tree, and a bright blue sky. If this was a memory, then I?d lived for a portion of my life near a beach, probably a southern, sunny beach. Sydney, Australia? Miami, Florida? Saint-Tropez, France? I couldn?t answer the where without seeing more, nor could I answer the who. Well, at least I had a name now. Hopefully it was my own.

I continued walking, ignoring the faint feeling from hunger and thirst and the continual stabbing of red-hot pokers into my left side. I would either die before I found civilization, or some hikers would stumble across me at some point and save me. Either way, I had to keep moving; I had to put distance between myself and those green pigs. Why wasn?t I more freaked out by those things? It seemed to me that I had at least some passing familiarity with them; otherwise I?d be more scared, wouldn?t I? And how the hell had I known how to fight like that? I hadn?t been afraid, only calm and coldly remote, like fighting for my life was no big deal, like I?d done it dozens of times before.

Maybe I had. That thought brought me to a halt. God, what if fighting for my life was normal? What if I was some sort of criminal, like a thief or?or a murderer? I suddenly didn?t want to remember who I was or what I was doing here in this place. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, despite what they say. No, I wouldn?t think about esoteric questions of identity and purpose right now. I was cold and wet and so very, very hungry and Jesus, the pain from my ribs was awful. I had to take care of the body before I could afford the distractions of exploring the mind.

I continued walking up the gulley, now and then scanning the cliff walls for some sign of use. There hadn?t been any trash?no plastic water bottles, no plastic shopping bags, no wads of paper, no tin cans. It was a pristine forest, beautiful and primal. Old growth. I couldn?t be in America or even Canada. So that left Japan, possibly Russia or New Zealand. The issue of language cropped up again and I said, ? Dobroye utro. Menya zovut Rebekah. Ne mogli by vy skazat? mne, gde ya?? Huh. Apparently I spoke Russian. ? Ohayō. Watashinonamaeha ribekadesu. Anata wa watashi ga basho o oshiete moraemasu ka?? And Japanese. Weird. ? Guten Morgen. Mein Name ist Rebekah. K?nnten Sie mir bitte sagen, wo ich bin?? And German as well. ? Bonjour. Mon nom est Rebekah. Pourriez-vous s'il vous pla?t me dire o? je suis?? French, too, This was excellent. I was certainly going to be able to make myself understood?provided I found someone to speak with. Soon.

A flash of red caught my attention. About half-way up the right-hand hillside. A bush with red berries on it. My stomach gurgled. I carefully climbed up the cliff, cursing a blue streak as I did, and found the bush was laden with red raspberries. ?Oh, thank you, Sweet Jesus,? I said and descended on the berries like a Biblical plague, plucking them off the bush, ignoring the thorns and the blood that ran from dozens of tiny wounds in my fingers and hands and forearms. The berries were sweet and juicy and I was dizzy with relief.

After breakfast, I rested for a moment or twenty before climbing to the top of the hill and looking around. I saw a curl of smoke above the trees in the near distance and my heart began hammering in my chest. A fire meant people. People meant dry clothes and warmth and maybe some medical care. Feeling nearly a thousand percent better, I headed towards the rising smoke, muttering to myself in five different languages.

I allowed the door to swing open under its own weight and was relieved to find that its hinges were well-oiled. The scent of fresh-baked bread wafted out and I could feel myself drooling. Carefully, I entered the house and spotted a loaf of rustic looking bread on the counter. I fell on it like a swam of locusts and devoured it in seconds flat, leaving nothing behind but crumbs. Then I spied hanging links of small sausages, probably from last spring?s piggies. I added these to my stash of vegetables and searched for a container of water. I found a stone bottle of beer-smelling stuff and then left the house, carefully closing the door behind me before slinking off once more into the trees.

I felt guilty for stealing from these people and promised myself I?d go back in the future and leave them some money to repay them for their unwitting largesse. Then I found another secluded log and settled down to eat. The sausage was spicy and hearty, the vegetables fresh and sweet, and the beer wasn?t beer after all, but a hard apple cider. I went easy on the alcohol, not knowing my threshold and not wanting to become dehydrated. It was past noon now and entering the hottest part of the day. I?d stick to the shade of the trees as much as I could.

After I?d finished my meal, taking care to save three of the sausages and half the bottle of cider, I began walking once more. I was moving in a generally south-western direction through the trees. I heard it before I saw it. The trees parted ahead of me to reveal a street, an honest to God street! It was cobbled and rutted in the middle and as I stood there, a few horse-drawn wagons rumbled past and then a Mercedes Benz followed by a futuristic motorcycle thing. ?The hell?? I muttered, standing there utterly at a loss to explain what I was seeing.

The buildings made less sense than the vehicles. Wattle and daub stood cheek by jowl with steel and glass. Medieval England occupied the same block as Hong Kong. It was all so anachronistic and weird. None of the signs were in a foreign language that I could see, and advertised cobblers?s shops, apothecaries, bakers, chandlers, coopers, as well as private investigators, real estate agents, security consultants, lawyers and bankers.

One building stood out from the rest. It was at least four or five stories tall and had a deep porch that faced the street. A sign emblazoned with a red dragon?s head hung from the eaves of the porch and it saw a brisk business. People streamed in and out, all shapes and sizes and, apparently, races. A few exited in obvious states of inebriation and this lead me to believe I?d found an Inn or a pub or something. Wonderful. Maybe I could get a room and a bath and some answers.

I left the trees and boldly walked across the street, dodging wagons and cars and horses. I nodded to the sparse foot traffic, receiving looks of admiration from a few and looks of disgust from others. I probably looked like a homeless person who?d been roughing it in the woods, a not entirely unwarranted description as it so happened.

I reached the Inn thing and stood in front of it, looking up at the porch and then the sign. ?The Red Dragon Inn,? I read. I had the feeling that this place would become my base of operations for the foreseeable future.

"There." Fifteen minutes later, I looked in the mirror and was shocked at what I saw. I had honey blonde hair to go with those blue eyes and creamy skin. "Holy sh-t." Glancing down at my chest a little sly smile surfaced. Tossing a look towards the bathroom door, no one was getting through it without a fight, I carefully took off my shirt. "Wow. Would you look at that?" I giggled and turned sideways, still looking at my reflection. Maybe that's what the dude at the bar was freaking out over. I was hot. Smokin? hot.

And still in pain. "F-ck mother sh-t balls crap!" Giggling and posing like someone in a Vicki?s Secret catalog had not helped with the broken ribs. (Who the hell was Vicki and what was her secret?) I dug through the med kit and found an Ace bandage looking thing. "Yeah. No way." I could not wrap my own ribs. I took the mop away from the door and stuck my head out into the hallway. "Uhm. Excuse me? Lady at the bar?" I called out. Please let the woman with the gorgeous hair still be there!

"Yeah?" She called back, turning on her ass to lean and look down at the head in the hallway.

I gave her a tiny, pained smile. "Could you...uhm...would you help me for a moment? Please?" Hopefully it would be hard to ignore the please. And the desperation. Especially the desperation.

It took her a full heart beat to slide off the bar stool, and move in my direction. "Whatcha need?"

I opened the door a bit wider so the woman could see that I was standing in the bathroom in just a bra and black pants, holding an Ace bandage in my hands. I had a rather beautiful black, purple, and blue bruise the size and shape of a Louisville Slugger along my ribs on the left side. "Do you know how to wrap broken ribs?" My voice was full of hope. Desperate, desperate hope.

"Nice color." With that, the woman slipped in through the opened door, a hand held out for the bandage.

"Heh, yeah." I handed over the bandage and tried to lift my arms a bit higher to give the woman room to work. "Thank you for doing this. I appreciate it." The words were spoken in a soft voice that did not carry even a hint of accent, which in itself might have been an accent.

The woman wrapped my ribs tight as hell. This would help ease the discomfort when I needed to do things like breathe and move. "Y're gonna need t' have someone redo this as often as y' can stand it. It'll letcha breathe deep, an' that'll help cut down on infection." She'd, done this a lot it seems. "There's healers 'round too, if the ribs an' sh-t get too bad after a while. One of 'em comes here sorta often."

"Healers?" My voice had gone all breathy and coincidentally the world was sorta grey once more. "Guh...uhm...good," I said, wobbling a bit and catching myself before I went down in an undignified heap on the bathroom floor like a cheap lush. Hunger, thirst, pain, and probably a helluva concussion had just caught up with my.

The woman pressed her palm to my chest to keep her upright. "Yeah, here." She took her ruffle-fronted singlet top with spaghetti straps off and shoved at me. "Put it on, we'll getcha upstairs to a shower an' an empty room."

I blinked at the suddenly proffered shirt. "Thanks?" Somehow I managed to slip into it with only one hand while at the same time clinging tightly to the frayed edges of my dignity...and consciousness. "Stairs?" That was a little scary. But for a shower, I'd climb Everest.

"C'mon, I'll show y'. Jus' don' stop down stairs 'til you get cleaned up. Walk through, head upstairs, get cleaned up. I'll leave pants for you."

I followed in the woman's wake like a sad puppy. A sad puppy who had been beaten and thrown away. But was no longer bleeding. Or shirtless. "Thank you," I said and carefully mounted the stairs, glued to my savior's back like something really sticky.

The woman popped the door to room Number Four open and left it to swing. "Bathin' room's through there," she tipped her head in that direction. " 'S plenty'a hot water an' clean towels. I'll leave pair'a loose pants on the bed for y', keep the shirt 'til you get 'nother. What's y'r name so I can put it in the book an' getcha a key?"

"Uhm..." Try not to notice the little pause before I gave my name as, "Rebekah." Oh! One more thing before the woman left. "Would you mind terribly laying a fire and finding me a pair of tweezers?"

"Fire's already laid, nights're gettin' chilly. Should be tweezers somewhere in the bathin' room. Prolly 'round the sink. An' I'll leave a key in the cubby that has this number on it for y' Rebekah." With that, the woman left. I closed and locked the door and then peeled off my clothing. The sap, the riot cuffs, and the wadded up piece of paper were laid carefully on the bed and then I headed into the bathroom for a quick bath.

After the bath, I found the pants the woman had left for my and dressed carefully. Then I took the tweezers, the wadded up piece of paper and a straightened out paper clip I?d discovered in the nightstand to the fireside. I was warm, dry, and had had my wounds looked at. Food and water could wait a bit. The mystery of the paper couldn't.

Sitting at the fireside, I set the wad sodden paper on the hearthstones and went at it with the tweezers and the paper clip. I carefully tugged at one edge with the tweezers and unfolded it, teasing it slowly with the paper clip. It was a delicate process and I had to frequently stop and wipe my forehead with the back of my hand. Maybe this could wait until after food and a really long nap after all. But no. If I didn't get this note open it would dry all crumpled up and then I'd never be able to read it. So back to working at it with the tweezers and the paper clip.

Finally I got the note open and flat. I'd just leave it to dry near the fire while I climbed up onto the bed and curled around my injured side. I laid there staring at the door until sleep swept me away and dragged me under.


((Adapted from live play. Thanks to Delahada and The Redneck for playing!))

Despite only intending to take a short nap, I slept away the entire day in my borrowed room upstairs. When I woke up, I was sore and stiff but felt human at long last. I pried myself off the bed and stumbled to the bath, happy to find a comb, a toothbrush and tooth paste, as well as more soap sitting on the edge of the sink. I washed up quickly, further adding to the more human feeling.

Cleanish once more I left the bath and paused long enough to pick a piece of paper off the hearthstone before exiting the room. I locked it and slipped the key into her pocket alongside the lead-weighted sap. With bare feet I quietly went down the hall to the balcony railings that circled the taproom below. It was a lot more crowded now, though I did spot the creepy guy with the knife again as well as the kind woman who'd bound her ribs and secured the room for her. I would make a point to thank the latter and avoid the former at all costs.

"Bedlam," I commented quietly, not knowing what or who Bedlam was but feeling that it was strangely appropriate to the situation. I headed down the stairs and contemplated the bar from a safe position, namely with the wall at my back and exits in plain sight. And just for the record, was that an old fashioned fortune telling machine that they were assaulting? Yes, yes apparently it was. "Definitely Bedlam."

As I watched, the creepy guy from earlier slammed home a good sized meat cleaver into the machine, stabbing it over and over. His expression was a mask of rage and anger. Quite frankly, he scared the sh-t out of me. Tearing my attention away from the freaky scene at the fortune telling machine I focused now on the bar. There didn't seem to be a tender and the people were apparently serving themselves so I pushed off the wall and went to the beer cooler.

The beer cooler surrendered a bottle of something called Silver Mark and a bottle of something called Badsider. Neither brand was familiar but I couldn't remember my own name let alone my favorite beer so I figured it would be a new and exciting adventure for me. As had everything I'd experienced since waking up about 24 hours ago. I selected a stool at the bar that put my back against the wall and kept the rest of the room in front of me. Then I opened the Badsider and took a sniff. It smelled like beer. I took a sip. Yep. Tasted like beer too

?Milady,? said a voice to my left.

A cat thing was talking to me. This wasn't as surprising as I felt it should be, though as with the green Satanic piggies I'd encountered the night before, I couldn't figure out why. I sipped my beer and smiled politely at him, grateful to have something other than the Shakespearian tragedy with Creepy Guy and the ex-fortune teller to look at. "Evening," I said.

?One presumeth, Milady, Thou art accustomed to such... ribaldry??

I shrugged a bit, biting down hard on the inside of my cheek to stifle the hiss of pain that threatened. "I honestly don't know," I answered, "what I'm accustomed to." The beer was good and once it was finished, I'd compare it to the other. But not just yet. I had no idea what my tolerance level was so I erred on the side of caution and drank slowly.

The cat guy chuckled at my words. ?Indeed, one never knoweth one?s limits until stretched, well said.?

I laughed along with him, both disappointed and relieved that he took my ignorance as a joke. "Is this normal for this place?" I asked, waving my hand in the general direction of the insanity at the machine.

?Tis a little thing well known as...Freyday, one believeth.?

"Freydey?" I repeated. "Oh, Friday. Wow," I said thoughtfully. As if I had a clue what day of the week it had been before I'd woken up on that stony beach.

I frowned at the man with the kaleidoscope eyes as he dropped that tidbit of information on me. "Sounds like Kandahar." Where the hell was Kandahar? Had I ever been there? Why had I been there? It didn't sound like a nice place.

He jerked to a stop, blinked at me. Pointed at me. "I want to talk to you, sometime." Then he continued on his way out the door.

My eyes went wide when the guy pointed at me. "Oh. Okay." Mr. Instincts said watch out for this one. "I'll be around," I offered and then went back to drinking beer. "Uhm," I said to Shae. "I wonder if you could answer a question for me?"

?Milady, Thy servant shall do his best to answer all queries given him. Pray, do inquire away. One ist at Thy beckon call.?

I gave him a grateful smile. "Uhm. What is the name of this place? Not the Inn, but the city. The, uhm, country?"

?Rhydin, ?tis a nexus of many worlds and ways. Here are many who come from worlds and lands that are new and exciting! There are those even whom do nay believe in magic, and those whom practice teknowlegies.?

"Many worlds," I murmured thoughtfully and drank some beer. Again, I found myself not at all surprised by hearing this. I nodded slowly listening to his further explanation and then said, "Thanks. Rhydin, huh?" I tilted my head to the side and frowned. I couldn't quite decide if it sounded at all familiar.

?Thou art nay here of Thy choice??

I shrugged, an automatic response, and immediately regretted it. My left arm clamped down hard on my side, tucking in tightly against those broken ribs with a hiss of pain and a wince. After a moment to recover, I said carefully, "I don't know. Until now, I wasn't even sure where 'here' was."

?Truly? ?Tis nay uncommon; there are many here who've nay knowledge of even coming here. Or even the lives lived before.? His feline eyes moved over my body almost lasciviously. ?Knoweth Thou Thy skills and training?? The tip of his tongue traced across his teeth.

"Really?" This news was a relief. And then I frowned severely at him for giving me a once over. "I'm not actually sure of that either." I did have some knowledge of at least two or three skills but Mr. Instincts said not to share that knowledge just yet.

He suddenly moved a bit closer, his violet cat eyes looking for something in my face. He tried to slip his hands along my chest just under my breasts. Then he began chanting, and his hands began glowing blue and bright.

As he drew nearer, I leaned away from him. More chanting? Yeah, that hadn't ended well the last time I'd encountered it. And touching now? Nope. My hand raised to sweep his away before they made contact, forcing them out wide with just my forearm. "The hell?" I was on my feet now, moving away.

?Milady, do understand, Thy servant meaneth Thee no harm. One is a healer by trade, and Thou art injured.? He chuckled softly. ?One wouldst nay warn Thee of the stew then seek to harm Thee.?

My eyes narrowed a little and I was silent, taking his measure. "I don't know you. I don't know what kinda juju you're working on me. I'll pass. Thanks for the info though." I moved away now, going to the other side of the bar, putting a lot of bodies between them before settling down. A different wall at my back now, I sat on a stool and tried to go back to the business of drinking and observing.

Frozen solid blades of grass crunch beneath feet like a floor layered with potato chips. Sleet blown sideways through the air, stinging exposed skin like a hundred scores of needles.

The tiny blonde girl in a frilly pink dress, no hat, no mittens, a thin jacket to ward off the biting cold wind. Clutching the handle of a yellow-pink-green-blue Easter basket in both hands.

The grassy field is covered with plastic eggs in pastel shades. The tiny blonde girl doesn?t want to run around and find them. It?s too cold, the sleet hurts, she misses her Daddy.

You will go out there and collect eggs. You?re not going to embarrass me in front of my friends. Quit whining. Why are you such a baby?

Cold burns. The tiny blonde girl didn?t know that. Frozen things stick to wet fingers. The tiny blonde girl didn?t know that either. She scurries around the field, trying to snatch up eggs as quickly as she can. Bigger kids steal them away before her frozen fingers can pick them up.

Mommy is disappointed in you. You only collected seven eggs. Quit crying. It?s not that cold. Daddy is going to be so angry when he gets home. Go to your room.

Pinkie is waiting there for her. Peanut and Pooh Bear, too. The warmth of her bed enfolds her, hugs her closely. She can almost pretend it?s Daddy?s arms she falls asleep in.

The Inn?s pipes groaned. The guy with the kaleidoscope eyes strode out like a triumphant whatever and skated behind the bar. In a perfect world, there'd be a bottle of the usual front and center. There it was. Plain white label, black block letters. SCOTCH. He pulled it down, found a clean glass, threw some ice in it to confuse his taste buds then retreated to a barstool of his own.

I gave the man with the SCOTCH a tentative smile before accepting the tea. "Thanks." Then I settled on a stool, back to the wall, exits and the rest of the room plainly visible at all times. I took a sip of the tea. Yes. I was definitely a tea drinking kind of girl. I slipped into Silent Watcher Mode, cerulean eyes moving over the crowd, weighing and judging before moving on.

He waited until I'd tried the tea, then asked, "Do you like it?"

My attention snapped back to the man behind the bar, the one who'd made my tea, and I nodded. "Yes, I do. Very much. Thank you." I gave him another absent smile and went back to watching the other guy out of the corner of my eye. I was pretty adept at indirect observation, mostly using peripheral vision and reflections to help me keep track of people.

Disappointment showed in Kaleidoscope?s eyes before he shook his head and knocked back a cold angry sandpaper blast of kerosene in disguise. The disappointment confused me for a moment. Was it directed at me? What had I done to deserve it? Why did it bother me? I stared at him for a moment and then said, "I?m Rebekah." No more pause before giving my name now. More Progress! That got me a look that really was all own, of disbelief and something like resignation. Scrubbing a hand over his face, he poured another shot and gulped it down. I frowned again at the man's expression and I narrowed my eyes a bit. "What's your problem?" I really didn't mean it to be as harsh as it had come out.

"Another goddamned Rebekah," he rasped at me. "What was that about Kandahar, last night?"

"Kandahar?" I asked, hopefully buying time to try and remember why I'd spoken of the place. If it was a place and not a person. Or a beef dish.

"Kandahar. A city in a province in a country on another world." His irises were stained-glass shards of green, gold, and brown, bright in his cafe-au-lait face. They were very determinedly focused on me.

And that answered one question. "I honestly don't know. We were talking about lawlessness here and...uhm...Kandahar popped into my head."

His heavy brow creased. "Where're you from?"

"Uhm. Not here?" I ventured. I wasn?t trying to be a smartass or avoiding his questions. I just couldn't answer them right now. "What's your name?"

"Bishop. You don't want to say, or you don't know?"

"The latter," I said quietly and finished off my tea. I sat up straight and put the tea cup on the bar, wincing a bit as broken ribs stabbed and grated.

He gave himself another slug of the gasoline hooch and thought about that. I let him think quietly as I moved off the stool, holding myself carefully, and went behind the bar to retrieve a bottle of water. "You don't know the name of the place? Or you don't remember it?" He sent that after my retreating back.

"Have you been to the doctor?"

I snorted delicately. "I have no income, no cash on hand. A trip to a medic is a little out of my price range at the moment." Though I would dearly love to find one of these healers and ask them to fix my ribs and take away the knot at the base of my skull.

He said something absolutely filthy under his breath, shifted sideways on the stool and shoved a hand into his jeans pocket. When he came up for air it was with a handful of silver, two gold pieces mixed in. "Go to the f-cking doctor," he said, and stacked the coins up on the edge of the bar.

I looked at the money and then at him and then back at the money. Mr. Instincts had whacked me upside the head when those coins had appeared and was even now whispering seductive little axioms like, 'Nothing's ever free'. "I...uhm...it's real generous of you and all. But I can't. I have no way of repaying you."

"I don't do things for people because I expect them to repay me." He looked genuinely angry at that. "About half the f-cking city thinks I eat babies for breakfast. If you feel like you have to do something, then when you get the money together to pay me back, give it to the Church of Christ's Lost Saints in the Temple District." Two gold and change wasn't going to make a difference in the life or death of the workshop.

I reached out and curled my hand around the coins. They were still warm from the heat of his body and I almost dropped them to the floor. It was a strangely intimate sensation, one that I was not entirely comfortable with. "Thank you," I said sincerely and then dropped the stack into my hip pocket. "Where's the nearest doctor?"

"No clue if Riverview's still operational or not." He tipped his head back?stubble glittered along the line of his jaw. "The city hospital's here in the Old Town. Couple blocks toward the river. South of here." Cathedral-glass eyes shifted back toward me. "Think you can make it?"

I nodded. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure." After all, I'd walked who knows how many miles two days ago with a concussion and the broken ribs. A few blocks would be cake. "Thank you," I said again, my voice softening.

"You're welcome. Here." Pen from the till, once he'd paid for the shots of SCOTCH he'd had. Paper napkin. He scrawled out a series of numbers, paused frowning off into space again, and then another series. Then he shoved the napkin my way. "My contact," he tapped the bottom one, "and Dahlia Grenouille's." That was the top number. "Call us if you need anything else." He dragged a hand through his nonexistent hair. That said, he turned and went out, moving with surprising quiet for such a large dude.

Dahlia Frog? Her last name was Frog? I hid a little smirk as I looked at the numbers, locking them away in my memory instantly. I wouldn?t even need the slip of paper they were written on after this, but I slipped it into my pocket with the coins nonetheless. It would have been rude not to. I watched Bishop heading out and then nodded to myself. Time for me to do the same. I gave the tea guy a smile as I moved carefully for the stairs, the pile of coins making a disturbingly loud, to my ears at least, jingle in my pocket as I walked.

I went up the stairs and down the hall to Number Four. After making sure the hair was still in its place at the bottom of the door, I unlocked it and went inside. Carefully emptying my pockets, I shucked off my clothing and laid down on the bed. Moments later, I was asleep.


((Taken from live play. Thanks to Daniel Tej and Judah Bishop.))

I woke up early the next morning and lay in bed watching the sunrise turn the skies pink and limn the buildings across the alley with gold. It was quiet in the Inn; just beyond my door I could make out the humming of some early riser as he or she went past my door on the way downstairs. The scent of frying bread and freshly made coffee penetrated my little cocoon, fully waking up my stomach before the rest of me fused together after another strange trip into Dreamland.

I turned over onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Images from my dream flashed through my head and I spent a moment or two piecing things together. Apparently I was a military officer; that?s what an Ensign is, right? The lowest rung on the ladder to Admiral? Apparently I?d been in some sort of school where history as well as how to handle projectile weaponry was taught. Apparently my mother was something of a cold b*tch. I felt a stab of guilt in characterizing her in that way, but shook it off. Really, what kind of mother uses the guilt of a lost father to shame their child into performing better in school?

Dissatisfied with the drips and drabs of my past life, I climbed out of bed, bathed and got dressed. Bishop had given me a pocket full of coins and directions to the hospital. I was tired of constant pain and wanted to take advantage of his largesse. I still couldn?t quite believe that he had given me this money without strings, so I wanted to be one hundred percent in case he called in his marker soon.

I headed downstairs, helped myself to a container of coffee that had a lid on it and went out into the cool, crisp morning. It felt like early fall, but I could tell that we were still in the last month of summer. The humidity levels were rising and the clear, cloudless sky promised lots of hot sunshine. It was the sort of day to take care of errands early in the morning, stay inside during the day, and go out again at night.

I followed Bishop?s sketchy directions and found the hospital he?d told me of. A few hours of waiting later, I came out of there with my ribs re-wrapped and a filled prescription for pain meds. And even better, I still had some money jingling in my pocket. As I wandered through the city streets, headed towards the marketplace in which I?d made my clothing ?purchases? a few days ago, I continued picking at the memories recovered from last night?s dream.

So, I was a military officer who was apparently very good with a gun and my brain. What was the Intelligence Committee, though? Was it some sort of boring political thing? Was I a career politician who sat at a big oval table day after day and discussed military policies? God, I hoped not. That sounded incredibly tedious.

I arrived in the Marketplace and found it filled with housewives and small children. Feeling hungry now, I stopped at a street vendor and bought something that looked like a gyro. I took it to the fountain and sat down on the edge. As I ate, I watched the kids on the carousel and smiled fondly. A memory of being a small child on a similar carousel suddenly popped into my head. How old had I been? Where was that carousel? And who was the man with the green eyes who was smiling at me from the edge of the crowd that surrounded the carousel? Was it my father? I?d seen his face before in my dreams.

Finished with my lunch now?and it was quite delicious and very similar in flavor to a gyro?I pulled out the note in my pocket and re-read it for the fiftieth time since I?d managed to pry it apart. It contained a single word: Garsem. Beneath it, I?d scrawled the same word a few times in the hopes that muscle memory would kick in and I?d remember why I?d written the word and what it meant. I?d learned two things. One, the handwriting was not my own. Two, muscle memory was bullsh-t.

Frustrated and fed up with being helpless, I headed back to the Inn and up the stairs to my room. I needed to sleep. When I slept, I dreamt, and when I dreamt, I remembered. Even if those memories were only strange and disjointed, they were more than I experienced when I was awake. I took two of the pain killers the doctor had given me and laid down. I was out like a light five minutes later.

First, he raised a brow, because I?d had gone and spouted off as if in the middle of a conversation he hadn't been privy to until just that moment. When the question struck, however, it dawned on him. Oh. He would be imagining any number of unflattering things that I might have labeled him as in my mind, and it made him chuckle, shortly before answering. "Salvador," he said. There wasn't much in the way of an accent. Something hidden under layers of layers of Rhy'Dinian adaptation. Barely a roll to the R at all.

"Salvador," I repeated and nodded once. "Sal?" I asked with a lifted brow. Trying it on for size. Did it fit?

"Sal," he agreed, along with a nod. Yep. That's what he goes by.

"Sal." I nodded again and smiled at him, a real smile, not a smart-ass smirk like before. "Cool." I headed for a table then to sit down and eat. A blind woman entered and carefully picked her way from the front door to the hearth area. I tracked the woman's movements, impressed with the way she navigated and wondered why she hadn't had surgery to repair her eyes. I frowned suddenly and my own eyes went far away, worrying over a sudden almost-memory the woman had triggered. I poked and prodded at it like a bit of gristle wedged between molars, but it seemed like the more I worked at it, the farther it slipped. Finally it disappeared all together. With a frustrated sigh, I started on my food.

"I'm Rebekah," I offered, hoping there would be no request for a last name, since it still eluded me. The side of my head itched. At least I could scratch this one, which I did subtly and shifted in my seat a bit, using my new-found skill (or should that be newly remembered skill?) of watching people indirectly using reflections and my own peripheral vision. Sal was staring at me. Again. It made me very, very nervous, but Mr. Instincts told me to keep that to myself. Show no fear, Bekah-Girl! After a long moment of boring a hole in the side of my head with his eyes, he turned my own tactic of testing the fit of a nickname on me. "Bekah?" he said.

I turned my head and tilted it a bit. After a moment of staring back at him, I nodded, though it was more an inclination of my head than a real nod. "Sure," I said, nonchalantly agreeing to the nickname. Then I turned back to my food, making sure to hide the giddy little smile in the glass of milk I raised to sip from.

"No," he mumbled. Bekah didn't suit me in his opinion.

The bagel and milk were finished at last and I stood up, bringing my dishes into the kitchen to wash and put them away. It was a habit born of long living alone. I stopped in mid-step and gaped. Another memory! A grin split my face and I did a little victory dance. It was more a shaking of hips and butt than a real dance, though. I slipped into the kitchen and washed my dishes, further probing this memory as I stood at the sink. I lived alone. In a house? An apartment? Where? In what city? Frustration welled up inside me.

The loud shattering of china might be heard over the laughter in the taproom, though I desperately hoped it wasn't. An instant after I'd smashed the plate against the sink, I regretted it. That wasn't me. I didn't know how I knew, but I knew that I wasn't the sort to destroy things in a frustrated fit of pique. No, I was more the cool, calm, collected type. My feathers were unruffable and I was deeply embarrassed by my outburst.

I growled invective under my breath and cleaned up my mess, giving myself to time to calm down before heading back out into the bar?where I ran right up against Sal's stare. I drew a deep breath and only winced a little at the still tightly bound ribs before squaring my shoulders and heading behind the bar. Milk made me thirsty. Weird, but true. The breath was released in a sigh of resignation as I slipped past Sal on my way to the cooler. I was parched. And oh, look. I'd cut my finger open on the broken plate. It didn't hurt and it bled like mad, so it was clearly a very deep cut. "Wonderful," I muttered and stuck it into my mouth while I dug around for the med kit. Me and that med kit were old friends by now.

"Oh." I blushed a touch. "Well. Uhm. Thanks." I spared him a nervous little smile and took another, much longer, drink.

"Mm." Again: you're welcome. He tipped his chin just a fraction of an inch there, for the emphasis in body language. Of course the blush and nervous smile kept him looking somewhat amused.

"So, uhm. Can I ask you a question?" I was feeling bold after surviving the bandaging. Oh, and the vodka hadn't hurt, either.

"Sure." Honestly, that was the best way to get him to talk.

"Do you know any...uhm...hypnotists?"

"Dont think so."

"Oh," I said, not bothering to hide the disappointment. "Damn. Thanks anyway." I finished the almost-sea breeze and washed the glass in the bar's sink, taking extreme care not to touch it after I'd set it aside to dry.

"Why?"

I stared at him for a moment, weighing the possible repercussions of honesty. When in doubt, lie. The best lies, however, are sprinkled with truth. I heard the words in my head, in a man's voice. I'd heard that voice in my dreams and the feelings associated with the voice were calm and safe. Was it Mr. Instinct's voice? "I want to access a memory," I said. All of them, in fact.

That answer was met with a long silence. Gears were turning in his head, clear by the way his eyes ticked up and down. Looking me over. Not looking me over. Putting quite a lot of consideration into that very simple statement. "Repressed?" he asked simply.

I shrugged. How could I possibly answer that one? "Maybe. I don't actually know." That was something I hadn't ever considered, whether the memories I was struggling to uncover were so horrible, so awful that in remembering, I'd be scarred permanently.

"Then how do you know you want to access it?" He smirked a little bit. A slithering glow passed through his irises briefly. "Tricky," he added.

The hair along my spine stood straight up and I took a little step backward. "I want to know if someone's been f-cking around with my head." Surely, he could understand that.

Those rusty eyes tilted to regard me again, from a slanted angle. "If you think someone was, then probably someone was."

I nodded and sighed softly. "If I could explain it away with the knot on the back of my skull, I would. But...I have the feeling that it's something more than that. Something..." I smirked and shook my head. No, that was just ridiculous. There wasn't any big conspiracy that featured me at its heart. That kind of stuff didn't happen outside of trivids. "Have you ever heard the word 'Garsem' before?"

He shook his head negatively. Nope, never heard of Garsem before.

I sighed again. "It was worth a try." I smiled softly at him, unconsciously amping up the pretty for a moment. "I think I'm going to go wander around the city. Maybe I'll find a hypnotist."

One corner of his mouth quirked a tiny smile, and he dipped a nod. A silent good luck, perhaps. He stood upright, and meandered toward the back alley door. A wiggle of fingers to the others in the room, before he ducked out.

I went the opposite way, crossing the room and heading out through the front doors. And just like I supposed that morning, it was hot and sticky and I regretted my decision to leave the cool confines of the Inn. But I really needed to find a hypnotist and go under to get these damned memories out and into the light of day. It was suddenly, ridiculously important. Pressing and dire, even.


((Taken from live play. Thanks to Salvador!))

He?ll be sent to Charon.

We can find an unoccupied bed. Or a couch. Or even a table.

I'm not a f-cking amateur.

Shut up and let me bump this.

I don't understand how a person can hurt someone he claims to care about like that.

If someone uses this thing in an inhabited star system, billions of people will die.

It's just human nature, I guess. You can't help but wonder if something else would be better.

That?s why they pay you the big bucks.

He leaned back, pressing his fingers together in front of his face as he watched me struggle. "Now I want you to think about the top of your head," he began. ''Many people don't realize that tension often starts in the little muscles of the scalp, so I want you to think about those little muscles and the skin of your scalp and just allow them to let go and relax..." I involuntarily rolled my eyes up, as if I could see the top of my head. Then I snickered at myself and took a deep breath. I closed my eyes and did as the doctor said. I could feel the tension in my scalp?something I'd never noticed before?and felt it drain away when I let go.

"Good...now all the muscles of your face, just let them let go slack... your forehead and your eyes and eyelids... the cheeks, mouth and jaw muscles... it's a wonderful feeling when you let your face totally relax, because you can actually feel the skin settling, smoothing out... it might mean that your mouth opens slightly, but whatever's best to you, just let it happen... unclenching your teeth and relaxing your tongue, because the more you physically relax, the more you can mentally relax..." His voice was wonderful, soft and soothing. It felt like a warm blanket on a frosty morning, and I just wanted to curl up with it, cover my whole body with it and relax.

"That's right...thinking about your neck and shoulder muscles now, and into the tops of your arms, letting all tensions drain away as you think on down through your elbows... into your forearms... down through your wrists and into your hands... right the way down into the very tips of your fingers and tips of your thumbs... just letting all those muscles let go and relax..." It felt almost like the tension was draining out of me like water. I could feel it washing away, following his voice out of my neck and shoulders, down through my arms, and then out of my finger tips. There was nothing but his voice and my body relaxing.

"And now think about your breathing, noticing that you're breathing even more steadily, even more slowly, as you relax more and more, so you can let any tension in the chest area simply drain away as you think on down to your stomach muscles, letting those muscles relax, too... think down into your back now, the long muscles either side of the spine, just let those muscles relax..." His voice was fading away, muffled almost now. Or maybe it was me. Maybe I was moving away, fading away. It felt good, relaxing.

"Now your waist... and your thigh muscles, as you think on down through your knees, down through the shins and calves, just allowing all those areas to relax and let go, as you think on down through your ankles, through your feet, into the very tips of your toes... all the muscles of your body beautifully relaxed and easy... very lazy..."

I was under. Or at least I thought I was under. I felt like I was attached to my body with a string; like I wasn?t actually inside it. I wanted to protest this, I wanted to struggle to get back inside, but I was just so relaxed. I couldn?t work up the energy to descend into my flesh or even the energy to care overly much.

I spent the next week lying low in my room. No one ever came to kick me out, so I assumed either the innkeeper didn't care or somehow someone had paid for another week. Either way, I wasn't going to complain. It gave me somewhere to hide, gave me some time and peace to think and to come up with questions for Michael. It also virtually guaranteed that I wouldn't miss his call.

By the time the phone rang five days later, I was a mess. I was anxious and confused, frustrated, scared, and exhausted. I hadn't slept more than a couple hours a night since I'd killed the doctor. I hadn't dreamed and that meant no more revelations. I spent most of the time staring at the phone or scribbling in my journal.

When it did finally ring, I leapt for it, snatching it up before it was halfway through the first ring. Before I could say a word, Michael said, "Do you have your questions ready?" His voice was clearer and stronger than the last time he'd called, like he was closer or something.

"Yeah," I said immediately. "What happened to my memory?"

"Your memory was erased by the people you used to work for."

I digested this for a second and then asked, "How do I know you?"

"We worked together. I was your case office. And your friend."

"Did you have anything to do with my memories being erased?"

"Yes," he replied, pain and guilt ringing clearly through his voice. "I asked them to do it, to stop them from killing you."

I was silent. That was rather unexpected. His honesty threw me, distracted me, and I ran down some of our time with it. Then finally, I asked, "Why were they going to kill me?"

"You disobeyed orders and blew a mission. We're out of time. Next time I call you, I'll have details on how we can meet. Keep it together a little longer, Bekah. I'll see you soon."

My shoulders slumped and I closed my eyes as the line went dead. I slowly stood up and hung up the phone before collapsing on the bed. I closed my eyes and pressed the heels of my palms into them hard enough that I saw specks of light dancing there in the darkness. Keep it together a little longer, he said. God, did he know how hard it was? I was going stir crazy. I had to get out of my room and go for a walk or something.

I pulled on my shoes and left the room, setting the traps after me. The taproom was empty and I hurried through it and out the front doors. I didn't pay attention to where I was walking after that, I just let my feet take me wherever they wanted.


((Taken from live play. Thanks to Michael Kennedy!))

My brows rose in surprise when he turned the question around on me. For some reason, in all the time I'd spent in the Inn talking with other people, no one had bothered to ask that question, so I didn't have a ready response. "Uh," I said, scrambling for something to say. "I'm sorta between stuff right now. Weighing my options and...you know." I was the one to break eye contact now as I mentally willed him to accept that exceptionally lame answer without question.

His eyebrows went up. Then he grinned, scooping up a few more noodles. "I figured," he said, chewing them down and swallowing. "Because you're new here. I guess that means you haven't had time to put stuff together yet. Do you think you'll stay?"

Either Toby was the most gullible person I'd ever met or the sweetest. Either way, if I were a different person, the way he'd just let me off the hook might have been rewarded with another kiss. As it stood, however, I gave him a little smirk and made a show of considering his question about whether I'd stay to cover my nearly overwhelming relief. Finally I shrugged a little. "I don't know. I think I might not have much of a choice." I was quiet for a moment. "Hey," I said as a thought struck me. "This place of yours? Saint What's It? What sorta place is it? A church thing?"

He finished off his pasta and snapped the cap back into place, his plastic fork settled on its top, and he slid it down the bar a ways. "Agnes'. It's a church, right. Catholic," because that had come up enough for him to consider it important. "They're kind of like one big family there."

I didn't know Catholic. I nodded, though, as if it mattered or even meant something. "What kind of stuff do they do there?"

Without food to fiddle around with, his hand went to the bit of gold in his left ear and he pulled. "Everything. Weddings, funerals, confession, banquets, services. Free food, daycare. I think all the rooms are filled up now, otherwise they let people stay there if they don't have anywhere to go. Why do you ask? Are you looking for a church to go to?"

I shook my head. "No, actually I was sorta more looking for a job. I need money." I knew I must have looked embarrassed to admit this, like it was a weakness or something.

"Oh." He blinked at me, straightening up just a bit. His hand lowered from his ear. He scratched at the indentation in the pad of his index finger with his thumbnail. "Everyone does. What can you do, Bekah?"

And there was the rub. I had no idea what I could do. Well, that wasn't entirely true, now was it? So far, I'd learned that I could set booby traps that warned me if people had broken into my room; I could beat the crap out of creatures larger and tougher than I; and I could apparently kill people with a single punch to the throat. But those weren't exactly bankable skills. "I, uhm...well, I'm a decent cook," I said hesitantly.

"Just decent?" His elbow went to the bar, the line of his jaw caught on his knuckles. "Decent like 'I can make a meal that won't kill you.' or decent like 'Don't ask me to do more than toast or cereal.'" There was too much light in his eyes for this to be an entirely serious inquiry.

I cracked a smile at his gentle needling. "I think more the former and less the latter. I've made a good Bolognese sauce out of reconstituted tomatoes, dried onions, and mystery meat pellets." It felt strange and very foreign to be bragging about my accomplishments. Mr. Instincts objected.

"What else?"

"In the sauce?" I asked, being deliberately obtuse in order to deflect uncomfortable questions. "I believe there was some kind of spice blend that might have included paprika and coriander seeds, and I think I might have thrown in some freeze-dried carrots, too."

"No, what else can you do?" The compass was pointing more toward the 'sweet' polarity than the 'gullible' one. He leaned a bit further down into his elbows, crooking a couple fingers to get me to lean down too before he spoke. "People are going to ask you this no matter where you go, Bekah. What about something you want to do? If you get a job doing something you hate, even if it's cooking, you're going to end up wanting to hurl yourself off a building."

I leaned closer to him and then cracked another half smile at his advice. I picked up my bottle and took a long drink from it, finishing off the beer prior to answering him. "The thing of it is, Toby..." I paused for a second and studied him boldly. "The thing of it is... I can't remember." The last part of that statement was sort of mumbled.

He studied my face like I'd studied his. The teasing was gone; empathy had taken its place. The look he gave me was like one you got prior to a comforting embrace, but he stayed where he was. "...You too?"

I drew my head back from him like he'd slapped me across the face and I stared at him with my mouth flapping open in the breeze. "What do you mean, 'you, too'?" I asked once I'd recovered from the shock.

"It's just?I'm sorry." He swallowed. He aimed his contortionist expression down at the bar as he tried to order his thoughts, working his fingers back through his hair. "Memories don't seem like something people can hold onto here. I've had people tell me a lot of mine are gone, a couple other girls I've met don't seem to have some, it?" He lowered his voice, observing my earlier discretion. "Is there anything you do, you know, know? You've got your name, and that you can cook."

I stared at the bar's surface for a moment or three, not immediately answering his question. "I get flashes," I admitted softly. "Of the past, I think. Faces, situations. Scenery." I shrugged again and then glanced up at him. "It's all sort of disjointed and unconnected. None of it really makes sense, you know?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." He nodded, folding his arms tightly along the edge of the bar. Cords of muscle rippled beneath his skin when he clenched and released his fists. "Me too," he admitted. "Um?" He then rubbed one of his fists in between his eyebrows. "Even if Marlena had a spot open, she wouldn't fill it. And I know Sister Theresa does all the cooking for Little Lights. Crowe, that wolf guy who was in here earlier, was helping us out with deliveries outside the city, but after this month those stop. Do you need a job right away or do you still have some money to spare?"

I thought of the few coins I had from Bishop and shrugged a bit. "I've got a little left from...a friend. Dunno how long it's gonna last, though," I admitted softly. "Though money seems to be really arbitrary here. That woman there," I nodded towards Thorn, "got me a room for a week a little more than three weeks ago. No one's come to ask for the balance and I've helped myself to beer and food here without being asked to pay." I was quiet for a moment and had the grace to look ashamed. "I want to pay for stuff. It's just that right now...it's easier not to."

He followed my nod and chewed on the whole of his lower lip as he sunk halfway into thought. Slowly, he turned back around, his uncrushable grin starting anew. "You're right, money's kind of arbitrary. This place sees a lot of people and from what I know of it, the owner's actually not here all that much. There used to be a bunch of bartenders, but most of the time it's self-serve. I think a lot of the stock is donated from people's businesses or if someone just has a surplus and doesn't have enough room for it." He pointed, as an example, down toward the box he'd brought in. "I guess what I'm saying is you've got some time to figure things out and I think that's a good thing. Memory stuff can be real confusing. What I bring here is free, so you don't have to worry about that. ...I think I had a job with Thorn, that woman over there, for a while a long time ago. I think I cooked for her. So maybe you can ask her if that spot's open? 'Cause I'm obviously not filling it. If you need money right away, St. Agnes' does that too. I wish we had rooms open 'cause I'd tell you to stay there if you were worried about money. Those are free for as long as you need it." His smile turned sheepish. "That's why they're always filled up."

I made a thoughtful face and nodded, filing that suggestion away in the 'to be discussed later' section of my head. Then I smiled softly. "Thanks, Toby." I meant it, too. "I'm okay as far as somewhere to stay and having a little pocket change. But eventually someone's gonna catch on to the fact that I'm staying in that room upstairs for free. And then I'll be in trouble."

His grin was broad. His hand flapping was clearly meant to wave away my worries. "Pfft. If someone finds out, then you can just cook that Bolognese sauce for them and make them regret ever trying to throw you out. Maybe you can tweak the recipe around so that it can kill them."

My smile turned decidedly sour and although I knew he was only teasing, it hit a little too close to home. "Thanks for the ideas. I'll see you later." I gave him a little wave and headed out from behind the bar, turning to go upstairs to my room once more. That was enough socializing for one day.


((Taken from live play. Thanks to Toby Aradam!))

"I'm going to sit down, okay?" He nodded to a pair of camp chairs sitting on the cave floor next to the fire. "You can, too, if you want." He shot me a smile that transformed his face. He was a bit older than me, probably in his early forties, though obviously in good shape; I'd felt as much when I was searching him, but that smile made him look like a high-school kid. "I won't be offended if you stand."

That smile tugged at something inside me?maybe my libido, maybe a memory?but it made me trust him a little more. As I was sitting down, it dawned on me that it was probably why whatever agency we worked for had recruited him. I could see women everywhere falling all over themselves to do anything for that smile. I perched on the edge of the chair, my feet flat on the dirt floor, eyes never wavering from his face.

He sat, leaning against the cloth backing of the chair, resting his hands on his thighs where I could see them clearly. "What do you want to hear about first?" he asked.

"What happened to my memory? Tell me all of it. Everything."

He took a deep breath. "It's kind of a long story," he said. "Like, ten years long. Do you want me to summarize first, and you can ask questions later, or jump right into the whole story?"

Ten years. Damn. "How long have you got before they notice you're gone?" I would, of course, have liked very much to have heard the entire story, but if he was in a time crunch, I'd take the summary.

"I've don't have to check in until noon. Past that, they'll come looking for me."

It was probably just past seven right now. "Start at the beginning. You've got time."

"All right. There's some breakfast stuff in my bag over there if you're hungry or thirsty. Might as well get comfortable before story time starts." He jerked his head towards the opposite side of the fire.

I fixed him with an intense look. "What are we to each other? I mean, you said we were?are?friends and we work for the same people, but... Is that it?"

"Well...," he said slowly. "It's more than just friendship. We've worked together for ten years, Bekah. And not just 9 to 5 office work, you know? We've spent weeks and months at a time with no one to rely on but each other. We've fought side by side and back to back. We had a rocky start, and you better believe we've had some knock-down, drag-out fights, but...there's no one else in this galaxy I trust like I trust you." He seemed like he was going to say more, then closed his mouth and watched me, like he was waiting to see my reaction.

"We were lovers." Even as I said it, I somehow knew that it wasn't quite the truth. "No," I said after a moment's pause. "Closer than that, right?"

He nodded, a smile peeking out through the weighty words we'd been exchanging. "It never quite went...that way," he agreed. "Not from lack of trying, I'll tell you, though." He gave a little chuckle. "Came damn close more than once, too. You're a hell of a kisser."

That drew a reluctant chuckle from me and I stood at last and went to fetch a bottle of water from the pack he'd indicated earlier. After I settled down and had taken a sip of the water, I nodded. "Okay. Now you have my undivided."

"All right. Where do you want me to start? I can tell you some things about your life prior to joining Sub Rosa, or save that for later."

I took a deep breath and scrubbed a hand down my face. I had so many questions that needed answers but I had no idea where he should start. "After you check in, will you have to leave?" My anxiety about never seeing him again after this was high; I was terrified that he'd walk out of my life just as easily as he walked into it. The idea that I only had the next five hours to sort everything out about my past and what had happened had me in a near panic.

He shook his head. "Probably not, unless they recall me. I'm on, well, let's call it enforced leave, have been since they took you. I have to check in daily, to see if they want me back yet, but other than that, they leave me alone as long as I'm not poking around somewhere I'm not supposed to be." That boyish grin made another appearance. "Which I never am, according to their systems, which I have hacked."

My estimation of him skyrocketed and I sent a half-smile his way. Then I settled back in the camp chair and got comfortable. Since he'd just informed me that my time with him was basically unlimited, I was going to take advantage of that and get as much information out of him as I possibly could. "Start at the beginning. Where was I born, who are my parents, stuff like that. Your little organization has to have that info, right?"

Getting that smile?small as it was?meant a lot to him; I could see it clearly in his face. Either he was one hell of an actor, or Michael really did care about me. He nodded. "Yeah, we have a pretty extensive file on you. You were born in 2360, in the San Angeles Metroplex, on Terra Cascus. Your father's name was William?Bill. He was a Fleet officer. He was, ah, killed in action when you were 11 years old. I'm sorry. " He paused for a moment.

It should have meant something to me, learning that my father was dead, but it was like reading about some other person's life. "Thanks," I said anyway, more because that's what was expected when someone offered their condolences than for any other reason. "Do you know if we were close?"

"Yeah, you were. Much closer than you and your mother. Her name is Louise. She's still alive, but the two of you don't talk, have never gotten along. She's remarried twice since your father died, but you don't have any brothers or sisters."

"Twice, huh?" I asked. Either the woman was a serial monogamist or she never really recovered from my father's death. "And we don't talk. Do you know why?"

He nodded, flashing me a half-smile. "I ought to, you've complained about her to me plenty of times over the years. What it boils down to is that nothing you ever did was good enough for her. She was always critical, always had a complaint, not matter your achievement. You graduated second in your class in college, and again in Fleet Academy?out of over a thousand people, mind you?and it wasn't good enough for her."

I snorted softly and shook my head. "I'm kinda glad I can't remember that. She sounds like a real b-tch." I took another sip of my water and nodded for him to continue. "How did you and I meet?"

After a moment more of clinging to him, I reluctantly let him go and took my seat again. After a deep breath to recover, I asked, "So what did we find out?"

He looked like he was kind of disappointed that I'd moved away, too. "About Sub Rosa, you mean? They're working with aliens?we don't know what they call themselves, but Sub Rosa calls them Gill-men, after some ancient pre-trid show?who are planning an invasion."

"An invasion? And Sub Rosa is working with them?" My brow furrowed in confusion. "Why?"

"We think it's to remove the Confederacy, so they?Sub Rosa?can have a free hand to run things."

I whistled softly and shook my head. "So, let me guess. We tumbled to this and they wiped my memory to protect themselves? But you said you had something to do with it, too, right?"

"Yeah," he said heavily. "See, we found out about this planned invasion through a defector?coincidentally the guy I was bringing in the very first time we met, on Garsem-3. He was defecting from a dictator, name of General Feyad. Not a nice guy, Feyad. And yet, he's working to stop the invasion, which sort of makes him our ally."

"The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" I asked.

He shot me a grin and nodded. "Yeah, something like that. Anyway, you were sent to kill him, twelve years after the defection. By then, we'd pieced together a lot of what was going on in Sub Rosa, a bit at a time, like a giant puzzle where all the pieces look alike until you fit them into place. We knew Feyad, bad as he is, was actually one of the Confederacy's best hopes for fighting off this invasion, so obviously we couldn't kill him. Except we also knew that as soon as you didn't kill him, as per our mission and orders, Sub Rosa would come looking for answers."

"So, how did I end up here and you ended up there?" I meant, of course, here in Rhydin, with the Swiss cheese memories.

He frowned again. "That was the subject of one our famous arguments."

I smirked at his expression and his tone. "We had more than one?"

He snorted a little laugh. "We had so many that people used to ask us how long we'd been married."

I barked out a surprised laugh and grinned at him. "Did I win more than I lost?"

"Well," he hedged, "you were probably ahead a few."

"Yeah, a few," I said with a little smirk. I had his number. Then I sobered and got back to the serious discussion. "How do I get my memories back? And how do I get these Sub Rosa f-ckers to pay for what they did to me?"

"The former's going to be easier than the latter, that's for sure. Which isn't to say it'll be easy, either. Luckily for you, you had a brilliant case officer with the far-reaching foresight to prepare for this memory problem of yours."

"And he's modest, too," I added.

"Don't forget handsome and charming." He grinned widely at me. I rolled my eyes expressively and made a rolling hand motion, urging him to continue with his brilliance and his foresight in how to fix me. "Once we'd decided what we were going to do?or not do, which was kill Feyad," he said, "we knew that Sub Rosa was going to come after us, and one of us was going to get caught. After a lot of the arguing I mentioned before, you convinced me that it had to be you."

That surprised me. Then I gave him a dubious look. "I'm really that altruistic that I'd take a metaphorical bullet like that for you?" I paused for a second. "Are you sure we're not lovers or married or something?"

"Only in a whole bunch of very pleasant dreams I've had over the years. Well, the first part, at least. Marriage, ugh." He gave an exaggerated shudder. "No, it wasn't altruism. It was practicality. I was in the better position to keep the plan going, and to make sure that you got wiped and dumped instead of axed and dumped, if you follow me."

I followed him and then chewed on my lower lip pensively. There had been some nights recently?especially after the death of the hypnotist?where I had considered that death might be preferable to this half-life I was existing in now. But I couldn't tell him that, so instead I said, "So, you turned me in? Ratted me out to protect me, us, the Confederacy?"

"Yeah, exactly." He looked away, staring down at his hands. "Hardest thing I've ever done," he continued softly. "And I've done a lot."

"But now you can fix it, right? And besides, you did it for a good reason. I'm sure I told you that before we went through with it, right?"

"Yeah...I know. I know it was the right thing to do, and the only way we could keep going, but that didn't make it any easier. I've been an op for a long time, and done a lot of things I'm not proud of, a lot of things that people would consider wrong, but the one thing I was most proud of was never once having stabbed another op in the back. This was way too close to that." He took a break, visibly forcing himself to focus on the moment. "Yes, I can fix you. I had a chance to prepare you before the wipe, wall off your memories so they'd be hidden instead of erased. And I know how to break the walls down. In fact, it's already started, hasn't it? It's going to happen more, now that we're talking face to face. I'm surprised it hasn't already, in fact. Seeing me should've triggered something."

I nodded slowly. "Mostly in dreams. Flashes and disconnected scenes. Your voice has been in my head a lot. In fact, before I knew you were a real person, I started calling you Mr. Instincts." I cracked a grin at him.

"Mr. Instincts, huh?" He grinned. "Good to see the some of the stuff I taught you sunk in deep."

"Yeah, really deep if it survived, huh?" I was quiet for a moment and then asked hesitantly, "Did I have a boyfriend or a...a girlfriend?"

"Well, not since you joined Sub Rosa. An op's life...well, it isn't compatible with most relationships, unless your SO is an op, too."

"Seems lonely," I observed. "Were you and I together all the time? Or did I get a break from the overwhelming Adonis-like quality of you?"

((Continued from here.))


?...and then you got on the shuttle and headed back for debriefing,? he finished some time later. He took a long drink of water, watching me.

?I remember,? I said softly, wonderingly. ?I remember all of that.? A grin broke out on my face, slowly at first, but then it snowballed into a huge, amazed smile. I shot out of my seat and catapulted into his arms, practically bowling him over in my excitement. ?I remember!? I shouted, no doubt deafening him. My mouth was just scant inches from his ear as I squeezed him in a tight embrace.

?Oof,? he grunted when I slammed into him. He didn?t fall out of his chair, though--probably because I was like half his weight. He returned my hug enthusiastically, wincing slightly when I bellowed in his ear. ?That?s great,? he said, doing a little chair dance to show me how great he thought it was. ?That means the wall is crumbling. More memories should be coming back, with less effort.?

I released him and retook my own seat across from him. ?Yeah,? I said, still with the same grin I?d had before. ?So what now? We go to Garsem-3, right? We gotta stop this invasion. I just need to go back to my room at the Inn to clear it out and then we can go.?

?Whoa, whoa, hang on a sec,? he said quickly. holding up his hands. ?You?re right, we have to go to Garsem-3, but we can?t just up and do it instantly.? Now it was his turn to stand up and start pacing, hands clasped behind his back as he thought. ?Sub Rosa is keeping tabs on me?I?m still part of them, don?t forget. If they catch wind of me going off-planet without permission, they?ll come looking. Worse, if they see me in the company of someone matching your description, they?ll come looking with guns.?

?So quit. You?re gonna have to anyway. You?re on a path to being a traitor, Michael,? I pointed out logically. ?Besides, we would have to take a circuitous route there. And we couldn?t travel together either. We?d have to arrange a rendezvous point somewhere on the planet, right??

He nodded, approval showing in his eyes. ?Right. Glad to see you?re still thinking straight. There?s a problem, though. You can?t just quit Sub Rosa. It?s like the Old Earth mafia, you know? Once you?re in, you?re in for life?until you die or f-ck up so badly they get rid of you. I have to prepare carefully if I?m going to walk out on them.?

That brought me up short. ?Oh,? I said sheepishly. I should have guessed that it wouldn?t be as easy as turning in a resignation letter and giving two weeks? notice. ?How long do you think it?s gonna take you to get ready? A couple of weeks? Months? Years?? I could feel a growing sense of worry rising up inside me. This man held the key to my past and it was beginning to sound like it would be a very long time until I?d see him again after he left me today.

?No more than a week,? he said, giving me another smile. ?I?ve been expecting something like this for a while, remember. I?ve got a lot of the groundwork laid already. Some of it had to wait until I could make contact with you again, though. Make sure we could get your memories, for one. If they were really gone for good, we?d be in trouble.?

Relief swept through me. ?So you go...wherever you go and I go back to the Inn and lie low until you contact me again? Isn?t there anything I can do? I mean, besides stay out of trouble and not kill any more hypnotists.? I frowned softly. ?Can you tell me what happened there? What did I do to him??

?Part of our training as ops includes some fairly heavy reflexive programming against mental intrusions,? he answered, the smile falling away. ?Unfortunately, given our line of work, those reflexes aren?t, ah, meant for polite company. No one really expected an operative to go see a hypnotist, honestly. The defenses are in place to prevent the opposition from getting your head, and possibly let you get out of whatever situation got you in that position in the first place.? I nodded slowly. It still made me sad?horrified, really?to think that I?d killed someone who was only trying to help me. The guy was totally innocent and he paid with his life because some paranoid secret society decided to booby trap my head. The thought made me shudder violently. ?I know,? he said softly. ?It?s not a nice thing they?ve done to us.? He sighed. ?But, it?s not a nice galaxy out there, all too often.? Then he gave me a Significant Look. ?Maybe next time I tell you stay away from the hypnotist, you?ll listen, huh??

My eyes narrowed. ?And maybe next time you?re a smug assh-le, I?ll give you warning before I shove your teeth down your throat.? I couldn?t decide if I was being painfully serious or just blowing hot air up his skirt. And since I couldn?t decide, I?d let him. After all, he knew me better than I knew myself.

?I?d appreciate that, thanks,? he replied, giving me a sh*t-eating grin. He didn?t seem overly worried about the threat. Maybe I?d used it on him before. He glanced down at the device he wore on his left arm. I suddenly remembered that it was called a comm, and that we all had to wear one when we were working. ?I?ve got another hour or so before I have to check in,? he said.

?Will the people I?ve spoken here be okay?? I asked as a sudden thought struck me. Sal and Bishop would probably be all right?they seemed as though they could handle anything?but Toby was far too sweet and naive. I worried that Sub Rosa would enact a scorched earth policy and poor Toby would look like the surface of Mercury when they were done.

?I?d be pretty surprised if anyone even came to talk to them. They usually steer clear of that...Inn. It?s too dangerous.?

?Dangerous? People keep telling me that but I haven?t seen anything more dangerous than a menage a trois getting drunk on shots and making out on the couches.?

?Lucky,? he murmured. ?You get porn, and I get dragons and vampires.?

?Wait. What? Dragons and vampires? Where? They?re real??

He shrugged slightly. ?Maybe they?re just aliens who happen to look like it, but the end result is the same. I?ve heard stories about ops pushing people a little too hard in that place. It doesn?t end neatly.?

My brows rose in surprise but I didn?t ask for further clarification. That was one of those topics that could be explored at a later date...like when we were no longer in danger of dying or being held and tortured. ?Go make your call,? I said, standing and going over to his pack. I was hungry. I found a couple of self-heating breakfast burrito pouches, the kind where you just had to pull a little tab and the food would come out all steaming and nice.

He turned to watch me. ?I can come back afterwards, if you want. The Glen?s a pretty place, it wouldn?t look out of place for me to spend a whole day hanging out there.?

I tore into one of the pouches and stood up, nodding. ?Yeah, I?d like that, I think. Um...how long do you think you?re gonna be gone?? I bit into the burrito and was pleasantly surprised. It was quite tasty, even if it was all dehydrogenated vegetable protein and MSG.

?Well, it?ll take a little time to get back to my quarters on the station,? he answered, grinning at my expression. ?I?ll have to take the quaint little train-thing they?ve got here before I can catch a shuttle. Two hours, maybe??

?Perfect. There?s a lake out there. Think I?ll go for a dip.? I finished the burrito and handed him the empty wrapper with a smile. ?See you in a couple hours.?

?Damn. I?m going to miss seeing you in a swimsuit?? He shook his head, stuffing the wrapper into his pack. ?There?s no justice.?

I smirked at him as we moved through the lightless tunnel to the mouth of the cave. ?Aren?t you going to be sad when you discover I didn?t bring a swimsuit??

He stopped, shooting me an incredulous stare. ?You... Maybe I can be a little late checking in...?

I scoffed at him. ?Please. I?m sure you?ve seen it before, like a million times.? The world outside the cave was oppressively bright and I stood in the entrance room of the cave for a while, giving my eyes time to adjust to the brilliant sunshine.

?There?s no such thing as seeing a sexy blonde naked too many times,? he said, nodding firmly, even as he squinted and blinked against the light. ?Besides, it?s been like a year.?

?Pathetic,? I commented and then slipped out of the cave, standing at the edge of the grassy area in front of it. The air was still heavily perfumed with late-season roses and the steady drone of bees was even louder now than it had been when I?d arrived just after sunrise. ?Meet back here in two hours then??

?I?ll hurry,? he promised, slinging his pack over one shoulder. ?Don?t kill anyone while I?m gone,? he said over his shoulder, shooting me his big grin. Then he went off, disappearing into the trees in moments. I shook my head in amused exasperation and turned to go in the opposite direction, heading down to the shore.

After taking a moment to make sure there wasn?t anything overtly sentient within casual observation range, I skinned out of my clothes and walked out into the water. It was like a tepid bath and startlingly clear. I dunked under, wetting my hair and then swam out into the center and back a few times before turning over onto my back to float for a while, staring up at the sky and indulging in a moment of introspection.