Suki lowered her voice as they stepped from the hallway into the room. “This is the Lab.”
Tatterdemalion shivered; it was cold in the room, or creepy, or both. The banks of machines, tubes arcing and twisting in the corners, the sounds of chemicals and calculations. Sterile smells. Her brow furrowed.
Suki noticed. “It’s familiar to you because this is where your Plex-unit was implanted. The memory won’t be conscious, of course.”
Tatter suddenly felt ridiculous. Standing in this super-sci-fi hi-tech room in her baggy sweater, listening to a uniformed schoolgirl with a massive handgun perched on her hip tell her about brainwashing and psychological modifications.
Angst put her hand on Tatter’s shoulder. “Breathe. Do your visualizations.”
Tatter jumped a bit at the touch of the cheerleader, but did as she said, and felt a little calmer.
Angst slipped her arm through Tatter’s, gave a comforting squeeze. “That feeling of absurdity, the doubt about the reality of what’s happening to you… That’s residue from the equipment.”
Suki was watching some of the screens flash arcane equations. “Morganfokker’s tech emits fields that destabilize the mind’s sense of ontological certainty.” She smirked. “That’s how the Professor describes it anyway.”
Tatter shivered again. “So who’s this Morganfokker?”
Angst led her over to one of the machines. A steel frame housing hundreds of slender glass vials, threads of light weaving across their surfaces. “We’re not exactly sure. He’s like Max and Maggie.”
“In what way?” Tatter asked.
Suki answered. “Well, you know how the Dragons have what the Prof calls 'Continuity'? I’m me, Frank’s Frank, Goner’s-“
“-a spaz,” Angst interjected, and the three girls shared a giggle.
“But Maggie and most of all Max can be, like, all sorts of people? How they change during shifts, not just the place?”
Tatter sighed. “I’m not sure I follow…” She was remembering the day that she was abducted from her homeworld… but staticky flashes of another scene kept interrupting. Her parents dropping her off at University… Meeting her dorm-mate Maggie, talking about role-playing games…
Angst scanned the vials. Her eyes looked sad. “In one of these I had a baby….”
Suki looked at Tatter with a serious expression. “He can give you things, and he can take them away. He can make you dream, and he can wake you up.”
Suddenly all the screens in the Lab flickered. Flashed. The machines started to hum and thrum and whine.
“What’s happening?” Tatter shouted.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” Angst said, echoes of tears in her eyes.
Suki was staring at the strange, swirling patterns that were storming across the monitors. “I see… It’s Max… He needs our help.”
Alice adjusted the name tag on her server's uniform. She was excited to start her new job – waiting tables between auditions wasn't a burden to her, it was part of the fun, part of the life she had chosen, the dream she was trying to make real.
“And here's where we sign the task list at the end of each shift,” Miranda said. “That's the last box to check for today's training. Now... I suppose you want to hear about the good stuff.”
It was quiet out front, the lull between lunch and dinner. Marko was prepping for the evening meal in the kitchen. Alice looked confused.
“All the rumour's about this place?” Miranda continued. “You mean you haven't heard the stories about Kelly's Diner?”
“Didn't it used to be a Chinese restaurant once?” Alice asked.
“They say it was a hot-spot for Tong violence. The place was shot up seventeen times. They say.”
Alice shrugged. She didn't like to make assumptions based on hearsay.
“But that's not the weirdest part,” Miranda said. “A lot of people in the neighbourhood say that this place is haunted... And that's why it attracts so much violence.”
Alice looked skeptical. Miranda had been super-nice so far, but maybe this was part of some lame initiation for new staff...
“And, get this, no one knows exactly when it switched from the restaurant to the diner, or what happened to the original owners... But it's been burnt down and rebuilt at least three times since then.” Miranda could see that Alice wasn't overly impressed with the history lesson. “I'm not trying to scare you. I'm not even saying I buy any of this stuff, either. It's actually refreshing to meet someone who isn't all wide-eyed and gullible.”
“I guess urban legends are kind of interesting,” Alice said. She had a strange, fleeting sensation, like a dream barely remembered.
“The only thing that makes me wonder...” Miranda said, “is the Irregulars. A lot of the rumours involve this group of... I don't know what, exactly. But they, apparently, help protect the place. Or try to, I guess.”
Alice was starting to get intrigued. “And who are they?”
“Some people say they're cops, some say they're vigilantes. I've heard that they're members of a local martial arts club. Or that they belong to some support group. A mental health thing.”
Alice had been in therapy when she was younger, because of her dreams. She got nervous when people started talking about mental health, was worried they would judge.
“There's Dexter, he always carries a baseball bat, a tough guy but sweet. Callan, who's quiet but has a temper – I've heard he's some kind of magician. Wraith, very classy, bit cold. Apparently she travels a lot, so business maybe? Spy maybe? Darius, who's the youngest, with a skateboard in one hand and a bible in the other. And then Max... Lots of stories about Max. Schizophrenic, alien, android.” She smirked. “He's nice, though.”
“You talk about them as if-”
“Well that's just it, Alice. I've met them. I've served them coffee. Only a few times over the years - 'the Irregulars', right? - but they're real.”
Alice was listening intently now. “Have they ever...? What do they talk about? Do you think what people say about them is true?”
Miranda looked thoughtful. “They are always polite, they always tip well. They usually look pretty tired. I try not to bother them, even though I'm curious. I figure that whatever they get up to, whatever keeps them busy out there, when they're here they need to relax. To be somewhere comfortable, familiar. To be looked after for a little while. Is that corny?”
Alice smiled. “Not at all.” And felt, in that moment, that if she never got cast, never even got called for another audition, that she would be happy working here for the rest of her days.
The door chimed. Marko called form the kitchen, “Customers!”
There was a lot that Susanna liked about Good Times, Good Tomes.
For starters, it subverted the typical tale of small, local, independent businesses being bought up and assimilated by massive chains. In the case of Good Tomes, the building used to belong to LEGACY, one of those vast corporations whose name covered billboards and computer screens throughout the city but no one could tell you exactly what they did. Economic consulting? Technology development? Research? Production? Marketing? They still had dozens of offices and factories but one less than they used to, after that strange night last year when a blackout, a meteor shower and an earthquake had hit the city all in one night. The next day the building had been abandoned. Within a week, after a blitz of renovations, the bookstore had opened.
Susanna liked the mystery of it all, too. Anyone who knew what (obviously wealthy) entrepreneur was behind the store's launch wasn't talking. Apparently the folks who staffed the place were hired on through a recruiting agency; they all seemed happy with their jobs and well-compensated. The cashiers, clerks, and cleaners were from a variety of ethnic backgrounds and gender identities, some had physical disabilities and some were developmentally delayed; diversity was clearly a priority for the owner. It was a welcoming, friendly place.
She liked the way that they categorized the books on the shelves – not by subject or genre, but by which tarot card the book most reflected. The aisle of The High Priestess might contain fiction by women authors or biographies of female politicians. The aisle of Justice might contain crime fiction or legal texts. The aisle of The Moon might hold books about astronomy or dreams. If you got lost or confused then the staff were sure to help, but the odd layout turned each visit into something of an adventure.
Not to mention the decor, the music playing softly, the selection of teas and coffees, the comfy chairs. Or the discount that Susanna received because she was a teacher. And the community notice board by the counter was where Susanna had found the ad for the woman she now took guitar lessons from.
Most of all, however, Susanna liked the stories. Not the ones in the hundreds of novels that lined the shelves. The ones that the Book Club told. That was her nickname for them, the odd group of friends who would gather, usually on the second floor, and exchange tales. She was never sure if they were recounting books that they had read (maybe movies they had seen?) or if they were all writers work-shopping their latest ideas, or perhaps even actors rehearsing. And she was never sure when they would meet, but on the days they were here, Susanna would get herself a tea and try and find a chair nearby so she could listen in.
She had picked up a bit about each member of the Book Club: there was Frank - who was a businessman, Angst – a cheerleader (for a team called the Dragons?), Goner – served in the military, little Suki – still in school, and Max – who seemed most like a writer. How they all knew each other was another mystery.
A lot of their stories were violent, scary even. Most of them were science fiction. The thing was, Susanna didn't really care for sci-fi stories or violent stories, but there was something about the way that they told them... No matter what the story was about, or even if it didn't always make sense, she always felt it was really about something else. About things like friendship, or feeling lost, about trying to find your way. And there was something about the way that they told their stories, that no matter how weird and wild they were, somehow they sounded like they were true.
Susanna kept telling herself that one day she would introduce herself to them, ask them if they were accepting members into the Book Club. On the subway ride to and from work she imagined what she would say to them. She imagined what stories she would tell them.
For now, she listened, like they were music.
1. Bishop: No two people have ever described the conductor of the Subway in the same way. His physical appearance and personality seem to vary as much as the worlds at each stop on the journey. Bishop once told Max that the Subway was powered by a Mystery Engine fuelled by inputting data about heavily researched but currently unsolved topics like Bigfoot Sightings or the JFK Assassination. The origin of the Subway is its own greatest mystery, a subject Bishop is silent on...
2. Akimoto: Often found meditating or practising his sword forms in the aisle between seats. His worn army jacket draped over a stack of folded tropical shirts.
3. Aqua: Listening to the most current club mixes on her headphones, her signature cowboy hat and battle gauntlets on the seat beside her.
4. Suki: When she isn't bopping and skipping up and down the aisle, or watching the psychedelic blur outside the windows, she'll stretch out on a row of seats and use her school books as a pillow. The Godhammer is always within reach.
5. Max: Usually reading newspapers or comic books.
6. Doors: Always opening onto different platforms, different worlds, different possibilities.
To be revealed.
To be revealed.
To be revealed.