The Aeon Event, Part 2

No. Please, no. Please don't make me. I'll be good. I'll enter the service. Just don't make me do it. Don't make me open a portal to hell.

Too often I woke at 3:00 am, sweating, my heart feeling like it was going to jump straight out of my chest. I always forgot the nightmares the moment I woke up, but I could still feel them, still taste my fear, cold and bitter, coating my tongue and the back of my throat like vomit-slime.

I always dreamed in obscurities, anyway; a basic knowing of what was what, but only muddy and unimportant visual cues to go along with it. I might be dreaming of myself, but in the dream I look like a big fat woman, and often I'm watching it as if through a screen. Smells, though, sometimes I dreamed in smells, and these dreams smelt of burning flesh.

But I can forget the dreams, once the sun rise and I washed their aftertaste down with coffee.

College was getting to the boring but hectic stage, the skip-as-much-as-I-can-without-failing-stage. I was spending more and more time with Harm, coming up with excuses to ditch and just go cruising down the less-traveled roads shaded by twisted and half-cut oaks and honeysuckle, marred by the state's half assed attempts to keep the branches from interfering with power lines. I thought to myself, if this is the future and all, post-Aeon and shit, why are we still using clunky, 1990 B.A.E.-esque tech like radio lines? Why couldn't we just have... I dunno, ansibles? Holograms? Shit like that?

Whatever, I guess. I was getting to be far too comfortable on the lam, with my new identity and my occasional absenteeism. Too cozy. Complacent. I didn't even worry about anyone finding me; I was damn well cocky about it all. The old me was erased, gone. No question. Name's Jared Howard, friends call me J, wanna see my birth certificate? Family? Ain't got one, no siree. Parents died and I was raised in foster care, this was Ohio; when I was old enough to get out, I traveled, fucked off for a while, but now I'm here, getting myself a good old ejimication so I can do something with my life and make my old man's ghost proud. Just a regular old Joe, your typical Mundane (who just happens to hotbox his evenings in abandoned parking lots, what's it to you?).

Harm (or Jade or Cynth or even Wren, depending on what frequency I was picking up that day) was getting more and more fascinated by this whole Uncanny thing. She asked me to show her how to fix the bleeds, what classes or levels or whatever the fuck, but I nope outta that shit before I ever learned it—obviously.

"I left to keep myself out of the service, remember? I never learned any of that shit. All I know is what I See, and I can't explain that very well to someone who can't See it themselves."

This stung her a bit. I apologized. She said she'd never get tired of hearing me describe what I saw, even if it was closed off from her, and I think we fucked several times after that.

RONLAT, 307 A. A. E, CLEARGULLY, NC

Month of dead leaves, pumpkin spice ice cream, and sepia swirl portals.

I don't know what it is about autumn that makes the bleeds take on this old photo finish look, this washed out acrylic look, but I'd always, always loved it. Surprised the Shephards didn't finger me just for all the times I stood and gawked in plain daylight at evident nothingness. I couldn't help it. It was the one time my power felt like more than a dangerous party trick. It felt like a gift from the gods--from the great Holy Eye itself.

But of course, they found me eventually, didn't they? The Sheps and their Collies (they're called Heelers out west, Sheepdogs down south), evidently took this whole Uncanny on the run thing seriously. Or they started to (lucky me) roundabouts the time I vanished myself. They really started counting their motherfucking sheep.

See, what I didn't know--what they didnot let the public know—was they started implanting us Uncannies with some sort of GPS tracker shit. I dunno; it wasn't a big thing. Now, of course, it is, and it's public knowledge--same tech as modern-day ansibles--but then? I had no idea. Some fine print of some law I never read said they didn't have to disclose that shit, so I didn't know, I didn't know, I didn'tfucking know.

A Tuesday. Evening. The air was thick with lovely tension and Harm and I's own fumes. Sitting in her 299 Maviko Ratch, listening to some shitty grunge band, Cactus Bones. My phone goes off--unlisted number—two clicks--silent. Another call, 30 minutes later, unlisted again:

"They're coming."

At this point I'm right on the verge of too drunk to give a shit. I tell Harm about it, and she just laughs. "It's the Sheps. They're coming to get you!"

Her laugh wss obnoxious as hell, high-pitched, with little pig snorts, but I loved it and, like I said, I was drunk. I laughed, too; right up to the moment a fist, gloved in black leather, knocked on my driverside window.

"Emory McCall? UNCPD. Open up."

Holy shit. Holy shit holy shit holy shit--

"Emory McCall?" The beam of his flashlight in my face. "Step out of the car, please."

"Uh, no Emory here. It's Jared, Jared Howard." Could I have chosen a faker sounding name? Holy shit. Holy fucking shit.

I whispered: "Harmony. Stay in the car." But she wouldn't hear it. I felt remarkably sober all of a sudden—by the look on her face, so did she. I slid our the seat, clicked open the door. Slowly, hands held high. I doubted he had a gun, but he probably had a taser (or cattle prod, if you wanna keep up the livestock analogy).

"Are you Emory McCall?"

"Uh, nosir."

He held up a photograph--digitally altered to account for age, I guess they only had pictures of me as a kid--and damn, yeah, I couldn't deny it looked like me. I started thinking if an exit strategy. Okay, there's a bleed here... Okay... But what about Harm?

"You sure? Because this sure looks like you, son."

"Uh... nosir. Nosir." I fumbled through my pockets for my student ID, with my fake name clearly printed.

"Parent's names?"

"Uh..."

"Date of birth?"

"Uh..."

"How bout state of birth?"

"...Um."

"Okay. Uncanny #103668, born Emory McCall, alias one Jared Howard, you are charged with purposefully and knowingly evading the B-draft. Please put your hands on the vehicle."

Shitshitshitshit. I obliged--the Shep totally ignored Harm, who leaned awkwardly next to me--and listened to his receding footsteps. Once I heard the his car scanner get suddenly louder, I made my move. Ran. Bolted. Hared off.

Straight for the bleed.

"No! Harm, stay back!"

I didn't have time to argue any further. She was coming. The Shep was already hard on our hells, but he was a bit of a pudgy guy--maybe he was usually a desk jockey--so I thought maybe I'd have time, just enough time.

"Take my hand, Harm! If you're dumb enough to come, take my hand!"

And so we leapt. Into the bleed. Into one of a million chasms between this world and another.

325 A. A. E.

God. God, I was an idiot kid.

They pulled me out. Turns out he had a buddy in the squad car. They didn't fucking care about Harm. I didn't even get a glimpse. Second my feet touched air, a hand grabbed my wrist, I was flung to the ground, pulled bodily away from the bleed. But Harm was long gone. No way to get back. No way she'd be able go find the door without me. No way.

Times are changing, fast and stark, and still I remember. And still I grieve. And still I wonder. If they hadn't closed that bleed, I would've gone back for her, I swear to the Holy Eye.

Maybe one day, I'll find her again. There's talk about permanently opening bleeds, heavily guarded, and charging people to go in. Safe ones. For entertainment. Tourism. I dunno how. Things have changed. Things always change. Bleed tech has gone a long way in the short (long) time between my arrest and the end of my draft. Every Shep's got got this glue--etherepoxy, they call it--temporary stuff, keeps bleeds from exploding or imploding before they can get one of their sheep in there to seal it for good. All kindsa surveillance equipment—by Holy Eye, we're in the day of ansibles indeed; ain't even any phones around, except the occasional puritan type.

Poor Harm. Stupid girl. Wonder what it was like for her. Wonder how long she lived. Hope it was an easy death.