The mad scientist came awake the usual way, slowly. This time between dreaming and waking, outside of the mindless tedium of drudgery and the crystal-sharp focus of the madness place, was special. It was pleasant. It was sacred. The only distraction was the cold metal on her forearms and the uncomfortable position of her head and neck.

That wasn’t right.

She slowed her breathing and listened. All was silent, but for the faint reverberation of her breathing. It outlined a hollow, quiet space. She was sitting upright in a cold metal chair. She slumped, stock still, for several minutes, pretending to be asleep. The room sounded empty, and there was an acrid odor in the air. Tentatively, she cracked an eye a sliver. It was dim, dark. A door? She couldn’t see much. She risked a glance up.

The mind is a tricky thing. Watching brain scans in real time shows that often decisions are made, and then we are informed of them after the fact. The mind then rationalizes why it did such a thing as higher functions kick in. In the circumstances this mechanism can be forgiven for failing.

The mad scientist tucked into a dodge- roll, banging her shoulder on the cold, unforgiving concrete. She spun her legs to give her english, rolling against the far wall at a 30 degree angle to true. Her spin left her facing a chair out of some dentist’s worst Topamax nightmares. Hanging above it was. That’s a fucking death beam generator, and it was pointed at my head. a voice in her head said. It disturbed her, hearing this unknown voice. This was not because she was hearing voices. Lacking the wherewithal to recognize your own internal monologue was not conductive to recognizing that hearing voices is crazy. This was instead because the voice was wrong. In front of her was not one but a precise configuration of masers, six in total, in an array. The voice’s lack of precision in that description felt like a failure, somehow.

This place was slagged, and slagged hard. that insidious voice whispered as she took in the room. It was an understatement. There were black scorch marks across the concrete, licking up the wall. Cold lumps of melted silicon and twisted metal lay across the floor, the largest a few inches across. The voice noted, Looks like it was once a differential engine. Whatever holocaust had engulfed the room was enough to bow the concrete. Near the center there was a burn through, a small hole a few millimeters in diameter . She couldn’t see how deep it went. The ceiling was left with a dull green, sickly glow.

The mad scientist groped along the wall, ducking low away from that radioactive glow until she found the door. Some primal part of her brain pushed her through it in fear of the poisonous light, while some other part of her screamed at her to check for traps. She blundered into the next room expecting a horror movie.

Instead, she crab-crawled into a cluttered mess as the door clicked behind her. She stood up and looked around. The room felt homey. comforting. Before her, was a sea of yellow sticky notes. To the left, stretched a bench. The right had a suit on a rack. The sticker on it said “Dawnstar.” Whatever that means. Straight ahead was a door, with a folded piece of white paper taped to it.

She spent a bit examining every meticulously labeled do-dad in the room. The words on the yellow notes eluded her, but she had a feel for each item. Flying machine, fabricator, protective covering. She mulled over the meaning of that tag on it as she pulled the note from the door. The front of it had a string of letters and numbers. One the mad scientist recognized.

That’s my mux code, said the voice. It’s correct.

The mux code, or time traveler’s code, was something she thought of as a small child. It was a way to identify information from the future. It was simple, really- she never told anyone what it was and any time she would use it she changed it to a new random code. So far, there had been no evidence of time travel. At least, not until now.

She opened the note, and read it. Then disbelieved for a second save. The words didn’t change. The mux didn’t change. She looked at the words until her eyes watered. Finally, she blinked. Finding the drawer indicated in the note, she opened it. It was full of postdated envelopes. She dropped the note into the drawer and opened the door. She would deal with . . . that . . . later.

She opened the door, went through a short hallway, and entered the house proper. A twinge in her shoulder reminded her that she had hurt herself after hitting the ground too hard in that roll. Entering a kitchen, she was assaulted by a sea of yellow sticky notes. Notes on the counters, notes on the drawers. Notes on the appliances, the knives, the doors.

It didn’t take much to find something cold to put on her sore shoulder. She just went to the freezing machine, and opened the top of the two box parts. She searched it a bit, finding a green and white bag imprinted with small green spheres. On the shoulder it goes. Next order of business.

Her stomach made a noise. Food. Definitely food next. It was a bit awkward, managing with one hand and teeth. She managed. She found a square food packet, opened it, and removed the brick inside. Reading the instructions, she poked around the cabinets until she finds a bowl. Brick, water, packet, into the microwave generator. She read the packaging as the machine worked. It was fairly straightforward. Contents breakdown, molecular assembly instructions. Some of it was obscure. Most of it was perfectly legible, though, silicon dioxide and the like. One thing she didn’t understand. What the heck is a Ramen?

The machine beeped, and overly hot food was retrieved. She juggled the bowl, putting it down on the counter before grabbing a rag to hold it. Using the rag deftly to protect her hand, she brings the bowl to the next room. It was a fairly normal living room complete with couch, coffee table, and tv. She sat the bowl on the table, and looked down at the lack of a spoon. A sigh preceded the quick return to the kitchen to rectify.

It was on her return that attention had been drawn to the boxes on the living room floor. This is not because they went unnoticed- our protagonist took inventory of them immediately on entering the room. Instead, it is because she filed them away for later like a calendar marking the days of a vacation just begun. Important, but not now. Now, deep into her meal, did she focus on those packages.

Parts for a differential engine, the voice reported as it analyzed them, “Enough for a secure terminal connect.”

She realized assembling this would be a necessary step to following those instructions. Obviously, the engine in the first room was no longer functioning. Or in pieces larger than her palm. She appreciated the reprieve, and the distraction, from her task. The assembly process was soothing, but finished too soon. She looked at the hallway she came from, not wanting to return so soon.

Instead, she fell onto the couch with a flump, and stared at the ceiling. The gears of her mind spun, aimlessly, as the spot of light from the window marched inexorably across the carpet. Her memories were hazy or gone. Obviously, some part of her mind was missing. Could her mux been compromised? After all, time travel…

Time travel is meaningless affirmed the voice.

If not that, then what? Could her mux have been forced from her, then her memory wiped to before code cycle? No, if mux was forced then you would have provided your distress phrase came the rebuttal. Mindreading? Followed by mental manipulation? Then why bother with mux at all? Maybe I did it to myself, somehow? Then what does it matter? You obviously intend to follow procedure. That last bit stuck.

The mux was correct. That was all that mattered.

She picked up the computer case, and brought it back to her lab. Do things in order. Place case, connect machine peripherals. Remove her own peripherals. Sit. Boot. Pad of instructions on the side. She was ready. She sat down and entered the darknet. Even without consulting the notes she had so meticulously wrote herself it was easy. Insert false hardware identifier between OS and machine. Plug in Ethernet. Remote into secure relay. Verify all other outgoing connections blocked. Enter public encryption roulette system. She was in.

She headed to her objective, and then tried to make it work. It just wasn’t, though. After a few minutes longer than she would have liked for the whole process, she clicked a link, hoping it would take her somewhere more fruitful. It didn’t. She idly surfed until her stomach reminded her to put food in it again. Defeated, she went and made another food packet.

An unsatisfying meal later, she decided she needed to shower. The steaming water was soothing on her tense back. Her head rested against the wall of the stall. She realized she had exhausted herself. When the water started to cool she turned it off and wrapped herself in a pair of towels. Walking into the bedroom, she saw a pile of blankets on the bed, and wrapped herself in those too.

Nestled in the warmth, she rested. Her eyes closed, her breathing slowed, and her mind wandered. As she rested, she found herself drifting deeper instead of feeling rejuvenated. Eventually, her leg twitched, all on its own. She sat bolt upright.

Her mind raced, drowning out the little voice. She didn’t know what that was but she was freaked the fuck out. She started pacing, wearing herself out more in her panic, which just made it worse. Eventually, she wore herself to the point of exhaustion, and fell back to the bed. Her world was nothing but fear as the world faded to black. Convinced she was about to die, she slept.

Author's Note

I'm not certain if/when I'm going to pick up regular updates. I'm still looking for a regular prereader/editor if anyone is interested. Please bear with my spelling, grammar, and especially tense shift issues.

on a more fun note, who wants to be part of the resistance?