Foston Slacks - Time's Flies

33

"Well, I expected that to be a little more eventful." Foston stepped out of the lift and the lights in the area flickered on in the presence of life.

"If I said I was almost disappointed, I'd be lying." Clara looked at her unused death pen and returned it the useful pen pocket on her jacket's chest, sadly. "In fact, I'm so happy that we didn't get eaten, shot, stabbed, electrocuted and/or burnt to death, that I could be described as ecstatic."

She didn't feel ecstatic. In fact, all the strange, wonderful, weird and overly aggressive things that had happened to them seemed to have made her a little too used to it all. She felt almost complacent. The last time she felt this complacent, her flat flooded. She didn't expect a flood here, but neither had she expected to find herself on a space pleasure station in a different universe. These things happen, she thought.

Meanwhile, Foston moved off into the new area. It seemed like some kind of scientific research facility, with gleaming computer consoles with flashing lights and big red buttons that Clara assured herself she would not press under any circumstances. Even though she really wanted to. That was the problem with big red buttons. Somewhere along the evolutionary timeline, humans had become pre-conditioned to make, and press, big red buttons. It was primal.

In the centre of the facility stood some kind of containment unit. A spheroidal shape, or, as Clara thought it more resembled, a slightly pudgy egg shape. Hundreds of wires and conduits spidered out from the walls and ceiling, all congregating upon the egg and a low hum of vast amounts of barely constrained energy filled Clara's ears. Whatever was in the containment unit needed huge amounts of power to keep it there.

Foston edged towards the egg, aiming for a viewport on, what looked like, a very thick, very locked door. His face brightened from a white light emitting from the inside. A steady pulse sending shadowy caricatures of Foston's head cascading upon the facility walls.

"Oh, humans. What have you done?" Foston leaned both hands against the containment unit and drooped his head.

"What is it?" Clara bustled up to him, pushing him aside with her shoulder to look inside. "Oh."

Foston fell with his back against the smooth surface of the containment unit and slid down, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head, slowly. Clara couldn't tear her gaze from inside the containment unit, marvelling at the beauty of a Breach caught between a series of probes, or emitters, or something. The Breach seemed different to every other she had seen. This one appeared more solid. More real.

Where the other Breaches had appeared as ephemeral shivers in the air, wriggling, shifting, wobbling things that were almost, but not quite, entirely there. This one appeared crystalline, emitting a sickly white light that seemed uncertain whether it should shine or collapse to the floor. Clara couldn't understand how she knew it, but the Breach felt ill. Sickly.

"What's wrong with it? It doesn't seem ... right." Clara looked down at Foston, Half-ne helpfully rubbing his forehead for him, while he held his hands limp upon his knees.

"You feel it too. That's what happens after you use Breaches more than a couple of times. You become attuned to them." He looked up at her with a very real sadness to his face. He almost seemed on the edge of tears. "It's dying."

"Dying? Are you telling me the Breaches are alive?" She looked back inside at the contained Breach, feeling a tug at her heartstrings. She thought it was a tug at her heartstrings. It could be hunger. She hadn't eaten for a while.

"Yes, absolutely! And, no, not in the slightest." He pushed himself back up, leaning an elbow against the unit wall, chewing a fingernail, absentmindedly. "There's a sentience to them. In that way, they're very much alive, but not in any normal sense. They don't breathe, eat, reproduce (at least, we don't think so). They don't excrete anything. They're as alive as a rock, in that sense. But there is definitely some kind of intelligence to them, though we've never managed to communicate with them. They're fascinating."

"And the people in this universe have captured one." She felt sad. She really did. It wasn't hunger after all. "How is that even possible?"

"I don't know." A wrinkle appeared upon his forehead. Clara, ever the observant one, knew that either indicated he was thinking, or constipated. Every so often, it meant both.

Foston moved away, making certain he didn't look back inside the containment unit, and found himself a computer panel. He flipped up the holographic display, that Clara dearly needed for her online shopping, and began searching through the scientific facility's database. Half-ne, ever the ass-kisser, helped him.

Clara decided to wander around the rest of the facility. It wasn't that large, but she couldn't stand to see the Breach in the containment unit any longer. The last time she'd felt this sad, she'd cried at an animated movie. Running mascara, snot, red eyes, the whole kit and caboodle. She did not want to start crying here. Not where Half-ne could see.

At one side of the facility, she found another containment unit. This one was much smaller. Much, much smaller. Sat on a desk with a big sign above it, stating 'Danger - Authorised Personnel Only', this unit didn't emit any light, at all. There was, however, a big red button beside it. Clara looked at the sign, then looked at the button. She looked at the sign again, hoping it had, somehow, changed to read 'No Danger - Go on. Push The Button'. It hadn't.

She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder towards Foston. He seemed to be doing some very heavy reading, Half-ne trailing a finger below each word as he read. He was too far away to stop her. Or yell. Or cringe and run away if anything went wrong. Which it most likely would. Her hand inched out towards the button and she pulled it back, looking at it in shock and completely missed her other hand reaching out and slapping the big red button, gleefully.

"Umm. Foston? I think you should see this. I mean, I really think you should see this." The door to the small containment unit, without any fanfare whatsoever, had clicked open. "You should see this, right now!"

"What is it? I'm just getting into some fascinating insights on the nature of Breaches." Foston began to wander over, scratching his head. "The way they got the information is, quite frankly, barbaric and evil, but it is mind-blowing. Well?"

"It's your watch." Clara pointed inside the containment unit where something very similar to Foston's watch sat on a fake satin cushion.

"Don't be ridiculous. It can't be my watch. I'm wearing my watch. Look." He raised his wrist in front of Clara's eyes, waggling it. Then he looked into the small containment unit. "That's my watch. How can that be my watch? That's not my watch. Take it out."

"You take it out! The sign says 'Danger'!" Clara pointed at the sign, pursing her lips and widening her eyes as if she'd made an uncompromisable point.

"Then why did you open it?" Clara glanced at the sign, glanced at the button, glanced at Foston then dipped her eyes to the floor, shrugging. Foston reached into the unit, muttering. "Bloody hairless apes!"

With great care, Foston removed the other watch, holding it far away from the watch on his wrist. He turned it over in his hand. Examined the strap. Paid attention to the watch face. Scratched the back plate with the nail on his thumb. Licked it, cocking his head to the side and raising his eyebrows, appreciating the taste. Finally, with extremely delicate and exceedingly dextrous movements, switched it on.

After a second or two, an off-pitch 'ding dong' sounded and the watch face lit up. Foston watched all the figures and notifications ping past on the screen until the watch face turned blue. Foston sighed. Turned the watch off and then back on again. The 'ding dong' occurred, the same figures and notifications pinged past until, finally, the watch fell into a display that resembled Foston's own watch.

"Well?" Clara felt a bubble of excitement at the mystery of it all.

"Why, yes. I am. Thank you for asking." Foston shook the watch and held it to his ear.

"No. I meant 'Well?' as in 'Well, aren't you going to tell me what's happening?' kind of 'Well?'." The fact that Foston, as intelligent as he seemed, could often be the most obtuse person she'd ever met (and she'd met more than a few politicians), proved one of Clara's most abiding and searing annoyances.

"This is my watch." Foston waggled his wrist again, then held up his other hand holding the other watch. "And this is my watch. Only this watch isn't from this point in my personal timeline. The software is from around ten years ago and I cannot, for the life of me, remember ever losing this watch. Not ever."

Even to Clara, that did seem a little odd.