Communism Without Coffee
Copyright© 2026 by A duck named TEF
Chapter 2
“Well, this just sucks.” Denver mumbled, staring at the building that would have belonged to the organization. In its place was a church, or something that looked like it would be a church. From what he gathered in his short time in this errant timeline Denver was inclined to view this as a mostly atheistic society.
’Ab unoquoque pro facultate, ad unumquemque pro necessitate’* was printed in more than a few places, one such place was this building.
The whole of the area reminded him of a book he read, what was the term people had used in a few of the timelines he returned to? Ah yes, ‘Orwellian’. This whole place was quite ‘Orwellian’ to him.
He wondered if he was seeing the correct spelling for this term in his mind’s eye when a flurry of movement pulled his gaze from the writing. A familiar face caught his attention hurrying down the steps of the building he was currently admiring.
’Gawddamn... ‘
She certainly looked like Georgia, slightly more blonde, but could it really be Georgia? With a timeline so askew as this the chances of people he knew existing was quite slim, yet here she was, or rather someone who looked exactly like her. She even had that funny little limp on the right side. The look-a-like was in a rush.
Just as he was considering approaching her, a crack of thunder rang out loudly as if gods within the heavens were playing a game of bowling. The two looked up at the sky simultaneously. Rain began to fall. The woman fumbled with a small umbrella she produced from her coat pocket and then continued on her way. Denver, completely exposed to the rain, succumbed to curiosity and followed her.
The building that the woman entered was unassuming, apart from having a posted guard, something surrounding buildings were lacking. There were two guards at the gateway leading in, and an additional security guard at the door who checked badges. Denver grimaced, how was he to gain entry now? He didn’t have any badge or form of identification here.
There had to be a way in; he watched a man approach the gate and press an intercom button on the gate. After a loud buzz they were admitted in, exchanged a few words with the secondary live guard, signed a tablet, and then walked in, no identification produced. That was an option, but it probably required clearance from an inhabitant of the building.
Maybe there was a fire escape? Worth a shot, he’d just have to walk around without garnering the attention of the posted guard.
He made his way into the alley next to the building and looked around, looking up he saw the woman, she was looking down at him. The two stood staring at each other for a moment before the woman unlatched a ladder from the window.
Apparently each window had a chain ladder in case of fire. It didn’t seem efficient to him, but Denver was not an engineer. It made sense in this society.
Taking the release of the ladder as an invitation, Denver made his way to the woman’s flat. She silently stood aside to permit him entry, and then held a knife just under his chin, “State your name.” She said flatly.
Denver was cursing himself for so easily putting his life in the hands of a stranger, one living in a communistic society no less.
“Denver.” He said as he raised his hands.
The woman looked him up and down, “You’re dripping on my kitchen floor. Remove that wet mess of a coat, and your shoes. If you have any weapons on you I suggest you set them on the counter. “ She removed the knife and produced what looked like a taser.
Denver complied with her demands, setting the coat atop his shoes and stepping closer towards the center of the kitchen, “So...”
“Damnit Denny, what the hell?! How did you fuck up this bad?!” She hissed, “Do you realize being one in the slow lane of time is bad enough with your meddling, but this? This is torture!”
“G-Georgia?!” He was stunned, however he couldn’t deny that this was Georgia, in the flesh and somehow with her wits about her.
“Yeah, it’s me, and before you ask ... don’t.” She held a hand up to stop his assumed barrage of questioning.
“I’ll start with this, I’m of one of the bloodlines too, the other branch off the anomaly.” She huffed then took a breath, “I have an ability thanks to our shared mother, no we have different fathers, but because of mom’s line and my ‘gifts’ I have a sensitivity to temporal changes, the ‘waves’ you make with each time you travel. I’m psychic. The histories you constantly change are maintained in my memories as they are in yours.” She paused again.
Denver stared, dumbfounded. Not only was it ‘his’ timeline Georgia, but apparently she was his sister as well, and she had memories of the different timelines. His mind raced with the implications of it all.
Georgia’s face scrunched to a look of slighted annoyance, “Seriously?! I just dropped at least two bombshells on you and the only thing you can think of is all the cultural references we can share? What is wrong with you?”