Chapter 17

Rick Handley, time traveler. The warrior of the future. God, this was cool.

Rachel and Bill stopped by after Alison had left and invited me to go out for a drink to celebrate my new assignment this week. I declined. I didn't think it was a good idea for my long-term future at the paper to have my supervisors watch me grining like an idiot and touching my jaw all evening as if I had some sort of obsessive-compulsive order.

There had been hints all along that the whole thing wasn't a dream. For one thing, Wizen had explicitly told me that. As I had told Andy, however, that was exactly what I would expect a character in my dream to say. My teachers had always told me that I had an excellent imagination. I could have dreamed it up; that was well within the realm of possibility. Unlike the alternative — the idea that the whole thing wasn't a dream: now there was something outside the realm.

As I ate dinner and watched a ball game on Friday, the realization that the fight would be real, with real consequences for both me and my descendants, slowly began to terrify me. The result was that when I finally did crawl into bed, I was much too excited to sleep. Halfway through my second sleepless hour of the night, I was suddenly struck with panic. What would happen if I didn't go to sleep at all? Would the Earth perish? Would my descendants be enslaved? I shut my eyes tightly, determined to keep them closed until I nodded off.

Then I remembered that evening with Alison's friend Parker. Wizen had snatched me when I wasn't even asleep, when we were in the middle of foreplay. I didn't need to be asleep for that son-of-a-bitch Wizen to work his magic.

"Is something wrong, Richard?"

I blinked my eyes open. Wizen and Francesca stood side-by-side at the foot of the bed.

"Wrong?" I asked.

"You seemed quite angry when you appeared," Francesca said. "Perhaps he was just steeling himself for battle, Father."

"Right," I said. "That must have been it. I see you guys are going formal, huh? You look great."

Both had exchanged their normal robes for more colorful attire. Wizen's robe was white, and decorated at all the edges with embroidered vines of a color green that I had never seen before. Francesca's robe was an exquisite pale blue with a velvet border on the collar and cuffs that most closely resembled fresh cream.

The robes stood in contrast to their somber expressions.

"You two look like you're going to a funeral," I cracked. It wasn't until I saw their eyes drop to the ground that I realized what I had said.

"Sorry," I mumbled. "Poor choice of words. Any last-minute details, Mr. Wizard?"

Council had been in negotiations with the Morling fleet for the past day.

"Your chair has been slowed to that of a normal human run," Wizen said. "And you will not be able to fly higher than the Morling's head."

"So nowhere near as high as one of its arms, huh?"

Wizen's face took on an anguished look.

"Hey, it's no problem," I assured him. "I get nauseous flying that high and that fast, anyway. Well, we'd best get this show on the road, huh?"

"What would you like for your attire?" Francesca asked.

I looked down. I was in the plain tan robe that they usually dressed me in when I arrived.

"How about a pair of jeans?" I asked.

"Jeans?" Wizen said. "What are jeans?"

He turned to Francesca.

"Do you know anything about jeans?" he asked her.

Her blush was exceptionally becoming. Evidently "jeans" were in fashion only among the younger set. She waved her arm and my robe was gone, replaced with a nice, tight pair of Levis.

"And on top?" she asked, gesturing at my naked chest.

"I think we'll just leave it like this," I said. I was as proud of my pecs as I was of my arms. Rambo had nothing on me. Other than functional legs of course.

I brought the flychair over and climbed in. Together we proceeded down the corridors. I could tell that something had changed immediately. We passed another boy, this one walking with his mother.

"Good luck, Rick!" he called out.

His mother quickly hushed him but gave me a shy smile as we passed.

I knew exactly where Francesca turned away every time she escorted me to the arena. When we passed it this time, still three abreast, I stopped in mid-flight and turned to her.

"Your cheering section may be small," she said before I could speak. "But we will do our best to be loud."

But it would not be small either. Even from underneath the Rose Bowl, in the tunnel where I was to make my final preparations for the fight, I could feel the crowd in the seats above me. It was not that they were noisy — these people were not experienced spectators — but that their hopes and fears were nearly palpable.

Karsk, Slisken, and Ken awaited me in the room that led to the floor of the arena. They were standing with another flychair.

"We have prepared this one for you," Karsk said as I approached.

"He prepared it," Ken said with disgust. "I had nothing to do with it."

"Because?" I asked Karsk.

"The bottom is mirrored," he answered with a sly smile.

"And it responds to my brain, like this one?" I asked.

"Yes," Slisken said.

The chair rose and dropped in response to my commands. And then it flew toward the wall, slammed into it at full speed, and dropped to the floor, utterly useless.

"I like this one," I said. "But thanks."

Ken offered me his hand.

"Good luck," he said.

"Thanks, pal."

Slisken and Wizen bowed toward me and wished me well. Francesca stepped forward and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you, Rick," she whispered.

Only Karsk stood between me and the door.

"On behalf of Council..." he began formally.

"Oh, tell Council to fuck off," I said. I turned and winked at my friends and then flew around Karsk to open the door.

I flew into the arena. The cheer from the crowd deafened me. The sunlight blinded me. And then just as quickly the crowd went silent. I knew the reason why. The Morling had entered from the other side. As my vision cleared, I saw him lumber toward the center, his mouth curled in its perpetual sneer. He played his light whip from side to side, as if to ensure me of his mastery.

I did the same as I flew to meet him. I wanted to let him know that he was in for a fight. I reached the center first, of course. The only advantage that we humans appeared to have over Morlings was our speed. That probably went along with our flight reflex, which was doing its best to overcome my training and courage.

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