“And . . . cut.” Flua-Sahng waved a hand.

  Abruptly, Mercune misted away, drifting into the sky as whitish wisps.

  The red glow on the skyline faded, leaving the starry sky.

  “I’ll never stop finding that disturbing,” observed Proto, as the afterimage of Mercune’s face faded from his prospect.

  “I think you would, given a few aeons,” replied Flua-Sahng. “Anyhow, let’s review.”

  “Right, how’d I do?” he asked. “Future saved, we can all go home now?”

  “No. Sorry.” She winced apologetically. “But better than last time. We’re in, what, Version C now? Yes. This time, the world lasts a millennium again. In fact, it ends at precisely the same time as in Version A, your original visit.”

  “Well, one step backward, one step forward,” mused Proto.

  “Yes. Two ways to the same road.” Flua-Sahng’s gaze was far off. “Or is it? That’s interesting!”

  “What is?” asked Proto.

  “Well, it’s a little sinister,” she replied. “Are you sure you wish to hear it?”

  Proto shrugged. “Knowing more is probably better, if I want to figure out how to save the future.”

  “True. Well, in short, it’s about how Mercune dies,” said Flua-Sahng.

  “In Version A, she’s killed by some looters in Dubai, during the famine caused by my fellow Elements’ fiery destruction,” she explained. “But this time, in Version C, she’s buried in a sort of—digging accident. A tunnel collapse. Together with Fyrir’s scientists, digging down beneath his laboratory in Dubai. How interesting!”

  Proto’s brow furrowed. “Um, that’s one way of putting it.”

  Flua-Sahng threw up her hands lightly. “I told you it was sinister! You were warned.”

  “Actually, that is interesting,” mused Proto. “She’s not in Dubai right now. But she goes there in Versions A and C. And earlier today, Himari—Fyrir’s old lab intern—told me Mercune was planning to go to Dubai once her school year ended.”

  “Mm-hmm. I saw it all,” nodded Flua-Sahng.

  All of it? He shook off the heebie-jeebies. “So, question. Did Mercune end up in Dubai in the Version B future?”

  Flua-Sahng again peered faraway. “Yes. Yes, she did. But there are possible futures where she doesn’t. Not many, but some.”

  Proto felt excited. “Could it be that, if we want to save the future, Mercune can’t go to Dubai? We have to get her to stay here?”

  “Hm. Well, I’ve seen how things go in a few possible futures where Mercune stays behind. And things still end in a void,” recalled Flua-Sahng. “But if there’s a good future waiting to be found, where life survives, it’s entirely possible that it involves Mercune not going to Dubai.”

  “I think we should explore that,” said Proto. “Maybe I can say something that gets her to stick around here.”

  “Well, if anyone can convince Mercune to change her life plans based on a ten-minute conversation, it’s—probably Fyrir,” replied Flua-Sahng. “But you can try too. Just remember, you only have so much time to explore possible futures. Who knows how long? Use it wisely!”

  Proto pondered. “I hear that Mercune likes getting gifts.”

  Flua-Sahng looked off as though sifting through memories. “Yes. Yes, that’s right.”

  “What if I gave her a gift?” suggested Proto. “Something that helped get her to change her mind, somehow, so she doesn’t go to Dubai.”

  “Hm. A gift that changes her mind? In a dream?” replied Flua-Sahng. “It’s creative. I certainly haven’t explored that possibility. I do wonder what you plan to give though.”

  Proto’s lips quirked with thought. “To be determined.”

  Flua-Sahng opened her mouth.

  But abruptly, a jangling noise rang through the world, drowning out her words. It reminded Proto of when he’d visited that dream where barbarians were warring with an empire, and the dreamer had been woken by an alarm clock.

  Proto, cringing at the loudness, looked irritably at the sky.

  “You’d better get that,” called Flua-Sahng through the cacophony.

  “Oh. A phone call?” Come to think of it, that jangling was rather like his ringtone. “Well, I guess you’d better mist me away, or whatever you call it.”

  “Mist on its way!” The Queen of Heaven flicked her hand forth. Twin streams of whitish grey shot toward him from the surrounding mirk. “Think about gifts, Proto, and what you’d like to get.”

  His lips parted to reply.

  But before he could do so, the mist streams scooped him up and carried him away. Through grey obscurity he hurtled, watching the starscape whirl around him, breathless in a silent plane.

  Then, he lurched upward on his bed, before his eyes had even opened. He blinked blearily. The dreamy strains of Longing for the Past were drifting from the T.V. He really shouldn’t leave the SNES on like that. He’d burn the thing out. It was a miracle it’d lasted this long.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  All this passed through his head in one second. The next second, his ringtone sounded again.

  Oh shit. How many times had it rung?

  He lunged for his phone and pushed the talk button. The caller ID showed some number he’d never seen before.

  “Hello?” he rasped, sounding like a ninety-year-old life smoker.

  He coughed. “Hello?” he repeated, now sounding like the late Louis Armstrong but at least intelligible.

  A moment passed in silence. “Oh. You’re there? Good.” The nervous voice sounded unsure if this was actually good. “Um, how’s it going?”

  “Oh, not bad. Just catching up on some sleep,” he replied.

  “Oh. Oh, shoot, did I wake you up?” the caller asked.

  That tends to happen when you call someone at 6:30 a.m.! thought Proto.

  “No worries,” said Proto. “Lots to get done this morning. And now I have an extra hour.”

  “Ah. Definitely!” agreed the caller. “So, um, it’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?”

  Hard to tell, when it’s still dark and my drapes are closed! mused Proto.

  The caller sounded like a new telemarketer in training. She probably had step-by-step instructions in front of her, beginning with, “Make small talk.” In fact, given the early hour and her uncertain tone, Proto might well be her first call ever.

  He felt mildly irked that Flua-Sahng had urged him to wake for this.

  “So, I have to run in a second . . . ” he told the caller.

  “Oh, of course! Me too actually,” the caller said. “Job gets busy around this time.”

  Clearly a novice telemarketer. She wasn’t even making sense. “Job gets busy around this time”? She was doing her job right now!

  “I bet,” he replied politely.

  “Um, so, the reason I called is, do you like whisky?” she asked.

  Proto blinked. What a bizarre telemarketing scheme. Calling him up to solicit a whisky purchase? Was that even legal?

  “What brands are you selling?” he asked.

  “Huh?” She sounded baffled. “Oh. Oh oh oh. Shoot! Let me start over.”

  Proto smiled away a sigh, picturing the girl searching for some prompt she’d missed.

  “So, Proto, this is Red. I sell coffee, not whisky,” she said. “Starbucks girl, remember?”

  Proto’s eyes went wide. “Oh.”

  “Yeah, my fault, I forgot the ‘this is Red’ part!” she apologized.

  Suddenly, it made sense why Flua-Sahng had bothered to wake him up.

  “Hey Blue. How’s it hanging?” he asked.

  “Yes! You remembered, Slick!” she replied. “Also, I’ve always found that phrase odd—‘how’s it hanging.’ How’s what hanging? The only options I can think of are inappropriate!”

  “Huh. I never thought of that,” he said.

  “I promise I don’t have a dirty mind! But it’s true, isn’t it?” she exclaimed.

  “Welp, crossing that off my phrase list,” replied Proto.

  “What? No, use it more!” she urged. “Here, I’ll do it too: ‘Hey Slick. How’s it hanging?’”

  “Tubular,” he answered.

  “Yes!” she laughed. “Actually, that sounds really inappropriate.”

  Proto laughed out loud. She had a point. “L-O-L.”

  “ROFL-copters!” she cried.

  “LOL-lerskates!” he replied.

  And for an instant, both were transported back to nerdy times long past.

  “So, I’ll have to save your number,” mused Proto. “That would’ve avoided some confusion.”

  Speaking of which, how did she have his number?

  “Yeeaahhh, you’re probably wondering how I had yours,” she said. “Um. I wanted to ask you something at work yesterday. But I didn’t see you there, and tickets are running out. Sooo . . . I Facebook-stalked you and Googled your name till a number popped up! One of those creepy public records sites. Haha!”

  Proto blinked.

  “Probably should’ve just Facebook-messaged you. But I guess I’m just old-fashioned,” she went on. “Which brings me to my question.”

  “You ask, I answer!” declared Proto. “At least, if it involves old wars, old video games, or old drinks. Otherwise, I can’t promise anything.”

  “What about new drinks?” she asked.

  “Uh, try me,” he replied.

  “Yeah. So, I picked my current job since I loved coffee. And I still do,” Red explained. “But I’m sooo sick of thinking about coffee all the time. And I’m hyper-jittery enough without drinking coffee after work too.”

  “So! I’d like to get into whisky. I had one at the bar recently, and I decided, ‘I’m going to be a whisky girl.’”

  “Really?” This, Proto could work with. “I had no idea you liked whisky.”

  “Crazy, huh? You met me once and still don’t know everything about me!” she mused lightly. “But, in all honesty, I know nothing about whisky, except what I Googled earlier today. Do you?”

  “I’ve learnt a lot lately,” he replied. This was true. Somnus’ Palace was as much an education in hard spirits as dream visits. “Wait, ‘earlier today’? It’s 6:30 a.m.”

  “Yeeahh, I may not have slept last night. Something on my mind!” She laughed nervously.

  “Hopefully not anymore?” offered Proto.

  “Hm. Close, I guess! But what I was really calling about,” replied Red, taking a deep breath, “was this whisky distillery that’s holding a tasting tomorrow. And you can buy tickets, but only for groups of two or more. And since I like whisky, and you like whisky, and . . . um. What do you say?”

  Proto’s lips curved up. “Well, I—”

  “Oh, also!” Red broke in. “We’ll be having a meal there. Meat. Cheese. Drink pairings. Table for two. If that’s okay with you!”

  Proto smiled. “Well, I—”

  “Oh! I forgot, it’s at 4 p.m., so you miiighht have to leave work early,” she added apologetically.

  Proto opened his mouth, then paused to see if there was more.

  “ . . . but I mean, it’s totally okay if . . . ” she started. Then, she seemed to second-guess herself and went silent again.

  Proto held back a quiet chuckle. “I’ll come on one condition.”

  “Shoot!” she exclaimed. “I mean, shoot like ‘let’s hear it,’ not shoot like ‘goll darn it.’”

  Proto couldn’t hold the laugh back now. “I buy the tickets, and you give me free coffee.”

  “Deal!” she affirmed. “If you maybe promise not to tell my boss.”

  “Your terms are acceptable!” he declared.

  “You can tell Chub Chub though,” she went on. “Ooh, I can’t wait! A whisky tasting. We’re adulting!”

  “It’s a brave new world,” agreed Proto.

  “And we’ll explore it together!” Red cried. Her voice failed faintly on the last word, like she’d gotten a joke’s punchline wrong and had just realized it. He could almost hear her blush.

  “Um, anyway, I am so tired I’m no longer making sense!” she continued. “So I should go get some sleep. But instead I’m gonna go have a black black eye and sell coffee.”

  “Good luck and godspeed, Blue,” bade Proto.

  “Yes! Smell you later, Gator!” she replied. “Oh, right, I’ll text you the distillery’s website. Bye Slick!”

  They hung up. For a moment, he stared at his phone, thoughts swirling through his head.

  Then, he fell back onto his pillow, eyes closed and smiling up at nothing and everything.

  Part of him was wondering why, with limited time to save the future, he was going on a whisky tasting date. I fail to see how this advances your quest, Miss Beatrice’s voice coolly observed.

  But in response came an unexpected memory: “No one can catch me! People only reach me here by chasing something else. Or someone.” Anima’s words.

  Proto’s conscious efforts to “advance his quest” hadn’t gotten him far. What progress he’d made had come from following his heart. Perhaps it was attuned to more than he was conscious of. Maybe Anima had meant something like that.

  Follow your heart? Aren’t you romantic, sighed Miss Beatrice’s voice. Alright, alright! You’ve persuaded me. . . . But really, Proto, why do you keep picturing those flapping wings of hers?

  Proto laughed quietly. Freud would have a field day with his internal dialogues.

  Well. Lots to do today. The sooner he got up, the sooner it’d get done. Still, for a bit longer, he kept his eyes closed in the waning darkness, dreaming about the bright day waxing just ahead.