When is a line on a napkin not a line on a napkin? When it’s a tear in the very fabric of space and time.
It was a line, yes, but it was more than a line. More importantly, it was a line that never should have existed, as it was drawn on a napkin in a café on Earth exactly three days after the Earth was sucked in to a black hole. But there is was. The line. Just a line, but so much more than a line. A link. A crack. A hole in space and time through which a being, if they were smart and fast enough, could travel. And Nenipven was both smart and fast. He had to be, in order to elude his pursuers time and time again.
Sadly, Realst was a casualty of his latest escapade. He learned to accept the losses of his friends, as in some part of his fragmented mind he realized that they were simply a part of himself, manifesting as a result of his fractured personality. And being a being that could warp and mold both space and time, his imaginary friends could be given both shape and substance. But they were still just a piece of him, and the universe had a way of smooshing them back into him periodically.
Though using a particle accelerator to do it was a new one, even for the universe. It had been effective, if a little on the painful side. Already he could feel other personalities, other friends, clambering for their time, but for now he pushed them down, concentrated on keeping himself whole and squeezing through the crack in space and time to a place that shouldn’t exist.
And it didn’t exist, not really, not yet. Nenipven could taste the newness, the wrongness of it. They were trying to rebuild, erase his mistakes and reconstruct the universe as it had been. Realst had been very wrong about that. Things got changed all the time. He just never remembered it, because once they were changed they never happened. He had but a few more moments to remember, and then it would all be gone. Everything he knew, everything he understood. Now would be the time to turn himself in, the only time he knew enough to rationally know how dangerous he was. But he wouldn’t do it, just like he hadn’t done it hundreds, no, thousands of times before. He didn’t know how many times, could never remember, and for all he knew this could really be the first, but he didn’t think so. There was too much of a familiarity with this feelings. Even erasing time couldn’t erase that, not for someone like him. Echoes and whispers remained.
One day he was going to break into the archives that existed on the rim outside of time, and see just how many times he’d been erased. Maybe he already had. Maybe that’s what had driven him mad. He just didn’t know. But he tried to think, tried to remember, tried to hold on… and then it slipped away. At one point he realized who he was and what he did, and the next, he was standing in a small café, confused and convinced he was once again on a mission to document alien life. Only, this time it wasn’t because it was about to be extinguished, instead it was for formal consideration to be entered into the Union of Worlds.
Only they didn’t know they were being considered, because the first rule of the Union of Worlds was that you did not talk about the Union of Worlds. Luckily, they’d allowed his friend Pippiment to accompany him, otherwise he’d have no one he could freely converse with.
“Pippiment, we need to blend in,” Nenipven whispered. “And quick, before they notice us.”
Nenipven quickly shifted so he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt, and adjusted his hairstyle to something contemporary. As much as he felt drawn to the older styles, the Renaissance, he didn’t think that was the most appropriate. Pippiment swirled in a puff of smoke and settled into the shape of a small Chihuahua.
“You couldn’t have picked a more manly dog, eh, Pippiment?” Nenipven cradled the small dog in one arm.
“If I were a bigger dog, you couldn’t pick me up, and then I would get left outside all the time. Plus, this way people won’t hear my talking to you,” Pippiment hissed out the side of his mouth.
“Well, I don’t think size makes much difference, dogs aren’t supposed to be allowed in buildings at all,” Nenipven said. “Though I admit it doesn’t seem like most people pay that much attention to the rules.”
They looked around the café and saw at least half a dozen small dogs nestled in laps and in shoulder bags. The café even sold tiny, freshly bakes dog treats.
“Ooooh, could you get me one of those Carob Chip cookies?” Pippiment asked, his tail wagging. “They smell delicious!”
“Sure thing, now, pipe down.”
Nenipven approached the counter with a confident stride and a goofy grin plastered on his face. He had to admit the effect may have been a little more maniacal and frightening than he was intending, as the girl behind the counter took an involuntary step back.
“May I help you?” she asked, arranging her face into an expression of professional courtesy.
“Yes, I would like a large coffee, black, a cranberry orange walnut muffin, and a – no, two – carob chip biscuits, please,” he said.
She nodded, gave a genuine smile at the little dog, and rang up his order. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a wallet, convincingly crammed with rewards card, receipts, and just a little bit of cash. At least they didn’t send him on this mission unprepared, he had to give them that. Even if they were rather sketchy employers some of the time. He got freedom to roam and an all-expense paid trip through the universe. What more could a guy ask for? Besides coffee and a cranberry orange walnut muffin, that is.
The girl at the counter took his money, gave him back his change, and set his order on the counter, all while managing to stay as far away from him as possible. He belatedly realized he was still wearing the scary grin and schooled his face into a more neutral expression. Wouldn’t do to go about looking like a psycho.
“Even if you are one,” Pippiment said quietly.
“What was that?” Nenipven asked.
“I didn’t say anything,” Pippiment said innocently.
“I could have sworn I heard something.”
“Hearing voiced is a sign of insanity,” Pippiment said.
“Are you saying I’m insane?” Nenipven shook the little dog slightly.
“I didn’t say anything, I told you!” Pippiment bared his teeth. “Now stop shaking me. People are staring.”
Nenipven looked around, but no one seemed to be looking at them. Everyone in the café was absorbed in their coffee or newspapers. The girl at the counter was still occasionally darting nervous glances his way, though, so he figured it was a good time to get out of there. He tucked Pippiment under his arm, and headed for the door. When he was almost there, it swung open violently and a short, animated woman almost ran him down.
“Oh, I am so sorry!” she exclaimed.
“No problem,” he said. “No harm done.”
She looked at Pippiment then. “Oh, what a cute little puppy dog! Can I pet him?”
He was about to say “sure”, but Pippiment beat him to the punch and squirmed out of Nenipven’s arms and launched himself at the woman. She caught him and begane scratching behind his ears. “You’re a friendly little guy, aren’t you?”
“Oh, he loves people,” Nenipven said.
“No, wait,” the woman suddenly cried. “Don’t throw that away!”
She ran towards a table a busboy was starting to clean, Pippiment still held in her arms. Nenipven stood and watched her snatch a napkin off the table, then return to where he was standing.
“Almost forgot this,” she laughed. “That would have been disastrous.”
“I’ll take your word for that,” Nenipven said. He stared at the napkin in the woman’s hand, which had a single black line across it. Something about that line pulled at the back of his memory. It was important. It was something he needed to keep track of. He smiled warmly at her, and this time he must have gotten it right, because instead of backing away, she smiled back.
“There’s a story to it,” she admitted.
“I would love to hear it,” he said.
She looked him up and down for a moment, before sticking out her hand. “Stephanie Feinton, journalist.”
“Ne…. Ned,” he said. “And this is Pippiment.”
“Pippiment,” she said, not seeming to notice his hesitation over his own name. “What an odd name!”
“Yes, well, my niece named him, and she’s only four. We think she might have meant Peppermint, and it just didn’t come out quite right, but we all decided Pippiment seemed to suit him.” The lie rolled easily off his tongue.
“It does suit him,” she said, handing the little dog back to him and pulling a card out of her purse. “Here’s my number. Give me a call sometime, and I’ll tell you the story behind the napkin.”
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