Ali

Victor warned him an hour before it happened. "Go to Los Angeles, Alistair. It's important."

Ali was used to Victor randomly appearing to him by now. "What for?"

"Trust me, you need to go." Victor was sitting on the chair by the writing desk, while Alistair lay sprawled across his bed. "You'll regret it if you don't."

Ali scoffed. "When have you ever given me reason to trust you?"

Victor leaned back, running his hand over his chin as if he were deep in thought. "Let's see...for one, I'm politely requesting that you go to Los Angeles instead of simply taking over your body and walking you there."

Ali raised his eyes from his iTouch and glared at Victor, who was making a pretty good case. The only choice Ali had right now was whether he wanted to go willingly or under the control of a piece of code in his head. "Fine. Let's go."

Victor chuckled in victory and dissipated into the air. Ali's thoughts immediately became clearer; he sighed and got up from the bed, stretching out his arms and legs.

Before he walked out the door, he took his backpack and filled it with most of the possessions in the room, making sure to cushion the time machine in layers of clothing. Something told him he wouldn't be coming back.

***

One hour later, Ali was grabbing a bite to eat at Starbucks when the screen in front of him, which had been broadcasting an episode of Minister, flickered and died.

The old-fashioned hanging lights were shaking. Everything was shaking. Ali gripped the table, feeling a sort of subdued panic. He knew he would be much more frightened if Victor hadn't told him to come here; Ali had to be safe from harm in Los Angeles.

But people were screaming, and the noise was overwhelming. Ali pulled his hood over his head, closing his eyes and trying to block out the deafening yells of people who thought they were going to die. He felt slightly sympathetic for them, more so for the people in Caltech who would...

Ali choked on his breath, trying hard not to think about all the students left in the dorms--no, they probably went home, it's Christmas--but he knew for a fact that Myrka was still there. The girl Polaris had borrowed clothes from. He hoped to God she was safe, even though he didn't know her, and even though he could have saved her.

I could have saved her. The shaking was quickly subsiding, and people were calming down. Relieved murmurs of "it must have been a minor earthquake" and "we're fine now, thank goodness" filled the room. But in the newfound quiet of the room, Ali's terror only grew. I could have saved her, and I didn't, just to protect myself.

Logically, it had been best to leave Myrka there. Had Ali taken her with him, she would be suspicious and possibly associate Ali with whoever had dropped the bombs. Bombs? The thought was new in his head, and it made perfect sense.

"Who was it, Victor?" he whispered.

A voice in his head replied: "The Rebels."

Ali felt a chill through his spine. Somehow, he'd known. "Can I go back?"

"If you wish."

Ali stood up and boarded the Loop again to return to the demolition that used to be Caltech.

Andromeda

Jack was running behind her, trying to catch up. She cursed inwardly; he was a lot faster than she'd expected. She boosted her speed, knowing she would be able to reach the helicopter before him if she kept running at this constant speed.

But her vision didn't map out the edge of a carpet until it was too late, and she tripped over the obstacle hidden in the dark, Jack skidding to a halt and collapsing on top of her.

He was holding her wrists to the ground, breathing heavily, and even as Andromeda struggled to break free, she knew that this was a battle she'd lost. She looked him in the eye evenly.

Through his panting, Jack grinned at her. "You're not the only one with mechanical limbs, Anne."

But I am the only one with a mechanical brain, she thought. She wiggled her wrists very slightly, edging them millimeter by millimeter out of Jack's grasp.

"I just--I just wanted to--my friend, she's a cyborg too--"

"Oh." Jack's grip relaxed considerably, and Andromeda shifted her arms to bring them down closer to her. She was almost there, almost free... "You could've just said so."

What?

"Let me get Ophelia. Janine leads in my stead; however dimwitted she is, they listen to her. We'll get your friend back."

Andromeda couldn't believe her ears. "You're serious?"

Jack shrugged. "Well, yeah. That's gotta be pretty scary, especially if your friend is out there on her own."

"Yeah," Andromeda murmured. She couldn't let her guard down. There was a chance Jack was bluffing.

His hands suddenly darted downward and grabbed her wrists again. He was still smiling. "Oh, and don't think I don't see what you're trying to pull. I'll help you save your cyborg friend if you agree to trust me, and if you agree not to underestimate my significant talent for detecting lying cyborgs." Jack let go of one wrist to poke her nose. "I'm not that dumb, silly."

Despite Jack's cheery exterior, he may well have been the most dangerous human being Andromeda had encountered in the year of 2117.

***

It turned out that sitting in a helicopter alone across from Ophelia was very awkward.

For Ophelia, at least. Andromeda may have just suffered a rare bout of irrationality, but she was still incapable of feeling awkwardness. In any case, she was too worried to think about the girl sitting next to her. None of Andromeda's texts were getting through to Polaris. She didn't appear to be online at all, and Andromeda was sure that by now, if Polaris was safe, she'd have found a place with WiFi and at least seen her texts.

She ran a system diagnostics check to keep herself from fidgeting too much. Andromeda's wrist turned out to have been jerked slightly out of alignment in her earlier fall, or perhaps in the explosion; she didn't know which, and she didn't care as she went through the procedure necessary to fix it.

Ophelia was silent next to her, braiding her long blonde hair. Every once in a while she would glance over at what Andromeda was doing, but apparently finding it uninteresting, she'd go back to braiding her hair in a different pattern while her brother piloted the aircraft.

Andromeda told herself that she was fine. Polaris was fine.

Ali

"This was yet another savage attack by the Rebel Alliance, targeting the technological and educational focus of our city. The fatalities were surprisingly little, considering the widespread area of demolition. Officials have no doubt that Caltech will be restored to its former glory very soon," the reporter announced, looking into the lens of a sleek, silver camera.

Maybe that was true. In 2217, Caltech looked as if it'd never been blown apart. But as Ali stood, surveying the damage, he found it impossible to believe.

Everything was gone. Blown to bits. Chunks of debris lay scattered among the trees, which were somehow still standing upright. What once was a magnificent building was now a graveyard of plaster and marble.

Ionizing bombs. Of course. They were not exactly "bombs" in the specific sense of the word, but they did enough damage that "bombs" was the generally accepted term. Using special forms of radiation, the Rebel Alliance had targeted only buildings and machinery, not organic beings. Only specific atoms were affected, specific configurations of molecules changed--but that was all it took to shatter the structure of a few buildings. In 2117, these weapons were still weak and under development. Yet in less than a century, Ali knew they would be able to literally dissolve their targets.

The Rebels must have been trying to set back the war efforts of devoted Caltech students; that explained why all the technology had been destroyed. So why were there fatalities at all? A single glance toward the dorms gave him his answer: the building had collapsed in on itself, crushing those inside it. And those on upper levels...well, they didn't stand a chance.

Ali moved toward what used to be the dormitory building. Ambulances were stationed around it; he prayed he wouldn't see Myrka, or Colton, or any familiar face there...

But as he neared the hospital beds, his stomach dropped, knowing he would not be so lucky. Lying on the bed nearest to him was Myrka. Her short, dark hair was splayed out behind her, brown eyes gazing unblinkingly into oblivion, hand hanging off the side of the contraption. Blood from a wound in her scalp soaked into the white covers of the bed.

As if he was watching the experience from outside his body, Ali reached forward and took Myrka's hand in his. He had never known her; he'd barely ever talked to her, outside of courteous "hello"s as they passed each other in the halls.

But she was real. She had been alive, and now she was not, and it was Ali's doing. With trembling fingers, he reached forward and gently closed her eyes for her. He allowed a tear to slide its way down his nose and drip to the ground.

"Were you a relative?" a nurse asked gently, placing a hand on Ali's back.

He realized what this must look like and jerked away, shaking his head. "No. A friend."

He walked away slowly, keeping his eyes on the rubbish in front of him, making sure not to trip. There was no truth in that statement, he thought. A friend. When had he ever been a friend?