The Perfect Run

When Vulcan said she had a second spot in her cockpit, Ryan thought he would have his own baby seat at the back. But as it turned out, the Genius was more fond of motorcycle designs than cars.

“People are gonna talk,” Ryan said, holding Vulcan by the waist with his chest against her back as the mech accelerated. The crazy woman had designed her cockpit like a motorbike, with screens and computer interfaces at the front. The bench seat did allow for two people inside, but Ryan had to lean on the pilot due to a lack of space.

If outsiders could watch them, they would probably find their current positions suspicious.

“Let them,” Vulcan replied. Due to the oceanic pressure, the mech had entered some sort of alternate mode to protect its weaker parts, contracting its joints, shielding the cameras, and using only sonars and thermal sensors for navigation. From outside, the armor must have looked like a bulky lump of metal. “I don’t give a shit.”

“Interesting choice of design though,” Ryan said, hearing the faint noise of the fusion reaction powering the suit. “Was that a personal preference or—”

“Dynamis’ elite soldiers are trained to target the center of mass,” Vulcan cut him off. Ryan had noticed that she was very fond of lording over her knowledge whenever the occasion presented itself. “Since most armor cockpits are located there, this means enemies usually shoot straight at your vitals in a fight. I used to overcompensate for that with thicker shielding, but that’s pretty limited when you fight someone who can bench press tanks.”

“Ah, I get it,” Ryan realized, as he felt the mech slow down. “With your current design, the cockpit is actually located between the shoulders, thus away from the area where most soldiers shoot at. This improves the chances of successful ejection in a pinch, but you must also cut down cockpit space to avoid making the frame unwieldy.”

“I use a neural interface to control most of the systems,” she replied, briefly putting a hand in her hair; Ryan noticed some kind of black cranial implant hidden below her bun. “This removes the need for systems in the cockpit, except emergency ones.”

Oh, so that explained how she could command her suit from afar. Ryan wondered about her range. “I suppose it’s an even trade in exchange for the close, uncomfortable physical proximity.”

“If you use your hands to feel me up, I’ll castrate you,” she warned him. “I can already feel your cock in my back. Gee, when you said you were easy, you weren’t kidding.”

“You don’t want me to upgrade the difficulty to hard mode right now.”

Vulcan chuckled at the dirty wordplay. Ryan couldn’t believe it, but the violent Genius was quite lovely when nobody threatened her fragile ego. “You’re fucking shameless,” she said. “And here I thought you loved that girl though.”

“I loved her once, yes,” Ryan admitted. “But that was a long, long time ago.”

Well, his devotion to Len had never wavered through the years, but Ryan no longer desired her romantically; he had been in romantic relationships in the past, all erased by time. At this point, the courier could settle for a friend, even an acquaintance who could recognize him. Someone with whom he could have a connection that would survive his endless travels across time, no matter how fragile.

All Ryan wanted was someone who could alleviate his loneliness. No more, no less.

The courier sighed. Moving kilometers below the sea gave him the blues. “Are we there yet?”

“Are you going to ask this every minute?”

“Yes, until we are there.”

“If you ask it again, you can say goodbye to another A-place,” she replied.

“Are you coming on to me?”

The Genius ignored him, the mech shaking. Ryan guessed that they must have landed somewhere. “Are we,” he started, Vulcan glaring at him over her shoulder, “friends yet?”

“You must have a death wish,” the Genius said, the cockpit’s ceiling shifting. “And as a matter of fact… we’re here.”

About time.

A hatch opened above the courier, alongside a mini-ladder. Ryan could see a red lamp outside the metal suit, enshrined inside a rusted ceiling, but little else.

“I’ll be waiting here, working on other stuff,” Vulcan said, as Ryan started climbing out of the cockpit. “Since you guys need some time alone. Just don’t take too long, or I’ll leave without you.”

“You would leave a major investment stranded miles below the sea?” Ryan mused, before nodding at the Genius. “Thanks.”

“You did your job, I did mine. I ain’t a fink, Ryan.”

“Well, I certainly appreciate a woman of her word.” It saddened Ryan a little since he might bypass all these fetch quests in the future, depending on how things turned out now. He would have to find a way to balance the scales.

courier climbed out of the mech, standing atop the

one big enough to house something as large as Vulcan’s suit; walls of steel surrounded Ryan, thick enough to withstand the undersea pressure outside. Vulcan’s machine stood with its boots in

door. No sooner did he approach it, that he heard a

the undersea airlock,

a small kitchen, and doors leading to what Ryan assumed to be

place smelled

Jamaican crab to sing a song when you need him?” Ryan whistled to himself, finding this place too silent for his liking. Yet he didn’t

tasty dishes straight from the sea: crabs, fishes, algae… a tube

Instead of a TV, the main room’s sofa faced a massive porthole allowing sitters to see the world outside; namely, an undersea abyss as dark as the blackest night. Strange fish looked on the other

courier noticed a pile of books on the table, including Vingt Mille Lieues sous les mers—the exact same book Len found in Venezia all those years before—alongside Karl Marx’s compiled Das Kapital, and Hegel’s Elements of the

Some things never changed.

next to that mini-library.

self-medication treatment

they came from other portholes in sphere-shaped structures, an egg nest at the

must have spent at least a year slowly building this place, going to New Rome when she needed specific technology she couldn’t manufacture herself. If each habitat was a self-sufficient apartment, then there was enough space to house hundreds

building

this place felt

was no personal touch, no warmth to it. All the accommodations were utilitarian, meant to cover a human being’s basic needs without any aestheticism whatsoever. Besides

open behind him, perhaps the bedroom’s

yet he could sense her eyes peering at his back. She didn’t dare say

courier said, looking over his

It was her.

She wore a brown diving suit, albeit not the towering armor as in the last loop, alongside some

although she was still small enough for him to tease her. Her teenage cuteness had blossomed into a true beauty, albeit one lessened by exhaustion and the pale complexion of her skin. She

to take a

but it was more sadness than joy. Her voice was music to Ryan’s ears, yet she sounded

he had long since buried through decades of time-looping. Happiness, and sadness too; she looked so terrible, her eyes blackened by tiredness and antidepressants, that it made Ryan feel guilty not to have

step back when she saw him move from his spot. He froze in place, confused, while the sofa

She wasn’t

hoped for, let alone expected. “It’s me.

know,” she

these words.

friend looked away,

as his reality

knew it was the only logical explanation. Ryan had made so many waves across Italy, he thought that if Len was alive, then she would have contacted him. If she didn’t, he believed it

accept the most likely

avoided

he had been shot in the gut. “Why? Why did you

with her voice; but her body spoke for

courier couldn’t believe it. “You’re afraid

said. “It’s just… your

recognized the symptoms, glancing at the pile of medications. Suddenly, it all started to make

head, “it’s done something to your mind. I can see it. You’re not… you’re not stable. Your behavior, it’s… it’s not that of

protested. “I

anything,” she accused the

“I—”

“You killed him.”

the undersea habitat,

Carnival to us,” Len accused him. “You didn’t pull the trigger, but you brought the

Ryan admitted. He had an eternity to ponder his choice. “And it had to be

these years had only worsened her social skills. He wondered if she had any people

years studying the nature of Genomes, trying to find a solution to the Psycho condition; see if I could have made it right. But there is no cure.