#and i truly don't believe that all those different historians are just hiding that for the fun of it

[thewritingpossum]

Ok so I'm far from being an expert on Byzantine history but the fact that Basil I really doesn't appear to have been Michel III's lover at all makes their relationship even more insane to me, dude really just proclaimed his ambitious bro who was awesome with horses co-emperor and expected things to go well for him in the long term…In a society where coups happened all the damn time…Alright Michel alright…

[thosearentcrimes]

In a recent conversation I recalled the narrative device, particularly common to the more tediously moralistic Westerns, of the upright sheriff or other lawman. Specifically, the one who confronts a lynch mob intent on murdering his charge, seeking by reason or failing that by threat of arms to convince the crowd to await the course of lawful justice. What a heroic figure he puts up, willing to risk his very life to save that of the accused, knowing that by the standards of law the man who is jailed is yet considered innocent, and even were he not so that it is only the law and not public hatred that can condemn him. Truly it is not by acts of legislative bodies, but by the fearless conduct of those who defend it, that the law has any force.

As a testament to the enduring power of this narrative, consider the (extraordinarily poorly conceived) Wikipedia List of Lynching Victims in the United States. There we learn that at least six "law officers" were killed attempting to protect their prisoners from lynch mobs, three of whom succeeded. How are these claims sourced, because presumably that number comes from somewhere concrete, right, there's got to be six discrete referenced persons involved there? Well, there are two references, both linking to creative writing repository Officer Down Memorial Page. Well, this isn't starting well.

The first reference is frankly obviously fake. There is no other mention of this alleged deputy sheriff anywhere on the internet that doesn't track back to this one blatant fabrication. The other is either real or an enterprising local historian has spent a decent but not impossible amount of time fabricating sources to support the story of a lynch mob murdering a prisoner along with a sheriff and deputy transporting them to court. This account is credible enough, so I suppose we have 2/6, and absolutely no documentation of the claim of victims saved. Well, that's still better than expected, from the encyclopedia anyone can edit.

I hope we are all a little bit too smart and too cynical to really believe in the justice of the system the lawman embodies. The crowd shouldn't decide on guilt, instead 12 randomly selected members of it should. Well, I don't see how that helps matters. The imposition of the monopoly on violence in the otherwise lawless United States was probably good and reduced the rate of violence significantly, don't get me wrong. But that doesn't change the fact that the police cannot necessarily be distinguished from a gang. When a gang imposes its monopoly on violence, the rate of violence falls also.

But aside from any denunciations of the bourgeois state and its institutions, any ruminations on the absurdities of the criminal justice system, the sheriff bravely dying in "defense" of his captive is horrifying on its own terms. If he cared the least bit for the health of his charge, upon hearing of the formation of a lynch mob he would set him free and endeavor to hide him. In reality, of course, he almost certainly wants the same thing the mob does, he just wants it his way.

Consider the jailors, orders of magnitude more numerous, who have abandoned their posts, left their caged prisoners to their brutal fates at the hands of the mob. They are far more responsible for the murder, in their apprehension and incarceration of the victim, than most members of the mob. If the jailor is not a murderer, shall we say the person who ties the rope is not one either? But to the victim, what is the difference between the coward and the hero? Sometimes, perhaps, the hero does manage to talk down the crowd, which then duly takes its place in the jury box and lynches the victim with the force of law, if everything goes right.

[qqueenofhades]

Omg I'm the original anon that asked you for Lucy/Flynn smut and IT'S BECOME THE GLORIOUS TRASH SAGA I DON'T BELIEVE IT. Bless you and also your cow. Also, er. More?

you are most welcome, this is officially an actual fic, i was just trying to write smut, why did i do this, why, why couldn’t the plot butt out and leave me in peace, whyyyyy – the trash saga of flynn and lucy is ruining my life k

It’s a long way through the dark forest on the back of ahorse, jouncing and jolting, until Lucy is thinking that she doesn’t care wherethey are going, so much as when they will arrive, and she can get the hell off.She is not the most gifted equestrienne in the world, as proven when they weretracking Flynn and Jesse James, and besides, she wants some answers. It occursto her that that mission was the one where Flynn found Emma hiding out in thewoods, and yet Emma’s clearly calling the shots now. Lucy still hasn’tfigured out who exactly their mysterious rescuers are. Their accents are modernAmerican – if she hadn’t guessed it by their unsurprised reaction tothe Lifeboat, these are definitely not local nineteenth-century GoodSamaritans deciding to charitably help out two lost women and a child. Theymust be those emergency contacts Emma was talking about, more Mason Industriespeople, strategically implanted to help stranded time travelers get home. ButLucy has good reason to want to stay away from Mason Industries, and is alreadystarting to wonder just what the odds are of some of Emma’s cohorts justhappening to be here, exactly when they need them. History, after all, is a very big place.

At last, they canter through a torchlit gate and up to astately country house, surrounded on all sides by forest and outbuildings –Maryland, after all, is just south of the Mason-Dixon line, and stillofficially a slave state, though its free black population is rapidly growingand in another few decades, Lincoln will force it to remain in the Union duringthe Civil War. If, of course, the Civil War even still happens as it’s supposedto. Lucy, the Lincoln historian, is well aware of this, but this wholesituation is reminding her of a rather different adventure, and she’s not sureshe likes it. As the man she’s been riding with helps her down, she glancesacross to see Emma leaping off her own horse and taking hold of Iris.“I’ll see to her, Lucy. You’ve done enough. Go inside and get warm.”

Lucy hesitates. “I want her to come with me.”

“Lady Preston?” Her escort touches her elbow. “The girl willbe fine. We really have been waiting to speak with you.”

Lady Preston? Thatis even more eyebrow-raising than ma’am, andmaybe these guys are just going native after however long in the nineteenthcentury. Still, Lucy is starting tothink that another night at the boarding house would not have been the worstthing in the world. Hopefully they can get the Lifeboat fixed ASAP, because shewants out of here, bad. Then, of course, she remembers that she can’t. She’sstuck.

At any rate, there are at least six of them, they all haveguns, and a doctorate from Stanford, while an objectively valuable life accomplishment,doesn’t provide many useful skills in terms of punching your way out of tight corners.That is decidedly Wyatt and Flynn’s department, and they, of course, are nothere. Seeing nothing for it, Lucy follows the men inside.

The mansion is well appointed for a house in the middle ofnowhere, lux and comfortable, but that’s not the first thing Lucy notices.There are security cameras, some kind of blinking doodad (she is alsonot the person to ask about this kind of thing, that is Rufus’s lookout) thatmust run on organic renewable energy of some kind, since there’s no electricalgrid to power them. Lucy is shown through a set of double doors and into asitting room, and at herentrance, a sandy-haired man in his mid-forties turns around and smilesbroadly. “Lady Preston! It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Wh…” Lucy stares at him, completely lost. “Wh – do weknow – ”

“You saved my life thirty-four years ago, when I was just aboy. And you look exactly the same, so…” He waves a hand at the room. “Asyou can see, and given the fact that you’re here, it’s true. We’ve built abetter clock. And we owe it all to you, my lady. Truly, you are the queen andfounding mother of our order, and I promise, everything will be put right.”

At that, in one final, horrible moment, it crashes intoplace. Lucy feels as if the bottom has dropped out from her world, again, asshe stares at him. “John,” she breathes. “John Rittenhouse.”

He appears genuinely pleased that she remembers him.“Indeed. You stopped the madman who murdered my father in cold blood fromkilling me, and I have never forgotten it. Your bravery, or, dare I say, yourbeauty. I dedicated myself to carrying on my father’s work, in honor of hismemory. And meeting these good gentlemen – ” he indicates the men – the agents– the Rittenhouse agents – “was proof of the theorem. We will, or shortly atany rate, have a fully functional time machine. I cannot wait to travel to thefuture, to see it for myself. Everything we’ve worked for, at last. Our legacy.Mine and yours.”

His face is glowing with ardency and belief. Lucy wants tobe sick. “It’s not my legacy!” she snarls. “I don’t want anything to do withit!”

John Rittenhouse is puzzled. “Of course it’s your legacy.You’re the reason any of it was possible. Perhaps it’s destiny, Lucy. Thatwe’ve met again at last. But then, we worked very hard to make it happen. Itwasn’t easy. You’ve been difficult to get hold of.”

Lucy grips the back of the davenport until her knuckles gowhite. “Emma,” she says, stomach heaving. “Emma is – has been – a Rittenhouseagent. This entire time.”

“Of course she has.” John smiles again. “Our best andbrightest, the only one we thought capable of the strength and guile it wouldtake to pull this off. She convinced the madman to come here, you know. To thisyear, this place. She knew he would not be able to resist the lure of FortMcHenry – such a tiny, insignificant piece, given the larger goal. The pointwas, we knew you’d follow him. And circumstances were arranged, arranged sobeautifully, so that you would choose to send your protectors away at last, andhave no choice but to come to us alone. The beauty, the precision, theelegance. See, Lucy? See?”

She does. Thisis a trap to which even the word Machiavelliandoes no justice. Flynn didn’t erase her. Rittenhouse did. Everything thathas happened in 1814 has been because of Rittenhouse maneuvering to get her onher own, away from the men, here with John who is clearly more than halfconvinced that they’ll get married and rule the world together, with theLifeboat already in their hands and the Mothership about to be as well by thesounds of things, with her rendered utterly dependent on them for her futureexistence. This is so beyond bad that it isn’t even catastrophic. It isapocalyptic.

“You look pale, my dear,” John goes on, when Lucy saysnothing. “Sit down. I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

“I-don’t-want-your-fucking-tea.”She’d throw it in his face. She is so far beyond angry that it is boilingin her very bones. Iris. Oh God. Iris, where is Iris? She’s delivered herdirectly into the jaws of the serpent. All Emma’s odd questionsabout how long Lucy has been sleeping with Flynn, and whether she might getpregnant, likewise make sickening sense. David Rittenhouse was also nastilyinterested in whether she had reproduced yet, and was certainly planning toassist her in that aim. Emma was scouting out to make sure that Lucy wouldn’tturn up here accidentally expecting Time Terrorist Junior. Bit of an awkwardsituation if she’s supposed to be the Bride of Rittenhouse, and breed asuper-race of crazy cultist clockmakers with a side hobby of worlddomination. Jesus, fucking, Christ.

John frowns. He still seems slightly baffled that she isn’trushing to thank him for all this. “Now, Lucy,” he says, in abe-gentle-with-the-mental-patient sort of voice. “I know you’ve been livingwith our enemies for quite a while, and of course you have a distorted view ofour aims and activities. I do need you to not to attempt anything foolish whilewe’re getting everything into place. I’m sure you’ll come around, of course,but it’s delicate, so – ”

“I will not.” Lucy is actually seeing red. “I am neverjoining you.”

John smiles patronizingly. “Yes,” he says. “Of course youwill.”

If there is one thing Lucy Preston hates, it’s people – men – knowingher future, or thinking they do, and trying to force it on her accordingly. Shereaches stealthily behind her for the heavy branched candelabra on thesideboard. As John takes a step toward her, raising a hand as if to caress hercheek, Lucy rips it up and slams him over the head with it, hard as shepossibly can.

He yelps and staggers, blood spurting from a gash on hisforehead, momentarily blinded by the scalding candle wax, and Lucy runs for it.“Iris? IRIS!” She races down the corridor, realizing that she is about tobecome a horse thief, and nowhere is far enough for her to go, not when theLifeboat’s dead and she doesn’t know how to pilot it anyway. Maybe ridehell-for-leather to Fort McHenry again and try to get Cochrane to shield her,with no answers about where Flynn’s gone or even who he really was. Oh God. OhGod oh God oh God. “IRIS!”

She sprints around the corner and headlong into fourRittenhouse agents coming the other way. They grab her by the arms and hoisther off her feet as she kicks and curses at them, struggling and spitting, andhaul her down the corridor to a door at the end. It opens into a narrow backroom, one of them unbars a trapdoor in the floor, and dumps Lucy into somethingthat looks like a root cellar – a tiny, dingy, dark bolthole. The grate slamsdown, and locks.

Panic sears Lucy’s throat, twisting her in half. She’strapped. Oh God, oh God she’strapped, she is in that coffin in the Murder Castle and H.H. Holmes issharpening his knives, and there is even no oracle for her to play to beguileherself out. She screams and claws at the trapdoor, bloodying herfingers, crawling in a circle. The walls, the walls are devouring her. She’susing up her air. Her chest jerks and shudders. There is not enough space.She’s going to die in here.

Think, Lucy. Think. You’restronger than this. You are more than your fear. Get a grip. Logic. Sense.Reason. Lists. Lists are good. How about the presidents? Recite the presidentsin order.

George Washington.

She met him, God, she met him, thirty-four years ago when hewanted Benedict Arnold caught, and then she saved John Rittenhouse’s life –

John Adams.

Thomas Jefferson.

She saved him in 1787, when she chained Flynn to a bed tostop him from going after the Constitutional Convention – remembers thatJefferson was an admirer of David Rittenhouse, he was another one, another one–

James Madison.

He’s president right now, but it’s changed, it’s all changed–

James Monroe.

John Quincy Adams.

Andrew Jackson.

The Trail of Tears. They were there. They were there, shesaw it, Jackson did that, Rittenhouse whispering in his ear. This used to be asterile, comforting recitation of established facts for Lucy, her solace andher happy place, theories and arguments and books. But now it is a wild,chaotic, terrifying swirl of unsettled scales and change and catastrophe, herown culpability in it wondering if any choice she has ever made mattered, orit’s still led her to this. Has shebeen saving history, or saving Rittenhouse? Is John right? Queen and founding mother of our order.

You, Lucy, thedarkness whispers to her.

You.

You.

You.

Lucy drifts into an exhausted, miserable doze eventually,from which she is jerked by the trapdoor rattling and aspear of sunlight falling on her face, feeling like a mushroom shut up too longin the dark. She squints and grimaces as rough hands haul her out; she wants tofight, but her legs are rubbery, she’s starving and trembling and stillterrified, and she needs to pick her moment carefully. She puts up noresistance as they march her off to a drawing room where she sees clothes laidout that are clearly at least a decade ahead of 1814. So they’replanning to travel. Did Emma fix the Lifeboat? What the –

Lucy struggles out of her filthy clothes and into the newones, because yes, she is going to keep an eye on these assholes somehow. Howexactly she plans to do that, she’s not sure, given that she’s still convincedthat she’ll be erased if she tries to leave this year. But if the restrictiononly applies to her present lifetime – i.e. she can’t go anywhere between1983-2017, because she does not exist when she was supposed to, but she canstill move around the past – then that might be less of a problem. Ghost in the machine, she thinks.Forever exiled from her own time, banging aimlessly around history, without anyhome or place to settle for long. Once it might have sounded like a dream cometrue. Now it’s nothing but an unending, impossible nightmare.

Once she’s made herself look less of a disaster, shestraightens her back, locks her knees, and opens the door to find Emma standingon the other side of it, clearly waiting for her. “Wow,” Lucy spits at her.“Thanks for saving us. Man, we’re in your debt.”

Emma shrugs. “I did save us, so you’re welcome. Come on,John’s waiting.”

“What is this? Our freaky cultist marriage ceremony?” Lucyrears back. “Don’t think for a secondthat I’m going to – ”

“No, he’d rather marry you when you want to. It’s a bitpathetic, but he is honestly rather in love with you, and thinks you’ll changeyour mind. No, we have another trip to make first. I’ve gotten the Lifeboatenough gas to make one short-term jump, but that’s all it needs to do. We’regoing to 1829 to get the Mothership.”

“1829?” Lucy stares at her. “What makes you think it’s goingto be there?”

“Oh,” Emma says. “I think it’ll be there.”

“What did you – ”

Lucy takes a furious step, but the clunk of a gun beingcocked stops her. “Close enough, Preston.” Emma’s voice is cool and low anddangerous. “Trust me, I don’t want to shoot you. It would make the higher-upsvery mad, especially John. But I wouldn’t press your luck.”

Lucy stares back at her with utter and complete contempt.“Wow,” she says again, after a moment. “You’re a true believer, aren’t you?Some of the other members, they must just use Rittenhouse for money or power orconnections or whatever else, but you, no. You’re a zealot. You actually buyinto everything they want to do, no matter the cost. No wonder they chose youto get in with Flynn, make him work with you.”

“Like that was hard,” Emma says, beckoning Lucy with thegun. “Just keep telling him how awful Rittenhouse was, how I’d do anything tobring it down, how I had so much proof of their depravity to give him. He ateit up. He’s not nearly as smart as he thinks he is, by the way. Mind you, therewere a few times when I thought he might cotton onto me, but he didn’t want to kill me – especially afterAnthony, and especially since he’d have no pilot – and I used that to myadvantage. Remember when you thought I was sleeping with him? That wasamusing.  I did consider whether I mighthave to try to seduce him, if he got too many ideas about getting rid of me.But it wouldn’t have worked. I’m pretty sure you’re the only woman he everactually thinks about, no matter all his talk about doing this for his wife anddaughter. Reads your stupid journal all the time. Thought you could doanything. So this is going to really sting, won’t it?”

Lucy wants to kill her, but they have reached the main hall,a bruised and black-eyed John Rittenhouse is waiting for them, and makes her acordial bow, apparently not holding too much of a grudge for the candelabraincident last night. “Lucy! Are you ready?”

“I think I preferred LadyPreston,” Lucy growls under her breath, ignoring his offered arm. She isterrified to ask where Iris is – no way they’re wasting that much of a valuablehostage, she is most likely still alive, but for how long? “And why are wegoing to 1829?”

“Well,” John says. He looks like a kid in a candy store.“It’s my first trip forward, and this is the year, so I’m told, that one AndrewJackson becomes president. He’s one of ours. We’re traveling to March 4, 1829 –the day he’s sworn in. And it’s the meeting. The Rittenhouse meeting.”

“What meeting?”

“Our quad-centennial meeting. The last one was in 1804, justafter the Louisiana Purchase – Jefferson was also one of ours, by the way. Ithappens every twenty-five years. And given that we are going to acquire theMothership at this one, I think it’s especially vital that I attend in person,so we can map out how history goes forward from such a pivotal moment. You are,of course, welcome to help me, if you understand what your true identity is.”

Lucy gives him a demure, closed-mouth smile. Inside, hermind is racing. They must have found a way to make contact with Flynn, Wyatt,and Rufus in 2017, order them to travel to 1829 to meet them, and surrender the Mothership. This of course is the worst possibleoutcome. Maybe they won’t come. Maybe they can be persuaded to stay away, inthe name of the larger cause.

So, at least, Lucy hopes vainly for a few seconds. Shedoesn’t want to die as a martyr, butshe also can’t rule out the idea, if it means Rittenhouse won’t becomeall-powerful. Then she considers what the odds are that the terrible threesome,much as they may hate each other, won’t absolutelydrop everything and go barreling through history if she’s in danger. No matterthe cost. No matter the risk.

“Slim” is not a kind enough word for it.

——————

“Washington D.C., March 4, 1829.” Rufus stares at the screen. “That’s when these mysteriouscomputer-crashing gremlins want us to go with the Mothership, or ‘they’ die.And is this way too much of a stretch, or does anyone else get the feeling thatthat means Lucy, Iris, and Emma?”

There’s a loud curse and a crash behind him, and he whirlsto see that Flynn has just kicked over a display of middle-grade children’schapterbooks, at which there is no question of them remaining further in thelibrary. They grab their things and speed out chased by a flock of furiousmiddle-aged women, Rufus and Wyatt dragging Flynn between them, and into thedark parking lot. They barely get across it before they all start yelling ateach other at once.

“I should have known this was some kind of trick! By them!By Rittenhouse!” Flynn looks quite honestly deranged. “Now they’ll kill mydaughter again, all because we left them behind in the past by themselves,without – ”

“YEAH, FLYNN, MAYBE IF YOU HADN’T FUCKIN’ ERASED LUCY, WE WOULDN’T HAVE THISPROBLEM!” Wyatt is 0.00001 seconds away from breaking his promise to her andthrottling the life out of certain utterly insufferable tall, dark, and EasternEuropean prize-winning douchenozzles with his bare hands, and Rufus looks as ifhe’s thinking about helping. “You forget that part, huh? About how this is all your fault?”

Flynn raises his hands to his face and drops them. Hebreathes like a tempest, struggling to control himself. He whirls on a heel,storms to the end of the alley, stops, and stares up at the heavens, clearlywondering why he can’t just be smote down now and put an end to it. Then heturns and walks back, with far more control than he evidently feels. “Rightthen, soldier,” he says, vicious with mockery. “What’s your plan for the situation?”

Wyatt wants to know why it’s him to solve this heaping helping of shit sandwich that Garcia“Still The Worst” Flynn has loaded onto their plates, but there is only onepossible answer. “We have to go. We have to rescue Lucy. I – we – we can’t loseher. We can’t let this happen.”

“Man, you know I want the same thing,” Rufus says. “But – give Rittenhouse the Mothership? Wyatt,we – all of us – care about Lucy. In our own ways. I think it’s the only thingwe all have in common, in fact. But if we land there, they’ll be on us likewhite on rice. You know how bad it would be.”

“You can’t be seriously suggesting that we don’t save Lucy.”

“I’m not. I’m suggesting we be smart about it.” Rufus looks nervous but resolute. “Before somebody who I won’t mentionkidnapped Anthony, he was working on something that was exactly intended toprevent the Mothership from being stolen. A second layer of safeguard. It was aprogram that would lock the controls and put the Mothership on autopilot – aremote retrieval, basically, so if the human pilot died on a mission, we couldlog into its computer from the present and still drive it home by itself. Idon’t think he finished it, so we didn’t have time to install it beforeSomeone, still not mentioning him, did his thing. I might have been able topatch it in from the Lifeboat, but Someone,still not mentioning him, also happenedto cut the cord between the Lifeboat and the Mothership. And we don’t havethe Lifeboat, anyway.”

“So?” Flynn growls, clearly vastly chafed by thispassive-aggressive (barely passive, anyway) shade-throwing. “What good doesthat do us?”

“This.” Rufus lifts his chin. “If I can get that softwareand install it on the Mothership, I can lock its pilot console. I’d stay here in2017 and drive you guys remotely into 1829 like an underwater deep-sea robot.That way, even if Rittenhouse did get their hands on it, they wouldn’t be ableto use it. The only way it would run was if I pulled you out. They could sit init all and press all the buttons they wanted, but only another expert-levelpilot would be able to override it, and Rittenhouse doesn’t have one of those.”

“Split up again?” Wyattrepeats incredulously. “After how well the last time went?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“And how do we get the software, anyway?”

“Well,” Rufus says, scratching his ear. “That’s the trickypart.”

“Oh,” Flynn murmurs witheringly. “That’s the tricky part.”

“Shut up, Flynn.” Wyatt looks back at Rufus, eyes wideningas it hits him. “Shit. It’s in Mason Industries, isn’t it? Probably buried deepin some encrypted server, and only you know how to get it out. But you mightnot even work there anymore, so who’s getting us inside the – ”

He pauses. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Rufus says grimly. “Gotta convince Jiya to fall forme and take a chance on smuggling a perfect stranger into her top-secretworkplace to steal a bit of dangerous code for a time machine in what, fiveminutes? Should be a gas.”

It’s about thirty minutes later, in fact, when they’re backon Jiya’s doorstep – Flynn loudly protesting this plan and insisting they justtake the damn place by storm like he did last time, Wyatt making equally loudcomments that of course the terrorist thinks that is a good idea – and both ofthem shutting up on the spot when Jiya opens the door, sees them, and starts toslam it. “What? I told you weirdoes to get lost!”

“Jiya.” Rufus has wedged his foot in the door, and grimaceswhen it hits it, but doesn’t budge. “Look. I know this is incredibly bizarreand I can’t explain it, but… let’s just say that I know what Connor Masonwas working on, and so do you. We both know that it was possible that if it wasused, we’d come back and the world might be… different. Well, we have, andit’s important,  and a friend of ours isreally in danger. I know you don’t remember her either, but her name is Lucy.You like her. We all do.”

Jiya frowns at him, but slightly less certainly than before.“How do you know about Mason – ”

“Because I work there,” Rufus says. “In the other timeline.And in that timeline, like I said, we… well… we’re sort of, you know.Together. You love Indian food and you have this Twitter account where you sayall these incredibly smart and funny things, and you’re bitchin’ at like, allthe video games but especially Assassin’sCreed, and the best vacation you ever took was to that tech convention inTokyo in 2014 where it rained the whole time and you just got to wander aroundand test all the gizmos. You’re such a nerd and you’re always changing up yournail polish and you secretly love sappy movies and cry every time the dog dies,because you have the biggest heart of anyone I know and I… I don’t deserveyou. I never really have. But you still like me for some reason, and I.” Heswallows. “I… sort of… love you.”

Wyatt and Flynn glance at each other, without meaning to.

Jiya blinks, clearly startled. She opens and shuts her mouthas Rufus continues to stand there, gazing at her with desperate hope. “And,” hegoes on. “I know you have no reason to, but I need you to believe me, and Ineed you to help us. We need to get into Mason Industries. Tonight.”

Jiya blinks again, rubbing her eyes as if hoping to wake upfrom this dream. She starts to look away, but he doesn’t. “I…”

“Look, girl!” Flynn takes a step, but Wyatt throws out anarm to catch him smartly across the chest. “It’s important!”

Jiya surveys them for a few moments, up and down. She bitesher lip. Then, and all at once, she turns around. “Okay,” she says, barelyabove a whisper. “I’ll get my keys.”

—————

“Rufus, you’re a badass,” Wyatt mutters, as they pull up infront of Mason Industries in Jiya’s car, step out, and wait tensely as sheswipes them in with her ID card. Even in this reality where they’re not wantedcriminals, it feels ludicrously exposed to be strolling in like this, and allof them flinch as the cameras swivel over. “How long is this going to take?”

“Shouldn’t be too long. Breaking the decrypt is the hardestpart.” Rufus takes a deep breath as they follow Jiya inside the gloomy steelwarehouse. “Then, well, the software is kind of, that is, it is very much is in beta, so – ”

“Now you’retelling us this?” Wyatt stops in his tracks. “No. None of this remote-retrievalbusiness.  It’s too dangerous. You comewith us. I’m not losing you either.”

“No!” Rufus stares back at him fiercely. “Listen to me!Wyatt, you know we can’t let Rittenhouse have the Mothership, and we can’t racein there like idiots, just like they’re hoping we will, to save the womenwithout thinking of the consequences! Besides, if God forbid something does gowrong and you have to get home in the Lifeboat, it only fits three people,remember? One of us has to stay behind so there’s a spot for Lucy! It comesdown to this. Do you trust me to do my job or not?”

“Of course I trust you. That’s why I don’t want to leaveyou!”

“Then that’s why you have to.” Rufus remains unyielding. “IfI can get this patched in, I am the only one who can drive the Mothership, andthat means I have to do it on autopilot, from here. Otherwise it won’t work.This way, you and him go, breakheads, and get things straightened out so Lucy can come home. Istay here and pull you out. Yeah, you bastard, even you,” he adds, raising hisvoice and looking pointedly at Flynn. “Believe me, I’d like nothing better thanto leave you behind, but she seems to see some redeeming qualities in you. Noclue what those are. So you still get a ride back. Don’t make me regret it.”

“If you stay here to drive the autopilot,” Wyatt saysquietly, “and the timeline switches back to ours, you could be sittingin a roomful of Rittenhouse agents.”

Rufus considers. Then he says calmly, “Fine. I’ll take thatrisk. And drive you somewhere away from here. If I go down, you three keepfighting.”

Wyatt looks at him helplessly. Then Flynn calls, “If you twoare not going to make out, perhaps you could get on with what we came here todo?”

Rufus swears under his breath, turns to the terminal, andboots it up, overriding its login screen in about half an instant. Jiya’s eyesgo wide as his fingers fly over the keys. “You… you really do work here,don’t you?”

“Told you.” Rufus enters a few commands, deletes them whenthey don’t work, and starts running some kind of complicated algorithm. Ittakes him a while to locate the program, which is only half-finished, and thencompile the extra code, as Wyatt and Flynn are getting antsy. He tries a few launches,which don’t work. Jiya suggests something, and he tries that instead. Wyatt andFlynn are practically climbing the walls. Then at last, with a whoosh and aflash and a pop of bent space-time,the Mothership whirls into existence on the launch pad in front of them. Wyattbriefly wonders if there is a second Mothershipand Lifeboat here in this timeline, and then decides he would rather not gointo that. His head hurts enough as it is.

“Yes!” Rufus crows, punching the air, as he finishes theexecute command, copies the program onto a drive, and goes up the steps tocheck that it’s been properly implanted. Once it is installed, the Mothershipcan only be driven from this computer bank here. God, Wyatt hopes that theuniverse does not choose this moment for technical difficulties. The entirereason they’re running this risk, after all, is so they can stand a chance ofwinning the battle (rescuing Lucy) and not losing the whole war (lettingRittenhouse get their hands on the damn thing and torch history even morespectacularly than Flynn – much as he hates the son of a bitch, Wyatt knows bynow he’s not the worst thing out there, not by a long shot). This will work, ithas to. Maybe. Maybe.

“Okay,” Rufus says. “It’s installed. We don’t have time fortests, but I think it’s running properly. So if you two can not kill each otherbefore you get there, that would be good.”

Wyatt considers that just him and Flynn alone in a timemachine is going to be very, very interesting. Too much so, in fact. But theyhave to get to March 4th, 1829. They have to. It’s screaming in hishead – and again, no matter what he thinks of Flynn, it’s clear that he’sfrantic too. For his daughter, yes. But also for Lucy. Not that Wyatt hasforgiven him at all for getting them into this situation, but at least there’sthat.

Wyatt and Rufus clap each other hard on the shoulder, awarethat if this goes wrong, this might be the last time they see each other. ThenWyatt and Flynn go up the stairs of the Mothership, strap in, and stare at eachother in tense silence, as the door cycles shut. On the video screen, they seeRufus return to the command chair and start up the launch. He raises a hand. Good luck.

We who are about todie salute you, Wyatt thinks. He pulls the seatbelt tighter. If thisdoesn’t work, he’s killing Flynn. It won’t fix it, but it’ll make him feelbetter.

The lights flash. The engine revs. Wyatt looks back. Justonce.

Then the world is gone.

—————–

March 4th, 1829, in Washington D.C. is a festiveoccasion, red-white-and-blue bunting strung up everywhere and onlookers turningout to crowd the streets, newspapers and souvenirs being flogged as at anypublic event and plenty of optimism that President Andrew Jackson is just theman to get the damn redcoats out of the chunk of New England they have beensquatting in for the past fifteen years, ever since the fall of Fort McHenryand the sporadic, ongoing battles to chase them out. This is strange enoughthat it almost gives Lucy vertigo, even as she can’t help thinking that if theNorth is still partially under British occupation and control, there is no wayit’s going to be able to get its act together for the Civil War in another fewdecades. Is that what happens? The Union loses? Oh Jesus.

She is keeping a sharp eye out for her chance to get awayfrom John and Emma, as she has no intention of attending this Rittenhousemeeting with them. John is absolutely delighted by everything – if this is howhe feels going just fifteen years ahead of his own time, Lucy thinks, he’d befloored by her future. Not, of course, that she intends to let him get there. Sheremembers her own delight at first beholding the past in the flesh, in fullcolor, and then pushes it away. John is so happy because he thinks he’s finallyon the verge of controlling it. Of dominating it. Putting all those hands ofthe clock exactly where he wants them.

It takes Lucy a bit, but once they’re in the crowds by themuddy road, waiting to see President Jackson ride by in his carriageto the grandstand, she finally manages to give her companions the slip. Duckslow, shooting out the back of the crowd and starting to move. She doesn’t know exactly where she’s going, but if Rittenhouse put outsome kind of lure to get the boys here, they’ll be arriving soon.They’re not going to leave her behind, for better or worse. But they also don’tknow just how monstrous of a trap this is.

She can’t exactly ask anyone if they’ve seen a glowingfuturistic white orb recently, so she isn’t sure what the quickest way to findthem is. She doesn’t have much time; John and Emma must have noticed herabsence by now. She searches up and down, heart hammering. Thisis insane, this is insane, there’s absolutely no chance that she’s going tojust –

“Lucy?”

She really does stop breathing at that. Whirls around, lockseyes with Wyatt, who clearly can’t believe what they’re telling him, and theyremain frozen for an instant longer. Then they rush at each other, throwthemselves into each other’s arms, and hug the breath out of each other intotal disbelief, talking over each other. Lucy is trying to explain to him thatapparently she can travel, just not back to the present, and he’s babblingsomething about how much history has changed in said present, and then sherecovers herself and remembers the important point. “Flynn. Where’s Flynn?Where’s Rufus? Did you three figure out how to – Wyatt, listen, it wasn’t Flynnwho erased me. It was Rittenhouse.”

Wyatt stares at her with creased brow. “What are you talkingabout?”

“Rittenhouse. John Rittenhouse, Emma tricked Flynn intogoing to 1814 so he could get his hands on me. It’s a trap, it’s all a trap.”Lucy’s words are spilling over each other, not making much sense. “She’sRittenhouse, she’s a double agent, she’s been working for them the whole time.John knows, the whole time he’s been planning for this, for – ”

Wyatt continues to stare at her in incomprehension. But atthat, his gaze flares with shock. “What? Emma?Emma Whitmore? She’s a traitor,she –?”

“Yes.” Lucy grips his jacket. “It was all a plan to get meaway from you and Flynn and Rufus. We have to go, we have to find her, we – ”

“We met her,” Wyatt says. His face has gone white. “Jesus,we met her. Coming in, right after we landed. Told her to head back to theMothership and wait for us there. What – Jesus,are you saying – ”

“Where’s Rufus?” Lucy’s voice almost rises to a scream.“Where’s Flynn?”

“Rufus stayed behind. In 2017. Long story. Flynn – ” Wyattstops. “He was with me when we landed, I don’t – Lucy, if Emma’s Rittenhouse, we told her where the Mothership is – ”

They stare at each other a moment longer.Then they whirl and run.

It’s a torturous sprint out of the crowded city.Lucy doesn’t know how they can be here if Rufus isn’t – neither Wyatt nor Flynncan pilot the machines themselves, after all – but that appears to be aquestion for later. They veer and dodge and hurtle and run harder, untilthey finally blast into the treed grove where the Mothership must have landed.And do so just in time to see Emma Whitmore point her gun, pull the trigger,and hear the shot go off like thunder.

Garcia Flynn staggers, blood blooming on his shoulder, but he still tries to charge her. Emma shoots again. “That, by the way,”she yells, “is from Lucy. She was the one who handed Iris over to us, you know.So I’m sure you’ll have a lot to talkabout.”

Flynn roars, even as Emma vanishes inside the Mothership andthe door cycles shut. He runs toward it, grabbing it, as if he’ll keep it therewith his bare hands – even though if it jumps when he’s still holding it, he’llbe scraped gruesomely out of existence worse than being dragged by a freighttrain. It’s only Lucy’s scream that makes him turn his head. “NO!”

Startled, he lets go, as Wyatt jumps past, draws his gun,and starts firing. Bullets pop and bang off the hull – if he can shoot it likeFlynn’s goons did to the Lifeboat in 1754, disable it – Emma shouldn’t be ableto drive it – but what did Rufus say? Onlyanother expert-level pilot would be able to override it, and Rittenhousedoesn’t have one of those. Except, of course, they do. Emma knows it possiblyeven better than he does. If she overrides it, if she jumps –

The flaw in the plan, Wyattthinks madly. And holy shit, what aflaw.

He gets a shot off, close to the Mothership’s mainmotivator. It’s taking Emma longer than usual to launch; it’s clearthat even she can’t get around the autopilot lock immediately, and Wyatt feelsa brief, savage pride in Rufus’ genius. He shoots again. Sure, it might meanthat he is stranded in the Jackson administration for the rest of his life, butit’s still better than letting Rittenhouse have it. Lucy is on her knees, tryingto get to Flynn, who is completely beside himself. He struggles with his goodarm to get out his own gun, aims, and fires.

Something blows on the Mothership with a cascade of sparks. Butit’s too late. The next instant, it flashes out of sight, out of existence,rippling the trees. If she jumped successfully, or if she didn’t – if she’sstuck somewhere just outside the space-time continuum – Wyatt has no idea.

He turns around. Lucy’s face is dead white. Flynn has beenshot at least twice, and he’s losing blood. Rufus is back in 2017. Emma has theMothership. Rittenhouse has Iris. All the curse words Wyatt can think of – and believehim, he can think of a lot – still seem insufficient to encompass theterribleness of the situation. Even the world’s most prolific porn star hasnever been as fucked as they presently are.

“Flynn.” It’s Lucy’s voice that breaks the silence. “Garcia.Garcia.”

Wyatt has never heard her sound like that. It twistssomething in his gut.

Flynn doesn’t answer. He presses a hand to his bloodstainedshoulder, but it’s clearly not that pain that he feels the most acutely. “They haveher?” he whispers. “They have Iris? You gaveher to them?”

“Listen – it was a trap, all right? It was a trap.” Lucychokes on a sob. “I didn’t – Emma – ”

Flynn closes his eyes as if he doesn’t want to go onexisting just then. As if the one thing worse than losing something, someone,is thinking that you might have somehow, miraculously found them again, againstevery and any odd – and then realizing that you haven’t. That it is exactlywhat you feared. Wyatt is still determined to hate him with every fiber of hisbeing, but that twists an unwanted stab of sympathy into him. Losing Jess oncewas bad enough. Having to go through it again would completely destroy him.

“We have to get you looked after,” Wyatt says at last,barely above a whisper. “Then we have to find the Lifeboat, somehow makecontact with Rufus, and get the remote-retrieval program installed in there, sohe can pull us out. It’s the only way we’re getting home.”

Flynn stares at him with utterly flat dark eyes. He clearly doesn’tgive a single damn.

“Garcia,” Lucy says again. “Please.”

Flynn considers it. Tries to get to his feet, and reels.Without intending to, Wyatt lunges to catch him, as Lucy darts in from theother side. They manage to hold him up, if barely. He is considerably biggerthan either of them.

“Fine,” he says at last, and spits blood. “And then I’m going tokill everyone.”