🚀 go-pugleaf

Probability.
 by Rob Furr.


One Other could feel the universe healing around the wound. Within mere
 months, the past would have healed itself around the rift in destiny
 that had been torn by the Unneeded. Without anyone...without almost
 anyone, One Other noted...noticing, the books of prophecy were rewriting
 themselves. Quietly, silently, without so much as the skritch of a single
 pen, the words that had clearly foretold the end of magic would now
 tell of the failed attempt to end magic.

Only those who were touched lightly by destiny could know of such rewriting.
 One Other was such an individual...if 'individual' was a word that could
 accurately describe the fuzzy package of constantly collapsing and reforming
 probability waves that called itself 'One Other.'

One Other knew of the healing past. It also knew that the time of healing
 was also one of the few times when destiny loosened its grip on the rest
 of the universe. After all, how could destiny know where people were going
 if it didn't know where they had been?

Such times were dangerous, especially for those like One Other. Such times
 were also liberating, revelatory, wonderful, exciting...but One Other had
 not made it to the uncertain age it had by ignoring danger. It needed to
 know certain things...

One Other sat in its nebulous uncertainty, letting the tides of change pour
 through its structure without resistance, considering. It needed to know
 what the new prophecies would be, and badly. Finding the loopholes in
 prophecies is a tricky business, but if the groundwork of avoiding them
 could be laid before the prophecies themselves firmed...well! Things became
 that much easier.

One Other sat and whirled.

There would be new prophecies. Out of all the uncertainty that the healing
 past created, that much was certain.

Eddies formed in One Other's twisting shape.

Those who had been touched once by a prophecy would often be touched again,
 and again. Some poor souls were never free of that burden... That meant ...

One Other's shape suddenly contracted. No. It would not, it simply would
 not...

...but it was so obvious.

No. Absolutely not.

...but he was touched most strongly. He was the sort to attract the
 attention of destiny. He was hubris personified, and if there was one thing
 that One Other knew about destiny, it knew that destiny loved grinding
 hubris into the dirt.

...but he was painful to touch.

There.

One Other said it. Pain.

That one had killed Walker. That one had frightened the Nameless. That one
 had prevented the entrance of Them onto his plane. That one had almost
 won. He was, his soul was, cold iron, and he was painful to touch.

One Other had not known pain for a time so long that even One Other could
 not count the days. It didn't like it. Yet, One Other was still a force of
 magic, and One Other still had its will, and One Other could survive the
 pain...but, oh, why did it have to be _him_?

--------------------------------------------

Pinky stood at the end of the hospital bed with Thieftaker. They considered
 the man in the bed.

"He was always doing this as a kid, too." Thieftaker said. "He once got his
 arm broken when we were visiting Ireland. Wouldn't let some Catholics beat
 up on this drunk Protestant down from Belfast area. Ten year old kid,
 telling six, maybe eight grown men to stop."

"Yeah. I can see that."

"How is he, anyway?"

"The doctors say he's still in a little danger. They had to cut a lot of
 tissue off his face and graft other skin in, so they've got him on
 immunosuppresants and stuff, and he's still got a pretty bad fever. They
 think he'll be fine, but they wouldn't bet big money on it."

"I wouldn't worry. He's tough."

"Tell me about it."

"No, I mean it, Wilton. Not the Clint Eastwood narrow-eyes, testosterone
 poisoning bullshit tough, but tough. He'll be fine."

"A bit ugly, but fine."

"Well, was he a prize-winner before?"

"You tell me. I've only seen his face maybe three, four days out of all
 the time I've known him."

"Really?"

"He kept the armor on. Said it took eight hours or so to put on."

"Yeah. Bad design, I thought."

------------------------------

One Other listened to the two talk over the unconscious man. Their
 words didn't matter; they were talking to reassure each other, not
 talking to communicate. He didn't need to wait until they left, but he
 did. Even though he was invisible when he wanted to be, which was most
 of the time, he still felt more comfortable after they'd left.

It hovered over the bed, and a wisp of probability touched the man's
 arm. It recoiled, and then touched it again. The single, narrow
 point of the present fanned out into an infinity of other times and and
 other worlds...

One Other let its mind drift. And, being who it was, letting its mind
 drift meant that almost all of the rest of it went with it...

-----------------------------

"And in this corner...weighing in at three hundred and seventeen pounds,
 the webbed wonder of the waves, the dictator of the depths, the undisputed
 mud-wrestling champion of all time, current world champion, Wonder Grunion!"

The crowd went wild...completely and utterly wild...as the scaled figure
 in the green chainmail briefs shrugged off the black robe he had been
 wearing and raised his hands above his head.

"And in _this_ corner...weighing in at five thousand eight hundred and three
 pounds, the god of gunfire, the heavy metal man himself, with three
 convictions, and holder of two Olympic gold medals in the biathalon...
 Bulletproof!"

The ring groaned audibly as the massive olive-drab figure climbed over
 the ropes. An equally loud blast of applause erupted from the crowd.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, it's time for the ultimate grudge match!
 It's time to see who's going to be the next ... World ... Champion!
 Bulletproof's back and looking for revenge! It's time for the Industrial
 Revolutionnnnnnn!!!!"

"Ladies and Gentlemen! LET'S GET READY TO RRRRUMMMMMBLE!"

-----------------------------

One Other pulled its mind back. That had been entertaining, but it wasn't
 what it was looking for.

-----------------------------

The Time Control Recruiting Agent looked up at the massive figure standing
 before his desk. "...and you want to be a Time Control Agent?"

"That's right."

"Well, okay...I guess...What's your name?"

"Put down ... 'Bulletproof.'"

-----------------------------

That wasn't getting One Other anywhere. It returned its concentration to
 the figure below.

-----------------------------

Images flickered past....of a figure in armor that could have been a
 Valkyrie sculpted in olive drab, of a figure in pinstriped armor standing
 with a bat waiting for Andy Awesome, greatest pitcher ever to play, to throw
 the first ball, of a man in armor holding a bag of stolen money facing a
 heroic individual armed only with a small gun...of a myriad of armors and
 of men...the images came faster and faster as One Other searched through
 the probabilities for the future...and then One Other stopped.

There. That universe. It was missing from the spectrum...

One Other turned its attention away from the figure in the bed and towards
 the greater mists of the world. It hunted...and found it.

There...there was the altiverse in which magic ruled. One Other could
 see the Dar of that universe carefully repairing one of his super-scientific
 weapons.

One Other flipped through the billions of individuals...it could see the
 Black Knight MMM casting his one spell (Summon Flowers), it could see
 Lady McPherson streaking through the skies.

But it couldn't see him. He simply wasn't there.

Interesting.

-----------------------------

The band of unsearched probabilities was still infinite, but it was a
 smaller infinity than previously. One Other was narrowing in on the future,
 it could feel alternate presents fade from its awareness, alternate pasts
 vanish from mind.

And there it was. An infinity of futures, colored, striped, patterned
 and textured, extending outward from the man on the hospital bed.

If One Other had had a mouth, it would have smiled. Now it would learn
 something. It began dipping into the various futures of this man,
 sampling here, tasting there...

And then, all of a sudden, a future which was slightly more probable
 than most seized One Other and drew it in...

-----------------------------

"Bulletproof?" Wilton Smith spoke into the microphone. The Extreme Measures
 captain nodded at Smith's cooperation.

"Bulletproof, they say you can hear me. They say they know you're out
there."

The captain lifted his hand from the transmit button. "Stop it with the
 'they say' and get on with convincing him to give himself up."

Wilton glared at the captain in the darkness of the small compartment.
 "Who knows him? You? Or me? I'll talk to him, but I'll do it my own
 damn way."

"I wouldn't call that cooperation, Mister Smith."

"I would. Now shut up and put me back on the air."

The captain shrugged...Smith would get his soon enough...and pressed
 the button again.

"Bulletproof, they want you to give yourself up. It's been ten years since
 we shut down the Extreme Team...ten years since you've had official
 sanction. They say that they can't let you go on doing what you've been
 doing any more."

A tech stuck his head in the door. "Sir? We've got four definite returns
 that match, and six more probables. There's something down there that he
 built, all right."

The captain released the button. "How soon before you can get more
 definite on that?"

"Ten, maybe fifteen minutes. Less, if he responds. We'll have to fly
 nape-of-the-earth, too. I'd buckle myself in, sir."

"Right." The captain pulled his seatbelt around. "Smith?"

"What? Oh, right." Wilton buckled himself...he had to let the belt out
 to accomodate his paunch.

"Now. Talk."

"Okay, okay. Bulletproof. They've got twenty helicopters out here looking
 for you, armed helicopters. Two AA gunships, too. If you don't give
 yourself up, they'll kill you."

The speaker behind Smith hissed a bit, and the tech leaned in again.
 "Sir! We've got a carrier wave!"

"Bulletproof? Is that you?"

"It's me, Pinky."

The captain was jubilant. "We've got him!" he hissed.

"I'm down here. Twenty helicopters? Two gunships? I'm flattered."

"Bulletproof, don't mess around. Are you going to give yourself up?"

"Pinky, you should know better than that."

Wilton turned to the captain and spread his hands. "It's true. I do.
 He's not going to give up."

"Why the hell _not_? He used to be a hero, damnit! Why the hell is he
 being so damn obstinate now?"

"Because he believes people have the right to be wrong. You and the rest
 of AA don't." Wilton turned back to the mike. "'Proof? What're you doing?"

"Why, what do you mean, Pinky?"

"Why are you out here in the middle of New Mexico? You could have stayed
 on the run in Bob City...there are people who would have hidden you
there..."

The captain narrowed his eyes. Later, he would find those people...

"Pinky, I'm making a point, here."

"What kind of point?"

"I'm gonna be a symbol, Pinky."

Smith began to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The tech leaned back in. "Captain! We've got him!"

"Send everybody in!"

"It'll take a few minutes..they're fairly spread out..."

"Do it!"

"Okay, okay..."

Wilton spoke again. "'Proof...they're coming for you. You shouldn't have
 answered."

"I needed to answer, Pinky. In fact, I need something from you."

"What?"

"After this is over, I want you to tell everyone what happened. Okay?
 Don't let them explain it away. Tell them what I'm trying to do."

Wilton paused. "Okay," he said at last.

The captain leaned forward, his finger still on the button. "What?
 What is he trying to do?"

Bulletproof answered. "I'm going out with a bang, Captain."

Smith paled. "Captain, you've got to get this thing on the ground _now_."

The captain turned. "What? Why?"

"Because I said so, damnit. Land this crate!"

"And let that maniac get away? Hell, no!"

"Better listen to Pinky, Captain."

"If you're not going to land it, tell me where the damn parachutes are!"

"Sir! Choppers eight and twelve and gunship two say they've got him
 in visual range...nothing but sand, though."

"Silence that! Open mike!"

"Thanks, Captain. It's time."

"'Proof ... no!"

"Got no other choice. Pinky. See you on the other side."

"Sir! He's moving!"

"Put it on screen!"

The small monitor in the compartment lit up. There, on the flickering
 screen, was an eruption of sand streaking across the New Mexico landscape.

"He's moving fast..damn fast."

"He never moved that fast in the Extreme Team, Captain. Land this aircraft..
 trust me."

"I don't trust you, old man. Shut up, we don't need you any more."

The sand had fallen away from the moving object, revealing the huge, blocky
 outline of an enormous armored vehicle.

The Captain stared. "What the hell is _that_?!"

Pinky looked at the screen as he searched under his seat for a parachute.
 "Don't you know your history, Captain? That's the Battlewagon. Archie
 left it to Bulletproof when he died."

"Tech! How long before the rest of the choppers get in?"

"Sir! Less than a minute, sir!"

"When they get there, have them all attack." The captain turned to Pinky,
 who had managed to locate a parachute and was buckling it on. "That's
 old technology, Mister. Battlewagon or no, Bulletproof is going down."

Pinky looked at the monitor. "That's right. He is. But not in the way
 you're thinking. Do you know where we are?"

The captain looked a bit nonplussed. "Near Los Alamos...why?"

"Think about it."

"Sir! Choppers are all there! Attacking!"

The voice of Bulletproof came from the speaker as lines of fire began to
 surround the Battlewagon. "Thanks again, Captain." The Battlewagon opened
 fire on the swarming choppers, but the forty-millimeter anti-aircraft fire
 failed to touch the rapidly moving choppers. Overhead, the two immense
 forms of the  AA gunship dirigibles pumped shells into the ground around
 the gigantic tank. "Party time." The roof of the Battlewagon's cabin blasted
 off in a gout of fire, and a figure climbed out of the careening vehicle.

The captain stared at the screen. "He's ... big."

"That he is, Captain, and he's making his last stand. I think I'll be going
 now. Which way to the door?" Wilton looked around and left the compartment.

"So long, Pinky." The Battlewagon broke through a fence and crushed a small
 monument standing in the center of a slight depression. "And Captain ...
 welcome to Ground Zero." The immense figure on the screen lifted an
 arm and a rocket blasted out.

It rose towards the shape of the first gunship, and exploded. Two more
 identical rockets were already in flight, and a fourth was in the launcher
 on Bulletproof's arm.

As the missile exploded, the monitor died. As did the lights, and all
 power on the aircraft.

"My god," the captain said as the airplane began its long, unpowered
 descent to the ground. "He's using nukes. He's using nukes."

-----------------------------

One Other pulled itself free with some difficulty.

It considered the future it had seen...not too probable, but probable
 enough.

'hmmm.' One Other thought.

It drifted away from the man on the bed. It had much to think about.