In a Lurch

No. He didn't have to take this. They had left him in a lurch for the last time. It was their turn now.

He began making preparations. Files needed to be backed up onto his flash drive. Check. A few individuals needed to be informed. (He didn't really want to screw everyone, after all.) Check. Certain emails needed to be backed up to his personal account. Check.

Uncheck.

He hadn't realized how many emails he had to sort through.

He decided it might be a good idea to take a moment and actually think this through before he took any actions that couldn't be undone.

He closed his eyes.

The garrison slowly removed the blade from his captain's back, his hand shaking as the weight of what he had done settled on him.

The other three garrisons and the first officer all instinctively set their weapons on him, ready to execute a command that wouldn't come from a man who could no longer give it. The garrison took their moment's hesitation as an opportunity to try to undo their captain's dying action.

He desperately pressed the purple button on the wall over and over again, beckoning the ship's automated to voice to respond, but it could not.

Why had he killed the captain? Why would he do that? It had been as if something stronger than himself dragged his blade against his will. The captain had commanded the Keresian Protocol, but he had truly been the one to initiate it. Maybe he could still undo it.

The lack of response from the ship's computer was the first sign that it was too late.

The stirring of Captain Hunter's body was the second.

The captain's lifeless body was slowly rising to its feet, its eyes filled with darkness. "Keresian Protocol One," it said in a voice that sounded less like Captain Hunter and more like the unresponsive computer, "has been initiated. Prepare to fall."

"No!" The garrison shook his captain's body. "You can't do this!"

"Keresian Protocol Two initiating in three . . . "

"Captain, stop this!"

" . . . two . . . "

The garrison pointed his blade at the captain's throat, knowing it was futile.

" . . . one . . . "

"Elements defend us," the garrison said, accepting his fate.

"Keresian Protocol Two initiated. Proceeding to Keresian Protocol Three."

The ship suddenly lurched and the garrison felt as though the entire universe was slipping away.

Somewhere on the lower decks, a creature with the appearance of a man named Hemming and the voice of a man named Corson looked down at the lifeless bodies of his respective doppelgangers and smiled as the ship lurched.

The garrison clenched his fists, hoping beyond hope that somehow this would work out.

He opened his eyes.

Screw waiting. If he thought through it, he'd never do it.

He quickly skimmed his emails, looking for anything he thought he might want at a later date. There wasn't much, but one in particular caught his eye as it showed its face. Quite literally.

A face with which he was becoming all too familiar was staring back at him.

He quickly jotted down the phone number at the bottom of the email and shoved it in his pocket.

He then quickly wrote the letter that would change his life, grabbed all his personal belongings from his desk, and marched down to his absent supervisor's office.

Now they would learn what it felt like to be left in a lurch.

In the Modern Age

He stared at the wall in disbelief as he slowly returned the phone to its base. He had learned over the course of his time at his job that it never rained until it flooded. Today was a flood.

He had come to expect virtually no respect from the higher ups, but this was going a bit too far. Did she ever intend to tell him that she was gone? He had thought that his supervisor leaving town for a week and thus leaving him in charge of the three upcoming events that weekend would be something she would have told him about. But, alas, no. He got to find out about it by calling to ask he about something else entirely and hearing her answering machine informing him that she would be gone until the following Monday.

In the modern age, what was her excuse? She could have called and left a message on his machine at work. She could have sent him an email or a text message. She could have left a sticky note somewhere! There was no excuse for not telling him. None.

He laid his head down on his desk feeling the weight of his insomnia dragging him down. He really wasn't in any kind of condition to be running events especially with two days notice.

He closed his eyes.

He opened his eyes slowly, raising his arms and letting out his breath.

"Most resplendent, he-that-learneth-from-the-self."

He smiled as he relaxed the tensed muscles in his legs. "Thanks, Corson."

Corson smiled back at him. As a highly proficient sorcerer, there was no way of accurately estimating Corson's age. He looked to be in his fifties, but Haze was quite confident he was centuries older than that. "We here shallst progress, hence." Where his manner of speech came from was anyone's guess. Maybe if you live too long your brain fries.

Haze picked up a towel from the table next to him and wiped the sweat dripping from his face. "Great. What's next?"

Without a word, Corson turned and left the room. The last two months of training had taught Haze that he was meant to follow.

As they entered the next room, Corson turned suddenly and fired a barrage of green flaming orbs at his apprentice. Haze dropped instinctively into his defensive stance and raised his arms. Time seemed to slow for him as the orbs drew closer. He fought the urge to phase out and let them pass. Corson would never allow him to get away with that. Instead, behind his back, he twisted the fingers of his left hand into one of the mystic signs he had been taught and waved his right defensively. The orbs came to a complete stop as the rest of time returned to normal.

Corson smiled, raised his right hand, clenched it into a fist and the orbs popped coating Haze in their slimy yellow contents.

Haze chuckled. "You're a real dick sometimes, did you know that?"

"This one hath been apprised thusly. In multiplicity."

Haze grinned as he pulled his left hand out from behind his back and allowed his left arm to phase slightly. Purple energy surged down his smoky arm and launched itself at Corson. The sorcerer attempted to raise a defense, but the spell moved too quickly. The purple energy struck him squarely between the eyes.

Corson collapsed as his skin changed from its naturally dark brown tone to the vibrant purple of the spell that had struck him. Haze chuckled as realization dawned on his friend.

"Alack, he-that-hath-learned-and-surpassed, the self retains a lacuna from thee." He bowed his head respectfully.

"Thank you, old friend," said Haze as he closed his eyes and lowered his head in return.

He opened his eyes.

Letting out a breath, he pulled out a pad of paper and began writing out everything that needed to be taken care of for the coming events. As the list of things that needed to be accomplished in the next two days grew, he felt tears burning just behind his eyes.

No excuse. She had no excuse for doing this to him in the modern age.

He was really in no condition to be running events, but he didn't really have a choice at this point.

. . . or did he?