[AC] Anthology 2: Lonely Stranger: 0

>From Artifice Comics:
http://www.digitallymystic.com/sites/fiction/ac/

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Anthology Two Presents
Lonely Stranger:
"0."
By Aaron Baugh

"I know you." 


"Impossible." He kept walking towards the towering stone edifice that
held over a dozen government offices.

She sped up, walking beside him, laying a hand on his leather jacket
to slow him down. "No," she said. "I know you. Who you are, what you
are. My memory is very good. Too good, sometimes."

He stopped, looked at her. His overwhelming normalness didn’t
seem to matter to her at all. "You know me?" he asked. "Interesting. I
don't remember much anymore. I can remember exactly seven people over
the past, well...years. One was a guy who shined shoes. His name was
Ed, and he had only three fingers on his left hand...hm. But I dont
know anything else about him." He turned back towards the office
building, taking longer steps, and Jennifer pressed hands to her
pregnant belly, supporting herself as she half-jogged to get in front
of him and forcing him to stop short.

"Why are you here?" she asked firmly.

"What? I'm hardly the person to ask," he replied. "Ask your priest.
Where I go, bad things happen."

"But that’s not true, she said. If it wasn’t for the
greater good, you wouldn’t be doing it. You aren’t the
type."

"Type?" 

"Yeah, type. You’re hardly evil." 

"And how would you know?" 

"I’ve been around. I’ve seen. And I’ve seen you,
haven’t I?"

"Have you?" 

"It wasn’t a fucking question, twit." 

He shrugged, his face confused. "Where do you know me from, then?" 

Memories of Jennifer’s travels flashed through her head, images
ran swiftly cross her mind’s eye. Hard, desolate wastelands
where winged creatures hunted; a man dying before her, to be reborn in
a different image; and watching monsters from her imagination fight
for reasons unknown to her. "Like I said, I’ve been places.
After I saw you, though, I heard that millions were killed on that
planet."

"I wouldn’t doubt it," he said crisply. "I’ve killed
trillions more besides. And you still think I’m good? You
redefine optimism. Hopefully I’ll remember you, too."

"You forget people?" She was very confused this time. 

"A wonderful side effect of my omniscience. When I get somewhere, I
have to taste of it to know why I’m there. Eat a bit of dirt,
touch a building, walk about for a while. Then, I know. Once I know, I
act. Once I’m done, I leave, and the omniscience of that planet
in that time leaves me. Certain bits stick better than others...like
those seven people. Like Ed. That’s why I hope to remember you,
Jennifer."

"I didn’t tell you my name." 

"Omniscient, see? And nearly omnipotent, too." He smiled. "But I'd
have to wait a bit to know anything more. This world taste has you as
a brief mote. So I know your name, and that’s about it. The
important stuff I already have." He tapped an index finger to his
temple.

"Like what? I’m very curious as to what a non-evil
multi-murderer knows before he commits his crimes."

He regarded her blankly. "In that building, there’s a man named
Andrew Potter. In six days, he will begin a program that will result
in the deaths of 605, 419 people, all civilians. Among those civilians
are four future Nobel Laureates, and a young lady who will become
something beyond current human expectations. Truthfully, it’s
her future and the future of this Earth that I’m here to
insure."

"Sounds very noble. What is Mr. Potter gonna do?" 

He shrugged. "Doesn’t really matter. I've got a job to do. In
fact, I'm already feeling my next job coming up."

"What if someone gets in your way?" 

"They won’t." 

"But what if? Certainly someone will resist. Security, police,
somebody."

"I’ve destroyed planets, Jennifer. I routinely engage in
genocide on purpose. Men wearing tall hats and carrying sticks
won’t bother me."

She was briefly speechless, but only briefly. "Oh. Guess I
didn’t think bout that."

He smiled and kept walking. 

Jennifer let him go. 

* * *

I am a Lonely Stranger. I have to try and tell my stories as they
happen, because as soon as I hit the portal, it fades away, the
knowledge leaves to make way for more of the same. I hate it, really,
but it's for the best. If I knew everything from my past, I'd walk up
to you and ask you something, but that subject would only exist in one
eventuality of trillions, and you'd go "Huh?" and I'd probably try to
explain, at worst compromising the...

How?: It's like this. I'd graduated college, not really done much with
my life, though I'd had a few jobs, only one serious girlfriend...but
I chucked it all and joined the military. It doesn't really matter
which branch, and I've actually forgotten. I don't know how long I've
been alive, how long I've done the things I do, because I go to places
that are out of normal time. See, I'm an interdimensional traveler.
Well, traveler isn't the right word really. Fixer is more like it. Or
wet works man. Assassin. Thug. Avatar. Messiah. Agent.

I like that. Agent. It seems to be the most accurate. Agent of what,
you ask? I'm not quite sure myself. I know for certain on some level,
but to KNOW know, I don't. Not exactly. But I have to rationalize it
somehow. I'm human after all, right?

Kinda, anyway. 

Well, look at it this way. There's a million billion dimensions out
there, with a million billion galaxies in each, with a million billion
people (not just humans on earth, but creatures...things. Intelligent
things. Aliens. Get it?) all living, doing their happy little things,
existing as they see fit.

It isn't like you think it is. Those who believe in a higher power, be
it God or Vishnu or Zeus or L. Ron Hubbard, aren't too far off the
mark.

There is a God. I've met him. Or at least, I've met his personal
secretary.

See, God isn't so much the all-powerful creator of the universe and
all that dwells within it, but he's more like the steward. He's the
guy who makes sure that the ship stays on course and gets to where
it's going. Where is that, you ask?

Hell if I know. 

But I do know that his personal secretary (okay, fine, ANGEL if you
like), name of Gabriel, came and got me one day.

Literally. 

It wasn't a column of fire and light like Mohammed said it was, no
burning bushes, nothing like that. He drove a Buick. But it was a nice
one.

I'd gotten out of the military, see, flown back to my home and was
waiting for the next step. Steps were supposed to come to me, to fall
into place. It wasn't quite happening for me at that time, so when a
guy called, said he knew my supervisors from my military days and
wanted to offer me a job, I said okay and he came to get me.

In his Buick. 

So I go to this interview, and that's when everything was explained to
me. Obviously, I accepted, we won't go over his pitch but I can assure
you it was a hell of a thing, and I was in.

Back to the steward thing. See, God's the captain, up in the bridge
(or heaven, whatever) and the angels are his crew. If you have to
think of Satan (which most do when thinking about God), think of him
as the dude shoveling coal in the boiler room. He gets the shit
details. Hell is the boiler room. Works for me, hope it does for you.
But Existence is a crazy, crazy thing. In that multitude of dimensions
or times/galaxies/universes, there are things that are SUPPOSED to
happen. Things that have to happen for the ship to get to where it's
going. Every thing that DOESN'T happen that's SUPPOSED to happen
knocks the ship off course. In a million billion universes,
that’s a bunch of potential little waves to fuck up the ship's
course.

So the Captain needs agents. People to go out and fix things so that
these waves never come in and knock the ship off course.

There's a catch, though. 

See, the Captain can't make just anyone an Agent. He needs them to be
special. Let me tell you that it's hard to be special when Existence
has a million billion of everything, and everyone.

Even your Millennium Man...not special. Sure as hell not special. Seen
tons of them, millions. Even your Charlie Winters (also not special)
knows about his own un-specialness. He's been to the other dimensions
where things happened differently because of whatever.

I found out that I was special. Not just because my mom said so, but
because I TRULY was...

That's why Gabriel came to talk to me. In a million billion universes
across a span of dimensions, there was only one of me. No others born
on other Earths or colonies of fanciful empires. In all these other
universes, Dave and Ro hadn't had a son. Or they hadn't gotten
married. Any number of reasons. But I digress. Back to the super
uniqueness.

Only one of ME. 

I was knocked back, to say the least. I knew that there was something
special about me, but everyone thinks that, don't they? Not to say
you're wrong, everyone is special in their own little happy way, but I
hit the jackpot of all jackpots!

So I became their agent. Their fixer. Go here and protect this kid,
she'll be important someday. Then ZAP! New place, new people
(sometimes). Kill this kid, she'll ruin something important later.

ZAP! Destroy this planet. 
ZAP! Free these people. 
ZAP! Help this dude research a cure for a plague. 
ZAP! Fight in this battle. 
ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! ZAP! 

That's why I've forgotten so much. I'm a stranger...even to myself. I
don't have a home, don't have a memory of who I was, who the person
was that is sooo special.

But I'm good at my job. I better be, what with the things Gabriel lets
me do, thanks to the powers granted me by the ol' Captain himself.

Whatever I want. Jump over a mountain? Burn it to ashes with my fiery
gaze? Bore through it with my bare hands?

Done, done, and done. I've destroyed entire planets, denuded solar
systems of every living creature, and I do it without question,
because I know that it's right.

The ship has to stay the course. 

I asked Gabriel once how many fixers there were, working the infinite
cosmos, working to keep the Ship on course. He said I was one of
thirteen, and that's the last time I cried.

I remember that more than I remember anything, and I wish I could
forget it.

But I can't. 

You'll see me again someday, I'm sure. This particular earth is
bursting with potential. Good potential, bad potential. Little waves,
big waves. I hope that I remember you, and that when the time comes to
char this rock into ash and chuck it into the sun, that you've passed
on after living a good life. It's coming, you know.

Maybe it won't be me. I've got twelve other team-mates. Might be one
of them.

* * *

'cause I'm a Lonely Stranger here.
I'll be gone someday.
I don't know what's goin' on.
But I'll be on my way.
-E. Clapton