Chapter Text
Lausanne Central Aerodrome buzzes with activity. Harry was worried that it would bring up bad memories—even the word “aerodrome” used to trigger a full-body flinch—but the building itself doesn’t unlock anything. He doesn’t think he’s ever been here, not now and not in his previous life.
Never. You’ve never even been in one of the skyscrapers.
You’d never even been east of the river.
“Passports?” asks the bored man at the head of the line. Harry checks his pockets. Nothing.
Don’t panic, you probably tucked it in your bag.
He checks his bag. Nothing.
“Ahem.” He looks up from his bag to see Kim holding out two booklets. The man barely glances at the photos, which are recent enough to be accurate, before nodding and handing them back to Kim.
“You left it on the table,” his partner explains. “Along with our tickets. I meant to ask you if something was wrong, actually. You’re usually very good about not losing things, these days.”
Since your amnesia. Since you lost your badge, your gun, your car, your uniform, your friends, and your memories.
You got everything but that last one back. You’re doing pretty well these days.
If anything, you hold on to things too well.
“No! I’m great. Totally disco.” Finger guns time!
Kim doesn’t even bother raising his eyebrow. “Really.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” A trace of exasperation leaks into Kim’s voice.
Not exasperation. Concern.
What’s there to be nervous about? You’re only leaving Insulinde for the first time ever.
Going into the pale. They just throw the airship like a dart and hope it comes out the other side.
If it doesn’t, you’ll be trapped there forever. Riding the Motorway South.
Maybe you’re a little nervous.
Kim isn’t, though.
Indeed, Harry’s partner is looking around with undisguised fascination. The aerodrome is an odd building, a multidirectional suspension bridge amidst and above the 40-floor towers of La Delta. Through giant windows, Harry can see hybrid aircraft circling.
Good thing neither of you is afraid of heights.
“Wouldn’t it make more sense to have this outside the city? Where the skyscrapers wouldn’t get in the way?”
“It would have been cheaper to build,” Kim says. “But there were two decades where large parts of Revachol were only tenuously under Coalition control. If they’d built the aerodrome outside the city, they’d face the problem of getting through urban warzones.”
“Fucking Coalition,” Harry starts to grumble, before Kim puts a hand on his arm to silence him.
“Save your complaints for when we’re no longer using their aerodrome.”
“It will be our aerodrome soon.”
Those fuckers promised to be entirely out of here by the end of the year.
Or so they claim. They’re taking their time with it.
“Are you looking forward to the conference?” Harry asks Kim.
“No.”
“Why not?”
Kim gives him an incredulous look. “An interisolary gathering of cryptozoologists?”
Harry grins. “Exactly! Think of the stories we’ll get to hear.”
“I’m thinking of them.”
“And you’ll get to hear me give a speech,” Harry reminds him.
“True, that will be interesting. Have you written it yet?”
“Nah, I think I’ll just wing it.”
He’s doing a very good job of not wincing when you say that.
As discoverers of what is only the third cryptid ever to have been confirmed, the two had been offered an all-expenses paid trip to speak at the biggest annual cryptozoology conference, and Harry at least had been unable to turn it down.
We don’t have to go , Kim had told him.
Kim, it’s a free trip. We can’t turn down something free.
So now your scavenger habits extend to airship tickets? But Kim had been smiling, and had agreed to come with him after only a modicum of pestering. With Harry still recovering from his recent heart attack, Kim isn’t likely to let him go haring off across the pale alone.
He’s curious about the trip too, he just doesn’t want to admit it.
And so, here they are, sitting on hard plastic seats and waiting to line up for the airship that will take them to the annual Société Cryptozoologique de Mundi annual meeting, held this year in Vredefort.
These chairs are not comfortable.
It’s nothing you can’t handle. You’re immune to bad chairs after surviving Evart’s.
Except that your leg never entirely healed and this is pulling the muscle in uncomfortable ways.
You’re always in some kind of pain. This is nothing.
Harry’s bored.
You could read a book. Kim is reading a book. He brought spares.
He pokes Kim.
“Yes?”
“Would you rather fight one goose or ten seagulls?”
Kim considers this. “Do I have my gun?”
“Sure.”
“Goose, then. Only one target, and it’s larger.” He goes back to reading.
Harry grins at him. It’s been a little over a year since he stumbled down the hostel stairs, hungover and amnesiac, to solve a murder case with this man.
And now you get to wake up next to him, not hungover.
It wasn’t inevitable. His memories of his previous life are still more holes than fabric, but he knows that his life could have gone much, much worse. It’s a minor miracle he’s alive at all.
He pokes Kim again.
“Yes?”
“Okay, what if you don’t have your gun? Goose or ten seagulls?”
“Khm. Probably still the goose. Ten seagulls is a lot of guano. And it’s harder to keep track of multiple assailants.”
He still remembers losing track of the third mercenary, the radio operator. If you hadn’t warned him, he could have died.
There’s probably a universe where he didn’t get the warning.
You don’t want to live in a universe where Kim died in Martenaise.You don’t even want to imagine it.
And yet, you can’t seem to help it.
Time to distract yourself again.
Distraction was easier when you were drinking.
Kim is reading again. Harry pokes him.
A sigh. “Yes, Harry?”
“Do you believe in multiverse theory?”
Kim blinks.
You surprised him with that one.
“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “It’s a good subject for a science fiction story, but it isn’t really relevant to my life.”
“You don’t imagine alternate realities? Do you remember what Neha said?”
“Refresh my memory?”
“She said that there was something violent about dice. That every time you rolled them, an alternative ending disappears. Or an entire world. I think it’s the same with any choice we make. Every time, there’s an alternate world disappearing.”
“It’s not healthy to obsess over every other possible reality,” Kim says.
The lieutenant is practical. You knew that about him already.
“ I believe in them. I think about how precarious the world is a lot. And I think about what would happen if I could do things differently. Re-roll the dice or something.”
“Of course you do.” Kim’s tone is dry, but there’s sympathy there.
He knows you have a lot more reason to obsess over your past choices.
“I don't mean that in a bad way. This has got to be one of the better universes. I have the Major Crimes Unit, you, actual friends. It doesn't seem likely that it could have happened."
"Obsessing over the ways your life could be worse is even less healthy."
"I know, but it just feels so precarious sometimes. Think about us, for example. Would you have liked me if you’d met me outside of Martenaise?”
“I don’t even know how we would have met. The 57th and 41st don’t interact much. And we didn’t frequent the same social spaces outside of work.” He gives Harry a wry half-smile.
You hadn’t joined the Homo-sexual Underground back then.
Kim went to bars to socialize with colleagues or meet men. You went to bars to destroy yourself.
Not that either of you went out much. Kim likes reading and crosswords and tinkering with his Kineema, and you mostly drank at home or with Jean, especially after you were thrown out of all the local bars.
“Okay, what if we met in Martenaise, but the case went differently?”
“Differently, how? As in, we didn’t solve it? We were too late to the tribunal?” Kim thinks about this. “That’s a grim scenario. I don’t think we both survive in that reality.”
He doesn't like where this is going.
“But what if we did?”
“Even then, it’s likely that we would have gone our separate ways.”
“Really?”
“If things had ended that badly? Neither of us would have wanted to continue working together after such a fiasco.” Before Harry can correct him—he absolutely would have still wanted to work with Kim—Kim continues. “Now that I’m thinking about it, if I hadn’t gotten to know you over a week of working closely, I doubt we would have become friends, let alone this.”
“Why not?”
“Think back to that first day.” Kim’s half-smile makes another appearance. “I was not impressed when I first saw you. It was obvious that you were drunk and in very bad shape. I thought you were pretending to have lost your memory to avoid working on the case, or possibly as part of a delusional fantasy. And, well, you know Jamrock’s reputation. I didn’t want to indulge in inter-precinct stereotyping, but I was worried that you’d be a violent bully.”
Harry pouts. “You didn’t think I was hot?”
“You were coming off a three-day bender still in the same sweaty vomit-spattered clothing you’d worn all weekend. Wearing only one shoe.”
He gently bumps his shoulder against Kim’s. “That’s not a no.”
“Fine, then. No.” He pauses. “Okay. Maybe a little. After you’d washed the corpse smell off. But it was an easy thought to ignore.”
“Good thing you eventually got to see me clean and sober.”
“That first shower after you left the infirmary did a lot for you.”
“What if I hadn’t lost my memory before we met?”
“From what I hear, you'd have told me to go away and stop cramping his style. I wouldn't have, but it's not a good start to a working relationship. Or any relationship.”
“That wouldn’t have turned out well.”
“It rarely does, when someone reaches that level of addiction.”
“The hermit cop.”
“I’m glad you didn’t go that way in the end,” Kim says softly, placing a hand on Harry’s arm.
You were lucky.
Wiping your memory was the best decision you could have made.
They sit in silence long enough for Kim to open his book again. Harry pokes him. The exasperated affection in Kim’s glare fills Harry with glee. He loves this man so much.
“Okay, back to the goose. Would you still choose to fight it if the goose also had a gun?”
Kim thinks about it. “How does the goose score in its shooting courses?”
The airship seats are surprisingly comfortable after the horrible ones in the aerodrome. Harry claims seats for both of them—Kim is too busy looking out the banks of windows lining the sides of the passenger airship. Harry stands beside him, watching the crew scurry around.
“Look, they’re refueling.” Kim points. “And the safety team is opening the security locks.”
“Why do they bother with the extra locks? It’s not like someone is going to steal a giant airship.”
“Actually, airship hijacking was a serious issue in the decade following the wars. Various political factions holding commercial aerostatics hostager in exchange for money or the release of political prisoners. It only happened once in Revachol; the Coalition shot it down immediately, and future hijackers decided that it wasn’t worth it.” Kim delivers this history lesson without removing his eyes from the activity around them.
“They all died?”
“Everyone. Including over a hundred civilian travelers.”
A young couple stands on the scenic overlook at the very edge of La Delta, watching the seabirds. As they kiss, neither notices the small brass plaque set into the concrete, “In memory of those who lost their lives in the aerostatic Flight 408 Incident.” No names are given.
“But the main reason airships are locked is for safety. Hybrid ships are lighter than air, and we’re very high up. An extra layer of security helps prevent accidents. It’s different for the smaller aerostatics used for intraisolary transport.” Kim starts to describe the different kinds of landing and docking mechanisms on the aerostatics, then cuts himself off, ears turning pink. “We’ve gotten off-topic, though.”
He’s embarrassed to be caught rambling about aircraft. He’s been mocked for it.
“But it was interesting,” Harry says. He knows Kim won’t go for a kiss in public, but he can stand close and put a hand on his shoulder as the airship undocks and starts to move.
Kim points. “You can see Martenaise from here. There’s the harbor and the church.”
“Where?” Harry demands, leaning in closer to the window. “Oh, I see it! Looks like Cindy has a new aerograffito!”
“Hah. And look, there’s an air shuttle.”
“Where is it going?”
“Probably to a Coalition ship. They still use the old rotor designs for transport. The corporate ones use foldable blades, and more of them.”
Looking at Kim staring raptly out the window, Harry can see the boy who dreamed of becoming a revolutionary pilot.
The nine year-old boy sits in the corner of the schoolyard. While all the other children play, he is drawing aerostatic designs on the backs of his assignments. He looks up at the sound of rotors at a Coalition military supply shuttle flying overhead. He sits up straighter, his body unconsciously straining to join it in flight, only to sag again as it passes out of his vision. He pushes his ill-fitting eyeglasses back up and returns to his drawing.
Another familiar voice calls out to him.
WHY ARE YOU LEAVING? COME BACK.
I’ll be back soon, I promise!
DO NOT TRUST THEM. BE SAFE.
“Hmm?” Kim tears his eyes away from the window to look at him.
“The city doesn’t want us to leave,” Harry explains.
Kim doesn’t seem distressed. “It could have said something earlier, then. It’s too late to get off now.”
“Are you sorry that we’re going?”
Kim shakes his head. “No, not really. I’m not looking forward to seeing dozens of cryptozoologists—”
“Hundreds! Lena said that over two hundred people have registered.”
“Hundreds of people are that interested in imaginary animals?”
“The phasmid isn’t imaginary. You saw it yourself. You took the picture.”
Kim smiles. “It turned out well, too. But no, I’m not unhappy. Cryptozoology aside, it will be interesting to see another isola, and I’ve always wanted a chance to ride in an airship.”
It’s been a wish of his since childhood. One of the few things that survived the grinding down of his youthful dreams and idealism.
He’d rather be in one of those military aerostatics, but he’ll take this.
Well before either of them has gotten tired of looking out the window, the shutters start to close.
“Attention passengers. We are now approaching the edge of the pale. To reduce exposure, all window shades will be down and locked until we have safely exited. Tampering with or disabling window shades is strictly prohibited by international regulations. Do not attempt to look outside of the ship windows. Unprotected visual exposure to the pale can result in sensory damage, physical illness, and psychological harm. Pale effects are severe and can be permanent or fatal.”
The message repeats, just in case they didn’t catch it.
“Do they really have that many people trying to look outside the windows?” Harry wonders, returning to his seat.
“Probably. You know people. There’s always someone who thinks that direct pale exposure is a good idea.”
He doesn't think highly of these people.
Harry feels lightheaded. For a moment he’s worried that it’s another heart attack, but no, his heartbeat is normal and there’s no pain. A hum moves slowly up his spine.
It’s like the time in the church, except nothing else is shaking.
It’s staying inside you. And it isn’t growing.
Bits of chatter drift through his head in various languages. It doesn’t sound like his usual chorus of thoughts. It sounds more like the radio. Snatches of music and voices.
Entroponetic crosstalk?
Is this what happened to Lilienne’s twins?
You were wrong. It *is* growing.
He’s back in the Whirling-in-Rags, reaching for his tie. Blink . He turns the light on. Blink . He kicks the furnace. Blink . He slams into a door.
Harry shakes his head. That was weirder than usual. He glances over at Kim, who is carefully studying the safety card they were handed upon boarding. The hum keeps rising.
He’s kicking the mailbox.
He’s sitting in Evart’s horrible chair, crying over his lost gun. The chair hurts so much.
Blink.
His punch glances off Measurehead. His bones crush under the other man’s hands.
Blink.
Angry at the Hardie boys, he sticks Kim’s gun in his mouth. For some reason, they don’t seem impressed. They’re laughing at him. You know what would make the joke even funnier? Pulling the trigger. That’s a sight they will never forget. And it will leave Garte another mess to clean up. He deserves that. Kim will probably be relieved that he doesn’t have to keep dragging this piece of shit around. "I'm going to kill myself now, you fucking whore." He pulls the trigger.
Blink.
He looks down the passage under the Feld building. Something is buzzing. Should he go back to get Kim? No. This is something he can face alone.
Blink.
He shakes himself awake. Kim is saying something.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, you should probably take a look at this safety card.” One corner of Kim’s mouth is quirked in a half-smile. “Listening to something?”
“Did I space out?”
“You had that look on your face.” After nearly a year of living—and sleeping—together, Kim no longer seems bothered by Harry’s skills. Whatever fears he’d initially had about Harry’s mental stability have long been assuaged, and now he treats Harry’s voices with the same amused affection that he has for Harry’s clothing and music preferences.
He was more distressed over that t-shirt you found last week than he is about you hearing voices.
That was a great t-shirt. How could you let him talk you out of it?
He was right. It wasn't your color.
He’s standing next to the hanging man, throwing up for the third time. The horrible child is making fun of him.
He tries to look at the footprints again, just to do something useful, but they’re a mystery. He’s such a failure. The lieutenant says something, but he isn’t listening.
“I'm seriously running out of shits to give, Kim. Fuck you."
The other officer is unmoved. “Fuck me? Please leave the *rage* you have for after we finish the investigation."
Who even is this guy?
Your half-brother.
Nothing you can say would make you feel any better now...
“What are you going to do, arrest me? The investigation is fucked. I quit. I was never a real police officer anyway.” He walks off, nameless, gunless, badgeless, and directionless. The lieutenant starts to follow him, so he takes off running. Even barefoot and hungover, he can outrun the shorter man. He’s very good at running, it turns out.
After several hours wandering Martenaise, and Jamrock, he finally admits defeat. He has no idea where he lives. He’d told Garte that he could be a hobocop, and fuck it, why not? He isn’t a cop anymore, but he can still be a hobo.
After another hour of wandering, he finds a nice bridge. Actually, it’s a shitty bridge, but he’s in a shitty mood, so it’s perfect. He will live here. A dark-haired man comes to yell at him.
“What the fuck are you doing, shitkid?”
“Who the fuck are you?” he yells back. The conversation deteriorates from there, until the man goes away. A horse-faced woman in a police uniform comes.
“Harry, we want to help you. Please come with us.”
“Nobody can help me! I never loved that woman!”
What woman?
Her face, the smell of apricots.
The reason you’re in this mess.
She fucked you over.
“Harry, you’re sick. We can help,” the horse-faced woman says. He throws some shit at her. Human shit, dog shit, he doesn’t know and doesn’t care.
Maybe you’ll get lucky and she’ll shoot you.
Cops do that, right? Shoot homeless people under bridges.
You can’t shoot anyone, because you don’t have a gun.
You can’t even shoot yourself.
She does not shoot him, but she makes a face and leaves soon after.
Other people come, some trying to reason with him, others just to pick a fight. He throws garbage and screams obscenities. Eventually, people stop coming, and he is finally alone.
“Harry?” Kim has a hand on his shoulder. “That wasn’t your normal ‘spacing out’.”
“I feel really weird, Kim.”
“More than usual?”
“Weird even for me.”
“Okay. Should I be worried?”
He trusts you even when you’re being weird. If you say yes, he’ll try to help. If you say no, he’ll back off.
“It was really strange. I was experiencing memories.”
Kim's focus sharpens. “Your memories are coming back?”
“No, these are Martenaise memories, but they're different.”
“Different how?”
“Worse. I’m remembering things in Martenaise, but worse.”
Kim is silent.
He’s trying to think about where things could have gone worse.
“Kim, I could have made much worse choices back then. I think I’m seeing what would have happened if I had.”
“Is this about our earlier conversation? You're imagining alternate universes?”
“No. I think really am seeing other possible lives. And some of them are bad.”
Kim pats his shoulder. “Some of your choices seemed questionable at the time, but a surprising amount turned out well.”
"So you're saying I should look for better universes?"
"I'm saying that maybe you should stop obsessing over your past."
He doesn’t understand what you’re getting at. He’s not inclined to dwell on other possible paths. The past is the past for him. He doesn’t live in it the way you always have.
Even after you erased your past, it haunted you.
"We're traveling through the pale, Kim. What better time to obsess over the past?"
Kim opens his mouth, closes it. "Fair enough. Just...be careful."
Harry gives him a thumbs-up. “I’ll be okay. Just wake me if it looks like I’m about to have a nightmare or seizure or something.”
“If you’re sure.” Kim still looks concerned.
He's full of questions: What if he loses his memory again? What if he forgets me? Will I be responsible for his cat?
“Don't worry, Kim. I won't lose my memories. The pale has the opposite, problem, right?” He leans against Kim and closes his eyes, letting the hum fill his mind.
When he opens his eyes, he’s a different Harry entirely.