Kim Eternal Chapter 2

Kim Eternal Chapter 2

Rocks skittered under Kim and Monique's feet as they descended Mt. Middleton toward rolling foothills. Spread out below, the verdant countryside had long been reclaimed by nature, with the help of Kim and a few others. Only a few dozen people continued to live in or around the area that was once Middleton; the town itself was long gone, no more than a memory, not even a scar in the land. Houses carefully built of wood and stone dotted the clearings and hilltops, with no evidence of human civilization other than wood smoke drifting from a handful of chimneys in the valley below.

No roads, no noise, no pollution. There was no need.

A bright sun cut the spring chill, and Kim smiled and hummed to herself as she descended the rocky slope toward the foothills. Monique smiled as well, pleased for her lifelong friend. Both women chose a companionable silence, both between themselves and from the outside world; they allowed no messages or status requests through their wetware links as they strode down the mountainside.

Stored deep within Kim's body, Ron's message lay waiting for her to play it again at her convenience. The residual effect of Ron's feelings was more than enough for Kim, however. She would wait. None of the other messages was flagged as important, and nobody was trying to reach her, which wasn't unusual. If a message happened to make itself known to her, she could simply watch it in her own head, the video piped directly into her optic nerve via the miles of thin organic cable strung throughout her body, the audio likewise directed internally. Palm projectors could play messages externally, as hers had played Ron's last night.

Humankind had chosen to erase the external vestiges of their civilization, but they did not forsake their bodies, their permanent homes. Each person was their own computer and communication center, available to anyone else, anywhere in the world, in the solar system - barring speed of light comm lag.

Monique cleared her throat after a few hours of walking. "So what now, kemo sabe?" she asked Kim.

The redhead pondered before answering. "I guess I need to find a construction center to record my feelings, like Ron said," she replied. "I seriously doubt there's anything around here I can use." She looked at the forest below her.

"I was hoping you'd say that," Monique laughed. "Come back to Seattle with me. There's a constructorium there, they can so help you out on this. Heck, maybe I'll make one too. I know a few guys that would LOVE to know how I feel."

Kim laughed too, an easy and unforced sound after the long silence of their descent. "I'll just bet. Sure, Seattle's fine. It's what, about three weeks?"

"If we hoof it, yeah. This girl is gonna have some sore footsies, let me tell you," she mock complained. Kim knew very well Monique was far tougher than that. A three week hike was nothing, and foodplants were plentiful. The area where metropolitan Seattle once lay was actually under an expanded Puget Sound, but a populated area east of the bay called their city Seattle. It was far grander than the hamlet of Middleton - there were actually a few multi-story buildings, although most were more works of art than functional buildings. Except the constructorium, of course.

The fine weather lasted until early afternoon, time enough for the path of two young old women to dip below the treeline, before clouds rolled overhead and heavy rains began lashing the countryside. Undaunted, the silent friends continued their journey, pausing long enough only to wring out their sodden dresses once in a while, or feast on a handful of fruit from a dripping foodplant.

Evening was beginning to fall, and the dim light that had managed to filter through the storm clouds was beginning to fade toward darkness by the time they reached the creek at the foot of the mountain. Normally a placid little chuckling rivulet, the storm had swelled its banks to overflowing.

Monique pointed downstream. "There's a foot bridge about a mile down that way, if I remember it right," she told Kim above the lashing torrent of rain. Slipping down the muddy banks, the pair held on carefully to plants and trees to avoid falling and being swept in. Centuries of care taught them to be wary of mother nature.

The bridge was where Monique remembered, a sturdy little stone arch spanning the wide creek bed. They quickly crossed the slippery rocks and began climbing the opposite bank. By the time they crested a small rise, the river at their backs, the rain had decreased to a light pelting of drops, but the light was fading fast. In the distance, Kim spied a flickering yellow light. "Hey, isn't there a house down there? I could use a warm fire. What do you say?"

"I say, anything to get dry," Monique said with determination. "First dibs on the bathroom!"

Smiling through dripping red tresses, Kim stepped up the pace. As they neared the light, it became brighter and redder, far more intense than a mere window lamp would shine. Without a word, Kim and Monique began running, sliding through the messy underbrush to reach the house fire. They neared the inferno just as flames reached the wooden roof beams. Kim saw two people backing away from the house, a man and a woman. She couldn't tell who they were in the flickering light of the flames, but their jerky movements appeared frightened. As tongues of fire licked outside two front windows of the single story log house, the couple turned and almost ran over Kim and Monique as they approached at a jog.

"Get down!" the man yelled, grabbing their arms and hauling them bodily to the wet, muddy ground. His companion threw herself down too, just before a bass "whoompf" took off the roof of the building in one huge explosion. Debris from the house rained down around them, but fortunately nothing larger than a few cinders fell on the four people prostrate on the ground. They waited, heads covered, until they no longer heard things pattering to the ground around them.

Kim sat up, helping Monique into an upright position. "Hell-ooooh, what was that? You storing some old petrochemicals or something in your potato cellar?" she asked crossly. Having a nice, warm house blow up in front of her, especially when she wanted to use its bathroom, had a poor effect on her attitude.

The older woman sat up, rubbing the back of her neck where a hot cinder had fallen. She looked at the bonfire that used to be a log house, its top now open to the hissing rain. Smoke swirled around the four, getting in everyone's eyes. She looked at the man and muttered, "You just had to go for 80 proof, didn't you?" Turning to the two newcomers, she extended her hand and shook Monique's. "Sarah. Sorry to offer you such a poor greeting." She turned to Kim, and her hand stopped in mid-shake. "You're Kim Possible." It was a flat statement, devoid of hospitality or emotion. Sarah's hand dropped unceremoniously.

Kim said nothing. She'd sat through the same introduction thousands of times.

"Well, since you're here, you can help us salvage what we can. This fool," she kicked the man wobbling to his feet, "built himself a still, not like you can't get decent 200-year-old Scotch for a few days work or trade. But noooo," she intoned in what Kim thought sounded like the beginning of an age-old litany, "Marcus here thought he could do himself a better job, didn't he? And look what it got us. Another burned-out home. Another decade of scraping logs and digging septic tanks, blowed up. Another bad decision." Sarah turned to face the luckless man face-on, her eyes blazing in reflected firelight. "Well, no more, mister. I've put up with this for a hundred centuries, moved all over this continent, and built house after house only to watch you mess it all up. I ain't doing it again. I ain't."

She whirled to Kim. "I take it back. Help him as needs it. I don't. Goodbye." Raising herself to her full height of just over five feet, the slightly singed, indignant woman stalked into the drizzle, leaving the sputtering remains of her house and husband behind.

The shaky little man, Marcus, looked at the ground and shook his head back and forth. "She'll be back. She's always back, after a few dozen years. Always. What else is there?" He wandered off to look at his house.

Monique and Kim watched him stare at the nearly-extinct flames. The rain had finally succeeded in beating down the fire, and charred logs hissed loudly, pouring out smoke. As they watched, the final flame guttered and popped out of existence.

"I don't think we're gonna get to use the bathroom," Monique whispered to Kim, who nodded. Slowly backing away from the man who stood rooted in front of the remains of his house, the two women turned and put the odd scene behind them. "That was just too weird," Monique said as soon as they were out of earshot.

Kim shook her head. She understood the couple, perhaps too well. She'd seen it on her travels, far more than Monique had. People, desperate for companionship, settled for whatever, whoever would put up with them. Sometimes the matches were less than perfect, but with a reduced human population, the general consensus was that beggers couldn't be choosers. They were looking for someone to ride out their time with, until whatever end awaited them.

Night had fallen by the time the ladies reached another house, where they found reluctant hosts and dry shelter. And a bathroom.

* * *

Trekking to Seattle took less than three weeks, but not by much. The two friends didn't say much; there was little need. At times, they would play a favorite game of messaging each other obscure anagrams of music bands long gone, of favorite songs or people or places that no longer existed. They talked little of things deep or meaningful, and of Ron not at all.

Kim and her friend had put miles beneath their feet since dawn on the morning they reached Seattle. The outskirts of the city were well-tended rose patches, small foodplant gardens, and knee-high stone walls that reminded Kim of Irish countryside from long ago. The city, one of the most populous still in the world, was spread out and probably would not have even had a freeway offramp in Kim's youth. Graceful stone, wood, and composite houses were scattered seemingly haphazardly among infrequent service buildings, themselves artfully merged into the landscape. Gentle hills descended to Puget Sound, where pods of Orca could just be seen in the distance. No roads marred the verdant ground, only foot paths and the occasional cart track. Birds sang from  apple orchards, fountains chuckled and splished, and a few people strode calmly among their business. Past the fruit trees and houses and outbuildings, a clustered handful of beautiful buildings jutted into the clear sky, the tallest rising no more than five or six stories. At the center of the cluster rose the distinctive shape of a constructorium.

In these latter days of humankind, the bustling metropolitan city of Seattle housed not quite a thousand people.

Monique's steps quickened as she neared her long-time home. Increasing her pace, Kim easily kept up with her smiling friend as she practically danced up a low slope to a compact home set underneath a trio of large oak trees. There was no lock; Monique simply unlatched the door and swept in, leaving the door open behind her. Kim entered slowly, letting her eyes adjust to the dim, stuffy interior. Undaunted by the dust and dark, Monique went from window to window, opening shutters and flinging up windowpanes to let in sunlight and warm, fresh spring air.

Settling herself into a large comfortable-looking chair, the dark girl spread her arms expansively. "Welcome back to Palace Monique!" she cried in a little girl voice. She kicked off her shoes and propped her petite feet up on a cushion. "Please, make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa."

Kim smiled and sat in her favorite chair. She envied Monique's pretty little house, the stability of it, its permanence. A feeling of belonging. Although a frequent visitor over the centuries, Kim herself had no such place to call home. No community would have her as a permanent resident, although they tolerated her presence for their own, sometimes selfish reasons. Kim's feet were her home, taking her from the icy wastes north in what was once Canada, to the lower isthmus where North America had separated from South America, from the European wastelands to the African veldt, and to all manner of islands, peninsula, archipeligo, continents. At times, she wistfully recalled the adrenalin-pumping speed of jetting from continent to continent between breakfast and lunch; but the feeling usually passed quickly. Kim knew the world and its remaining people far more intimately for having travelled it the hard way.

But it would certainly be nice if she had a comfy place to call her own, someday. In the meantime, she gratefully took Monique up on her standing offer to visit whenever she was so inclined.

Despite her feigned weariness, Monique jumped up a few minutes later to fetch drinks. "Lemon-lime?" she called to the living room where Kim sat, her eyes closed, mind clear.

"Sure."

Kim heard the gentle rattle of the chain as Monique raised the bucket from her cold well. She soon had a frosty ceramic mug of surprisingly tart liquid in her hand and a chilly tingle on her lip. Her friend, mug in hand, sat back into her own chair and raised a silent toast, which Kim mirrored. Monique broke the silence after a few sips. "I guess we've had enough girls night out," she said somewhat regretfully. "I better tune in and find out what I've missed the last couple of months. You going to find out about how to make a feelie recording?"

Setting down her drink, Kim nodded. "I guess. Although I'm not looking forward to asking. You know what people can be like." Concentrating for a moment, Kim removed the mental block that separated her from the silent cacophany waiting her attention. As she expected, there were no messages specifically to her, although there were a few general notices, regional and worldwide, that she would take a look at soon. Shunting aside her internal message center with a mental swipe, she concentrated on accessing the local Seattle constructorium, and discovering if they had loaded the colony's instructions on creating feelies. After a few quick inquiries to an infobot, she found they were accepting reservations to make feeling recordings. She submitted a personal message request to get in the schedule.

The reply came far more swiftly than she had anticipated. "Kim Possible, scheduled feeling recording, ten a.m. tomorrow," an obviously artificial voice whispered into her ear. Tomorrow? That seemed odd, and far too quick.

She was still pondering the exchange when she noticed Monique eyeing her strangely. "What?" she asked somewhat gruffly.

Monique didn't answer right away. "Haven't you listened to the general message list?" she asked, tapping a finger against the side of her head in the universal "read your wetware" gesture. Kim shook her head but accessed the list, watching the list scroll quickly up her vision. One large group of messages, titled "Outland Colony Research Results," caught her eye and she expanded the list. Browsing quickly, she searched for what could've triggered Monique's raised eyebrow. She was just about to ask for clarification when her inner eye lit on a title: "Temporal exchange technique."

Was that what she thought it could be?

Opening the message, she saw how large it was and opted to absorb the entire message directly into her thoughts. It was not a pleasant procedure, and Kim rarely had need to become so closely entwined with her wetware. But this time it seemed worth the headache.

It was what she'd thought. Time travel. The Outland colony had discovered a method of travelling into the past.

Before she could truly understand it all, Monique asked, "Well? Are you going to do it?"

Startled, Kim asked, "Do what?" Was this message not what her friend meant? She looked again at the rest of the public messages and found an officious-looking one she'd missed before. It had a deprecated tag, apparently just for her, which is why she'd initially skimmed over it. But the contents of the first few lines of the message startled the breath out of her.

"Whereas the Outland Colony has discovered and documented a method of transporting one person from the present into the past; whereas said procedure can only be performed once; whereas said procedure will allow a single person to spend no more than 50 relative hours in a previous timeframe; whereas the grievous error that allowed the human race to suffer childless immortality can now be rectified; be it known that the humans of earth have thoroughly deliberated and voted 'aye' to transport through time the one person who has opportunity to undo her error, and restore the human race back to a mortal, thriving, and generational status. So say we all."

Kim let the message fade behind her eyes. Sitting up blinking, her shocked face stared in Monique's direction, not seeing. An abrupt knock on the thick wooden door brought Kim back to awareness.

Two burly, unsmiling men in finely woven shirts and pants opened the door and entered without bothering to ask permission, a rudeness rarely tolerated. The first looked directly at Kim, who was sitting bolt upright.

"Kim Possible, please come with us."