I'll say one thing for my Human foes: if you go a while without any air conditioning, and then find yourself exposed to it again? Incredible. Amazing. I wondered if Art could make a better version, and if the other Fools would even want it. Gary liked it warm, I knew that.

Speaking of Gary: I left the little room and entered the base. Friday had told us it was called Patriot Capital Security Installation, and it was new. It felt new, expensive and not for people like me at all.

This was my first time being exposed to present-day Earth technology; there had been a gap, of course, while I'd been caught in Harrigan's Isekai App cycle of death-and-rebirth. I'd been hoping to see cool-and-futuristic things here in Patriot Capital whatever base.

But it felt unfinished. Fluorescent lighting overhead, concrete flooring. Just wires stapled to the walls, not even motivational posters one might expect to see in a place called Patriot Capital. I unhooked one of my Gary Biohazard pouches, sprinkled its powdery contents as I walked on that chilly floor. Take that!

The floor shook beneath my feet. I didn't remember if Nevada suffered from earthquakes on its own, but for what was happening this afternoon an earthquake was small potatoes.

I cast about, looking for an air conditioning vent. I wanted an HVAC intake. I'd worked with them briefly, one of my many Human jobs that had made me a vicious alien warlord. Usually you get the HVAC near big appliances. I wanted to fill the ventilation system with Gary's powder of love and understanding. No dice.

Noise from down the long hall. Many voices, speaking, shouting. Excited. I followed them to a pair of metal open double doors.

A large room, high ceiling, full of people in blue overalls. They were talking, arguing, rummaging in heavy blue duffel bags. Men and women. Children, none under the age of ten that I could see.

What stood out to me immediately: all of them were spectacularly caucasian. Blonde hair, blue eyes, the men were square of jaw, the women had identically weird makeup. Conforming to something or other, all of them.

A few turned and saw me. I waved. "Maintenance," I said. I walked into the center of the room, spun in place, dumped out the contents of the Gary bag, flinging the dust into the midst of them.

They'd gone quiet; I understand why. Not only was I barefoot and dressed for the beach, I also was nowhere near as Nordic as these folks. They smelled a rat.

"Have a nice day," I said, and headed for the door. I saw a monitor, a glass sheet bolted to the concrete wall, and the image there was text: GROUP 24 PREPARING FOR TRANSPORT. A list of bullet-pointed instructions: Have a travel buddy! Be ready with identification! Inoculation means a safe trip!

Inoculation, eh?

A few men began following me down that long hall. "Excuse me," one of them called. I walked faster. "Excuse me!" he shouted more forcefully.

Another earthquake. The Helpers behind me, that's what they had to be, gasped.

"Excuse me!" shouted Mr. Excuse me a third time, undeterred by the shaking. I turned to face him as I walked, and he kept up. Good lad, but he was still huffy. "How did you get in here?"

"I was here first, actually. I need to talk to Harrigan, where is he?"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

He stopped. "Holy shit. Holy…are you him? You're him."

"No I'm not," I said, because what else could one say to such a base accusation? "I'm not him, I'm another dude, totally. Can you tell me where Harrigan is please? Nevermind, I'll find out on my own." Because he'd frozen in place, jaw agape, no longer a good conversationalist.

I heard running footsteps, thought he was going to tackle me or otherwise beat me up. But I turned, saw him running off the way we'd come. Okay, good, one less thing.

I reached the end of that hall, found I could either keep going down a long corridor or use what had to be an elevator. Its doors were hugely wide, suitable for cargo, not people. Or for people who were cargo, of course. That glass monitor over the doors: TRANSPORT SYSTEM BOOTING UP. REMAIN IN CELL UNTIL YOUR GROUP NUMBER IS CALLED.

Transport system. At first I thought that meant me, but I remembered they had their own thing here, their own way of passing through the slice between worlds. Hmm.

Hmmm.

That seemed more of a Taylor thing, frankly. And by George: an alarm started, a goofy electronic hooting. A Human voice, or maybe AI: "Remain in your loading cell." Speaking of Taylor.

Another voice in the corridor over the speakers. "This is Doctor Harrigan. I see you. I do see you, Owen. I have to say I'm surprised. Why would you come here? Why come to a world that robs you of your mojo?" He said robs you of your mojo in a strange accent, vaguely aristocratic. Movie reference, surely.

"Can you hear me, Doc? I need to get into the elevator."

"Hold on, let me unmute…okay, go ahead, Owen."

"I need to use this elevator, can you open it for me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"I wanna wreck everything."

"This is…very disappointing. I have to say that. I knew you'd have some kind of prank, a little bit of a cute upraised defiant fist. I knew it and I was ready for it, but this? Come on, man."

And you know what? He did sound genuinely disappointed, sad. He'd expected something big. Poor Jeff Harrigan.

"Just let me get in the elevator please."

"Owen, just wait there for security to–"

A series of thumps rattled the walls of the Patriot Capital Base of Idiocy. "Oh no," I said helpfully. "What's that?"

He spoke off-mike, faintly. "...what IS that…give me camera ten. No, TEN. Hendricks, just let me do it…"

"Hey," I said. "Commander Hendricks? How are you, man?"

"He's not going to talk to you, Owen, you have no friends here–Oh."

"Oh!" I said. "Uh oh!"

The building shook. It wasn't an earthquake this time, or at least my bare feet, raised in California, didn't recognize it as an earthquake. Something had fallen, something heavy and huge and very likely load-bearing.

"Give her to me," I said.

But the speaker had gone dead. Harrigan had other things on his mind.

I looked behind me, in the corridor where I'd been sprinkling Gary's evil dust. I'd left a trail of it; I could tell because tiny plants were springing up, growing right through that hard concrete.

It was like watching time-lapse video. Cracks spread through the floor as the roots burrowed through it. I felt the Runes on my back flaring, burning. A little painful. Agricultural Accelerant.

Leaves, flowers. Gary's plant was growing with unseemly haste. Indoors. Currently.

And next to me, on the wall near the elevator: more flowers. Different ones, vines tearing from the wall. Three circles: a knob, a tuning window, a speaker of golden cloth.

It boomed. "The Green Radio WAS ON THE AIR!"

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