A Twist of Destiny Bk. 01

I can't explain how I knew, without bringing into question topics like extra-sensory perception or telepathy, but just the same I knew that the person hidden in the shadows to my left was none other than myself, my future self. I calmed my racing thoughts and resumed the act of lighting my cigarette. "How far ahead?" I asked the darkened silhouette that stood a few meters away from me. I let out the first puff of smoke but refused to look directly at him. From the glare of my lighter lit up the small area and I could see that I was definitely not talking to thin air. Part of me wanted to carefully extricate myself from this strange experience, but my curiosity would never let it go. I stood my ground and forced myself to remain calm enough to see how this all played out.

He took one cautious step toward me. When he spoke, I heard my own voice coming from his mouth and knew, beyond any doubt, exactly who he was. "You know I can't tell you that," he answered.

"Hmm," I grunted and took another drag. He was shrewdly telling me nothing solid that might give me a glimpse into the future or a way to expect things. "How'd you get here?"

"With a little help that I can't explain," he replied. "Not through mechanical means."

"So... the next question is..."

"To give you a heads up about a few things. To prepare you."

Then I looked at him evenly. My eyes had, by then, adjusted to the dim moonlight and I was able to see him clearly enough. He was dressed in black, form-fitting clothing and black boots. His head was completely visible, however, and I saw my own eyes looking back at me. He had hair on his scalp in contrast to my own shaven pate and seemed to look younger, stronger and healthier. If I didn't know better, I'd have guessed that he was also more muscular and perhaps even an inch or so taller. His upper clothing, while indeed dark, looked very utilitarian, littered with a few pockets, the contents of which I couldn't guess because they didn't seem to bulge noticeably. His pants looked even more mission-ready, however, with cargo pockets, normal pockets and, of all things, a black, bulging pouch strapped around his waist. In the dim light I couldn't tell what might be in the pouch, but it looked to weigh at least a pound. The whole outfit looked like it had been molded to his body rather than put on, leaving no sagging bits of cloth or breathing room yet looking entirely comfortable and snug. He also wore gloves, similarly molded to his skin, and I suspected that, under normal circumstances, he'd be wearing a mask of some sort to hide his identity. I was looking at my future self and realized that, no, I was actually looking at a super-hero.

"Prepare me for what? And if you can't tell me when you're from, how do you reckon it's any better to tell me what to expect?"

He smirked, took another step closer and then leaned against the bunker's inner concrete wall, close to opposite from me. "Y'know... I actually remember having this conversation, almost word for word." I offered him a smoke from my pack and he withdrew it with those gloved fingers. He put the cigarette between his lips, held a finger in front of the tip and I watched studiously as the fabric around that finger melted away to reveal his flesh. A small flame leaped from his fingernail to light the cigarette. He took a puff, the small flame disappeared and the fabric of his glove seemed to reform itself back around the exposed finger. Satisfied that the cigarette was lit, he blew out the smoke and looked down at me, still smiling faintly. "Expect lots of changes," he said. "Tell them about everything except this, the time-travel. For one thing, it's difficult as hell to manage and, for another, it shouldn't be used too often. Neverminding the fact that you can only go back, not forward."

"Then why are you using it now?" I asked. Before he could reply, I held up a silencing hand and felt chagrined as the answer fit into place within my own mind. "Nevermind. I should've known. You're here because it's already happened for you. Temporal continuity."

"Exactly," he said. "The other thing I came to tell you is more personal. They both love you, almost equally. You'll go there. Just be patient and don't push anything. They'll approach you about it."

I knew precisely what he was referring to: a long-held fantasy of mine that I'd never told another living soul about, except under the guise of fiction. "And my orders?" I'd known about my orders for transfer to a new unit with NATO for a couple of months already. I'd been trying to get the orders changed or removed but still didn't have any success.

"Been there. It's happening. It's necessary. Roll with it." He flicked the cigarette away, reached into the black pouch that hung from his waist and withdrew a small steel ball. I watched it reshape itself into a very sharp, small scalpel that was a single, contiguous piece of metal. "Hold out your hand," he instructed.

I obeyed, knowing that he wouldn't tell me to do it without good reason, and held out my left hand, the palm facing up at him. I also half-suspected what he was about to do and steeled myself for the small amount of pain I would have to endure. Sure enough, he held his own free hand over mine (the glove had disappeared to reveal his palm) and applied the blade's tip to his skin. He slashed his palm forcefully, seemingly with a great deal of effort, and I saw the gash first spill out about a tea-spoon's worth of blood before it quickly sealed up, almost in the blink of an eye. I noticed that the blade of the scalpel was twisted horribly but it quickly snapped back into its proper sharpness when he glanced at it. Before the blood could drip from his hand, he quickly sliced open my exposed palm with a flick of his wrist, which hurt like hell, and tipped his palm so that the blood pooled could pour into my wound.

As soon as his warm blood started to seep into my flesh I felt a strange, tingling sensation crawl up the length of my arm. Out of reflex I started to cover my wounded left hand with my right, but he stopped me, holding my arm in place at the wrist. Meanwhile, the tingling sensation that ran up my arm had gotten to my shoulder and was slowly turning into something like a slow burn through my veins. It wasn't necessarily painful- just uncomfortable. I wondered, idly, what would happen once my brain and heart were hit by whatever it was that he'd just put into my system.

Having gone through this already, he knew what I was thinking and said, "Yeah, it'll hurt. Just hold still and let it happen."

"What're you doing to me?" I asked as I felt the tingling move throughout my chest, running just below my lungs and spreading quickly all over my torso. A second later it finally hit my heart and I felt it seize up for a fraction of time, which caused me to jerk with a small spasm. I stiffened in an effort to control myself but I felt like running wildly into the dark, Afghan night to scream in agony. My teeth grit against themselves in anticipation of what would come next very shortly even as I felt my stomach begin to churn.

"Preparing you," he told me as he held his grip on my wrist. "You're a lot sicker than you know. By doing this, I'm giving you an edge, one that they won't expect. It'll make the full process a lot easier later on, I can't tell you when or how. Just trust me."

And, just as he said "trust me", I felt the freight train as it slammed into my brain pan. Everything behind my eye sockets erupted into an all-encompassing flame of pain as portions of my gray matter were re-written in a matter of seconds. I could actually feel it, I swear, as my engrams and neurons were forcibly shifted around by the new blood that was running through my veins. Unable to do much else except to endure it, I let loose with a hoarse grunt and strained against my own tightening, convulsing muscles. He continued to hold on to me while the rest of my body went through this inner change until, after what had to have been only a few seconds but felt like hours, my body finally relaxed and I slumped forward, exhausted after having done nothing at all.

I breathed raggedly as I tried to catch my balance and immediately vomited between my feet. The expulsion of bile and whatever else was in there came out steadily as though pushed out via a wide hose, leaving the bitter and noxious taste of it on my lips, throat and teeth. I felt at once weak and suddenly stronger, all at the same time, as I stared stupidly at the toxic crap that had been, in a single moment, ejected from my body, and wiped my mouth clean with the back of my left hand. It was then that I noticed: the cut he'd made on my palm had sealed up, was completely gone, like it'd never happened.

"Holy shit!" I gasped and glanced back up at him questioningly. "So what now?" I asked.

He pointed his fist down at the mass of ejected matter between my feet and, with a powerful flash of energy that shot from his knuckles, the steaming pile of refuse went up in a foul-smelling puff of smoke. Not a trace of it was left and no one would ever know what had just happened in that small, dark bunker.

"Now," he said calmly, "you lay low. You'll be able to fly a little bit, but not for long and not far. You'll be stronger- stronger than anyone here- and you'll have more energy, sleep less. You won't need your glasses anymore, either, but you should avoid questions about that. You'll heal with lightning speed, like you just did. Feel free to play around a bit with the few abilities you've got, but don't get stupid. You aren't ready for that yet, not by a long shot. What you've got now is just the tip of the iceberg. More will come later, through external means. I can't tell you more than that. Just be patient and keep going on like nothing's changed."

I leaned back against the bunker's wall and took a deep, cleansing breath, already feeling better than I ever had in my life. "Can I tell-?"

He cut me off with a wry smile. "Yeah. She'll like that. But wait until you get home before you do. See you later, David."

Now it was my turn to smile enigmatically. "Actually, I guess I will." And then he was gone. No energy burst or puff of smoke or anything else to signify his departure. One second he was there, standing in front of me, and then in the next second he was completely gone without a trace. I looked down at my left palm. Not even a scar could be seen anymore. The only evidence that I'd been cut there at all was the small stain of blood that seemed to already be drying and flaking away.

I looked down at my feet and saw that I'd dropped my cigarette onto the gravel beside me during the "change." It was still lit and smoking. I picked it up, took a deep puff and blew out the smoke languidly, feeling unhurried and confident now. "He never even told me his name," I said to the empty bunker jokingly. But, of course, I already knew it: NightShade.

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On my next smoke break I found myself, once again, alone- this time without my glasses, which had already been rendered useless to me. It was a bit cool outside under the Afghan sky, a dark blanket of stars that was filled with a bright moon. I lit a cigarette, exhaled the smoke and looked skyward, wondering if I should give it a try. Flying. He'd told me to feel free to play around a bit with my new abilities, with the admonishment to be careful about it. It was dark, quiet, not many people even awake let alone around to witness anything unusual. I glanced from side to side just to be sure that no one could see me. With another upward look, I willed myself to go up, to leave the ground. At first nothing happened. I didn't feel weightless or anything other than a little stupid. Maybe I needed to give the new blood in my system a little more time, I guessed, but it had been two hours since the event. I certainly felt stronger and more clear-headed. I just didn't feel like I was capable of flying just yet. And then it occurred to me that a lifetime of being grounded was the thing that kept me where I was. So I closed my eyes and let my mind go free for a moment, clearing out my thoughts and doubts. As my mind got clearer of purpose, I felt a new sense of empowerment, a sort of calm that started at the top of my scalp and then flooded down through the rest of my body. I opened my eyes again, intent on my desire, and pushed myself up with my toes the way one might do if they were reaching for something on a high shelf.

My feet left the ground. I didn't go up very high at all, maybe only six inches, but when I looked down I could see that there was a measurable gap between my toes and the gravel I'd been standing on a few seconds before. Seeing the ground, I felt the old habits of being bound to the earth creep back to my consciousness and watched my feet move downward. Gentle as a Sunday kiss my feet once again met Terra firma. I calmed myself once more, this time with a grin on my face, looked upwards and pushed with real force from my legs, straightening my spine like an arrow.

I shot off the ground like I'd been kicked off it, the cool Afghan air slipping past my body like a powerful gust of wind. Looking upward, I had no idea how far off the ground I'd gotten, so I looked down to gauge the distance. I was both thrilled and shocked to see the NetOps shack so far below me that I could barely make its shape out in the darkness. I could see the entire base from my vantage point, but it looked so small and toy-like that I couldn't imagine it being so real. It was very similar to the view out of an airplane as it takes off or comes in for a landing, like I was seeing the world's most elaborate doll house collection. When I surveyed the area surrounding the base, though, I found that my vision had not only improved, it had become nearly telescopic. I could literally zoom in on far-away objects and, consequently, magnify objects that were close to me. I resolved, at that point, to start wearing my Army-issue "eye pro" (protective eyewear came in three flavors: clear, amber-colored and sun-screening lenses) because I knew that, eventually, my old eyeglasses would end up giving me headaches.

It was exhilarating to be up there, alone and out of reach. It was also considerably colder, I found, and that was a bit frustrating. I knew, then, that the next time I'd have to put on my fleece jacket to keep from shivering. With the cigarette still in my hand, I took another drag and contemplated the situation. I floated there for a few moments, enjoying a smoke high above my Army base, and decided to see just how far and fast I could go. Tilting myself forward a bit, like you'd do if you were in a pool, I then found it very easy to propel my body through willpower alone. With occasional glances downward I could see the ground moving beneath me and could tell that I was picking up speed with every growing second of confidence. I thought about flying myself past the confines of the base's perimeter but decided against it, reminding myself that NightShade did say that my ability to fly was limited. That said, he didn't tell me for how long or how I'd know I couldn't stay aloft any longer. Some discoveries, I guess, are best made empirically.

After twenty minutes of flying high over the FOB, I felt myself growing literally tired of it. Not the kind of tired that a child gets from boredom, but mentally exhausted. I couldn't concentrate very well anymore and needed a break. Marshalling my mental faculties as best I could, I brought myself in for a landing close to some Port-A-Johns that weren't far from the NetOps shack. I figured that if anyone had come outside during my flight, I could easily explain my sudden appearance by just walking away from the latrines- they'd assume I had been going to the bathroom and think nothing of it. It took a great deal of effort to concentrate long enough to allow myself a graceful landing, however. In terms of mental faculty, by the time my feet lightly touched back to ground, I felt like I'd just run a marathon. My thoughts were scattered and fragmented, almost incapable of linear thinking, but I was still fully aware of my senses and my memory was completely intact. I sluggishly forced my feet to work in unison with my will and trudged towards the NetOps shack slowly, feeling almost drunk. By the time I got to the shack, however, I could feel myself becoming more mentally alert and focused. As I slowly pulled the NetOps door open to walk back inside it, I decided that, on my next "smoke break", I would fly myself over to the Motorpool and try lifting some vehicles, test out the limits of my newfound strength.

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The subsequent explorations of my new talents were fairly mundane and hardly worth detailing. I found that I could heft somewhere in excess of 500 pounds with a little effort, half-a-ton with a great deal of effort and three-quarters ton could be lifted a few inches but no more before I felt painful resistance. I could probably throw a Volkswagen or other small economy vehicle, but I wouldn't count on myself for much more. That being said, I was considerably happy with even that much. I also learned that I could fly at some pretty fast speeds for short bursts, call it 400 miles per hour (that's a guess- where would I have found a method of measuring it accurately without drawing the attention of others?).

Did I consider making bold use of these abilities immediately, to help in the fight against the Taliban? Certainly! But I'm no idiot. NightShade wouldn't have admonished me to "lay low" without good reason. I could heal quickly, but I was not bullet-proof. I could fly quickly, but not for very long. I could lift a lot of mass, but I was not without limitation. I could see far, but I was still prone to getting headaches if I wore my near-sighted lenses. Then I recalled witnessing some of NightShade's other abilities: manipulation of metal at a molecular (possibly atomic?) level, energy pulses from his hands, generating flame from a fingertip (which might have been, and probably was, a modest display), time-travel and I had a sneaking suspicion that the clothing he wore was under his control, too. And those were just the abilities that I'd observed; who knew what else he was capable of? Who knew what lay ahead for me as time passed? What kind of "external means" would enhance these abilities? I had no answers to any of these questions and couldn't imagine how I might resolve them. So while I did consider the idea of putting my new abilities to some good use, I soon rejected the idea in favor of patience and prudence. He was right: I wasn't ready for that yet.

In the months that followed I kept "practicing" with my few abilities, but maintained vigilance in keeping it a secret, playing around only at night and forcing myself to seem as though I wasn't stronger. Thankfully, I'm a good actor.

Chapter Three : A Surprise

When it was time for me to come home, I actually found myself nervous. I wanted to tell Kathy, my wife, about my recent, magnificent change, but I was worried about how she'd really react to it. NightShade had told me that she'd like hearing about it, and I could trust that because he was me, but I was still apprehensive. The entire flight home was fraught with consideration and doubt until, finally, I realized that NightShade had probably gone through the same internal debate and knew from experience that she would appreciate the news.

We got home at night with some fanfare, nothing extravagant due to the fact that I was an early-re-deployer (everyone who was transferring to a new unit or whose contract was close to ending had been allowed to go home early), but it was one hell of a joyous occasion to see my family again. It was an agonizingly boring two-and-a-half hours before they finally let us go home (we had to turn in our weapons, listen to a safety briefing, get instructions for the re-integration process and officially sign back in to our home post), but when I was finally able to drive my family back to our house I felt elated. I wasn't tired at all because of the changes I'd gone through (which surprised my wife considerably- she thought that I'd be jet-lagged to my toes), so I recounted some stories for the benefit of my kids on the way and, when we arrived at the house, I took my wife into our bedroom so that we could reacquaint ourselves after a year of separation. If she was surprised at my lack of exhaustion during the drive home, she was downright flabbergasted at my enthusiasm for love-making!