Mrs. Oaks was not at the front desk when he passed by. He hoped she wouldn’t think he ditched her before she could find his last book, but he was starting to feel the effects of low blood sugar on this body.

  Ryan made his way out of the Library and around the corner to unimaginatively named Corner Bakery. It was a brightly lit shop with white tiles, offwhite textured paint on the walls, and enough space for four small tables that were designed to fit two chairs each. He took a moment to take the piece of paper out of his pocket, read it twice, and then put it back away. There was a display counter of curved glass with golden trim; within were various pastries, cakes, breads, and cheeses. The idea of cheese with his bread made Ryan’s mouth water.

  A large man with one of those ridiculous Baker’s hats was behind the counter, kneading dough, and humming to himself. He had dark curly hair sticking out the sides of his hat, as well as a neatly kept goatee. Aside from the Baker the shop was empty, which was, unfortunately, not unusual.

  “Good morning, Greg,” Ryan said as he eyed the oven behind the counter which was emitting the scent of a freshly baked loaf. “How long until whatever’s in the oven finishes baking?” The man grunted, turning an eye towards Ryan.

  “Don’t rush perfection Ryan,” he said, not pausing the motions of his knuckles upon the dough.

  “But it smells done to me,” Ryan said longingly. “Why not check to see?”

  “If you’re lookin’ you ain’t cookin’” the man said sternly. “It’ll be done when it’s done.”

  “Which as it’s ready when it’s ready?” Ryan teased, quoting a character from one of the books the Baker had turned Ryan on to. The man didn’t turn around, but Ryan thought he could see the sides of his cheeks turn up in a grin.

  “What brings you in here so late, it’s almost one o’clock,” the Baker asked, nodding up at the clock above him on the wall. “Did you lose track of time at the library again?”

  “You know how I roll on Saturdays, Greg.” Ryans stomach let out another yearnful sound.

  “Geeze, don’t rush me,” the Baker admonished. “Most kids your age would be out with friends on a Saturday. You said you were done with your paper anyway.”

  “I can’t control my stomach! I do have plans to hang out with my friends tomorrow,” Ryan said sheepishly. “It’s just that, I got another reading assignment, and wanted to at least get the books while I was out this morning.” The man turned towards him, raising an eyebrow. “And,” Ryan admitted. “Time got away from me. I’m hungry, what do you got in there?”

  “French bread,” the man said. “It’s such a slow day, I thought I would close up early, have a slice of bread and a glass of wine. Sometimes the simplest meal can be the best.” Ryan new Greg liked to quote different books from time to time, and after getting to know the man he was able to pick out the subtle change of inflection that indicated when he was doing so. Ryan also didn’t like to guess, and knew if he waited him out, Greg would tell him where it was from.

  “You don’t read Herman Hesse?” the Baker finally asked.

  “Herman Hesse,” Ryan mused. “Didn’t he write a book about the Buddha?”

  “Huh,” the man grumbled. “I guess the Buddha was in Siddhartha. And Siddhartha is the name of the Buddha. But I was talking about Steppenwolf.” Greg paused to turn and give Ryan an appraising look. “Maybe you’re too young to appreciate that one. Wait until you’re twenty-five or most of it will fly over your head.” Ryan was about to object to the outrageous claim that he was too young for anything, but was interrupted by a soft ding that lingered in the air. He looked from the Baker to the oven expectantly.

  A moment later Greg was ripping open the loaf, steam rising from within the broken crust as he placed half on a plate in front of Ryan, who waited patiently while the Baker took his sweet time pouring oil and a bit of balsamic vinegar into little dipping trays to the side of their plates.

  “Don’t hold back on my account,” the man said, ripping a piece of bread off and dipping. Ryan did the same, tearing into the bread voraciously, hardly taking the time to appreciate the “perfection” the baker had been seeking. “So, what about this reading assignment you’re tackling this weekend?” he asked, nodding appreciatively at the site of the young man demolishing his food. He began preparing cheese slices from several wedges he’d brough over from the display case. Ryan finally took a moment to chew his food, eyeballing the cheese as it was being laid out on the center plate between them.

  “Just something to do with dreams and the astral,” he said once his mouth was empty.

  “Dreams and the astral,” the Baker repeated, looking at Ryan from under raised eyebrows. “Those are pretty dangerous topics this day and age. What class is this reading assignment for anyway?”

  “Class? Oh, well,” Ryan stumbled over his words. “It’s more like, an extracurricular assignment.”

  “All right,” Greg said, holding up his hands in surrender. “Have your secrets. Just know, whatever glory the propaganda stations put on those Astral Travelers is a bunch of hot air. There’s a reason only a few of them are famous. All the other ones end up dead, or mad.” He finished cutting and held the wooden plate up to Ryan. “Cheese?”

  Astral Travelers, those who awakened the ability to astral project into the tears that would randomly form in the fabric of reality. If the damaged space beyond the tear was not repaired, then the surrounding area would experience what was known as an “Incursion Event” where creatures of nightmare would breach into reality. Ryan hadn’t really made the connection until this point, but Wake Induced Lucid Dreaming, The Deep Astral, and The True Firmament all seemed to be topics relevant to Incursion Events. And those events, in turn, were related to Minerva. The topic of the article that had won him the singular object of his desire.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  As they finished their little meal, Ryan fished into his inside pocket and produced a triangle of green paper. He unfolded and set it on the table.

  “Hey, your money is no good here,” the Baker said, pushing the bill back towards Ryan.

  “No, no, Greg, I insist,” Ryan pushed the paper back. “I didn’t even know I had this bill in my pocket. Who knows how long it’s been there. Plus, I’m pretty sure I’ll be back for more free meals in the future. Just take it, I’m doing all right these days anyway.”

  “Are you now? Have they started giving basic income to minors now?” The Baker was surprised by the look of resentment on the young kid’s face. He usually reacted well to a little light teasing, but Greg knew the fact that he grew up on Basic bothered him. Still, there was more to it. “What’s bothering you, kid?” He asked gently.

  “Nothing,” Ryan denied, almost putting his normally playful mask back on his face, but the strain was still there. “Well, it was this guy I just ran into,” he confided. “A drunk, wasn’t taking care of his dog, blathering, slobbering, and on the verge of violence. But none of that bothered me so much as the thought that…” Ryan trailed off, but Greg had an idea of what he was getting it.

  “You’re not destined to become anyone,” he said. “You get to choose your own fate.” Ryan thought of what that stranger had said, about certain things being unavoidable. But he also remembered what the man had said about being able to change the outcomes of those unavoidable events. “But hey,” the Baker said. “If you want to give up and roll over, that’s on you.”

  “Ha, no,” Ryan laughed. “I’ve got another source of income though.” He made a decision, tapped the side of his visor to deactivate the camouflage mode on his goggles, and slid them off his head. The Baker’s eyes went wide.

  “You got it,” he said reverently, taking the PerSpectives as Ryan held them out for him to examine. “Is it as amazing as other’s have described?”

  “Even more so,” Ryan said. “I think they might even be using me to test out a new operating system. The whole thing is designed around gamification, and even though I know what it’s doing, let me tell you Greg, it works. Want to give me some points for picking up trash? I’m in. Help out a creature in need? Of course. Want to reward me for doing so? Heck yeah!” After turning them around in his hands to admire, Greg handed the goggles back to Ryan.

  “I’m happy for you Ryan, I know how hard you worked on that paper, and what it really meant to you,” the allusion to his father sat heavy in the air for a moment, but Ryan smiled in thanks.

  “I’m not sure how to make it usable by others, but once I’ve figured it out, I’ll give you a go with them,” he promised.

  “No rush,” Greg said. “As much as I’d like that, you’ve more than earned this reward. You should do your best to enjoy it. Also, this camouflage feature is really incredible. I would keep it on constantly, people will be jealous of this. In fact, I would be careful who you tell about it at school. I don’t even want to know how he would react, if Jeremy found out.”

  Jeremy Witkins was like a chimera of high school stereotypes. He was the rich kid, that wanted everyone to know how wealthy his father was, and the Jock who wanted everyone to know how athletic he was, and the school bully, who wanted to make sure everyone knew how weak, poor, and uncoordinated Ryan was. There was more than a little enmity between them, but Ryan had been mostly shielded by his other friends, Derek and Lisa, who didn’t hesitate to stand between the two of them. Even to their own detriment.

  He was meeting up with Derek and Lisa tomorrow. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell them about the PerSpectives. He wasn’t sure where that hesitation came from. There was no one else he wanted to tell more than either of them. But they’d all been in the same competition together; and it almost felt like a betrayal of their friendship that he’d been the one to win the grand prize. He decided he would table those thoughts until tomorrow; he had a lot of reading to get done, and wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get through all of it in a day as it was.

  He thanked the Baker again and took his leave, heading back to the library. Mrs. Oaks was back at her usual post. She gave him one of her looks, then, reaching under the counter, pulled out a thick, leather bound book, setting it heavily on the counter.

  “TetraLex doesn’t mess around,” she said. “Make sure you have it back in three weeks or request a renewal.”

  “I don’t think I’ll need to check it out,” he said, sliding the book towards himself. The True Firmament by TetraLex was emblazoned on the cover in golden script, which stood out against the dark aged leather. “Helios, download eBook,” he muttered.

  Error. eBook is unavailable for this title.

  “That’s, unfortunate,” he said, looking at the heft of the tome. He slid his library card across the counter in defeat.

  ***

  Atop a building across from the library, a strange man in a long coat removed the fedora from the top of his head as he watched Ryan lug a large book down the sidewalk. He sighed, then turned his attention to the black car hovering its way down the street on the other side of the building. The Ministry of Integrity was a lot more efficient than he remembered them, he thought, glancing at the tall, mirrored building just a few blocks over. He couldn’t stay here much longer. There was one more stop he wanted to make before he headed back, though.

  “It’s not worth it,” a distorted voice came from behind him. He frowned, put his hat back on, and pulled a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

  “Want one?” he asked, flicking his lighter to life and taking a few quick pulls to get the cancer stick lit.

  “Unfortunately, I can’t,” said the other man. “Not in this state.” The strange man turned to look at the newcomer, who appeared as only the vague outline of a person. It was looking at, or through, its hands with a curious tilt of its head. Its head jerked up. “Actually, saying it’s not worth it was incorrect. It won’t happen. They’ve got your frequency. I’d say you have about fifteen minutes before they’ve scrambled their containment team. You’ll never make it to her.”

  The man sighed, took another long drag, then flicked his cigarette off the roof. He saw Ryan turn the corner out of view and he let out another sigh.

  “Can’t you, like, make it so they didn’t notice me?” he asked.

  “It doesn’t work like that anymore, not with the way things are now. Sorry Anthony, I really am. But it’s time to come back. For now, at least. This was the right move.”

  “So you say,” the stranger said, pulling a black metallic device from another pocket. He pressed a red button on the tip and a high-pitched squelch emitted from its epicenter as the very fabric of reality began to vibrate. A small rent pierced through the veil, and the stranger stepped though, disappearing from the world once more.