Subclasses Ch. 28

Chapter Twenty-Eight

"I got it!" Gabi exclaims, bounding into our room on Tuesday afternoon.

"Got what?" I ask.

"Got the internship!"

"Congratulations! What internship?"

"You're looking at the next intern for the U. S. Secretary of State. Sir Anthony Blinken, himself!"

"Wow!" I say with earnest enthusiasm, though, to my shame, I had no idea who our Secretary of State is. "That's amazing, Gabi. I'm so proud of you!"

"Aww, shucks. Thanks, Babes."

"Wait, our Secretary of State was knighted?"

"No, but it never hurts to be polite," she says in her southern drawl.

I smirk. "When is it?"

"This summer, June through September. It starts a week after school ends and ends a week before school starts again."

"Well, then I'm going to miss you," I say, my merriment diminished slightly at the prospect of not seeing my girlfriend for three months.

"Yeah, I'll miss you, too. But it's not like we'd have seen each other that often over the summer, anyway, me living in Oak Harbor and you living– Oh."

"Yeah," I say, resignedly.

She lowers her voice. "Three months stuck in your masculine body and living with your parents. Will you be okay?"

"Honestly? I don't know. Gender dysphoria was oppressive enough before I got accustomed to–" I stop myself since the door is open. "Well, you know." She nods. "Winter break was awful. After experiencing what life is supposed to feel like, the one weekend I had to go home this quarter was even worse, and that was for only two days. I'm seriously terrified of how depressed I'll get."

She's silent for a long moment. "Well, Bear Creek isn't that far from Renton. It's what, a half hour?"

I'd already looked this up tidbit. "Twenty-five minutes to an hour, depending on traffic."

"You'll see Beatrix plenty, I'm sure," Gabi says, nearly hiding her grimace. Seattle's traffic problem is second in the U. S. only to Los Angeles's.

"Maybe," I say, "but I don't own a car. Bea does, but that would mean, logistically, it makes the most sense to hang out at my place, rather than hers. To be honest, I don't even want her to meet my parents. You remember how appalled they were that I had been placed in a 'co-ed' dorm room. They'd have no problem with me dating Bea, since they'd see it as a heterosexual relationship, but can you imagine fiercely protective Beatrix putting up with them misgendering me? Putting up with their homophobia?"

"She'd light the house on fire," Gabi says gravely.

"Yep." It's a gross exaggeration, but I agree with the sentiment.

"Will you put up with them misgendering you?"

I try to say, "I'll manage," but the words won't leave my lips. I shake my head. "No. I did last summer to an extent, and it was hell." My posture buckles as I'm at last forced to address this problem that's been weighing on my subconscious for months. "I don't know what I'm going to do, Gabi. I honestly don't think I can live with them that long again."

"Maybe you can get a temp job and rent a place up here over the summer?"

"The prospect of finding roommates is a little scary, let alone finding a job that will take me on for just three months. Bellingham is progressive in general, and I feel safe on campus and in groups off campus, but you can't tell a transphobic person on sight."

"I bet if you asked Beatrix, she would rent a place with you."

That causes me to pause. "I hadn't considered that. That's not a bad idea.

"Still, I'd rather not work over the summer if I can avoid it. Last June, after classes ended, I basically slept for a week. I suspect I'll have the same inclination this June. I love college, but boy does it take it out of me. It took three months of determined laziness to prep me for another year of condensed learnin'."

"I know what you mean. Still, between the three of us, I'm sure we'll think of something." There's a poignant moment of silence as neither of us can think of anything more to say.

"Scooch over," she says, at last. "I'll let you beat me at Smash Bros."

"Ha!" I bark. "Like you're not too competitive to let a five-year-old beat you. At anything."

"Gotta show the little whippersnappers who's boss."

We battle until Beatrix texts me asking to be let into the stack.

* * *

I open the door for her, and wrap her in a hug as she steps through.

"Hey, Baby," she says breathily in my ear causing my mind to unspool. I squeeze her tighter.

"Hey, Bea." We start our walk upstairs. "Gabi and I were talking and something came up that I've avoided thinking about for a while now." I take a deep breath. "Do you think I could live with you over the summer?"

"Like with my parents?" she asks. Her tone is curious but not surprised.

"Yeah, that or we could rent a place up here. I'd have to get a job, but if it means not having to live with my parents for three months, I'll do it."

"Oh. That's what this is about," she says as things click into place.

"Yeah. I don't think my gender dysphoria could take it."

"I can imagine. Yes. I don't know if my parents will be okay with you spending the summer with us, but I will ask them. And if they aren't, then you, Gabs, and I can stay up here."

"Actually, Gabi will be in DC."

"She got the internship?!"

"Yeah. How did you know about that?"

"She told me. I assumed you knew. Must have slipped her mind, I guess." We reach the third floor. "Congratulations!" Bea shouts as we enter. I shut the door behind us.

"Thanks!" Gabi says, beaming.

"Think you'll have any free time for us to visit?" Bea asks.

That brings Gabi up short. "I don't know. Can you afford plane tickets for just a weekend?"

"Don't be silly. We'd teleport there."

My eyes widen. "You think you can teleport us that far?!"

"I'm not sure," Bea says hesitantly, "but there's no reason we can't find out."

"Well, I would love it if you two visited," Gabi says, beaming. "As stoked as I am for the opportunity, I've never been that far from everyone I know. I wasn't looking forward to lonely nights away from my two girls."

"Oh, Hon," I say, "the government won't separate you from your girls! I'm sure they'll let you take your boobs with you."

She snorts with an affectionate eye-roll at my pitiful excuse for a pun, then gives me a kiss on the cheek.

We sit, pass out the controllers, and start the ultimate battle. I mean an Ultimate battle. Super Smash Bros. Ultimate? You get it.

Sarah Prime lets out a long, suffering sigh.

* * *

"Do you have some time to experiment with me?" Bea asks as we put our dinner trays away.

"Sure! What did you have in mind?" I ask.

"Time travel."

"Woah, really?"

"Yeah, kind of," she says.

"Won't that, you know, break causality and such?" I ask as the two of us meet up with the rest of the posse and head for Stack 6. We lag behind out of earshot.

"Hence the 'kind of'. I was thinking about the Dance, and thought it would be fun to go to Wild Waves with you for our 'second' time meeting, but the park isn't open, it being winter and all. I don't really want to wait until the summer before having our third Dance date, so I thought, 'Well, what if we sent our memories back in time?' We would have the date in the summer, but we would remember it now."

"So, really you'd be sending information back in time, rather than something physical."

"Exactly! Less risky, that way, too."

"If this were possible, don't you think someone with your ability would abuse it? Send back the winning lottery numbers or something?"

"I think," Bea says, "that that would break the free will rule. If I were to try that, I'd be getting money that was 'supposed' to go to someone else. It's something we can test, certainly."

"I'm guessing time travel takes a lot of energy; that's why you can't test this yourself? Not that I mind recharging your battery for you, Mistress." I give her a wink.

"Exactly," she says smiling. "I doubt I have enough energy to send memories back more than a few days right now, but in three to four months, I probably will have enough for that."

"We should write down some plans," I think, going over various facets that will need experimenting to figure out. "This is bigger in scope than anything we've—well, you've—done before, except for maybe this collar."

"Yes, I'll admit that collar took a lot of energy to create," she says, "but I crafted it over a long time. Creating the initial version was practically the first thing I did after I realized I was a fetishist. The energy stored in it now is several times my current maximum capacity."

I nod. "Not surprising considering how many of its features I've... endured." I shoot her an appreciative smile.

"And you've only seen half of them," she says with a mischievous grin. Given the context, I'd have expected the lecherous smirk of Sexy Dominatrix, but it's not; it's the proud, if playful, smile of Total Goofball. That brightens my own smile. I love every facet of this woman.

"So, time travel," I say, letting the words hang in the air. "If seeing fragments of the future is possible, I suppose that would mean everything between now and then—or at the very least, all the things that end up causing those foreseen events—would already be laid out, fated." I recognize the logical fallacy there: those future fragments could be from one possible future, not The Future, but that's less romantic. "And supposing some things are fated, perhaps our relationship was, too."

"You believe in fate?" she asks, surprised.

"I didn't," I admit. "I'm not sure I even do now. It's a nice concept though. It– Well, it feels right, ya know? It seems so unlikely that the two of us—perfectly suited to one another—would find each other. There are, what, thirty or forty people with your ability in the whole world?"

She nods. "Probably more. There are about thirty people on the forum, and they all speak English, though, for many of them, it's a second language. There are bound to be people that don't speak English with the ability, and some that do but haven't found the server."

"Even so, compared to a population of eight billion, the number of people able to Speak is virtually infinitesimal. And I happen to meet one at a state university in Washington who's less than a year younger than me."

"And then that you would have tastes to complement both my own and my ability...."

"And that you would approach me," I say, finishing her thought, "a complete stranger, when you'd never approached anyone else."

She giggles. "Yep. Seems like fate."

I give her hand a squeeze as we reach the door to the stack.

"I love you," she says. "Sometimes I think you're the real magic here."

"'The real magic was the friends we made along the way'?" I ask.

She whacks my arm playfully. "I was being serious."

"I know, Love. I love you, too. More than words can express."

We walk up the two flights of stairs and down the hall to my dorm room, the warmth of her hand in mine, of her shoulder against mine, a sensation more profound than normal. We enter the room just behind Gabi.

"Bea and I want to do some experimenting with her ability, but it will require a lot of energy, which means I'll need to recharge her battery for her," I say, my words laden with implication. "Would you want to help and/or watch, or would you rather we did this in her room?"

"At the moment, I'd probably be comfortable with you doing it here. Alas, I have homework, and I suspect you two would distract me."

"No problem. You ready to go, Bea?"

"We are now in my room."

* * *

Beatrix and I spend the next couple hours planning, experimenting, and recharging Bea's battery.

"The first problem I see," I say, "is that to get a sense of how much energy it will take to send information back three to five months, we'll need to experiment with sending information back at least one day. We can test sending it back a few seconds, but I imagine it would be hard to scale that relatively small amount of energy to such a large span of time with any level of accuracy.

"But that also means that anything we plan today will actually need to be tested tomorrow or later; we can't do a whole lot of useful experimentation right now."

"You're not wrong," she says, "but we can at least test whether the concept is possible and perhaps explore what can and cannot be sent back." She goes to her closet and returns with a set of tabletop dice.

"Okay, I'll roll this D20 and afterward, send back your memory of–"

"Thirteen," I say. "Woah. That feels bizarre."

She rolls the die, which of course lands on thirteen. "Sarah remembers me rolling this die ten seconds ago."

"So what would have happened if you hadn't Spoken? Once I said, 'thirteen,' you had a choice not to send the info back in time, right?"

"Actually, I didn't. It felt kind of strange to me, too. I was compelled to roll the die and then Speak the command, the same way I've felt when you've used my ability on me."

"I guess that makes sense. How much energy did that take?"

"About two percent of my capacity."

"Two percent," I exclaim, "for ten seconds?! That would make your maximum, what, about eight minutes and twenty seconds? And that's assuming it scales linearly with time, which I doubt."

"Yeah," she says disheartened as the information sinks in. "This may be infeasible."

"It looks that way." A question occurs to me. "Does practice help? Like, if you were to morph me into a cat every day, would it take less energy each time?"

"I'm not sure, actually."

"Well, you transform my body on a regular basis. Has that gotten easier?"

"Now that you mention it, it has. 'Easier' isn't the right word as it doesn't take effort, but the amount of energy required has decreased substantially. I hadn't noticed, 'cause you're so good at topping me off that I barely think about the cost anymore. Plus, my battery has steadily increased in capacity; since I typically sense my battery level as a percentage of its maximum rather than an absolute value, the higher my capacity has gotten, the lower the percentage of my energy it has taken to transform you. But you're right. It's not just the increase in maximum capacity."

"So I guess it's at least conceivable that we could send back memories three to five months from now if you practice a lot between now and then as well as grow your battery by dominating me with your ability.

"Is it worth it, though? That practice will take a lot of your energy that I assume you'd rather spend doing other fun things to me."

"It's worth considering. I was just really looking forward to 'meeting' you at Wild Waves. I think that would be a fun addition to our artificial meet-cute."

"I can't argue with that. Still, I imagine simply teleporting us to Disneyland would be more practical." She grimaces. "Or not," I say uncertainly.

"I, uhh, had a bad experience at Disneyland. I'd rather not go back."

"Gotchya. Sorry to hear that." I figure she'd elaborate if she wanted to and she doesn't, so I don't press for more details. The Happiest Place on Earth holds some fond memories for me, so I'm a little disappointed that it's unlikely she and I will ever go there together.

"Okay, so what should we test next?" I ask.

"Let's see if I can win the lottery."

"How do you propose we do that?" I ask, genuinely curious. "Are lottery numbers about to be announced?"

"No idea. I think it's moot, though, since I haven't purchased a lottery ticket. Even if I did know the lottery numbers right this moment, it wouldn't test if I could cheat. I was thinking something a bit simpler.

"Are you willing to bet me a dollar that I won't be able to guess the outcome of this roll?"

"Clever," I say, admiring Bea's scientific mind. "Sure, you're on."

"Hmm, I don't sense anything. I'll guess one." She rolls a six. "I remember the value of this die ten seconds ago."

"I take it, it didn't work?" She gives me a Really? look in response, and I laugh. "Okay, obviously it didn't work. Did you feel compelled to Speak, like last time?"

"I did. What's strange, though, is that although I felt that compulsion, the command only drained a smidgen of my battery, about the amount it would take me to compel you to do something small."

I nod. "So?" I ask, holding out a palm expectantly. She looks at it quizzically, then reaches to take my hand. "Ahem. I do believe you owe me a dollar." I smirk at her, and she laughs. God, I love that laugh. "How about you give me a kiss worth one dollar instead?"

"Oh please, like I'm even capable of a kiss worth that little."

"Alright, give me a $100 kiss and I'll owe you."

In the hours that follow, we tease out more of the particulars of this application of her ability. Most findings confirm what makes intuitive sense.

The more information that is sent back, the more energy it takes. Sending back the value of a die takes less energy than sending back the values of two dice, though far less than double the energy. There appears to be some overhead to initiate the time travel, and then a smaller amount relative to the size of info being sent. Transmitting the sum of two dice, rather than the individual values, takes the same as sending back the value of one die.

Sending back the visual memory of the roll takes considerably more than that of sending only the value. While unsurprising, it's discouraging, as our goal is to send back memories of the date, not merely that the date occurred. The good news is that our initial test—the one that took 2% of Bea's capacity—tested sending the memory of the roll.

We find that any information Beatrix sends back either is limited such that it does not affect our decisions between the time we receive the information and the time she sends it back, or else we feel compelled to make choices in a way that leads to Beatrix Speaking the command. We can react to the information, such as discussing what is about to occur, but we cannot change the outcome or—as far as we can tell—exploit our foreknowledge in any meaningful way. The line between the two behaviors is blurry with our limited experimentation, but, in short, it seems impossible for us to break causality and, in so doing, doom the universe. In fact, if the information would force one of us to make a decision to bring about the required future, the energy spent is increased by the same amount of energy it would take for Bea to simply compel me directly with her ability. This is what accounted for the small energy drain during Bea's second test: she had to compel herself to speak the command even though that command did nothing.

The further back she sends the info, the more energy it takes—another intuitive finding. What's surprising, however, is that, even taking into account the overhead, the energy required scales slower than linearly. My intuition was that it would scale either with the square of time or exponentially—I don't know why that was my gut feeling; it just was. It will take more data and longer test intervals to be certain, but our initial data suggests that the energy required scales with the cube-root of the square of time.

"That's good news," Bea says.

"Very good news," I agree. "It gives us more time to increase your battery's capacity."

"Is it weird that I'm looking forward to the calculus involved?"

"Yes," I say frankly, then smile at her. "Me too.

"Calculating the best day for the date is an interesting minimization problem." I look down at the bed—or really, through the bed—so I can both think and speak at the same time. "We gotta take into account your current maximum battery capacity, how quickly it's growing, the rate at which practicing increases your command's efficiency, the amount of information we think the date will consist of, and the length of time between whenever we want to receive the memories and the date of the... er, date. The longer we wait, the more time there is to increase your capacity and reduce the cost, but also the more energy it will take because of the increased length of time between now and then."

Suddenly realizing I just spouted a bunch of math that she had likely already considered, since she had said she was looking forward to it, I wince and sheepishly glance up at her.

Her expression is wholly smitten. "God, I love you," she says. Then, she tackles me to the bed and has her way with me.

The things I do for math.

* * *

Four months later....

It's a sunny day in mid-July as Bea and I drive from Bear Creek to Federal Way, home of Wild Waves and Enchanted Village.

I've heard that the two used to be separate, adjacent venues—Wild Waves is a water park and Enchanted Village is more of a fairytale theme park, and each required its own ticket—but they joined together in the late '80s. Then, one fateful summer, in the objectively awful year of 2016—the only redeeming quality of which was the Sounders' first MLS cup victory—they split asunder once more. But fear not, for all was not lost; later that very year, the two were reunited under the name Wild Waves Theme & Water Park, and they remain so to this very day.

But they were all of them deceived, for another year was made: in the land of Earth, in the fires of Mount Biology, the Dark Lord Covid forged, in secret, a master year to eclipse all others. And into 2020, he poured all his misinformation, his social distancing, and his respiratory infection to dominate all life. One year to rule th–

My inner Galadriel cuts off as Beatrix pulls into a parking spot. We get out and hold hands as we walk to the rear of the ticketbooth line. "$65?!" I say, reading the price on the board. "Last time I was here, I swear tickets were in the $30 to $40 range."

We reach the front and Beatrix hands the acne-afflicted teenage attendant her credit card. "Two adult tickets, please."

"Wait, are you sure, Beatrix? I can afford to pay for my own."

"Yes, this is my treat," she says sweetly. I'd never admit it, but it's a huge relief.

"Alright, if you're sure. I guess I'll owe you a $65 kiss." It's become an inside joke of ours.

He hands us our tickets and gestures toward the gate. "You go first," Bea says. "I'll follow in a minute. It wouldn't do for us to meet before I planned."

"How much did you plan?"

"Not much beyond where and how we'd first see each other. As fun as it is to craft this little meet-cute of ours, I also want it to be organic. It's possible things will go terribly wrong and we'll never get a third date."

I snort. "Unlikely.

"Alright, I guess I'll see you when I see you. Don't run off this time, 'kay?"

"Then don't give me so many butterflies that I'm too nervous to talk to you!"

With that, I walk into the park and head to the lockers.

* * *

I stand in line with my big yellow innertube for the Konga Lazy River. It's not the most exciting ride in the park, but my memories of racing down it with Tyler make it a personal tradition.

It feels good to be in a bikini that fits—to have a body I'm not self-conscious about, at least, no more than any woman is. Wait, I think, I'm trans. How did I ge– The question flits from my mind, which should probably be concerning, but it isn't. Something similar happened a few minutes ago when I wondered what possessed me to attend a waterpark alone. Those mysteries, for whatever reason, just don't seem to matter that much, and I decide not to worry about it. I'm here now. I might as well have fun.

I reach the front of the line. Before me is a pond set in an artificial cave. I plop the innertube onto the water's surface and step into the lukewarm pool, squatting down to allow my lower half to adjust to the cool temperature. Then I step into the center of the tube, and awkwardly maneuver my limbs, so my thighs, arms, and back hold me up, with my butt in the water. Having assumed the Konga Lazy River riding position, I let the slow churn of the topmost lake of the ride bob me around and send me down the first slide into the second pool.

Once again exposed to the July sun, the water provides welcome relief. We don't get many sunny days each year in western Washington, but today is a particularly hot one.

I reach the rim of the second slide, but am bumped out of the way by the person behind me, so I continue my lap around the pool. I close my eyes and soak in the sun.

"It's you!"

The accusation, while likely not directed at me, rouses me from my drowsy sunbath. I look in the direction of the sound, and it's her. The hot blonde chick I shared my popcorn with at the movies is floating in the innertube that's bumping into mine. She's wearing librarian-esque glasses, hair done up in the same ponytail as the last time I saw her, emerald stud earrings that match her eyes, and a white-on-red polka dot bikini top above a diamond navel piercing; what she's wearing below that is obscured by the innertube. My mouth hangs open stupidly as I try to think of something—anything—to say.

"It's me!" Nailed it!

"I never thought I'd see you again!" she says in a British accent, as if I had been the one to flee the scene when last we met.

"Well, I'm nothing if not... Uhh... What's the adjective for someone that dashes expectations?" Well, this is going swimmingly.

"Unpredictable?"

"Sure! Pretend I said that." I'm seriously considering dropping computer science for a law degree, 'cause I got me some smooth-talkin' skills, baby!

She laughs. She actually laughs at that, and not the pity laugh it barely deserved. Then it occurs to me that she's probably laughing at the serendipity of our reunion more than the conversation; I can't help but laugh back.

"Are you going to stick around, this time?" I ask.

"Hmm, I dunno. Are you going to introduce yourself this time?"

"I'm Sarah."

"Beatrix."

We stare stupidly at each other, grinning at our unexpected good fortune.

"Are you here alone, too?"

"I am!"

"Want to change that?"

"Okay!"

She reaches a hand toward me, and I reach out and grab it. The touch of her soft skin sends a thrill through my whole being. The memory of holding her hand in the theater and everything I felt then floods back into my mind as we entwine our fingers.

"I was going to introduce myself after the movie, you know," I say. "It just took me a second to work up the nerve."

"I'm sorry," she says. "I'd never done anything like that before—you know, cuddling with a perfect stranger? I got scared and didn't want to ruin it."

"Huh. You don't strike me as the type that's easily scared."

Beatrix's innertube reaches the lip of the egress slide sideways, but facing me as she is, she doesn't see it coming. She screams as the current tips her over the ledge. Flailing with three limbs, she clings to my hand with the fourth and drags me down the slide after her.

Splash. With a period, not an exclamation point. This is, after all, a gentle ride for young kids and no-nonsense adults.

"Okay," I say, smirking at her overreaction, "you do scare easily. I stand corrected."

She rolls her eyes at me. "You're not standing."

Pedantic much? "Fine. I lounge corrected."

"Good girl."

The blood drains from my face as my heart leaps at those two simple words.

"Ohmygosh! IhavenoideawhyIsaidthatPleasepretendIdidn't!"

"It– it's fine." I smirk at her unwarranted nervousness as she blushes furiously and I try to make sense of my feelings. "Really, Bea, don't stress. I'm an easygoing gal.

"And...."

"And?" She sounds desperate. "Is 'and' good?"

"And I kind of liked it."

"Oh really?" she asks, sudden predatory confidence in her tone. Now I'm blushing. "I suppose we'll have to discuss that later."

It's like she instantly became a different person, I think. Color me intrigued.

We continue bobbing around the lake, talking like there's no one else in the world.

"So whereabouts do you live?" I ask her.

"Bellingham. I'm attending Western. You?"

"Really? I go there, too. I'm surprised I've never seen you. Do you live on campus?"

"Yep. Nash Hall," she says.

"Ah, that's probably why. I'm in FX." Wait, it's July isn't it? Aren't I home for the summer? Why does it feel like early Mar– The incongruity slips from my mind.

"Maybe you have seen me," she suggests, "and forgot."

"No," I say simply.

"No?"

"It would be impossible for me to forget you, Beatrix." The words are out my mouth before I realize how forthright they are, how completely unlike me.

The statement catches her flat-footed. "I– Thanks," she says shyly, a soft blush tinging her lightly freckled face.