Chapter 1

1.
         It was all shut down now. The water was off, the heat, the gas, the entire house was going into stasis. Lights were extinguished, the refrigerator emptied out and turned off. He moved through his own house like a ghost, checking over everything almost compulsively. He knew each step was an end, the last of something but he didn't want it to be that way.
         Stopping in the upstairs hallway as his way back to the stairs, he looked through the open doorway that led into his room. The bed there was carefully made, as if someone might come randomly and make spot inspections for neatness. As if anyone would care. On an impulse he walked in, surveying it one last time. He stared at the bed, noting not for the first time how large it was, too large for just one person. But he didn't have time to dwell on thoughts like that and tore himself away before those thoughts had anymore time to burrow into his brain. There were so many other memories here, pictures of friends gone by, assortments and odd and ends. Things that he never could make himself get rid of, that he still needed for some sort of reminder. Reminder for what, he couldn't say. But it felt like it all belonged to someone else's life. Like he was just renting the house and going through a dead man's junk.
         In his circuit of the room, he stopped at one particular picture. It was of a younger man, perhaps five years younger, in the traditional cap and gown of graduation. The photograph was, unlike his life, in black and white and thus the colors of the gown were unknown, but there were some things that didn't need color. The expression on the man's face, holding the rolled up paper as if it was the key to understanding the world, glowed with an innocence that couldn't be replicated. You had to be feeling it to show that kind of emotion. It couldn't be faked. He let his eyes fall down from the face that felt like a stranger's to the diploma that was mounted right underneath the photograph. He especially glanced at the name. Tristian Jacart. He had heard that sometimes if you stared at your name long enough, it ceased to resemble anything meaningful, it was just a random collection of letters thrown together.
         Only five years, he reflected as he left the room to head for the stairs. Five years of feeling his innocence and optimism being chipped away bit by bit by a world where the term had lost all its meaning long ago. Five years of standing on a beach being assaulted by waves and feeling part of himself going away every time the tide went back out. Until now there was nothing left but his core and he was afraid that he might even lose that and become . . . what? What he least wanted to be, what he was afraid he was becoming now. Someone who had stopped caring, who didn't look around and accept everything, someone who felt that things could be better. One right at a time. But that person was five years gone now, five years dead, he could bulleye the day when that person had started dying and in his place? He didn't know anymore.
         Just before he reached the stairs he felt a telltale tingling in his ears and he knew that they had come. Like they said they would. He wasn't sure what they thought about this entire thing, so far they had kept their opinions to themselves. Unlike everyone else. Words and phrases still haunted him in his head. You don't have to do this. There are other ways. There are always better ways. Lies he could blow down in an instant. This had never felt more right, it was just something he needed to do.
         As he turned the corner to go down the stairs he knew they were there already. His dopplegangers. One was staring at him, hands in his pockets, his face impassive as usual, an expression he himself could never master. The other was poking around in various places, like everything was of the utmost interest. It was all an act.
         The one staring at him gave him a small smile as Tristian came down the stairs. "Hello there. I take it everything is in order?" His voice was nothing like Tristian's a light accent that could never be placed, sometimes seeming to shift back and forth, but always maddeningly just out of reach.
         "Yeah, seems to be," Tristian replied wearily. He already felt old. How old was he even these days? He didn't even remember anymore. "But I'm not really sure, I really should have someone watch over the house while I'm gone. But I can't think of anyone to ask."
         "Ahem," the other one said, his voice a hoarse rasp, like someone who had smoked too many cigarettes, "and just what are we?"
         Tristian had to laugh a little at that, even if the humor was a tad forced. "Oh sure, that'd be just great, the Agents, two of the most powerful beings in the Universe, reduced to house sitting for one of their hosts. I can just see that."
         "Nevertheless, we'll keep on eye on things anyway, just so the place doesn't burn to the ground while you're gone," Agent One said, looking around. "And perhaps we can make some . . . improvements while we're at it."
         "I was just thinking that," Agent Two added, going over to his brother. "I mean, this place has only what, two floors? I bet we can fit ten times that before the place starts to fall apart."
         "That's not really . . ." Tristian started to say.
         "Probably more if we reinforce things down here a little better . . ." Agent One mused, glancing at his brother, "and if not, well, there's always down we can go."
         "True, true," Agent Two noted. "And just think what you can do with all that extra space. All that room you can use to fit all the neat trinkets you'll get from all those places you'll see . . ." he broke off suddenly, staring at Tristian with his head slightly cocked to the side. "Come to think about it, just where the hell are you going?"
         There was a long silence. Agent One shot his brother a look, but Tristian didn't even see it, being that he was staring at the ground.
         "I really . . . I really don't know where to go . . ." he said finally, slowly, as if admitting something that he kept buried down for a long time. There was no place for him. He felt that now, strongly, like a pressure that wouldn't stop persisting. Sighing, he sat down on the steps. "I don't know," he said again, looking up at the Agents, "but all I know is that I can't go back to Legoflas. I just can't. There's nothing for me there and there's nothing I can do there."
         "While I doubt the validity of that," Agent One was saying as he stepped forward, "I'll leave that for you to find out." Kneeling down, in a softer voice, he said, "Tristian, have you talked about this with anyone. I mean, really talked about it?"
         "What do you mean?" Tristian shot back, almost angerily. "You mean, with like a psychologist or someone? I'm not crazy."
         Agent One ducked his head briefly. "No, that's not what I meant. What I mean is . . . Tristian, what do you hope to gain by running away from all of this?"
         Tristian stared at him for a moment, his face registering some form of shock and then he quickly stood up and strode over to the door. "I knew it," he said, his voice seemingly muffled. "I knew you wouldn't see it any different from anyone else."
         "Hey, listen, Tristian that's not what we meant," Agent Two said, putting his hand on Tristian's shoulder. "We just want you to think about-"
         "I know what you want me to think about," Tristian nearly snarled, spinning and throwing the Agent's hand away from him. "You want me to think about duty and responsibility and all those things are supposed to mean something. But they don't mean anything to me anymore." In one motion he unhooked his laser sword from his belt and held it out. "This symbolizes all of those things and I want to think that I'm more than that, that life is about more than that."
         "We're not telling you whether to go or stay," Agent One said quietly from across the room. "That isn't our place, we've done too much to you and steered you around too much to have a say in this. We just want to be sure of the reasons for what you're doing. Because if you don't know now, then when you come back nothing will have changed."
         Tristian looked briefly anguished. The inactive laser sword seemed to dangle from his fingers, seconds from being released to gravity. "I . . . I just want to regain a sense that, that there's a reason for everything, that all good people aren't just going to be crushed because they dared to want to make things better."
         "You want your innocence back," Agent One said flatly.
         Tristian only nodded.
         "You know you can't get it back, Tristian, to do so you'd have to become a child again, you'd give up so much to get back something that you're going to lose again anyway."
         "Then I just want to care again, guys, I don't want to be so goddamn jaded. I just want to feel that when I turn a corner it'll be something new and exciting, something wondrous, not something full of death. I want to see problems that can be solved with more than . . ." and he shook the arm that held the laser sword, "with more than this." And then he buckled back on his belt, as if tired of looking at it, tired of seeing what it reminded him of.
         Neither of the Agents said anything for a long time. But Tristian wasn't finished speaking yet and he needed to fill the silence with something.
         "When I was a kid . . ." he began, "I used to read all the science-fiction magazines, cover to cover, until they were worn out. And there were all sorts in there, all kinds. But the kinds I always liked the best weren't the ones where the science made sense, where all the tricks and technology fell into a logical hole. I . . . I always liked the ones where science was treated as some kind of . . . of magic. Where nothing could be easily explained but it was wondrous all the same. That I think, that's what I tried to look for when I first went out. Because if you . . . if you explain everything then you get jaded and you don't . . . wonder anymore. It all has an explanation."
         "Explanation can give something meaning," Agent One replied softly.
         "But then there's no magic to it anymore, it's just another thing. And when I went out, I felt there had to be magic somewhere." He turned to the Agents, questions lacing his eyes. "I know there had to be magic somewhere."
         Both Agents stared at each other, as if talking silently. After three billion years they probably could do that. Then Agent One gave his brother a questioning glance and Agent Two nodded somberly.
         Agent Two was the first to speak, clearing his throat almost self-consciously. "You're not the first to ask that question, you know."
         Tristian narrowed his eyes. "What are you talking about?"
         "Magic exists, Tristian," came the simple answer.
         "What?" came his soft, shocked question.
         "It exists," Agent One said, his voice almost a stern bark in the near silence around them. "And it's all around. You just have to know what to look for."
         "Can you show me?" he asked, almost eagerly, willing to grasp at anything that might try to fill the void inside of him. He didn't even know if it would do any good at this point but he wanted to be sure. He had to be sure.
         "I guess," Agent Two shrugged, glancing at his brother. Both their faces were unreadable.
         "We can," Agent One confirmed. "Let's go outside first though."
         Both Agents stepped right through the door as if it didn't exist, while Tristian, sighing, had to open the door himself. He closed it behind him, pausing only to lock it, realizing that this might be the last he saw of his house for a long, long time. The feeling failed to conjure any emotions in him, for some reason. Perhaps he was too far gone already.
         He joined the Agents where they were they were standing on the sidewalk. It was early morning and nobody was outside and even if there were, the Agents could make it so that no one could see them. Power could be a marvelous thing.
         "Well," Tristian said, trying to hide his sudden nervousness, "what do we do? Where are we going?"
         "Nowhere and everywhere," Agent One said mysteriously.
         "Close your eyes, Tristian," Agent Two prompted.
         Hesitating for only the slightest second, he did so.
         A few seconds passed and he felt nothing, then he heard one of the Agents say, "You can open them now."
         And he did so.
         And he had to catch his breath.