XCIV
Johnson's tablet beeped softly as he resumed recording, the little red light blinking like a heartbeat in the dim lecture room. "Alright, dismissed," The captain said and the lecture hall emptied like a tide pulling back. The other soldiers filed out, boots thudding in unison, leaving only me, the captain, Johnson, and the hat‑man curled stiffly in your lap like a loaded spring.
I took a deep breath, steadying myself.
"You won't believe me," you said, "but I was sent back by an alien. He controlled a portal attached to a glacial wall. He was like an alien researcher who knew I was displaced by time. So he sent me and the cat back."
I left out the magical, the unbelievable things involving the hat-man. None of that was their business.
They wanted aliens? Fine.
I'd give them aliens.
The captain didn't flinch. He didn't scoff. He didn't even blink. He just nodded once, slow and deliberate, like someone who had already suspected the truth and was relieved to finally hear it spoken aloud.
Johnson typed furiously.
The questioning went on for nearly an hour, timelines, sensations, the glacier, Rolan, the shaman, the portal, the entity's presence, the reflection, the moment I was pulled back into my own time. They asked about the worm, about the rupture, about the dimensional tear.
I answered what you could and avoided what I had to.
You stroked the hat‑man's fur in frustration, his tail flicking with every question that came too close to the truth.
Finally, when the last soldier stepped out and the door clicked shut, I exhaled sharply.
"You know," I said, rubbing my temples, "you could have just called me."
The captain stopped pacing. Turned and met my eyes.
"Miss," he said, voice low and steady, "we of the armed forces prefer to see things face to face." He was being honest.
Because from their perspective, I wasn't just a witness.
I was a first. The first human to return from a dimensional anomaly.
I was the only person who had interacted with the entity behind the portal.
I stood as living proof that the worm wasn't random, it was intelligent. Intelligent things make choices.
The captain stepped closer, his white hair catching the projector's glow like frost.
"You're not in trouble," he said. "But you are important. And we needed to confirm that in person."
The hat‑man lifted his head, golden eyes gleaming.
The captain pulled out a chair, sat across from you, elbows on his knees.
"Now that we've heard your account," he said, "we need to decide what happens next."
Outside the lecture room, the hallway hummed with distant machinery.
Inside, the air felt still, heavy, waiting.
The captain folded his hands.
The room felt different now that the briefing was over. The projector was off, most of the soldiers gone, the air still humming with the weight of everything I'd told them. The hat‑man sat on the tabletop like a disgruntled gargoyle, tail flicking, eyes narrowed.
Norris stood with his hands behind his back, posture crisp.
"Miss… do you want protection, cooperation, or distance from us going forward?"
He wasn't ordering you, he was offering me a choice, or the illusion of it.
And for the first time since the worm swallowed Flight 1107, I realized:
I wasn't alone in this anymore.
"Okay captain. Here's what I can do for you." I offered him a hand. "I'll comply with the government, being a good citizen, but you can't interfere with my normal life. I'm available any time for alien stuff. I'll even take a medical exam, but I assure you I wasn't probed or anything. I am completely normal."
I omitted the fact that I was a spiritual conduit for power, but the government didn't need to know that.
The captain didn't take my hand right away; he studied my face for a moment. Then he clasped it firmly, grounding, respectful, not domineering. A soldier's handshake, not a captor's.
The captain's grip tightened just slightly, not in warning, but in acknowledgment. He released your hand and exhaled through his nose, pacing once more before stopping in front of us.
"Miss," he said, voice low, "that's exactly what we hoped you'd say."
Johnson paused his recording, looking up with a mixture of relief and awe. The hat‑man, still curled in my lap, flicked his tail with a smug little twitch, clearly pleased you'd navigated the conversation without exposing him.
The captain continued.
"We don't want to interfere with your life. We don't want to restrict you." He gestured toward the empty room. "If you were a threat, we wouldn't be having this conversation in a lecture hall."
He sat across from you, elbows on his knees, posture relaxed for the first time since you'd met him.
"What we do want," he said, "is cooperation. Voluntary. Ongoing. When something happens — when you feel something, see something, sense something — we want you to tell us."
He nodded toward the hat‑man.
"And we want to know if that… companion of yours reacts to anything unusual."
The hat‑man hissed softly, but you stroked his fur and he settled.
The captain's tone softened.
"You're not a prisoner. You're not a suspect. You're a survivor of an event no human has ever returned from. That makes you valuable more than an asset, but as a witness, as a survivor."
He leaned back, letting the tension drain from his shoulders.
"And you're right," he added. "We could have called you."
He gave a faint, rueful smile.
"But people lie on the phone. People panic. People misunderstand. We needed to see you. Face to face."
He stood, offering you a hand again — this time not as a soldier, but as someone acknowledging your autonomy.
"Welcome back to your world, Miss. And thank you for helping us understand what's coming."
The captain finally introduced himself formally as Captain Charles Norris, of the Airforce special division. "I hope you understand that your government will be monitoring you from now on. I'd rather do it up front than secretively, for your own protection. We don't know the repercussions of your visits into space and time. We have assigned agents to your case.
He gestured toward the door.
"These two will be your government liaisons. You won't see or hear them unless you're in trouble, or we need your experience and cooperation."
The door opened.
Two men stepped in.
The first was about 190 cm — sandy hair, clean‑cut, maybe twenty‑six. Moderate build, runner's frame, bright eyes that flicked over us with quick intelligence. He gave a polite nod.
"This is Lieutenant Cole."
His voice was light, musical, almost friendly.
"You can call me Cole."
The second man ducked slightly under the doorframe — because he had to.
He was enormous.
210 cm tall, shoulders like a wall, muscles packed under his uniform like he'd been carved from basalt. Tight curls buzzed close to his scalp, skin a deep mocha, presence impossible to ignore.
"And Lieutenant Brunswick," Norris said.
The giant gave a single nod.
"Beef," he said.
You blinked.
"Beef?"
Cole answered for him, grinning.
"Like Beefcake."
I couldn't help it, a smile grew on my face.
"Okay, Lieutenant Beef."
Beef's stern expression cracked into a slow, satisfied grin, like he approved of your willingness to roll with the absurdity.
The hat‑man hissed at him anyway.
Cole leaned slightly toward you, hands in his pockets, voice warm.
"We're not here to babysit you. Think of us like… emergency contacts with clearance."
Beef added, "Or like the guys who show up when things get weird."
Norris cleared his throat, reclaiming the room's authority.
"They'll stay off your radar unless absolutely necessary. You'll live your life. Travel. Work. Do whatever you normally do. But if another anomaly occurs, if you feel anything unusual, you contact us. Immediately."
He paused.
"And if something tries to contact you… they'll be there before it finishes the sentence."
Cole winked.
"Fast runner, remember."
Beef crossed his arms, muscles shifting like tectonic plates.
"And I lift things."
The hat‑man muttered, "Darling, they're adorable. Like two different breeds of guard dogs."
I exhaled, tension easing just a little.
For the first time, the situation didn't feel like captivity.
It felt like a strange, surreal partnership — one I hadn't asked for, but one that might actually keep me alive.
Cole stepped forward, offering a hand.
"Welcome to the weird side of national security."
Beef nodded solemnly.
"We got your back."
And somehow, impossibly, I believed them.