Special THANKS go out to Thomas Mikkelsen and Nemo Blank for their patience and assistance in beta reading these stories!

She sat on her bed, looking out at the cold ground. The snow had passed them by from the last storm and instead simply brought a bitterly cold wind. Her window took the brunt of the wind blasts on this side of the house and she could almost smell winter coming through the glass.

It was night. Not that late. Not that early.

She sat alone. As usual. Typical. No sense turning on the TV – it wasn't as if there was anything worth watching anyway. Not with the Springer slug-a-neighbor-marathon having been pulled at the last minute because some exec thinking they'd lose some precious Tide or Puffs dollars. But who was she kidding. Even if it had been on, she wouldn't be watching it.

Instead she would simply be looking out at the night.

The 'rents and Quinn were gone and wouldn't be back for hours.

She wasn't writing.

She was just sitting and contemplating.

She had feigned a migraine to stay home.

She'd been doing that more and more.

Her family had moved to Lawndale a year ago. She still didn't have any friends. Sure, she could talk with Jodie and Brittany, even Kevin if she dumbed her thinking down to his sub-moronic level to understand what he said, but that wasn't really talking – that was responding to their questions.

So she sat in her room.

At night.

And thought.

On Monday she would be going to the Self-Esteem class. Again. This would be her 6^th time. She knew the routine by heart and could skip going if she told O'Neill what he wanted to hear – but what else did she have to do? She didn't want to come home to either an empty house or a house full of fashion fiends – and she sure didn't want to hang around school in clubs – AAAAAHHHH!! A fate worse than Li!

She could always get an after-school job if she wanted, and her mother might get off her back if she did, but she'd given a compelling argument against it by stating that her good grades would falter and she might not get a scholarship to an Ivy league school and instead her parents would have to put her through both undergrad and grad school at full tuition. Plus books. Once she tallied up the staggering cost of those years vs. that of a couple years worth of an after-school job for minimum wage – well, that had caused her dad to nearly burst an eye when he saw the sums involved. Her mother had dropped any further discussions after that.

Truth was, though, she knew she could've gotten a job and her grades wouldn't have suffered. Learning came very easy to her. And it wasn't like she had anything else to do anyway. But... she just wasn't motivated to get a job. Why should she? Her sister seemed intent on getting a free ride from her parents. Why shouldn't she?

Sigh.

She knew that was the wrong approach to take. She knew it down to her core. It didn't have anything to do with Quinn or the 'rents. She knew that as well.

What she didn't know was why it bothered her so much or what to do to resolve it.

No, that wasn't entirely true either.

And so she sat.

And thought.

And stared out her window.

...And wouldn't you know it, just as soon as she started to nod off, a light caught her attention. What really snagged her eye wasn't just the light, but the direction it came from. It came from above and was heading on down – straight on down to her backyard.

Curiously, she watched the light split into two, then four lights. They came closer. She saw the underside of some sort of plane... or car... or something with four lights on its underside fall gracelessly towards her backyard. It slid to the left, then listed to the right, dropped its nose (or front cab – who knew), then lifted it back up.

But it came down slowly, not like it was going to crash.

CRASH!!

Scratch that. Make it: not like it was going to crash hard. Apparently it just sort of dropped the last few feet and slid forward a bit to make things interesting.

It did crash... in a manner of speaking. It had ten wheels on its RV-like body similar to a large truck with four sets of 2 wheels in the rear and two wheels in the front. The front wheels appeared to go flat on impact and the truck or plane dipped forward as it slid near the neighbor's fence. But it also had what looked like stabilizing fins on the roof of the truck. It was almost as if someone had watched Damnation Alley several times and tried to create a replica of their RV, only to stop halfway through and make it capable of flying instead. Only forgetting to install wings. Then deciding on patching things over with huge spoilers on the rear of the roof like it would make any difference.

Unlike most RV's, it wasn't reduced to displaying racing strips, decals of locations been to, or have an awning attached to the side. Instead it was only one color – green. The windows were clear and she saw light coming from the interior of the vehicle. The yard was a mess, there was no way around that. She just hoped her dad didn't have a coronary over it.

A door opened midway down the body of the craft. It was like one of those RV doors that once opened had an auto ramp extend outwards. She saw a figure in black pants, black jacket and what appeared to be a black motorcycle helmet stumble out of the oblong RV – or plane (or whatever). It appeared that his (she could tell that it was a "he") right arm dangled uselessly as he dragged the rest of his body across the lawn. His left leg also dragged behind him as he made his way to the back door.

Cautiously, she went downstairs, grabbing one of her dad's golf clubs as she made her way to the kitchen. The door rattled. Good, she thought. Dad locked the door.

Her heart turned cold, intensifying the fear she felt in the pit of her stomach as she heard a key slide in to the lock.

The lock clicked to a release and the door opened.

The guy stumbled in. Or rather dragged himself in.

She stayed in the shadows as he made his way to the counter. He took off his helmet and she saw some blood running down the side of his head. His short, black hair was plastered to the side of his head from a massive amount of sweat and his eyes looked a little glassy. Drugs? she thought. No. More likely it was pain.

He dropped the helmet to the counter but it fell to the floor anyway. The guy ignored it as he shuffled over to a drawer, opened it and pulled out a large knife.

Oh god, she thought. He's going to snuff me right here and now! She gulped. Then gripped the golf club harder.

He put the knife down and pulled out a large spoon. He then put the knife back in the drawer and closed it.

She looked at the spoon in his hand. A spoon?! How the hell do you kill someone with a spoon? She'd have to ask her Aunt Amy that. If anyone knew, it would be her.

Providing she lived through this nice little nightmare.

He made his way to the refrigerator and opened it. She watched as he quickly pulled out some of Jake's infamous Kitchen Sink Stew. He snapped the Tupperware lid off the container and began eating, not bothering to chew which was probably just as well as the taste kind of overwhelmed your senses if you didn't eat it fast enough. But still, voluntarily eating Dad's stew?

An alien. No – no – no! Not an alien! That Artie goofball she once met was rubbing off on her in a bad way.

He dragged his body to the table, pulled out a chair and dropped in it. "Gaahhhh," he gaahhhhed between clenched teeth, shifting his useless right arm onto his lap. He put the stew in front of him again and began eating.

Definitely an alien, she rethought as she saw him stuffing the stew into his face. Absolutely no other explanation for it – but what the hell would an alien, especially one in obvious pain, want with Dad's stew?

She watched him some more. His hair was short, almost military style but not a buzzcut. He had thick black eyebrows beneath a fountain of sweat and blood. He unzipped his jacket and she saw more blood coating his shirt, near the neck. It was probably the runoff from his head wound, she thought. His nose appeared proportionate to his five foot nine inch frame and the rest of his face looked like he kept in shape instead of overdosing on Oreo's.

She suddenly sneezed from an overabundance of chemicals in the air released when he had opened the Tupperware container.

I'm dead, she thought, her eyes going to where the intruder sat.

The intruder looked over at her from his sitting position. He could see her, but not the golf club that she'd hidden behind her back a few moments earlier.

She took an involuntary gasp of breath.

"Hey, Daria. Sorry about the blood on the floor. I'll clean it up as soon as I can." And with that he ate some more of the stew.

He knew her. How? "Um, hey," she responded, not moving.

"I know I'm a mess, but you don't have to stand in the shadows so much. Sssssssss," he winced, shifting his leg a little.

"You don't look so good," Daria volunteered the obvious.

He sighed. "I've felt better, that's for sure. Can you get me some water to push this down? You can only eat Jake's specialty so long before your tongue swells up."

He did have a point, she thought. She put the putter down and walked into the kitchen. She didn't think he COULD hurt her unless you counted bleeding all over her clothes as hurtful. Quinn probably would.

"So how's college life these days?" he asked.

Huh? College?

"I know I should've written last semester but I met this really cute girl on the bike path. Heh-heh, I didn't really so much meet her as ran into her. She cut me off and I veered out of the way and went into the ditch. Turns out I didn't veer enough and I caught the boot heel of her skates and she went down. We got to talking while I fished my bike out and I kind of lost track of time for the next few months. You know how it goes sometimes..."

No, she didn't know. Daria stayed quiet while getting a glass of water and putting it on the table.

"But we broke up. How about you? Did that guy you met in Chemistry work out? You said he had a good sense of humor and coming from you, that's saying something."

"...Uhhhmmmm..."

"Sure, hide the fact that he's a lecherous drunk with a penchant for riding his Harley up and down the dorm's stairways." He paused a moment. "That's a joke, Daria. Jeez, I said I was sorry about not writing."

"Oh. Ha, ha." Who did this nutcase think he was talking to? Head injury. No doubt about it now. No, he wasn't a threat, or at least a high threat any longer. He was someone who needed help.

"Sssssssss" he winced in pain again as he reached for the glass of water.

Instinctively, Daria moved to the table again and pushed the glass closer for him to grab. Damn conscience! He put his smudged hand around it and gulped it down greedily.

"Thanks," he said, putting the empty glass down and going back to the stew. "Y'know, I can't believe I crashed in your yard again. I mean, here I was phasics'd into D-83 riding a time line up when I caught sight of a TDDR. I wanted to watch her line a bit and Paul advised me not to do it. But did I listen to him? After all, who knew the inner workings of the shuttle-buggy better – him or me?"

Daria didn't answer. What the hell was he talking about?

He sighed. "I should'a listened to him. Paul knew what would happen when jumping from one phasics'd time line to another while in mid stream instead of resetting the variables and sure enough, wham-o!" He sighed again, chomping down the stew and losing a little of the glaze in his eyes. "A console exploded near me just like they do on the Star Trek shows. On TV they show burns and such but they don't do anything to let you know about the concussive force behind that kind of explosion and what it can do to bones. I tell you, they really hurt. That explains the arm. I'd wave, but it's kind of broken. As for the leg, well, that was just a bad landing on top of everything else."

Daria asked, "Where's Paul?"

He said, "Still on the shuttle-buggy repairing the damage. I may have caused this mess, but his landing skills need some perfecting. Heh-heh." He winced in pain again. "Damn, it hurts when I laught. Okay, I'll try not to laugh."

He reached into a jacket pocket and pulled out a five-inch tube of yellow goo. Using his teeth to hold the cap, he unscrewed it with his one hand and spit the topper to the floor, then drank the contents. "Gaaahhh, this stuff tastes like crap," he grimaced once the goo was on its way to his stomach.

He then reached around to his jacket collar and pulled out a small headset. He rolled a switch to max volume, put it down on the table and said, "Paul? You there?"

Daria could hear a faint voice from the foamed receiver. A voice replied, "I'm here. How you doing?"

"I'm hurting but all things considered, glad to be alive. How's the buggy?"

"Repairs almost complete. Computer system reloaded. I just need some more time to reglaze the skin and install you a new chair since the last one is singed pretty bad."

"Get the glazers going, hold the chair and come on over to the kitchen with the G-U's."

The concerned voice asked, "You get your system adjusted for them yet?"

"Affirmative. I knew Jake's stew would be the answer. And bring me a new shirt and coat. Mine are trashed."

Paul replied, "Got it. Give me a few and I'll be over. Out."

He rolled the switch back down and looked at Daria. "That was Paul."

"Uhm, I kind of figured that," she replied, looking at him more critically. There was something odd about him now. His eyes were no longer glassy. His gaze was almost piercing. Of course it was easy to look intimidating when your face was covered in blood.

"Daria?"

"Umm, yeah?"

"Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Umm, okay."

He paused, pondering the best way to ask it. Then, "What's my name?"

Daria replied, "Umm, don't you know?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. I'd like to hear you say it."

That didn't sound good. Where did she put that putter again? "Umm, Roger?"

He sighed loudly. Daria winced knowing that what she had said had probably been the wrong thing.

In a soft voice, he said, "I'm very sorry about all this, Daria. You're not my sister like I thought you were. I should've realized sooner but I don't think all the synapses in my brain were working even at fifty percent. Here..." He slid his bag across the table. She looked at it, but didn't make to touch it.

"Take out the pouch at the bottom of the bag. In it is a small flasher gun."

"A gun that strips?" she asked, resorting to sarcasm – familiar territory.

He grinned at the joke. "Heh, you'd like that, eh? No. It's an energy gun that emits a flash of boosted alphas that cause intense pain in the recipient, bringing incapacitation for about 5 minutes."

Daria looked at him with open astonishment. "Why're you giving this to me?" she asked, rummaging through the bag.

"Because you need a sense of power in this strange situation I've put you into. Right now I've got the upper hand as I've basically broken into your home and you probably consider me a crazed lunatic capable of doing just about anything. I'd like to balance this out by giving you a weapon you can use on me at any time. That way you'll be in control, maybe less fearful, and hopefully help me out since I'm still in a lot of pain."

Daria pulled out a funky looking handgun with a mirror on the end of it instead of a gun barrel.

"I really don't like guns. Besides, I doubt this one even works," she said, disbelief on her face.

He responded, "I know you don't. But most guns are lethal in nature. This one just causes a lot of pain."

"I still don't know..."

"Just picture Quinn's face over mine if I get out of hand."

"Can do." Her eyes squinted, taking in an "altered" form.

"Jeez, you don't have to respond so quickly."

She looked at him critically and asked, "Does this thing actually work?"

"Yes it does. And please don't point it towards me right now. Any other questions?"

Daria, now thinking clearer than before, asked, "How do you know me?"

"Uhm," he started, "it's kind of complicated."

She was unfazed by this. "This coming from the person who stumbled out of a flying bus." She pointed with the flasher. "Your story. And keep it simple."

He gulped. "Can do. Okay, in a round-about sense, I'm your brother."

"Funny. I don't remember you at the Barksdale family reunions. I also don't remember seeing you on the Christmas card photo last year."

He smiled at her sarcasm, something that took her a little back. Usually, very few people got the gist of what she said under the words.

He replied, "I'm not biologically related to you. Rather, you adopted me – that is, my Daria adopted me during our senior year in high school."

"I'm still in high school. I'm not a senior yet."

"Interesting twist of events, isn't it? Yet you still adopted me a couple years ago."

Sarcastically, she replied, "Sure I did. And the Tooth Fairy really raided my bank to pay for Quinn's latest dress."

"See? I said it was complicated. Uh, I'll try to straighten this out. I'm your adopted brother from a parallel timeline."

"Uh-huh."

"I landed here accidentally. Hence all the damage you see in front of you eating Jake's stew."

"Uh-huh."

"You don't believe me."

"Uh-huh."

"Then ask me something only you would know. Or think you would know."

Daria's eyes took on a competitive look. There was NO WAY she was going to let this guy one-up her! Her mother, as well as Ms. Barch, had taught her that much at least. "Okay, then how did we meet?"

He replied immediately. "In high school. I asked you to review a story for me."

"First hole in our story. I wouldn't do that..."

"...unless you were paid. I know. You charged me for review and rewrites."

He had a point. "Did I come out ahead on it?"

"I think we both came out ahead on it," he said.

"Why would I have associated with you?"

His eyes narrowed as he said, "Your question's too vague. Clarify please."

Daria thought on this for a moment and responded, "You seem like an outgoing kind of person, blood notwithstanding, but we are not similar. I am not outgoing by nature. Therefore it seems unlikely that we would associate. I might do an assignment for you, especially if you're paying, but I don't see us being... buds."

"We adopted each other due to mutual respect. You live in a house with parents who don't really seem to care what you do. You have one sibling who is embarrassed by your very existence. My parents abandoned me. I remember my mother and father until about age seven. They enjoyed their drugs more than they enjoyed taking care of me. Eventually they dropped me off with an uncle. We were okay until I hit 15 which is when he died from cancer. You and I began to know each other when I turned 17, first professionally with the rewrites and then with friendship. We had a similar history which is why we became the siblings we wanted vs. what we were left with – namely nothing."

Daria sat and took this in. He had a point. Try as she might to convince herself otherwise, she might have associated with someone like that. But, dammit, something just didn't add up! Something was missing! "Were you a jock in high school?"

He concentrated on an answer. Then, "Specify parameters."

"Did you ever letter?"

"I wrote a letter. Does that count?"

"No. Did you ever letter in sports?"

"No. I did not letter in sports."

"Did you play sports?"

"Yes. I enjoyed one activity and became very good at it."

Now she had him. "A-hah! I would not knowingly associate with a jock."

"Sure you would. What about Mack?"

"Don't confuse the issue here. Jodie's boyfriend is not on trial."

"Okay, then. The sport I enjoyed was fencing."

Unmoved, Daria replied, "A sport is a sport. You were still a jock. Therefore, no association."

"On the contrary. Fencing was once considered the sport of gentlemen. I personally consider it the sport of legalized stabbing of other people with a piece of metal capable of drawing blood."

Daria considered this. "Curse you and your insidious logic." She shook her fist in mock anger.

He smirked at her un-hostile outburst. She returned it.

"Do you believe me now?" he asked.

She answered truthfully. "I believe you've been watching me and've done your homework on my background. You're still a stalker in my eyes."

He grinned. "Ahhh, but a stalker who's bleeding all over your kitchen. How many other people in high school can say the same?"

Maybe he was saying the truth, but she had her doubts, especially after he cleaned the last of the stew from the bowl and downed it with gusto. "Listen, do you want me to call an ambulance? You really don't look very good."

"No need to bother the local quacks here. Paul should be here any moment with medical equipment and I doubt your world can do even half as good as the stuff I've swiped from other realities."

A knock came at the back door.

"Speak of the devil. Can you get that? It'll be Paul with the equipment."

She got up. "Sure. Whatever. I'm sure this dream will end sometime."

He looked at her. "Dream?"

She returned his look of confusion with that of logic. "A pain gun? Get real. This is all a hallucination brought on by migraine headaches."

The someone knocked again.

"What if it's not a dream? What if I'm real?"

"Then at least this is better than what I'm used to. And if you or your fiend is a crazed lunatic out to kill me, oh well. I've had worse days."

He was going to say something else but she turned and opened the door...

...and saw Paul. He didn't so much stand at the door as floated there. He was about one meter high and equipped with four multi-clawed arms on his one-half meter diameter cylindrical body and two huge bug-like red-glass sensor arrays on his "head" which looked more like eyes (this cool effect being why he designed and built it in the first place). He also had a square grill near where his mouth would be.

True to her emotionless conditioning, Daria's mouth never opened in shock. But the rest of her continued to stare like Paul was something she had never seen before.

Not that she had.

"Pardon me," he said. "Can I come inside?"

Daria still stared at Paul, her mouth starting to open.

"Ahem. Heavy equipment coming through," he said. What was with her, he digitally thought. Ah. Moron projection: 96%. That explained it. "Hey, toots, you make a better door than a window you know. Make way, already. Jeez, you asleep on your feet or something?"

Daria woodenly stepped aside, in the process regaining control of her mouth which had nearly opened from the initial shock of seeing a floating robot. Maybe this guy, for all the blood he was leaving on the floor, table and spoon, was on the level. Maybe he was somehow related to her.

"Where do you want it?" Paul asked, floating over to the table.

"On the table, please. Can you get units 2 and 3 ready?"

Paul dropped the bags of equipment on the table. "Sure. Not a problem." Paul began assembling some equipment.

"Daria? Can you help me with unit 1? I could really use an extra hand – so to speak."

"Um, sure," she said, unsure what she could do.

In the bag were six spheres about eight inches in diameter. Paul showed Daria the activation switch on one of them while Paul activated the other two. They chirped on electronically and with some instruction, Daria and Paul put the units in a triangular formation around a bleeding arm. The electronic hum became louder as the last unit was put into position. Daria let go and the unit floated in the air with the other two.

A moment later the three units began to spin in place. They spun faster and faster until they became a blur. Then they began to rotate around the arm.

They repeated the process with the remaining three units around the leg.

"Oh, god," he said.

Alarmed, Daria asked, "What? You okay?"

"Oh, god," he returned. "Bliss. This feels so good."

"What does?"

"The lack of pain. Oh, man, you don't realize how much you miss not having it until it's gone. Bliss." His head sunk to the table, a relieved smile on his face.

"What is all this...stuff?" she asked Paul who was intent on watching the spheres.

"Well, the spinners are gravity units or G-U's. They serve a triple purpose. One, they immobilize the area of the body so the nanos can work without disruption. Two, the excess energy they stream out give a boost to the nano-probes themselves so they can work without stealing his body's chemicals and forcing him to eat more of Jake's Kitchen Sink Stew which he only ate to give the nanos a kick-start to begin with – I mean, who in their right mind would eat as much of that stuff as he did? And third, it inhibits the neurons in the area it's working on, or basically it blocks any pain from being felt."

"What are nano-probes?"

Paul rotated his head and looked at Daria with his two bug eyes, letting them flash a little bit more red, then to a more blue-ish color. She blanched at the effect – which was why he did it to begin with. He replied, "They're little, itty, bitty robots set to repair tissue and bone in a body. You probably saw him drink some yellow goo earlier."

She nodded.

"They were in there. As soon as he gulped it down, they went to the stomach, caught an energy surge from all the acid reacting to the toxins in the stew and once we activated the G-U's which in turn activated a beacon for them to home in on, they split up, half to the arm and the other half to the leg. You can already see it starting to work."

She looked and sure enough, the bleeding had stopped from his head wound as well as from the burns around his arm.

He lifted his head and looked at her, all traces of pain gone from his face. "You should take a picture – it'll last longer."

She smirked at his levity. Then, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"What's your name?"

He looked shocked. "I'm sorry, I've done it again. I've taken your help for granted and didn't even introduce myself. My name is Alex Jacobsen." He extended his left hand to shake since his right hand was attached to a non-working right arm.

"My name is Daria Morgendorffer," she took his hand.

"I know. And this is Paul," he said, indicating the floating mechanoid with the now-pulsating yellowish-red bug eyes.

Now unfazed, she asked him/it, "So what does Paul stand for?"

Paul replied, "Usually I stand for good manners."

"No, I mean is P-A-U-L short for something?"

"You mean like 'Puters Against Ubiquitous Losers? Or 'Puters Against Uggo Lame-oids?"

"Umm, ...sure?"

"No. I just liked the name Paul and took it. Hey, Alex, we have a real live one here..." he said, moving his fingers around in a 'hey, this human chick's crazy' circle while he picked up some rags and began cleaning up the blood and smudge in the kitchen. Moron projection: 97%.

Alex laughed. Daria looked indignant but got over it once she realized her preconceived notions were showing. She looked at Paul and said, "My apologies. You have a very nice name."

"Thank you. So do you. Would you mind lifting your left foot? You've stepped in something I really don't think you want tracked through the house."

She complied. "Alex, who... no, make that what are you really?"

Alex looked at Paul who nudged him with one of his arms and said, "Tell her."

Alex looked back at Daria and said, "I'm an explorer."

"Of what?" she quickly asked, taking a seat across from him to watch his face for non-vocal communication.

"Alter..." Alex began, then slumped forward, his one arm still extended outwards as the G-U's kept spinning around it.

"Alex?" Daria asked in a concerned voice.

"Forget it, chickie," Paul stated. "He's out for about another 5 or 10 minutes. The nan's must've needed more juice than the G-U's were exporting."

Daria considered the floating robot for a moment and said, "How long have you known Alex, Paul?"

Paul stopped his cleaning and whirred over to Daria. "Oh, a few years."

"Did he build you himself?"

"Build me? Hah! Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Well, I figured if he could build that flying RV in the backyard..."

"Build the buggy? Hah! Whatever gave you that idea? No, wait, let me guess. You figured that since he was an organic, a fleshie, he must be in charge. Typical organic behavior."

"Um, well then if you built a flying RV capable of going through time..."

"Hah! Whatever gave you that idea? No, wait, let me guess. You figured that since I'm a multi-reasoning AI with a personality shiftchip, that I must have built everything and recruited a lowly fleshie to be my eyes and ears. Typical organic behavior."

"Um, Paul, as much as I'd like to stay here and listen to you rant and rave like my dad on everything I say, if you don't start making some sense pretty soon, I have a titanium plated golf club around the corner that I can and will start whacking you with until you do start making sense. Comprende?"

Paul's eyes flashed from blue-ish to red, then pink, then yellow then white then green then silver with black twinges in it like eyebrows on top. "For a fleshie, you're kind of single-minded. I like that. Okay, all kidding aside, I built the buggy. I had been doing some extensive research into cold fusion compression as well as time travel. Alex figured out the manipulation of the phasics fields, allowing entry into non-realities. We met, decided to work together for mutual goals and spent some time finishing the buggy. The buggy houses artifacts, scientific crap we've picked up from lines and my main circuitry. Does that answer your questions?"

"Yes. Except why an older me didn't go with Alex in the buggy. It seems like something I would do."

"What're you talking about?"

"Alex said he's my adopted brother from the future."

"Huh?"

"You sure you've know Alex for a couple years? I'm sure he would have introduced you to me, wouldn't he?"

"Huh?"

"He wouldn't have introduced you to his parents over me, would he?" Daria asked, trying to get a bead on Alex's past.

"How could he do that? His parents are dead."

"He said they abandoned him."

"No, they died."

"...nate dimensions," Alex said, waking up. "Did I just pass out? Awww, man. I hate it when that happens."

Daria ignored Paul and wanted more information from a fellow organic. "Alex, you okay?"

"Getting there," he smiled.

"You were telling me you were an explorer of what," she prompted.

"Alternate realities. I'm doing my doctorate thesis on it."

"You're kidding."

He responded with honesty. "No, really. This sure as hell isn't a government project, and I don't get advertising dollars to phase around. And I'm not going to let any stuffed shirt know what I'm doing because if I do, then bang! Here comes the government with its clandestine units wanting something or politicians wanting to regulate it for some funding rip-off or another. No, this discovery is all mine while I work out some exper... well, while I work out the kinks of manipulating both time and space," he put in quickly.

"Alternate dimensions? Time travel maybe I could accept. But alternate dimensions? Are you kidding me?"

"Does Paul look like something you'd find on this world? If it helps you any, you're not the first one to not believe me and you certainly won't be the last."

"It doesn't help," she replied candidly. "But I'll concede the point – if you can explain how you do it."

"Sure. Basic Phasics 101. For every action, there is an equal reaction. For every decision, there is another outcome. Space is filled with non-space and therefore you can slip through it to another reality where that other decision was made. I researched that for a bit and found that by reflecting light at a 390 degree angle...

"Huh? You mean a 360 degree..."

"Nope. A 390 degree... are you sure you want me to explain any more?"

She thought about it for a moment. Rubbing her eyes, she responded, "No, not really. You're making my head hurt enough already."

"Hey, Paul! You owe me 50 bucks!"

"Double or nothing?"

"Sure," Alex grinned.

"What are you talking about?" Daria asked them critically.

"It's a running bet we have. Every time I begin explaining basic Phasics 101 to someone, if they quit within the first 3 minutes, Paul pays me. Otherwise, I pay him."

"Why?"

"Uhm, you know, I'm not sure. Hey, Paul, why we doing this again?"

He replied while tipping up the refrigerator to get some dirt and grime that was under it. "Clinical research on fleshie response to overwhelming data that they don't understand. Besides, what am I going to do with 50 smackers? It's not like I need to go shopping for anything."

"You know, I'm starting to like you," Daria said to Paul.

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her. "Really? You're not so bad yourself, for a fleshie. You've got a sensible dose of cynicism and sarcasm running through your body." Moron projection: 0%.

Daria grinned at this a bit and asked, "Where are you from, Paul? Tell me about yourself."

"Oh, you know me. I'm just the embodiment of superficiality that exists across all time and creation."

"Paul," Alex interjected, "that line still needs some work as does your delivery. It's not funny. Daria, Paul comes D-23 where there wasn't a dark age. But at this point most human life is now gone. It seems a nuclear war about 1,400 years ago rained down some nasty radiation that killed off most life. It also caused a lot of EMP's which wiped out most computer activity. Paul was the only remaining AI functioning that had the capacity to answer my radio hails when I arrived about three years ago. I zoned in on his location and picked up his hardware and personality. It was either that or leave him to go crazy."

"Like that hasn't already happened," both Paul and Daria said in unison. Daria looked at Paul and could almost swear he was smiling at her. The eyes pulsed again to a new color of silver and gold.

"True. But it turns out Paul was an experimental AI used by that world's version of the D-O-D to track potential future psychological shifts in possible hotspots, including their own country. He had access to all communications as well as was heavily shielded. And since he was new, the D-O-D's counterparts in other countries hadn't zeroed in on his location with a nuke. Hence, he survived while radiation vaped most of the population."

"Most of the facility Paul was housed in was automated and had been kept in perfect repair by their nano-technology. But apparently without human intervention, Paul got a little bored and began following up experiments left behind by the previous human population. He had already branched into energy manipulation and tachyon distortions when I arrived. And even if I hadn't shown up, Paul was planning on going mobile with the buggy. But with my arrival, Paul could rezone back to his original programming of viewing the human psyche..."

"...and find out what makes you fleshies all so nuts. Jeez, Alex, you have to bleed everywhere in this kitchen?" Paul asked sarcastically while wiping up the smears on the refrigerator handle.

Alex leaned close to Daria and said, "Just a quick word of advice. Paul really does mean well and he's the closest friend I've got. But if you want to get on his best side, use good manners. Bad manners set him off. He's kind of quirky that way."

"I'll keep that in mind," Daria replied.

"Alex, what's a TDDR?" Daria asked, shifting the subject.

"Why?" he responded, eyes narrowing.

"Excuse me? Why what?" she replied in confusion.

"Who told you about TDDR's?" he asked with a sharp tone in his voice.

"Uhm... you did. While you were bleeding all over the chair."

The tension building in his body seemed to melt a bit. "Sorry about that. I've had too much experience with them lately and I'm sick of it. TDDR's are what I call Temporal Dudley Do-Rights. They're a major pain in the ass. They've already evicted us from 10 dimensions just because we were conducting some experiments."

"How can anyone evict you from a timeline?" Daria asked.

Paul answered, "They're from a thousand years in the future. Their time-travel technology is more advanced than mine. Alex and I can only go past or forward 50 years from current phasics state before we start to lose cohesion at the molecular level. The TDDR's don't have this problem but as far as we can tell, they cannot go sideways through dimensions."

"You still haven't explained how they evict you," Daria pointed out.

"In the dimensions we've been kicked out of, a TDDR showed up, weapon drawn, and pained us into submission. They took us up a thousand years or so and kept us in a null cell while some freakin' kangaroo court said we'd been found guilty of continuity breech. Further, they said since we weren't part of their natural dimension, they were evicting us and if we came back they'd snatch us uptime again, only to release us over and over and over again. That didn't sound too bad until those futuristic dorks powered down the null cell and the temporal-bounce kicked in full force."

"Temporal-bounce?"

Alex scowled. "Paul and I were fused back a thousand years without benefit of technology. It wasn't a pleasant experience."

Paul floated over to Daria. "I'll say. I don't even have pain receptors but I can tell you what pain feels like now."

"They evicted you because of a continuity breech. What's that?"

"Uhm... they weren't specific on that," Alex said.

"I thought it was related to your experiments," Paul said, polishing the door handle.

"Thanks, Paul. I'm sure I wouldn't have remembered," Alex sarcasmed.

"What were your experiments," Daria asked, trying to avoid another round of bantering.

"We found some dimensions where Helen and Jake didn't get married. They dated for a while but then went their own way. I tried a couple things to make sure they stayed together."

"Then we found a couple other D's where they never even met. Fleshie-boy here tried some other things to get them together."

Daria pondered over what Alex said. "How do you know my parents never go together in those dimensions?"

"We scanned their timelines," he replied, suddenly focussing his attention to a slowing G-U.

"So if I understand this, you went into a dimension, searched for my folks, then read their future, then experimented with their past. Correct?"

"Yes," Paul said helpfully.

"So in essence you're trying to change history," she further clarified.

"Of course," Alex said absently, paying more attention to the G-U which he knocked with a knuckle. "After all, what's the point of having a vehicle that can travel through both time and phasics unless you can change history?"

"Don't you think it's a little wrong to go and change someone's history?" Daria suggested.

"That's what the TDDR's said and you know what, they were wrong as well!" Alex snapped angrily, then went back to the G-U.

A minute went by in silence. Daria watched Alex work, the grim expression he had slowly disappearing. She was no longer afraid of him or Paul. She felt something else instead.

"Sorry about that, Daria," he apologized a few minutes later. "It's just that those jerks have caused so much temporal stress on my body that I can't run any further experiments for fear of running into them. After the 10^th time through the temporal-bounce, I just couldn't take another round."

"Are your experiments that important to you?" Daria asked concerned.

He looked at her and gave what she felt was the first true answer all evening. "Yes," he said. "They are. There's nothing more I want to see get done."

"For your doctorate?"

His expression looked pained. "No. I could care less about the degree. This is more important."

He went back to work on the malfunctioning G-U, giving it another whack that sure enough got it spinning again. It joined the other two units and spun around his leg again. "So where is everybody?" he asked Daria.

Daria answered crisply. "They went out for a late dinner. Dad got a new client today and Quinn couldn't wait to knock him up for some spending money."

Sarcastically, Paul said, "As if that was something new..."

"I see you've met Quinn before, Paul."

Paul stopped wiping up a bloodstain and said, "Plenty of them. Virtually identical to the core. Gimme, gimme, gimme. I tell you what I'd like to gimme her..."

"Paul!" Alex barked. "Don't say it. I told you it wasn't her fault. I should've kept my mouth shut."

Daria was confused. "What wasn't who's fault?"

"Another Quinn a few realities over. She hocked me in order to get some sandals."

"Paul..." Alex warned.

"No, Alex, let him go on. I'd love to hear it, please."

"Well, since you asked so nicely..." Daria could almost hear the smile in his voice. He flew over to her. "In that reality floating robots weren't a big deal and I wasn't floating at the time. We stopped there to grab some basic gravity technology so I could construct a new mobile shell since my treads got trashed a few days before. Immobile was the new word for the day for me. So we stop at the Morgendorffer residence, make a quick survey to see if we exist in this line which we didn't – no surprise there – and then set to doing some odd jobs around the place at some cheap prices that really got Helen into a 'I put one over on that sucker mood."

Daria knew what he was talking about. "Ahh. The victory mood. She becomes..."

"...much more agreeable after that. Yeah. I know. Been there, done that. Anyway, Alex gets to painting the interior of the house while I get to downloading technical files through the internet library link when Quinn walks in on us. She wants to know why Alex didn't have a better unit for a helper. Alex says he couldn't afford one and she gets this glint in her eye. Next thing you know she swipes me, puts in a ringer for me that could have FOOLED ANYONE..."

Sheepishly, Alex quickly inserted, "How many times do I have to say it looked just like you?"

Paul waved all four of his arms. "Please! It still had MADE BY RONDA'S WRONGCO on the label attached to the remote control antenna!"

To Daria, "He's never going to let me forget that, you know."

Paul continued. "So next thing I know she hocks me at a local pawn shop and bleeding-boy here doesn't come for me until that evening."

Daria was aghast. "I can't believe she did something that shallow. I mean Quinn wouldn't do something like that here..."

"Well, this one did," Paul said firmly.

"But to outright steal?"

Alex answered, "She used Paul's pawn money to buy some sandals and dress, thinking I would be impressed enough to take her out to Chez Petrols..."

"Chez Pierre's..." Daria supplied.

Alex smiled. "...not here. Anyway, once I noticed Paul was gone and that Quinn had a new dress and shoes, I needed to find out what she'd done with him so I took her for some fru-fru food."

"See? This miserable fleshie took her out on a date while I laid in a crappy recycle bin waiting for the morning light when the store manager would do the most crushing thing of all – mark me down to closeout price!"

"Paul, I took her out to get the info where she'd taken you so I could come rescue you."

"Some rescue! It was nearly midnight when you came."

"No sense in letting some good fru-fru food go to waste."

Paul's eyes took on a black tint. "I hope you choked on it."

"Not at all. But thanks for asking."

Daria was still trying to make sense of it all. True, her sister was shallow and this wasn't her sister – but it could have been. "But why did she take Paul to begin with? Just to get you to take her out?"

"Kind of. Over dinner she explained that she wanted me to take her out in order to take my mind off my money problems and having to use substandard computer products..."

"SUBSTANDARD??!!!!!"

"To that Quinn, Paul was just another overgrown tinkertoy that could barely do simple things like bring me a paint brush. She didn't know he was an AI."

"Well, I certainly don't think of Paul as a tinkertoy," Daria said.

"Why, thank you," Paul said pleasantly.

"Patronizing and arrogant at times, sure. But never a tinkertoy."

"Awww, you're just saying that to get on my good side."

"So what happened on your "date" with Quinn?" Daria was hooked.

"Not much," Alex replied. "She let it slip what she'd done with Paul, I ordered the most expensive thing I could find on the menu, we enjoyed some food, drinks and dessert, and near the end of the meal, I excused myself to the men's room and slipped out, stiffing her with the bill."

"Heh-heh," Daria chuckled.

"Was that a laugh?"

"No," she replied dishonestly.

Paul then asked, "So why didn't you go out to dinner with everyone, Daria? Could you move your foot, please? You're standing in something I don't think you want to be standing in."

Daria looked at Paul and arched an eyebrow.

"Oh, right," Alex answered. "The Quinn factor. Say no more."

A slight smirk formed on Daria's tight lips. "Maybe you're my brother after all."

They both smirked and looked at one another.

"So why aren't you out with Lane then?" Alex asked.

"Who's he?"

"Not a he, a she. Your best friend."

"Doesn't help."

"Your partner in crime," he suggested.

" Still drawing a blank."

"Paul, could you..." Alex began.

"Way ahead of you, broken-bone boy." Paul stopped his cleaning (he was nearly done anyway) and zipped out of the kitchen towards the buggy.

"What's he going to do?" Daria inquired.

"Oh, check on your line and see what happened with you meeting Lane. This could take a few hours so don't get worked up for some instant answers."

BRRZZZZZZZ, brrzzzzzzzed a laundry-buzzer sounding buzzer. The three G-U's around Alex's arm quit spinning and came to a stop. Alex reached up and switched off the first unit, putting it down on the table. He did the same for the next two units as well.

Cautiously, Alex began to move his right arm around and around. "Ow, ow, ow, ow," he muttered as he flexed and stretched.

"You okay?" Daria asked.

"Yeah. It's just that with the G-U's off, the neurons are receiving proper input and leftover pain signals are coming in. It'll be sore for the next day or so anyway."

With the release of the G-U's, the remaining singed material around his arm fell to the ground. Daria could see bare, healthy flesh on the arm now that the blood and grime were gone.

"Lookin' good this time," he said with a smile, removing his coat and shirt and putting on the replacements that Paul had brought.

"This time?" Daria inquired.

"Yeah, I've had some problems with the nano's in the past where they tended to use part of the clothing material as a building block with my arm. Imagine how much of a pain it was to get my shirt off after that." He laughed a bit and shook his head. "But I think I've got the program down this time. No leftover cotton in my bicep. That's always good."

The 2^nd buzzer went off. He removed the G-U's from around his leg and began doing similar exercises.

He seemed well enough to travel. That got Daria to thinking.

"Alex?"

"Hmmm?"

"I take it you're almost ready to go?"

"In a few minutes, yeah. I just want to make sure I've cleaned up around here. Sorry about Jake's stew, though. I can't replace that much as I'd want to. Uh-oh..."

He inhaled sharply.

"BRRAACCCCCKKKK," he exhaled loudly. As Ms. Barch would say – Typical MALE!!

Daria waved the yellow air around her away, propping open the door in the process of airing out the kitchen.

"Oh, excuse me. That was certainly uncalled for," he grinned.

Daria took it in stride. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"Ask away."

"When you leave, would you mind taking me with you?"

Alex stopped exercising the kinks out of his rebuilt muscles and skin. He looked seriously at Daria. "You mind if I ask why?"

"You have to ask?" she returned sharply.

Alex just stared at her, waiting for an answer.

Daria sighed. "Look around here. What do you see? You asked me why I wasn't hanging around with Lane, my supposed friend. Does it look like I have any friends to you?"

Alex didn't need to look around. "No. I guess not."

She continued. "I guess the Daria who adopted you has more friends than I'll ever have. I've been in this stinking town for a year and I'm as alone here as I was back in Highland. About the only thing anyone even came to talk to me about that wasn't about schoolwork was when Tommy Sherman managed to remove himself from the gene pool. Then it was, 'Hey, I'm feeling upset so why don't I just ask the Misery Chick why I'm feeling so down. Maybe she can get this bad feeling to leave and I'll be happy again. I'm sure she knows all about misery anyway.'"

Daria was getting good and angry. A side rarely seen.

"So I listened to one person after another and offered what insights I could and ways they could deal with their pain. But when I went to someone with how I was feeling I was pushed away just like all the other times!"

"Who?"

She stopped. "What?"

"Who did you go to?"

"Does it matter?"

Alex thought on it for a moment. "It was Helen, wasn't it?"

Daria turned her head to keep Alex from seeing any emotion creep through the corner of her eye. She blinked it back rapidly as she made her way to a cupboard and got herself a glass and then filled it from the faucet. She wasn't about to answer his question at all. Not now. Not ever.

The silence was all the answer Alex needed. If he'd been wrong she would have commented one way or the other. Dammit! It seemed Helen always had a soft spot – for her cell phone. People didn't change much from reality to reality and Helen had been like this more than Alex cared. At least he had lucked out. But this Daria hadn't.

"Daria?"

She looked at him, her eyes narrowed in deep thought. He had always liked that view of her – like she was positioning herself on a chessboard moving in for mate in three moves or less. "Hmm?" she replied as Paul returned quietly to watch the two of them talk.

"I've felt down myself from time to time. When that happens, I tend to go to one of my favorite places until it's leeched out of me. Or until I can function civilly with company again. I tell you what. I'd like to take you to one of those locations. You might enjoy it. Once you're feeling better, if you still want to evac this reality, I'll take you with me."

"Go for a ride on your space buggy shuttle I take it?"

"Shuttle-buggy," he corrected. "Only..."

"What?"

"Well, it's kind of..." he started and stopped. Then, "It's a..." he stopped again. Shrugging his shoulders, he said, "There's no easy way to put it. Only family can come aboard."

"Who came up with that stupid rule? You or Paul?"

"Neither. It was the shuttle's idea."

"Huh? You lost me."

"Uhm, you need a little more history on Paul. He was alone for a very long time. When he finally got around to creating the shuttle, he used whatever materials he had available – hard metals, light metals, plastics... and animals. That shuttle is partly alive."

Daria asked, "What part of it is alive?"

Alex responded, "The part that eats. In order to gain access myself, I had to give it a DNA sample so it would recognize my scent from now on."

"That doesn't sound so bad..."

"The sample consisted of two pints of blood and my left thumb. Hence Paul and my first attempt to modify nano's for medical procedures."

"Oh," Daria said, paling a bit at having something bite off her appendage. "How about adoption then? I could always adopt you since I've already done that before – somewhere or another. That way we'd be family."

"Possible. You could adopt me in a foster-brother sort of way ... or... I could adopt you!"

"Isn't that one in the same?"

"No, not really. It's all a matter of perspective. That shuttle's got a mean perspective so maybe we could fool it that way."

"Sheesh. You two fleshies should compromise and adopt one another. That way you've covered both sides," Paul suggested critically.

Alex looked at Daria. "Sounds good. You game?"

"Sure," she returned a little hesitant.

"You sure you know what you're getting yourself into?" Alex asked seriously.

Uncertain, she replied, "What do you mean?"

"As your brother I will have certain responsibilities to give you noogies when you're getting out of hand, or whenever I'm simply bored."

She understood. "Ah. Well, keep in mind that I can kick the crap out of you with these boots should impending noogies come my way."

Alex smiled at that. "Spoken like a true family member."

She smirked in response. "Adoption then?" She extended her hand.

"Adoption. C'mere and give your brother a hug."

"Lawsuit," she said quickly, avoiding physical contact.

"Not this time!" Alex grabbed her into a hug and after a moment she reciprocated.

"Alex?"

"Yeah?"

"Your clothes stink of burned wiring."

"Sorry about that."

A few minutes later the three of them left the kitchen in more or less the same shape before Alex stumbled into it earlier that evening. Paul flew into the open door of the shuttle while Alex and Daria walked towards it. Five feet from the door a foot-long triangular shape unmerged with the shuttle's body and on a flex-line positioned itself in front of the two humans. The triangular shape pulsated colors similar to Paul's eyes and Daria could sense something else was now watching her.

"No sudden moves, Daria," Alex warned. "That's the sniffer."

The shape shot a blue light towards Alex and a moment later Daria heard a voice say, "Clear to enter, Alex."

The sniffer then moved towards Daria and shot a blue light over her form. Alex could tell she was nervous.

Alex began, "Shuttle, allow access to..."

Alex was interrupted by the shuttle's voice saying, "She's cool. DNA on file. Clear to enter, Daria." The sniffer retreated and re-attached itself to the shuttle, showing no sign of a seam. The voice then said, "But keep in mind, Alex – I'm getting hungry."

On board the shuttle-buggy, which looked an awful lot like an RV on steroids, Daria sat in the co-pilot chair (a.k.a. – the passenger chair) next to a floating Paul and an intense Alex as they called off system power settings and other technical status listings. She was now wearing an outfit similar to Alex's – a nylon-feeling opaque bodysuit under her regular clothes of blue jeans, boots and a black leather jacket like the pilot's. She also had a pair of black leather gloves and was wearing a helmet. The jacket and helmet were to help in the event of a crash but she wasn't so sure, not after seeing what happened to Alex – but she wasn't in a position to argue. Well, actually she was and she would have but neither of them were listening so what was the point.

The interior of the buggy really was like an RV, that is if an RV were decked out in computer equipment, power grids and rounded walls next to other flashing lights and a machine that went PING! every few minutes. About the only normal looking area on the RV was the shower/bathroom which looked normal enough (but she hadn't opted to try it yet) as well as a few cupboards with dishes, cereal and a small fridge with near-Milk and frozen lasagna in it, and a microwave set in the dash.

"Skin glaze complete," Paul announced, one hand flipping a switch to deactivate the glazers and retract them into the hull.

"Bringing the gravs on-line," said Alex, lifting up on a lever which had the desired effect of raising the shuttle-buggy out of the small hole in the ground it had made on impact.

"We still have the ground to fix," Paul mentioned, looking at the roughly 2-meter wide, 3-meter deep hole through the window.

"Pat it, please. I'll watch for containment leakage."

Paul reached over Daria and flipped a lever and rotated a handle. A seam appeared on the front of the buggy and a large extension extended out towards the ground. Daria thought it was similar to the backhoe but then she saw that instead of a claw at the end, there was a... for lack of a better description... padded hand that also had the dexterity of a hand as it began to scoop and push dirt back in the hole and once that was all done, it patted the ground down. Finished, the hand retracted into the buggy and the opening closed seamlessly. The hole wasn't perfect by any means but you had to look for it to notice it was there.

"Patting complete. I'm ready."

Alex looked over at Daria. "We're at a 106% of 390. We're ready, Daria. You still game to go?"

"Will it hurt?"

Alex grinned and hit the accelerator. Daria had already strapped in with the shoulder harnesses as had Alex so was stuck to the seat. Still, the acceleration shoved her back as they hit 3 G's within moments. She had expected the cabin to be noisy with a roar of some kind, but other than the initial acceleration noise, the cabin was quiet. She could tell they were moving fast as the glow of the Earth melted away to the blackness of deep space.

"Where are we going?" she asked, containing her alarm.

"Geosync orbit. Then we hit the phasics-drive to D-32. Paul, how much longer?"

"Four seconds... three... two... one. Engines off. Phasics on. We're a go."

"Let's ride." Alex shoved a CD in the dash player and then cranked two blue levers out, then around – and they were off!

The shuttle-buggy slipped from reality.

"Paul, we ready for re-entry now?" Alex asked while fwipping a dial with his thumb and forefinger.

"We'll reacquire geosync in 8 more seconds. Activating beacon. Hold on... Hold on... Now. Ride the line."

"Riding. Anticipate S-L-link in 3 minutes. Daria, how are you feeling?" Alex asked looking over at her.

Daria looked a little pale. She genuinely looked pale most of the time, but this time was a little different as she had a fear of heights and was now about 250 miles straight up from Earth – in an RV that was headed straight down. The Earth became a little bit bigger, then bigger, then a lot bigger. Her breathing intensified as the shuttle-buggy headed on a straight line towards North America.

"Daria?" Alex asked again, showing concern in his voice.

"HUH?!!" she nearly yelled, her eyes wide behind the sun visor of the helmet, sweat falling down her face.

"Are you okay?" he asked cautiously.

She swallowed. "Why are we going straight down? What about re-entry? Won't the heat kill us? You do have heat shields on this buggy, don't you?"

"Heat shields?" Paul asked, his eyes flashing a cautious yellow. "What the heck are heat shields? Alex, you been holding out on me or something?"

Daria's eyes bulged a little at that.

"Daria," Alex began. "Paul's kidding. Don't worry and try to calm down. We're not going to die. We're not going to burn up. We're in phasics-space."

"What's that?" she quickly asked, unable to take her eyes away from the growing shape of the United States of America rapidly coming towards them. She wasn't aware that the RV had not gotten any warmer. Somehow, to her, it just wasn't that important.

"Basically, we're in a non-corporeal state. We don't really exist in the physical world."

"Sort of like politicians," she responded automatically, still unable to take her gaze away from the rapidly approaching ground.

"Close enough," Paul chimed in, his eyes flashing a purplish blue.

Alex continued. "And since we're in phasics-space, normal rules of physics don't apply to us. For instance, this buggy does have shields, but not the heat shields required for re-entry into an atmosphere from space. But then we don't need them as we're not encountering any resistance other than from Paul's over inflated ego."

"Hey!"

Daria gulped again. "Are we flying or driving in phasics-space?"

"Does it really matter?" Alex asked with a grin, stepping on the brakes and giving the RV a hard turn before they "hit" the ground.

The buggy slowed to a cruising speed of roughly 100mph about 2 meters off the ground as Daria's breathing returned to a more normal state. She took the time to focus on her surroundings. She recognized the location immediately.

"You took me to downtown Lawndale as your favorite location?" she asked incredibly.

"Not quite. This is Lawndale, but not your Lawndale."

"Yeah, right," she said contemptuously.

"Then how do you explain that?" Paul asked, pointing towards the town sculpture.

She viewed it and her jaw stayed clenched shut only through an act of will. It was a giant strawberry with an equally giant arrow through it, both on top of an equally giant pigeon who looked as if it had strawberry juice sliding down its feathers. Daria sat back in the seat, unbuckling the seat restraints.

"Where are we going?" she asked eventually.

"We're almost there. Just around the corner. There. See that house?" Alex said, pointing to a 2-story home that looked similar to the others in the neighborhood.

"Yeah. That's where we're going?"

Alex grinned again, slowing the RV down to a measly 5mph and then cranking the wheel again, heading up the sidewalk towards the house. "You might say that."

Daria's breathing intensified again. "We're going to crash!" she yelled.

They slid through the front of the house as if it wasn't there. Actually, it was there – but they weren't really there.

"Would I crash this buggy?" Alex asked jokingly to Daria.

She gave him the look.

"Okay, wrong phrasing. How about: would I crash this buggy with you in it?"

Daria removed her helmet and rubbed her eyes. "Will you just tell me where we are?"

"Why don't you look out your window and you tell me," Alex prompted.

She looked up and this time her jaw did drop.

She saw herself setting the kitchen table.

Only it wasn't her. Not unless she'd suddenly gained 10 years and about 30 pounds.

This other Daria looked closer to her mother than Daria did. But that may have been mitigated by the three daughters sitting around the table chattering away, ages 2-6. Daria watched the other Daria put plates down, then go into the kitchen and bring out dinner and put it on the table – chicken, vegetables, rolls – anything but lasagna. She watched as this other Daria made up a plate for each child, cutting a piece of chicken when needed, and then began feeding the youngest in the highchair. A few minutes later a balding man about this other Daria's age came in. He wore clothes that said "construction worker" vs. desk-jockey.

"Wha... what's all this?" Daria asked quietly.

"Like I said, it's one of my favorite places I come to when I need to lose tension," Alex replied quietly.

"But that looks like..."

"You. Yes, I know. You're my sister in a reality, adopted or not, so when I get to a new location, I like to see if you're in it and if so, how you're doing. In this one, I think you're doing great. Most of the time you don't exist. There are more Quinn's than Daria's."

"Why are we whispering?" Paul asked equally quiet. Then, much louder, "After all, we can't be heard unless one of us yells really, really loud and even that can barely be heard since we would need to reverb this reality's molecules and we aren't in phase with them as yet."

"They can't hear us – and unless I suddenly turned stupid, they can't see us as we are out of phase with reality. Phasics. I get it. Paul, if you put that dunce cap on me, I'll rip off one of your arms and beat you sensorless with it."

Paul dropped the dunce cap he was making and turned towards Alex. "I like this one, Alex. Can we keep her?"

"Daria, the seals next to his joints are most susceptible to a good, hard tug," Alex said, taking off his helmet.

Daria smirked as Paul's eyes flashed violet to green to red back to blue and purple. She looked out the window at the family eating dinner, then her alternate getting up and picking up the dishes. "Alex, why am I... I mean, why is that other Daria limping?"

"In this reality, this Daria has mild cerebral palsy and walks with a limp. She also doesn't have much strength in her right hand but she can still punch out someone with her left. Here, Quinn never got as much attention as she does in yours and other dimensions and this Daria is much more well adjusted, although just as stubborn in her beliefs and desires to do everything on her own.

"Like you, this other Daria never got invited to dances or parties not because she wasn't pretty enough, but due to the fact that she walked with a limp. People tended to see the limp before they saw her. That is until she met Sean Paddio in her senior year. He was a transfer that year and one day she was bumped during classes and her books fell. He stopped to help pick them up. She was in her usual self-reliant demeanor..."

"Meaning she cussed him out," Paul added.

"Thank you, Paul. She cussed him out and he smiled and asked if she'd like to go to the prom with him. She refused but he asked her again the next four days until she finally said yes. She went and they became a couple. He never once asked her about the limp. Several months later she met his family and found out that he had a younger brother who also had CP, much more severe. Sean didn't treat him any more differently than he did Daria.

"They remained in touch as she went to college. He didn't go, instead preferring to go into the family construction business. He would still find the time to go and see her, bring her little presents like a picnic lunch or an oil change. Eventually, they got married. And in their lives they had three daughters – Amy, Janey and Bartholemew..."

"Bartholemew?!" she exclaimed.

"Heh, heh. Sorry, just wanted to see if you were listening. The youngest daughter is Claire, after Sean's mother."

"So what does this other me do for a career?"

Alex didn't reply. Instead, he flicked a few switches and said. "Now that we're here, why don't I show you why I like coming here. Paul, you ready to timeline?"

Paul settled into a secured position on a counter. "Ready. Power systems normal. No anomalies on the skin. We're good to go."

"Daria, hold on," Alex said, flipping another switch.

"Oh, God..." she began, anticipating the worst.

"We're here," Alex broke in.

"...not again? Okay, we're here where?"

Alex moved the silent shuttle-buggy through the house, backed up and went through the back wall so they were facing the living room. Outside had suddenly turned dark and the other Daria and Sean were sitting next to each other on the couch watching TV.

"Same place, same home. Different time. We've moved up by three hours, 20 minutes."

Daria looked at Alex starting with another "Don't give me that line of baloney" look, slowly letting it merge to a "Okay, whatever you say" look. "You not only travel through different realities, but you also move up and down time within that reality?"

"You bet," Paul said. "How else can you covertly explore up and down a person's timeline and get their history? Since we're not in phase with this dimension's karma, we can do it at will."

"Whacked Out Scientists spying from invisible RV's! Next on Sick Sad World!!"

"I can't believe you still watch this stuff," Sean said, a remote ready in his hand to channel surf.

"Sure you do," his Daria replied, kissing him on the cheek. "After all, you bought me the SSW Day Planner last Christmas."

"It was on sale," he mumbled.

"You bought it before Christmas, not after. I saw the receipt," she replied, snuggling up to him some more.

Sean looked into his Daria's eyes and leaned in to kiss her. "MOMMY?! CAN YOU READ ME A BEDTIME STORY?!!" came the blaring words of a 6-year old on the other side of the house. Several neighbors hoped she would read to her soon so a second query wasn't required.

"Oh, oh!" Alex began, shushing up Daria and Paul. "Shhhhh! This is the best part."

Sean and Daria stopped the kiss before it started. Pulling back, they looked at one another. Sean's right hand came out in a fist. Daria's left hand came out in a fist. "On three," Sean said, Alex mimicking it.

Sean and his Daria pumped their fists three times. Sean finished up with a fist. Daria finished up with a flat hand. "Paper covers rock," she said victoriously. "You get the bedtime story." She chuckled.

He got up and walked towards the bedroom. Alex followed up the stairs, driving the entire way on an invisible path. He stopped when Sean entered the room. The three daughters shared the room. They were all in bed. He stopped by a bookcase and grabbed a few books.

"Aaahhhh, that was my favorite scene of this line. I love watching it every time I come here," Alex said, relaxing in his RV-pilot chair.

"What? The kissing?" Daria asked.

Alex looked at her eyes, wanting to make his point. "No," he said simply. "All of it. The whole interaction. To me, this is the mark of a healthy marriage."

"I didn't see anything significant," Daria said honestly.

"I don't think you appreciated it for what it was since you don't really know the history of this Daria and Sean. You see, this bedtime ritual incorporates everything a marriage should. You may have seen them competing to get out of having to read to their kids, but instead they were competing to see who could read TO their kids. What you don't know is that this Daria always does paper and Sean always does Rock."

"Always?" Daria asked skeptically.

"Nope. Not during football season which is when Daria changes hers to scissors. To me, they both know what the other one is doing and they're okay with it. If they didn't know what the other one was doing, then playing Paper-Scissors-Rock would have more random choices over the years. But during winter, spring and summer, Sean reads to the kids and only during the fall does Daria do it. This has been going on for more than four years."

Daria didn't get it. "Why don't they just make up a reading schedule and stick to it?"

Alex smiled. "It's a little game they play. And it's just a little quirk that happy couples sometimes have. Besides, making a schedule is so orderly and normal. And if you and all the other Daria's I've met are one thing – it's not normal."

"Well, I gu... hey!"

Alex and Paul laughed at her reaction and she had to smirk over it a bit herself. He had gotten one on her fair and square.

"Do you mind if we watch it again?" Daria asked. Sean nodded and they rode the timeline back a few minutes to just before the bellow of the 6-year old.

This time Daria watched the action unfold with more interest. She noticed the differences and looks Sean and the other Daria gave each other when the bellow came. Their easy smile as they started the Paper-Scissors-Rock. The look of mild surprise (i.e., fake surprise) on Daria's face when Sean did his "rock". His look of mock defeat.

She had Alex run them back one more time in case she missed something the first time around. She then watched it to the conclusion where Sean finished up a book and kissed his children goodnight while tucking them in. Daria stood in the doorway while he did that. Then, together they headed back to the couch and the TV. And some smooching.

Daria had to admit, this other Daria's marriage seemed a lot better than her parent's. "So what do I ... I mean, this other Daria do for a career? She's not a full-time mom is she?" Daria asked critically.

"Absolutely not," Alex replied quickly. "She's a published writer. So far with three books."

"That's a relief. How were they received?"

"Actually pretty well. But then it's hard to give children's books bad reviews and still look at yourself in the mirror the next morning."

"What?!" Daria shot back, eyes going wide. "Children's books?! I ... she sold out?"

Alex was perplexed. "What do you mean, sold out? She always wanted to write and now she's doing it. She's certainly happy writing children's books and she has a knack for it. She's working on her fourth one now."

Daria was unmoved. "She sold out. If she was like me like you insinuated, she'd want to write scathing commentaries about social acceptance or barring that, then at least a good shoot-em-up novel. Not kiddie stuff."

"Well," Alex began cautiously, "all realities are different but as based on similarities. This Daria is like you. But she isn't you. Paul, could you please open D32J1-10 and display on viewer?"

"Opening," he replied. Almost immediately, 10 pictures about 10-inches square appeared on the front window of the RV, covering most of the viewing area.

"Thank you, Paul. Daria, look at this," he said, indicating the first picture to show.

She looked. It appeared to be herself at home about age 15 with a firm resolve not to show emotion at the kitchen table as Quinn was blabbing on about something. A time index stamped it as a morning shot. Daria saw some differences in the hair length and such but it basically looked like her.

Alex leaned over and asked, "What do you see?"

"Quinn-ism."

"You see yourself in this, am I right?" She nodded yes. "I thought so. Now look at the next one. What do you see?"

That picture showed a Daria about age 16 in school being passed by Quinn and the Fashion Club, Quinn ignoring her. She again showed that firm resolve not to show emotion. "Same. Typical Quinn behavior."

"Right. Now this one?"

The third one showed a 17-year old Daria bending over and picking up papers and notebooks, with a young-looking Sean next to her. Daria's expression is grim. "Anger. She's showing anger," Daria said.

"And this one?"

The fourth showed a Daria about age 18 at the senior prom with Sean. She looked radiant in her dress and danced closely with her date. He seemed like he was in 7^th heaven with her in his arms. "Happiness," she supplied honestly. "Happy that Quinn's not around more than likely."

"Could be, could be. And this one?"

The fifth showed a Daria about age 19 meeting (what phasics'd Daria guessed) Sean's parents. They were having dinner with them – and it wasn't lasagna. "She looks happy for not having lasagna," phasics-Daria said enviously.

"You're probably right about that. Now how about this one. It's more in the future of this Daria. She's about age 20 and in college. Look at her concentrating in class with the other students – listening to the instructor. She, and you, never did that before in high school."

"They didn't know anything," Daria said immediately, assured an easy victory.

"Even DeMartino or Defoe?"

"He's nuts! His eye bugs out all the time."

"True. But then look at the torture Kevin inflicts on him mindlessly. Even the VC would have been pressed to hurt him any worse than Kevin does. But what about Defoe? What negative thing can you say about her?"

"Uhm..."

"You didn't give her any slack because she doesn't measure up to your brainpower, so you barely participated in her art course, earning you your first B in years."

"I got an A," Daria corrected.

"No, you worked for your "A" by clouding the mind of Principal Li with legal issues until she forced Ms. Defoe to change the grade or face disciplinary actions."

Daria looked downcast. Alex was right. She had done that last semester. She hadn't even earned the "B" – it was just something that Defoe usually gave to everyone who came to class even to use it as a study period like she'd done.

Alex continued. "This picture is Daria age 21 in college. Here she is at a party with even a beer in her hand. This is her birthday party and everyone she's been friends with in highschool is there as well as her college friends. And there's Sean singing her a song. Doesn't she look pleasantly embarrassed. That shot was a keeper."

"Now I'm drinking?"

"It gets worse. This one is Daria about age 22 at college graduation. Look at her expression as she gets her diploma and graduates at the top of her class. To me, that smirk of hers says volumes that she knows that she put herself through school on her own terms. Jake and Helen didn't help put her through – they were too busy with Quinn's little problems. They didn't even show up to her graduation as they were bailing Quinn out at the time."

"It's easy to study when you've got the grades and the grants."

"True," Alex conceded. "But she did work a part time job while going to school. She enjoyed eating as well as learning."

The next one showed Daria about age 23 getting married. Everyone that she knew was there, even Quinn.

"Quinn at my marriage. I thought I'd never live to see the day."

"Quinn at your marriage or you getting married to begin with?"

"Both. Either. I don't know."

"Neither did this Daria. But at that time she didn't really care what Quinn was doing or even if she was trying to upstage her somehow. All she cared about was the person she was marrying. The person who cared for her more than anyone else."

The last picture showed Daria about age 24 in a hospital recovery room. She and Sean were smiling at one another while mother cradled daughter in her arms. Sean's parents are in the room with the happy new parents and the sleeping baby.

"She's creating her family," Daria whispered.

"She is. And before you say it, no, Jake and Helen aren't there yet. They hadn't gotten off from work. They showed up later that night."

"She looks beautiful," Daria commented.

Alex hid a grin. "So you see, there are some parallels to your line, Daria, but this one is unique as well. This Daria was following your path but then fate intervened and she decided that her happiness was more important than a scathing commentary about lackluster grades in the schools. She decided she liked writing stories involving her children rather than stories with chambered rounds and buckets of blood."

"Yeah, but fate is a cruel mistress," Paul scorned.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Daria asked.

Paul unplugged himself form a sensor array and said, "Take a look for yourself." The pictures all vanished and a new image appeared, full action. Sean got out of his van and headed into a building obviously under construction. It was early morning and the chill was still in the air. He was the only person there so far.

Paul continued, "This view is what happens 2 months, 3 days, 8 hours, 14 minutes out from present. He is a foreman on this building project. I'll zoom it up 14 minutes. There. Now watch."

They did. Suddenly, the building collapsed. They both heard the groaning of metal and pounding of brick and stone as it hit the ground. But they didn't hear Sean.

Alex sat quietly.

Shocked, Daria asked, "What happened..."

Plugged in again, Paul interjected, "The building collapsed. Cause – substandard building materials used by another group and a paid off inspector."

Daria turned on Paul. "Not the building, to Sean!"

Paul said quietly, "He didn't make it. He was crushed. In a few days, the building inspector is arrested and eventually serves a year in jail. The subcontractors skip town and aren't heard from again."

"And this other me?" Daria started.

Paul zipped the screen into fast forward and stopped it a minute later. They were watching a funeral. Daria's older different self sat by a graveside as the casket with her husband in it was lowered to the ground. Her daughters were sitting with her. They were all crying.

Daria watched all this in real time. The casket was lowered. People milled around and eventually wandered off to their cars and to the waiting refreshments.

Daria was not comforted by her family even though they hugged her. She wasn't comforted by Sean's family as they did the same. Her eyes narrowed and her crying eventually stopped. The gaze was not comforting to the phased Daria at all.

"Well, Daria, you don't have to worry about her selling out anymore," Paul said.

"Explain, please," she returned, not taking her eyes off the scene. She couldn't.

"Paul, route it to my console, please. Thanks." Alex began viewing the information that Paul had compressed. After a few minutes, and while the mourners were still leaving the gravesite, he said, "It appears that your counterpart's next children's book never materializes. Instead she becomes cold and cynical and quits writing children's books and concentrates on good ol' blood 'n' guts, creating a fine line of Melody Powers novels. They become quite successful – that's good I suppose, and she begins spending more time on the road promoting them. Her daughters are left behind more and more with their grandparents or family fiends like Lane. Her oldest daughter starts to shield herself off from her mother and find refuge in reading. Hey, look at this. She graduates early and goes to college on a full scholarship." Then, " Hmmmm."

That broke her concentration. "What," she asked.

"Looks like her daughter marries some loser and doesn't even invite anyone to the ceremony. Not that it was much of one to begin with since she got married by a judge at the courthouse. Jeez, she doesn't even tell her mother she's married until she shows up on her doorstep pregnant and the loser having run off with some other floozy."

"We've got to do something. There's no way we can let a daughter of mine marry a Kevin."

Alex shook his head. "Sorry. I've been this route before and it isn't pretty. But don't worry about it, we'll just find another dimension where they don't have this cause and effect timeline."

"Somewhere Sean didn't die?" she asked getting to the point.

Alex shrugged his shoulders. "Sure."

"Somewhere they both still do paper-scissors-rock?"

"Anything's possible on this buggy."

Daria looked at him critically. "You're not sure, are you?"

Alex sighed. "It'll take time, but eventually we'll find something," he said hopefully.

"Forget it. I want this couple helped."

Now it was Alex's turn to look at her critically. "Why? She's doing something you want to do. She's not selling out."

Daria narrowed her eyes and looked at the empty grave site, noting the lingering figure of the alternate-Daria. Quietly, she said, "I have my reasons."

"Is there any way I can talk you out of this?" Alex asked hopefully.

"No. I don't even know why you have to ask. She's another version of your sister, another version of me. I thought you'd want to jump in to help her. This being your favorite place and all."

"I do want to help, it's just that I'm not looking at meeting a TDDR again and going through another temporal-bounce."

"How would they know?"

Alex turned towards her. "We tracked her timeline, remember? We went through time. They're aware. We do anything to change this line now, they'll be all over us like slop on a pig."

"We've still got to help them," Daria insisted, her eyes conveying more than just wanting to do the right thing.

Alex sighed again and pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "We'll play random chance. Heads or tails. Call it in the air." He flipped the coin.

"Tails," Daria called, watching it rotate to the ground.

Alex caught the coin, slapped it to his wrist and lifted it up for Daria to see. "It's tails. What do you want done?"

She let loose a sigh of release. "I certainly don't want this future for me... her... whoever!"

"Paul, give me a focal point."

Paul replied immediately, "Sean's death is primary."

Daria was on it instantly. "Sounds good to me. I don't want Sean to die."

"Paul, what are the best options to accomplish this?" Alex asked.

Paul began counting the possibilities on one of his four hands. "Car wreck on way to site will minimize temporal shock. Sabotage of car will result in him getting ride in another car with possible other casualties. Ailment such as flu or cold won't stop him from still working. He needs to be in a car wreck that will keep him out of commission for one additional hour from impact as that is time range it takes the building to collapse."

"That doesn't sound too tough," Daria supplied. "We take my car and I fender bender him, we wait for cops to show up and ..."

Alex stopped her. "No can do, Daria. We need to get him out of commission first try and it has to be severe enough for him to remain himself instead of one of us staying there with him."

"Why?"

"We're out of time with this dimension. That doesn't mean that time has stopped for us, just that we're out of time. Once we leave phasics-space, we begin to interact with real time and unless it is our exact time, we will start to get sick. At best we have about 3 minutes to accomplish what we want before either getting back to phasics-space or going back to real time the hard way."

"I'm not sure I understand. You were in my dimension for a long time and you didn't get sick."

"True. But then I wasn't out of time."

She digested this, then asked, "You said 'the hard way.' What's the hard way mean?"

"You really don't want to experience it. I've done it once and it isn't pleasant. Think of it as being that little bit of chew someone sticks in their mouth and then swarshes around for awhile and then spits out, only to run dirtily down the sidewalk, mixing with year-old gum on your way to the sewer."

"Nice imagery," Daria sarcasmed.

"Thanks."

"Anything else?" she asked.

"Oooooohhhh, yeah. That's only the beginning of what feels like a day-long sensation of being splotched around by something out of your control. Which it is. The only way you get lucky is if you pass out. But I had too much of a morbid curiosity to see what happened and resisted passing out the last time it happened to me."

An empty minute passed between them. Paul continued to run calculations.

"So what do we do?" she asked.

"Like Paul says. Car accident. Do you know how to hotwire a car?"

"No," she replied honestly.

Paul asked, "Want to learn?"

It was still early in the morning, the chill still in the air as Sean got into his van. His breathing could be seen as he waited for the lousy heater to start putting out something Sean vaguely remembered as heat. A few minutes later, the air warmed to a balmy 45 degrees, Sean pulled out from the house and began the 30 minute drive to the construction site.

About halfway into the drive, Sean was doing 50 along a 2-lane road, rounding a curve when an old white Buick monstrosity appeared out of the light fog coming towards him.

Sean slowed going into the curve like he normally did.

The Buick crossed the double yellow and swerved to avoid him, cutting the front end back the way he came.

Unfortunately, this had the effect of blocking the road, its tail end on Sean's side – and he didn't have a way to stop in time.

He hit the brakes anyway! What else was he going to do?

SMASH!!!

Sean's van crashed into the Buick's rear panel, pushing the car back about four meters and crushing in the front of his van.

The impact threw him forward but the seatbelt kept him from going more than a few centimeters out before tightening around his torso and waist, retraining him. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for the clipboard on his dash which shot backwards towards his head, whacking him on his forehead, gashing out three inches of scar material.

Groggy from the blow, and blood falling into his eyes, he looked towards the Buick.

The was no driver.

Alex collapsed in the buggy, his breathing labored. Almost gasping, he asked, "Paul, could you get me some aspirin please?" He took off his helmet and Daria saw he was sweating profusely as he gulped the water and aspirin. "Status?"

"His car is pinned," Paul replied. "He won't be going anywhere for a bit."

"More importantly, he's alive," Daria came to the point. "Paul, could you please contact the authorities about this crash?"

"Sure thing, Daria. On a plus side, I just did a quick scan on the timeline and it appears that no one died in the building when it crashes later today. Tomorrow's paper says that it collapsed before workers arrived."

"That's a relief," Daria said.

FFRRRRWWOOOOOOOSHHHHHH!

The Buick, hit in the rear, had been leaking gasoline. A sparking engine ignited the fuel which raced back to the source and had the bad luck of exploding the car.

Alex grabbed a bucket and threw up, unable to hold it down any longer.

"Paul," Daria worried, "where's Sean?!"

"He's still in the van. The crash buckled his frame and the door is stuck. He's pinned in by the dash and can't get to the other door. But he's trying."

"Sean'll be roasted alive unless we get him out! Open the door! I'm going out!" Daria instructed, pulling off her helmet and grabbing the pry bar they had used a little while ago to break into the Buick.

"I'll go," Alex volunteered. He got up and just as quickly nearly fell over, clutching his stomach and gasping for breath.

"No time! Paul, please," Daria pleaded.

"Daria..." Alex began.

"No, Alex," Paul informed. "You've lost too much cohesion to be effective out there."

Behind Alex a light pulsed and grew to a line, which just as quickly opened and a woman wearing a blue and gray skintight outfit appeared, her face hidden behind a black helmet. "No one's going anywhere, creeps!" she barked. "You've already done damage to this timeline! You're under arrest!"

"Move aside or Sean'll die!" Daria pleaded.

The intruder raised a pain-gun, just like Alex had handed to her a reality away. "Don't move or I'll fire."

Paul flung a toaster at the woman, knocking her helmet in a few inches on the faceplate. "Eep!" she cried out.

"God-damned TDDRs!" Alex shouted, jumping on her and bringing her to the floor. "Gotta be a busy-body to everyone in the damn universe!"

Paul rotated his head towards Daria and yelled, "Three minutes!" He then opened the side door and Daria jumped out, sprinting to the van.

Daria avoided the burning car and went straight for the driver's door. She saw a still-groggy, and bleeding Sean look at her for help.

She jammed the pry bar into the seam of the door and pulled. It opened a little and then jammed.

She pulled it out and thrust it in again for a new hit, pulling with all her strength.

The door creaked open a bit more.

She dropped the bar and yanked it open the rest of the way. Sean nearly fell into her arms, which in turn nearly threw her to the ground as she hadn't expected someone roughly her height to be so damn heavy.

In the distance, Daria heard the familiar hair of a police siren as she dragged Sean to safety, the fire of the Buick now torching the van's interior.

A dazed Sean looked up and saw a young Daria leaning over him. "Daria?" he asked, unsure what was happening.

She gritted her teeth, tightened her eyes and looked at him. Blue and white sparks began popping up around her. She noticed the impromptu fireworks but didn't want to leave him just yet.

The impact had kept Sean pinned to his seat and Daria noticed he was losing blood from a gash on his left leg.

"Save your strength," she grimaced, her stomach pulling a lurch through her spleen. "You're hurt but help's on the way. You're going to be fine." She placed Sean's hand over his leg wound and got him to hold it, to keep at least some blood in.

More sparks joined the blue and white. Now there were red, orange and yellow. Sean was sure he was hallucinating.

"You're an angel," he couldn't help saying. The lights dancing around her were mesmerizing.

She saw the lights of the cop car rounding the bend and got up to leave. She clutched her stomach as the spleen rejected it and sent it in search for lodging up near the lungs.

She stumbled her way to where the buggy was. Her right leg spasmed and she fell to the ground. Her spleen was on its way to her eyes to make new fiends. She limped up and made for the buggy – she knew it was nearby even though she couldn't see it any longer. No, wait, there it was – she could barely make the outline of it.

Breathing labored, she struggled to get there. Step after step. She was going to make it.

Until a blue wave of nauseousness smashed into her, bearing a green gift of boot scrubbing snacks. She felt her lungs reject the stomach but hold it for ransom from her heart. Beat, beat, beat went to beatbeatbeatbeat. The timeline was rejecting her and wanted to flammingly flammer her back to where she should be. The hard way.

She collapsed.

Then vanished as the Buick exploded for good measure.

The officer stopped his car near Sean, got out and radioed for assistance. He then went to check on the occupant of the Buick. There wasn't one.

He never did see the "angel," despite Sean's objections.

Daria woke up on her bed. Groggy, she reached for her glasses only to open her eyes and find them already on her face.

Crap, she thought. It was a stinking dream. Looking down, she saw the fresh blood on her hand. She inhaled sharply and smelled her clothes reeking of smoke and ode de burning car.

It was the middle of the night she noticed. The clock read 3:04am. She unlocked her door and checked on the others. Her parents and sister, Quinn the shallow, were asleep. Quietly, she went to the bathroom, and cleaned up best she could, washing out the bloodstains from her clothes and removing the bodysuit that Alex insisted she wear to help slip through phasics-space.

Oddly, when she removed the bodysuit, it simply vanished. But on a positive note, it took most of the burning car stink with it. Daria finished cleaning up, washing her face and getting some smudge marks out of her hair, and went back to her room.

Her mind was awhirl with thoughts and images. Reality or not reality. Or was it non-reality? Or was she in a non-reality? Was she going to get a job? Who invented liquid soap and why? Why did they play baseball during hockey season? Didn't they know you got more body checks per game with hockey than baseball? What the hell was she thinking anyway?!

"Planning on going somewhere?" a familiar voice asked as Daria finished putting on her boots.

"Not really," she replied, not looking at Alex. "I just thought I'd have these one in case I needed them. By the way, what took you so long getting back here?"

"We had to ditch the TDDR. She was a mess," he admitted. Daria finished with her boots and looked up. Alex was standing by her closet door. She could see the faint outlines of the shuttle-buggy behind him, its door open but still in quasi-phasics if she could see it at all.

"You didn't... kill her did you?" Daria asked delicately.

"Hell no. Those TDDR's may be assholes, but I wouldn't kill them for doing their job. No, after you left I kind of threw up on her which freaked her out good. Next thing you know she just wouldn't leave the shuttle-buggy until we cleaned her up."

"You get evicted then?"

Alex simply nodded. "Yep. I've also been evicted from here because of a current change to a future problem. I've got just enough time to see if you're okay and then I've got to leave."

Daria walked over to him, folded her arms and looked at him with a deadpan expression. A quiet moment went by between the two. Then she kicked him in his right shin.

"Gah-dammit!" Alex nearly shouted, keeping his voice down by sheer will alone. He hobbled over to Daria's bed and collapsed on it, massaging his shin.

"Who are you really, Alex?" she asked, walking over to him.

"What are you talking about, Daria?" he answered evasively.

She kicked him again in his other shin. "Gah!" he bit his lip. Those steel-toed boots really hurt! Sunuva...!

Daria went into lawyer mode. "You've been lying to me all night. One: you said that your parents abandoned you when in fact they are dead. Paul confirmed that when you were passed out. Semantics aside, your reference insinuated they were still alive."

"Yeah..." he began.

"Don't interrupt," Daria warned. He stayed silent. "Two. You say you're my adopted brother but when you went to those other dimensions to conduct your "experiments", you didn't go to your parents but instead went to mine. This got me to thinking of why you would do that. Three. You seem to have details about my family in all these other dimensions but have virtually none about your supposed family. You avoid questions. I found myself thinking why to this as well. Four. You crashed here earlier tonight after losing cohesion in another dimension. You said yourself that you go back to the last dimension you were in, meaning you were here before. Why? Five. You just mentioned you're being kicked out of this reality because you went to the future and changed a current time. What did you change? And six: the way you swear is familiar. We are related, only you're not my adopted brother, are you?"

Alex sat there but didn't say anything.

Daria kicked him again.

"Gah-dammit!" he swore again, massaging his right leg again. "Could you quit doing that? It really hurts."

"Then answer the question. Who is Alex Jacobsen really? The truth this time."

Alex massaged his aching shins. He sighed. "Alex Jacobsen is your mutually adopted brother from D-5. When I've interacted with timelines in the past, I'd use his history as a cover. I was making ready for another interaction, going over some facts when we lost cohesion in D-86 after running into a TDDR. We crashed here and my history and the other Alex became mingled when I wasn't thinking straight. After I got my memory back on track, I couldn't undo what I said. So I kept up the lie."

"What's your real name?"

"Alex Smith."

"Why did you come here?"

Alex got up and went to Daria's nightstand. He opened the drawer and pulled out a small package and tossed it to her. He looked at her but didn't say anything else.

Daria's tensed as he invaded her privacy. Her eyes bulged as he tossed the package towards her. She gulped and put it in her pocket, then looked back at Alex. "Who are you, Alex Smith?"

"Please don't ask me that. I can't tell you," he replied softly.

"Can't? Or won't?"

"Paul, we ready to phase?" he quickly asked as Paul floated by the closet door.

"Yo."

"How are we related, Alex?" Daria asked, tension creeping into her voice.

Alex looked at her, squinted his eyes and pulled his helmet on. He then strode towards the closet and into the shuttle-buggy. Daria watched him leave. She watched Paul view her, his eyes pulsating through the rainbow. Paul then opened a chest cavity and pulled out an envelop which he put on her desk before flying through her closet and onto the buggy. The light faded as the door closed and reality was once again solid.

Alex and Paul were gone.

Slowly, Daria moved to the closet. There was no trace an RV had just been in there. She looked at the envelop on her desk.

She opened the envelope and pulled out three items. The first was a picture showing an older Daria with a small boy in her arms next to another man who had his arms wrapped around her. Also in the photo was her sister, her mother, father and what appeared to be her father's parents – all smiling for the camera (what the... ol' Mad Dog smiling, and more importantly – alive?). Weird.

The second item was a newsclipping which read in part:

Athens, Greece. Peace talks were shattered yesterday when terrorists broke through the US Embassy's security and detonated a several bombs, killing 11, among them senior diplomats Jake Morgendorffer, his daughter, Quinn Morgendorffer, and junior diplomats Roger Smith and his wife, Daria Morgendorffer-Smith. Jake is survived by his wife, Helen, father Major M.D. Morgendorffer and grandson, Alex Smith.

The third item was a small packet of yellow goo. On it was a label that read: For answers to all your questions, best if ingested immediately – like now. Sitting on her bed, Daria tore open the packet, pinched her nose and swallowed the nanos. Gyyyaaaaa, it was like swallowing glue mixed with gold stars and dog saliva.

However, almost immediately she saw Athens beyond her door, rushing towards her. She blinked and was in the middle of a city she had never been in before.

She notices her perspective. She is in the photo she had been holding a moment before. A photographer takes a few more snaps and finishes up. She notices this but is not part of the picture. She sees old Mad Dog there and actually being civil to Jake, clasping him on the shoulder and smiling, her dad smiling back. Her mother is there as is Quinn. They are all enjoying their time. A little boy who looks like Alex runs around the room. An older Daria picks him up and kisses him, before giving him to what appears to be her husband.

The scene flashes forward with a light. Alex looks bored and wants to go outside to play. His mother reluctantly agrees to do so, letting a staff bodyguard go with him.

The scene shifts again and he is outside playing with some Greek kids. They are having a good time. Some people come by and the little boy notices something odd about them. But he doesn't do anything. The bodyguard is buying something at a store and doesn't see anything. The boy begins to follow the odd men but is interrupted first by the bodyguard who wants him to come back and then by the kids he's playing with who want to continue the game. He looks back at the odd men and then grins, forgetting what he was doing a moment before.

The scene shifts again and she knows it is 20 minutes later. She isn't sure how she knows, just that she does. A loud boom as a bomb goes off is heard. The boy stops playing. Visual images shift chaotically. The boy runs home, a terrified expression on his face. He sees the face of one of the people he noticed earlier in the rubble. He searches for his mother. He finds her. It's Daria.

She's dead. It's his fault for not stopping the odd men.

Daria woke up and came out of the scene immediately. She remembered the images, the smells, the voices, the agony. But she needed time to absorb it.

She got up and went downstairs to the kitchen. She could still smell the lingering scents of burned wiring in the air. Paul must not have gotten all of the air cleaned like he did with the walls and floor.

She reached for a glass and filled it up with water. Opening another cabinet, she pulled down a bottle of aspirin and popped a couple into her mouth before guzzling down half a glass of water to counter the chalky taste. She winced as she tasted the remnants of the goo still in her throat.

She then took the sleeping pills out of her pocket and slipped the package into her backpack, intending to return them tomorrow. After all, their proceeds would make a good dent in purchasing another pizza.

She went back upstairs and sat on her bed, taking her boots off. She looked at her nightstand and there was another envelope that hadn't been there a few minutes before. She opened it. Inside was a note from Alex.

Dear Daria:

It's an interesting thing phasing through dimensional time. I get to meet all sorts of interesting people and see all sorts of interesting events. It was an accident how I arrived at your home, but not an accident that I came. Thank you for "adopting" me. You can never have too much family.

"Except for maybe Quinn," Daria quipped sarcastically.

Okay, maybe except for Quinn. I'll give you that. But as family I feel it is my duty to tell you that my birthday is August 1^st and I'm allergic to sentimental cards. I'll be back in August. Take care.

"At least Paul didn't get in a snide comment this time," Daria muttered.

Don't be too sure of that, fleshie.

"What the...." she began.

Never mind Paul, Daria. He's just having one of his "technical" moods.

No I'm not.

Yes you are.

Am not, fleshie.

Oh, I'm sorry, is this me turning off your sensor array by accident?

Click.

I guess it is.

Fles....

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Write me a letter about it, 'puter-boy! Sorry about that, Daria. I hope you have a wonderful life. Be cool.

Alex

AND PAUL

(you know, the non-fleshie yet dashing AI that you can't live without – ha, ha)

Daria smiled and folded the note, putting it back in the envelope. She opened a drawer and put the note inside a small box with other letters and very old birthday cards.

Daria returned to a familiar classroom after school let out. Inside was one other person. She had raven-dark hair, a red jacket, the same kind of boots Daria was wearing and an expression that said she would've rather gnawed her leg off rather than be in that classroom.

Self Esteeming was already underway. Wheeee.

Daria sat down next to her since she knew she'd have to move anyway as O'Neill always wanted everyone close together for some oddball touchy-feely reason or another.

The other girl gave Daria the once over as well after noticing the good footwear taste. "What're you in for?" she asked as Daria took her seat.

"Attitude adjustment one way or the other," Daria deadpanned. "I'm hoping they use more electricity this time around. You?"

"Same. I'm just hoping they don't have a brown-out like last time."

Daria arched her eyebrow in question. "Details?"

"You first," came the reply.

"Can do. Ms. Li wanted me to write an essay for a national magazine lauding the achievements of Lawwwwwwnnndale High. I simply told her no."

The dark-haired girl arched her eyebrow as well and asked, "Simply?"

"No, not really. I added a few choice adjectives and adverbs to the word 'no'."

The other girl grinned and said, "I joined track because I wanted a challenge. Then it turns out the coach pressured my teachers into giving me good grades as long as I kept winning. Hey – I worked damn hard on my perfect "C" average. No one was gonna take it way without a fight. When she wanted me to join track practice today, I gave her a few choice adjectives and adverbs to the word 'no' as well. Hence, the banishment to self esteemism."

Mr. O'Neill walked in and noticed the two girls talking. "Good, good," he said pleasantly, clasping his hands. "I see you two are already pepping up your self esteem! This is a good first step."

They stared at him as if a bug just landed on his nose.

"Now why don't you introduce yourselves to one another," he prompted, oblivious of the imaginary bug.

"Name's Daria."

"Hey. Jane."

They returned to staring at O'Neill and the imaginary bug on his face.

"Now you two can do better than that! Think positive! Try it again, this time with last names! Think of this as an adventure in life that will never end."

Daria looked at Jane and extended her hand. "Daria Morgendorffer."

Jane shook it and said, "Hey. Jane Lane."

Daria's eyes opened a bit at the name recognition.

O'Neill, pleased expression still on his face, said, "Good, good. You're conversing which is good. Now what are some things you enjoy doing."

Again, Daria looked at Jane.

This time Jane asked, "Do you enjoy criminal activities?"

"Only when I know I won't be caught," Daria replied.

Jane and Daria smirked.

O'Neill sat flabbergasted. Criminal activities? Oh, my...

Friendship began.

Daria came home from Jane's and found a package waiting for her. There was no return address. Taking it upstairs she opened it in the confines of her room. In it was a book and a note from Alex and Paul.

Daria:

Here's the latest book. I thought you might like to take a look at it.

Take a gander at the dedication.

--Alex & Paul

The book was the other Daria's latest children's book. She opened it up to the dedication's page. It read:

To my wonderful husband, Sean, and our three daughters. I love

you and I hope a guardian angel is watching over you all.

Yeah, Daria thought, as long as their guardian angel drove better than Alex did. She closed the book, glad that Sean was still alive.

Later that night she was ready for bed. She had on her t-shirt and shorts.

The lights were off.

In the dark she looked out her window at the full moon far above.

She sat and looked at Old Man Winter which had finally brought in a snowstorm a day earlier.

The house was quiet with the 'rents and Quinn asleep.

She wasn't writing.

She thought about her life.

And...

...she smiled.

She could only imagine what Alex and Paul were doing now.

"Paul," Alex began, "flag this line to a revisit after the TDDR duration is up."

He rotated his head and flashed some blood-red eyes at him. "Anything else you want me to do? Wipe your ass or something?"

"You know, for an AI, you sure do nag a lot."

"Watch it, fleshie..."

"...nag, nag, nag..."

Life went on and Daria, at last, liked... some of it. It was a start.

Mrs. Whitmore: So, what conclusions can you draw from this story? Jim? Steve?

Steve: Well, that's what I asked Jim after we finished reading it the other day. There are the obvious answers: suicide, friendship, obtuse A-I's. But nothing concrete. Nothing was stated for their hopes for the future. So we decided to research the author and hope that might shed some light on it.

Jim: But where to start? We kind of hoped the object she left behind would help on that. Inside the box we found a dried paintbrush. Obviously an artist. But on the handle were markings. We thought at first they were splotches of paint but when we put it under a magnifying glass, we found symbols.

Steve: Or what we first thought of as random symbols. At the time we thought we were on a wild goose chase. But the symbols looked familiar. We found out that they were hieroglyphics. We went to an Egyptian homesite and found a translation program. We digitized the images and ran it through the program and were surprised at the message left behind by Jane.

Jim: It read... (pulls out piece of paper) "Don't you know it's not nice to read someone else's mail? Go on, shoo already."

Several students and Mrs. Whitmore laugh at this. Others have confused expressions.

Steve: It was nonsense. It was humor. It was style. And because we figured that she had style when she was a teenager...

Jim: ...she might have style as an adult. She wasn't hard to track at all. We ran a name search and found thousands of Jane Lanes. Reducing the scope to include painter and/or humorist, we found the list shrunk to a more manageable couple dozen. We did an age parameter and the list came down to six names. We then ran a query through a PI system which tracked their jobs from the past 20 years. Five of them had solid backgrounds in established businesses. We ignored those and went to the last one which had no biz links yet was living in a mansion and owned an art gallery called Janey's Good Piktures N Stuff. The name of the gallery clinched it.

Steve: That and the fact they had a web site with a picture of the owner on it that matched the video footage we saw the other day.

Nick: So, what else can you tell us about her?

Jim: Married a couple times. Became famous by painting sarcastic portraits of the rich and famous which for some reason became fashionable for about 10 years. A decade from her mid-30's to her late 40's we couldn't find anything on. We found some obscure reference in one newspaper clipping about her appearing at a vampire festival but who knows if it was her or what crap the reporter was smoking at the time – there was plenty of weird stuff happening back then. Besides, the date of the article put it two full years beyond the last confirmed VLS-sighting.

Steve: Not much else, however. Couple other homes across the country. She has four kids who are all married and is the grandparent of 13 kids.

Nick: So what do you think the story means?

Jim: She wrote about her friend, Daria. Her website contains a portrait she did when they were both teenagers. It is named Friendship. I think she wrote that story to mean they were friends.

Nick: Anyone else?

Diane: I think Jim's mostly right. It has to do with friendship. Only I think she meant it to indicate they were meant to be friends.

Nick: Interesting that you should say that, Diane. I did a little digging myself through the Li archives and found some footage regarding this story. Uploading... now.

The electronic blackboard flickered to life.

October 2001.

Location: Lawndale High, cafeteria. Time: afternoon.

Jane is sitting at a table in the cafeteria, already eating. Daria walks up to the table and drops her backpack onto the bench, then sits down, no food at all.

Jane: Ah, good move avoiding today's mystery meat surprise. I tell you, the only surprise I get is where Ms. Li can come up with gruel this bad and it not be reported as a health issue.

Daria remains quiet.

Jane: Yo, amiga. Trouble in paradise?

Daria: I just finished reading your story, Jane.

Jane: (stops in mid-bite) I thought those were supposed to be anonymous submittals. No one was to read them. At least, no one this century.

Daria: Yeah, well, they would've been tucked away and ignored by everyone if O'Neill didn't need someone to edit and enter them into his PC.

A minute of silence goes by between the two.

Jane: So, what did you think?

Daria: Quinn seemed to be the same no matter where you went – that seemed normal.

Jane grins.

Daria: But I'm not suicidal, Jane.

Jane: Sure. Not *now*. Not after meeting me.

Daria: (seemingly agonizing over her answer) ... hell. You're right.

Jane: We were meant to be friends, Daria. It would've happened one way or another.

Daria: Curse you and your insidious logic.

Jane grins again.

Daria smirks.

Nick: Jim, Steve. Good job. Any volunteers for next week?

Two students raise their hands.

Nick: Mike – Naomi? You two volunteering? Good enough.

E-Mail me if you want.

Disclaimer

Copyright (C) 2001 by Steven A. Brown, all rights reserved. No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author, with the exception of 1) brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews (yeah, like that's going to happen), and 2) the complete, unaltered text of this work, including this disclaimer (or an electronic document containing same and which has been data-compressed using a lossless algorithm) when used or reproduced for private and non-commercial use only (again, like that's going to happen).

Permission is granted to repost, republish, or retransmit this work in any way, shape, or form as long as these disclaimers remain intact, and no one except Glenn Eichler, Susie Lewis, MTV Studios, or Viacom, the parent of MTV receive financial remuneration.

The Characters of Daria Morgendorffer, Quinn Morgendorffer, Jane Lane, Trent Lane, Kevin Thompson, Michael Jordan "Mack" MacKenzie, Brittany Taylor, Jodie Landon, Sandi Griffin, Timothy O'Neill, Angela Li, Anthony DeMartino, and many more, even if not mentioned here, are the creation of Glenn Eichler and Susie Lewis and Copyright MTV Studios. This story is in no way to be construed as a challenge to said copyright.

The Characters of future students are entirely fictionalized and only sounds like the names of other fan fiction authors whose work I have read and enjoyed. Just wait until I start putting in other author's nam... er, that is, it's all a coincidence I tell you. A coincidence! To those of you who may be offended, remember: this is a cartoon. This is not and could never be real. Or could it? I leave questions like that to philosophers, or to OTR drivers who have experienced significant sleep deprivation.