Torn

Plisken scooped Katrina up in his arms, her limp body a light weight in Plisken’s strong arms.
“Hey, Mrs. Chrysler?” said Plisken hopefully.
No response.
“Fuck,” Plisken said under his breathe. He was careful as he lifted Katrina’s corpse up onto his shoulders; the least he could do for her is make sure she wasn’t left out in the void of space. From out the corner of his old worn eyes Plisken thought he could see a ghost of Katrina standing, smiling, but he knew it could no be possible.
Plisken did not take the death of his friends, or even the friends of his friends, well. He was in the region of 1100 years of age now and the concept of death was an all too present event throughout his long life. His entire life had been consumed by it and no matter how much he tried to change, it would always catch up with him. And it was his fault. Had he shot quicker, seen the killer before Jay he might have put him down for good.
Damn it.
“Hey, Plisken,” came a gritty voice from a nearby communications unit. Plisken sighed and paused before making his legs walk over, the heavy weight of his failure bearing down on him.
The old man picked his way though the fallen debris that littered the maintenance area that lay far below the tramways and carriage stations, his precious cargo safely secured on his shoulders.
He pressed his thumb against the glowing green button, the light almost hidden behind dirt and grim. “Yeah?”
“Plisken? It’s Cass. We’re sending a worker’s carriage to pick you up. Where did you go?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Plisken said in a barely audible whisper. It shouldn’t really have affected him the way it did. The death was connected to him. How well did he really know her anyway?
There was a screeching as the worker’s carriage grinded along the secluded maintenance tramway, the tortured brakes breaking the still silence. It was unlikely to be many guards and soldier left around here, the clever and cowards would have fled and the brave and stupid would be dead.
Plisken set it down on the cold metal floor of the carriage, closing its eyelids so that it would sleep. Without warning, the carriage lurched forward, the unsteady engine being remotely controlled by probably Jamie or Alex.
The carriage nosily ground along the rails, gliding past various raging fires that had consumed the small stations of the facility and moving past small skirmishes between some of the remaining guards and inmates.
Maybe it was because she reminded him of Kate? That might have been it. She had died similarly, in battle anyway. A bullet punching through her heart. She had been a doctor – shouldn’t have been a target. That had been just before his last stand at the Medusa Cascade. He was probably meant to be dead, come to think of it. Branded as a traitor and a rebel.
“Pretty much,” said a voice from the opposite seat.
“What the?” said Plisken as his head snapped up to the voice. His eyes were greeted with the sight of Emily, the same Emily from Old Las Vegas. The same one that has knocked him unconscious.
“The entire sector ladled you a hero though, the small population that lived on Heartfall had a day for you until Brittany clamped it down.”
Plisken looked in wonderment for a moment. There Emily was, in her black leather jacket and long black boots. She still had her tattoos running down the side of her head but now she had some hair on the top of her head that was tied back in a pony tail.
“Your grave,” Emily continued, “I visited it once. Thought it would be the right thing to do. Then I find out you’re not actually dead.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. Hiding and time travel and all that. But how are you here.”
Emily didn’t say anything but just smiled. “Listen,” she said softly, “You’ve known me my entire life, and I’ve know you for all the time you let me be in it, so listen to me: Her death is not your fault.”
Plisken’s eyes fell to the ground, though he kept them from the still cargo. “How did Clara find it, growing up without a dad?”
“Clara? She’s fine. Kate did a good job raising her.”
“Kate?!” exclaimed Plisken.
There was an explosion that rocked the entire facility, probably a piece of rock landing on a power generator. For just a moment everything went black. When light returned, Emily was no-where to be found. She had just vanished.
You’re loosing it, old man, said another voice.
Plisken turned round to see a young man sitting on his row of seats, a little farther down. He was dressed in a green jumpsuit and had several military patches on his arm. One said Razgriz and the other, Mobuis – 64.
You’re even talking to yourself. And I’m not even here!
“What is happening?” asked Plisken, suddenly feeling dizzy. He placed his three hands – no, two hands – on his head and rubbed his skin.
Did you think we could get away with living forever and not suffer consequences? asked Garth, walking through the door of the carriage.
“You wanted to live forever; I just wanted to change the future.”
You could have died, that would have done it, said an old man sitting across from Plisken, an eye patch covering his right eye.
“No, there must be a way to stop it from happening.”
What happened to ‘fixed points in time’?
“Maybe I was wrong.”
That’s the problem with us, we could never keep to one story, said Plisken the White.
We want to be everything and everyone, said Lil’ Plisky Bakewell, his little legs swinging from the relatively high seat.
And then you want to save everyone, said Kate, But you can’t, Katrina is proof of that.
“Stop- why is this happening? I tried…” said Plisken, his head rolling on his neck as his eyes tried to focus.
No, it is your fault, said Greyman, his piercing blue eyes bearing down on Plisken.
How many people have you killed? Plisken heard himself say – an exact copy of him standing in front of him. How many people have died because of your actions? A million? A billion? A trillion?
No, it is much higher, said Greyman, You collapsed the Seven Galaxies. How many people do you think live in a galaxy?
“I didn’t do it,” Plisken said wearily, “He did.” Plisken pointed at the old man with the eye patch who was once again sitting across from him.
He is you.
“God damn it, he isn’t!” Plisken shouted as the carriage pulled up to the station. The door gave a little ‘bing’ and slide open. Plisken looked around and found that he was alone, the ghosts of his past vanished.

The station was empty, though there were distant sounds of gunfire echoing deep within the corridors. Plisken sighed, he was getting old. He lifted Katrina's broken and dead body onto his shoulders and made his way to the others, where ever they were.

<Part 2 of 2>