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"That sounds as close to impossible as makes no odds."

"You're friggin' well told."

As a rule, Dr. Newton Augustus Gutenberg did not use such language. This was, he thought, an occasion to break any number of rules. His experience in Chase's quarters had shaken the scientist to his core. He was surprised to find Felice just outside of the door to his own onsite quarters, when he returned to them, but he was glad that he had invited the bear to come inside, to have someone to talk to about his experience. The evening had brought out a great many changes to the red panda's thinking, and the bear was one of the few furs -- perhaps the only one -- to have bothered to keep up with the behavioral and mental aspects of what was happening to the young coyote. It seemed only fitting that Felice should now be the one to hear the details of Newton's own experience.

"You're sure you've never heard the piece before?"

"Quite sure. Look at my playlist, if you care to -- most of it is classical, or what most people call classical. I know enough music history and theory to be more specific about periods and composers, but that's not the point here. It's just not in my aesthetic wheelhouse, to borrow a term."

"A good one it is," the lean brown bear chuckled gently, the smile on his slightly elongated muzzle reflected in his twinkling eyes. "But something in you knew it?"

"The work, the title, the artist." The firefox passed a forepaw over his short headfur in a gesture more nervous than he would ordinarily make. "It felt familiar to me, as if it were a work that I would return to often, to calm me."

A glance at the bear made the idea appear quickly in his own mind. Taking up the laptop from the low table in front of the sofa that held both himself and the bear in a companionable nearness, he sought the work online, found it quickly, and began to stream it through his external speakers.

"The laptop speakers can't handle the acoustic range of the piece," he explained. "It's almost silent, for the first few minutes. Let it build a bit."

"Fair enough," the bear nodded. "Tell me again what happened after you recognized this piece."

The ailurus settled back onto the sofa, heaving a great sigh. "I only hope that I didn't upset Chase too much; he's already going through enough." Considering just a moment longer, he looked to his ursine companion and let himself remember aloud. "I was so stunned by the sensation, the feeling of knowing something that I couldn't possibly know, the emotion of having always loved the work, that I blurted out... well, just what I told you. I sat for some short period of time, more or less staring into space. He tried to say something to me, but I couldn't hear him. Part of me felt lost in the music, and part of me felt terrified at this sense of suddenly knowing something I'd never known before. It was..."

The bear waited patiently while the firefox searched for words and the music grew slowly in volume and sweet, simple progressions. Newton looked at his feelings and his actions; both yielded clues, if only he could decipher them. An eternal dichotomy, as if...

"Maybe that's it," he nodded slowly. "There is a theory that we're not entirely one being, that our minds have a sense of self that may be made up by other selves. Do you know those moments when you feel like you're observing what's happening to you, rather than experiencing it directly? If you're hurt badly, there is part of you that is separate, analyzing, not quite associated with yourself. Sometimes, you can feel it with happier sensations, like being in love. It can happen when you look at an event that happened some time past, whether it's hours or years, and you have the feeling of looking at yourself as if what happened was to someone else."

"Did you feel like someone else when you heard this music?"

With a rueful snort, he looked again to his guest. "Hardly a scientific analysis, is it?"

"Perhaps this experience doesn't need science." Felice smiled gently. "Perhaps it needs a heart instead of a head."

"Fair point." The red panda resettled into the sofa, allowed himself the luxury of closing his eyes and listening to the quiet tickings within. "I didn't feel like someone else. More like I was me, watching someone else listening to the music."

"Chase?"

"No, someone else, someone I hadn't met before. I guess Chase suggested it, in a way, since he chose the selection."

"But he didn't tell you what it was?"

"No. I remember him saying something, but that was after I'd named the piece."

"And you don't remember what he said?"

"Again, no." With a sigh, Newton opened his eyes, still considering the encounter. "I felt dazed. He put his forepaw to my arm, shaking me a little. I remembered looking into his eyes, very slightly disoriented, and he told me to go to bed, to go make myself some tea and go to bed."

"Sound advice."

Sighing, the firefox levered himself off the sofa and padded to his miniature kitchen. Unlike Chase, who was considered a full-time resident, Newton merited something only slightly larger than one of those "extended stay" motel rooms. He didn't mind it so much; it was convenient, more often than not. His kettle stood always at the ready on his two-burner stove. He turned on the element and took the kettle to the sink to fill it. "Would you care for a cup?"

"I should let you be. You've had an interesting evening."

"Hold on a tic, and I'll see you out."

"I'll see myself, thanks. Good night, Newton."

The plumbing chose that moment to rattle somewhat, forcing a quick shutting-off of the tap. The firefox righted everything, put the lid onto the kettle, set it onto the burner quickly. "Are you sure? I can--"

He found himself addressing an empty room. That bear was amazingly quiet on his hindpaws.

* * * * * * * * * * *

The chamomile tea and the soft, unfamiliarly familiar music of "Air and Light" eventually had their way with the firefox and lulled him into a calm that allowed him to sleep through the night. The next day, he felt the need to take Chase out for lunch.

"Steak 'n Spirits" wasn't nearly as alcohol-oriented as the name might have implied, and they had an impressive selection of specials for midday meals. The décor left something to be desired, if one didn't care for the kitschiest clichés of Southwestern "style." It was near enough to the freeway to take advantage of what might be considered a "tourist trap" mentality, but the food was good enough for the locals to overlook the failed decorating. What, Newton wondered, was the point of hanging the dried skull (whether real or fake) of a non-sapient steer on a wall, with a length of weathered rope which, if the legend were to be believed, had been used to subdue the poor animal in some long-since forbidden ritual torture called a "rodeo"? Still, the passers-through thought it somehow enhanced their dining experience, perhaps imagining it instead to be a relic of sun-dried bones from the deep desert that surrounded them, so the tacky thing remained.

Enough carnivore to enjoy thoroughly his pepper, cheese, and bacon-stuffed chicken breast, Chase couldn't have cared less about the wall-coverings. It was clear that he was happy to be away from the compound and, as he'd told Newton on other occasions, he had seen far worse restaurant or shop interiors in the quickly-erected buildings on the rez -- places that gave gawking_wasichus_ a place to think that they were looking at real tribal trinkets for sale (much of it had been made cheaply overseas, shipped over in bulk, and artificially "aged," like any good art forgery out there). The firefox preferred his generously-portioned salad, although he was omnivorous enough to enjoy the small chunks of ham and bits of bacon sprinkled throughout. He also enjoyed joking that the obscenely garlicky dressing was purely medicinal, to ward off vampires. It seemed to be working; he'd never encountered a vampire in his entire life.

The pair working today's security detail had the courtesy (or perhaps the desire for spirits) to take their meal in the saloon section of the establishment. The ailurus allowed himself the luxury of thinking that it left the really intelligent pair to talk over lunch.

"How did you sleep, Doc?" the coyote managed between bites.

Newton smiled. "Reversing roles?"

"Only a little." The look in Chase's eye held more concern than mischief. "You seemed kinda shook up when you left last night. I don't think I got two words out of you before you went back to your own quarters."

"I apologize for my rudeness."

"Rude, hell," the canine said mildly. "Newton, talking is a two-way street. I won't say that lunch isn't always a welcome treat, but today's different; something's up, and you need to talk about it."

The firefox deflected a moment longer by passing a napkin over his muzzle, then nodded. "When I woke this morning, I felt more comfortable with the music, more comfortable even with the idea of enjoying it so much. What still concerns me is exactly how it is that I acquired the information, how I knew the music before I'd ever heard it. I began thinking of how eclectic your range of knowledge and taste is, so I had a question for you: Have you ever had this experience before?"

"You mean like déjà vu?"

"Properly, this would be more like déjà écouter," Newton countered nimbly, "but since the term has come to mean 'a sense of having experienced something like this before,' then yes."

"I'll take your word for it, pun intended." Chase indulged another healthy bite of his lunch, including a bit of particularly tasty potato salad for good measure. He nodded. "In short: Yes."

"How about 'in long,' when you come up for air?"

The coyote chuckled, sipped some of his ice water, cleared his throat gently. "I've had the experience of recognizing something that I've never heard before, or the feeling that I was rereading a book I'd never read before, or some story from history that felt familiar. That shouldn't be so weird for a pup who has conversations with elemental beings."

"Could you name the composer and title of one of those pieces of music?"

"Not... exactly." Chase set his utensils onto his plate. "You got me beat, on that score. You know enough of my background to know how I look for things. I'll trip across something interesting on the Internet, or in the library, whenever, whatever, and I'll follow it wherever looks interesting. Sometimes, I'll find a name that sounds almost familiar, or I'll hear something classical on the public radio station, and I'll want to follow it up, because it sounds somehow familiar. It becomes easy for me to associate a composer and title once I hear it with the music, but I couldn't just pull one out of the air like you did, last night."

"So how did I do that?"

"I'm sorry, Newton, but I have no idea."

Spearing some more of his salad, the scientist caught the slightest sense of hesitation in the coyote's return to his meal. The first impression was_he's lying,_ but the revised idea was more like he's hiding. It was unclear if he was hiding information or simply hiding from Newton. Could have been a bit of both. The "why" of it was what made no sense, but so little did. He decided to chance his arm just a little further.

"Just one more thing to puzzle over, I suppose." The chewing was both necessary and intentionally distracting. "Must have been tough."

"What?"

"Being such a curious pup. You outstripped the reservation library at an early age, I'll wager."

"Wasn't much there to start with."

"You learned to read early, I think?"

"Forgot your notes?" Chase dropped his forepaws to the table, still gripping the knife and fork, and his ears splayed slightly. "I'm sorry, Newton. That wasn't..."

"Did I step on a corn?"

"We didn't order corn." The coyote managed a small, mostly sincere smile. "I know -- deflection. Psych 101. Yes, I did learn to read at a young age, and I'm pretty sure you remembered that. I'm also pretty sure that you're trying to get me to segue into 'when did all this stuff start to happen'."

Newton spoke softly. "Yes. I apologize for trying to be coy."

"Then I'll apologize for keeping stuff from you. I really don't intend to. I don't know how to tell you... or even if I should."

It was the firefox's turn to be cheeky. "Is this to do with 'The Dark Things' you spoke of?"

Chase's snort was a relief for both of them, and Newton took the brief wag of the coyote's tail to be a positive sign. "Good one, Doc. And no, I don't think so. It's more like not being able... not having words for it. I really can't imagine how to explain what it's like for me."

"You've not had an experience like mine?"

"No, not chapter and verse, like it seems to be for you." As if remembering his eating utensils, the coyote raised his paws and resumed his attack on what was left of his lunch. "Sometimes, it feels almost dreamlike, remembering it later. I'll get an idea in my head that's not completely formed, but feels... I don't know, like..." After a long moment, filled with proper chewing, he nodded. "Breadcrumbs."

Newton nodded in return. "A trail. Made of words?"

"Sometimes, but usually more like impressions of things. Snippets of sentences, music, poems, names that I end up feeling sure I've heard but couldn't tell you when or where."

"And that leads you to the library, Internet..."

"Any resource I can find." Chase's eyes had the look of someone finally able to grasp an idea that he'd been clawing at for years. Another bout of chewing, swallowing, a deep breath. "It didn't start at the same time as the lightning," he said quietly, as if worried about letting dire secrets fall upon nearby ears.

"You had these breadcrumbs from... shall I guess?"

"My friends. My invisible friends. But it got so much stronger when the lightning came. So much more."

"More often? More intense?"

"Both."

Newton considered this or, to be more accurate, he felt over it, sensed it. He was starting to believe that rational thought wasn't the way to make a dent in this mystery; the answer was going to need that leap beyond logic that some theorists called the "delta star" insight. One answer was that the invisible friends were somehow real, their own entities, and these other selves imparted knowledge like divine revelation. As unnecessarily mystical and religious as that sounded, the scientist didn't dismiss the notion. Whatever was happening, it had its strangely supernatural side to it, or perhaps merely preternatural -- something that was mysterious in the now but that would be understood in the future. Another idea was more in the realm of quantum physics, where "entanglement" referred to particles being bound even across time and space, resulting in what is called "spooky action." Even in science, there was room for ghosties and ghoulies, in language at least. With what would the coyote be entangled? His invisible friends, perhaps? And how would that work?

He'd heard his name called. "Mmm?" he enquired.

"I said," Chase smiled softly, "would you like to split a dessert? They're so big here that they're quite sharable."

"They are indeed." The firefox managed a smile of his own. "How about the Chocolate Chip Cookie Monster?"

Giving a low whistle, the coyote observed, "Good thing neither of us is diabetic!"

* * * * * * * * * *

That evening, as well as the next week of days and evenings, found the scientist and his subject together more often than not. The conversations covered many topics, only some of them to do with the project in which they found themselves. For the coyote, it was about having someone interested in the vast and varied topics that he had spent his young life discovering. For the red panda, it was about understanding how Chase thought, what he thought about, the ways he had taught himself so much. They listened to music while playing games, finding a good mutual challenge in Blokus. Conversations concerning philosophy and literature took place while enjoying the not-so-mindless simplicity of putting together a 500-piece jigsaw puzzle whose picture was comprised of several dozen candy bar wrappers and sweet treat packages, some of which sparked memories of youth in both of them. Chase, finding himself with someone to cook for, used a visit to the local mall to get some more sophisticated utensils, making for Newton some more authentic dishes from the res. The firefox was certain that fry bread could become quite an addictive habit, and he feared for his waistline.

Newton learned more about the nature of the invisible Elementals, in terms of their mythology and even how the canine related to them. The relationship was mutually beneficial, it seemed; as Chase had said on another occasion, the Spirits were glad to have someone who listened. It was easy for the firefox to feel something like connection or kinship when Chase spoke of them, since we all need someone who would listen to us from time to time. Newton didn't know what was "really" going on, but he was certain that it wasn't delusional, nor something rare and sensational like a multiple personality disorder. The thing that made the ailurus so certain that these were truly separate entities came from the discovery that some of Chase's clues, the notions and ideas that led to him tracking things down in the library, came from several of the entities like Fire, Thunder, Wolf, or Horse. Fire gave him "Firebird," which wouldn't seem like much of a stretch if one had heard of the myth or of Stravinsky's music, but neither had been in the coyote's history before Fire guided him toward them.

Those of a purely reality-based mindset (whatever "reality" was in the first place) would be glad to argue that the greater likelihood was that Chase had heard something about the word "firebird" in his pup-hood, forgotten it, then allowed his "imaginary friends" to be the source of the recollection. Had this been the only, or even the most extraordinary, instance of having information imparted to the coyote, this hypothesis could stand unchallenged. There were many examples, however, particularly since the incidents of lightning began and intensified, that were leaps and bounds beyond the scope of mere coincidence. Horse, for example, had led the coyote to find a work of music called "Where Horses of Faerie Hide"; as the piece progressed, a gentle carpet of drumming gave the impression of non-sapient horses galloping. This, like "Firebird," could be another minor stretch of imagination. The exception in this case was that Horse had provided the name of the artist, John Doan, and Chase had found the work on his own. Another instance of having forgotten something from his puphood? How many tribal folk living on the res would know a composer and player of modern Celtic music, particularly one who played a 20-string harp guitar?

"It defies logic."

"Many things do, or at least thumb their noses at it."

Newton nodded his smiling agreement at Felice. The bear had been a good confidant, helping the firefox organize both his thoughts and his notes for Chase's files. Much of what they discussed did not end up in the files; it didn't concern the project, and it was more personal than scientific in nature. Some things, the scientist realized, simply weren't meant for public consumption. Felice was not "public"; he was a friend, as well as someone who really seemed to care about the young coyote's well-being.

"Does it have to be logical, Newton?"

"Not necessarily, I suppose. Perhaps that's the wrong word to use. It may be that I wish simply to understand it."

"And what would that look like, when it's at home?"

The firefox chuckled at the phrasing; it was one of his own favorites, very British in origin. It helped him to focus. "There are a lot of things that make sense even when they aren't sensible. Have a look at pretty much anything from the Monty Python lads. For instance, it's not sensible for someone to pay to have an argument with someone, but once you accept that premise, the rest of the sketch is understandable and quite hilarious. A Ministry of Silly Walks is ridiculous; from that premise, the rest follows with its own form of logic. Not sensible, but understandable."

"What is it that keeps you from understanding our young friend?"

"A lifetime of being too logical, perhaps, or using a more conventional form of logic." Newton considered his own answer, then nodded. "It's not so much about lacking empathy as it is not having had these experiences myself. As I told Chase, I didn't even have 'imaginary friends' when I was growing up, much less actual entities such as he's been experiencing."

"Then you accept his experience as real?"

"All of what we call reality is experience, when you get down to it." The firefox set his cup of tea on the table in front of him. "I've been doing some reading about the nature of what we call reality. There seems to be a vast majority of it that happens to all of us: We get wet when it rains on us, we get burned if we touch fire, we get hurt when we fall down. We can prove most of existence empirically, even when we can't fully understand it. Science is about describing reality as best it can, but there are things that we experience that can't be quantified. We can tell you when EEG readings indicate the times during your sleep when you're probably dreaming, but science can't tell you what to dream, nor what a dream really is. You experience the dream and, if you happen to remember it, you can describe your experience in the dream."

"Is the dream real?" the bear asked.

"While you're in it, yes. Otherwise, it's more like some kind of hallucination, or so we're told. Either way, for as long as you remember the dream, it's part of your experience, and it's possible for it to color your waking perceptions and experiences. In short, it becomes part of your reality. It's part of what makes you who you are."

Felice leaned back in his chair, opposite the firefox, his demeanor suggesting the absorption of a new idea that he might need to chew on for a bit. "To some degree, then, reality is what you make of it."

"Yes. That, at least, is what the science of perception is telling us. There is, in other words, something outside of the physical experience of what we call reality. For instance, I read an article in a recent issue of the Mensa Bulletin. It was a detailed thought experiment effectively disproving the idea that there is no soul, or if you don't like the word 'soul,' call it 'consciousness.' It was all very mathematical, all very clever, and too much of a logical nightmare for me to follow easily. If the thought experiment could be considered a reasoned argument, then the author has proven that consciousness isn't merely the function of a living brain. Once you accept that, it's a short step to a belief in soul, external experience, spirit guides, invisible friends, whathaveyou."

"I never knew that you were a member of Mensa."

"I joined in a moment of weakness. The Bulletin gets trashed almost the moment it escapes my mailbox."

"Good choice," the bear smiled. "Mensa has no place in reality, at least not one that I would care to be part of making." Felice crossed his legs comfortably. "So, how about you, Newton? What are you making of this reality?"

That question caused Newton to lean back and consider. The project had taken on a size and shape of its own, one that made the firefox wonder if he should begin referring to it with a capital letter. Weekly meetings had become semi-weekly when the data showed yet more information and more power being recorded during the last several events (Newton hated that word, although he couldn't come up with another). The company that headed the scientific research was nebulous enough to be considered one of those multi-national grotesques around which conspiracy theories swarmed, just as so-called "journalists" swarmed around politicians, celebrities, and other objects unworthy of attention. The fact remained that the only two things that would motivate this sort of research were governmental power and money. (Come to that, they were the same thing, but never mind.)

It wasn't the first time that he'd wondered precisely for whom he was working, or why. For so long, he had left it to the idea of such knowledge being "above his pay grade," but the more that he learned about Chase, about the coyote's mind, his heart, his world, the more he began to wonder if it were that simple, much less the right thing to be doing.

"I'm not at all sure," the ailurus admitted. "I hope you'll forgive my candor, since we're both working for the same company. I don't know what the purpose of this project is. The days of 'pure research,' of exploring something scientifically for the sheer purpose of discovery, are long passed. To be funded, research has to yield something that will be 'valuable,' meaning that it will put money into someone's pocket. No longer do we invest in learning for its own sake, discovery for the sheer excitement of expanding our knowledge; an investment is only worthwhile if someone makes a profit."

"What's so profitable about our young friend?"

"No idea. Free energy? Finding ways to turn individuals into living power generators?" Newton failed to suppress the shudder that went through him. "There are questions in those meetings about his ability to control what happens. That might mean to be able to predict it, or it might mean actually to harness it, to direct it. For what purpose? To pass it into storage of some kind, like a giant battery, or into the power grid itself? That would explain the idea of free energy."

"Farfetched, at the very least."

"It links to the questions that they ask about being able to direct the power."

"Direct it toward...?"

The firefox closed his eyes. "That's the part that scares me."

Felice sighed heavily, a sound that Newton felt more than heard. "What do you want to do?"

"I don't know, my friend. I don't know. To make the joke, nothing in my experience has prepared me for this."

"Perhaps we need to expand your experience a little. Are you familiar with Daphne du Maurier?"

"I don't think so."

"Very good writer. Some of her work has been made into films --The Birds, Rebecca..."

"I'm familiar with the film titles, at least. What about the writer?"

"There's a story of hers called 'The Breakthrough' that might interest you."

Newton's first thought was that he wasn't at all sure that he needed any more reasons to use up his tired eyes on reading, particularly a work of fiction. He was about to make a joke to that effect when he found himself wondering exactly what it was about the story that was supposed to be of interest to him in connection with Chase. He thought to ask more details about the story, when he then diverted himself again, thought of something that should have made a connection in his mind far earlier than this. His fur shifted again, his tail bushy, ears back, not so much from fear this time as from the excitement of wondering if it could be true.

He opened his eyes again to see what he expected to see: His quarters, empty, save for himself.

...to be continued