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The last two looked like they’d wandered off the set of a SyFy movie. It reassured her that her imagination had produced two alien looking aliens for her freaky dream. Both were dressed in intergalactic buccaneer garb that could have worked in Earth’s pirate past, if one hadn’t been purple skin toned and the other green—green like the Giant on a can of peas only smaller and minus the leaf clothes. The purple skin guy was way outside her ability to draw comparisons, though he did trend more toward lavender than she liked to see on a guy. Maybe one of the Fruit of the Loom guys in a lighter shade of purple? Her brain must be messing with her, because he should have been a she—or a more manly shade of purple, in her opinion.

About a hundred questions zipped through her brain, but once again she couldn’t imagine any answers she’d like to hear to any of those questions. Nothing that was not a question presented itself to her tongue, so she kept her mouth shut. Better to be safe than sorry, even in a dream.

The door they’d entered through didn’t close, but despite the gaps, it didn’t let in a lot of light or moving air, which made it both dim and close. The air outside hadn’t been wonderful, but this was back in the nasty range of that hallway they’d dashed through getting away from the automaton.

Automaton.
Whatever the overall deficiencies of this dream, it had some seriously swell high spots. Not a surprise to find the automaton working for the bad guys, since they tilted that way in fiction, but she’d
seen
one. And the airship. Nod was in the plus column, too. It was kind of nice to have a friendly voice in her head while having a dream that kept inching over into a nightmare.

I like you, too.

Emily might have pursued the mutual admiration society thing with Nod, but something else caught her attention. Now that they were closer to the “horizon” cutting into the rear of the warehouse, she could see it better, which wasn’t a good thing when it shifted a few feet toward them, eating some crates in the process.

“It’s shrinking.”

“Shrinking?” Robert looked at her, so she directed his attention to the back of the warehouse.

“The horizon thingy just ate some ground and other stuff.”

He studied the structure with geek popping to the fore. He looked at her. “You’re very observant.”

“It’s not a blessing.” Emily felt the need for a closer look—and didn’t mind getting a little distance from the motley crew—inadvertently bringing Robert with her since he appeared unwilling to let go of her hand—not something she minded, by the way. With her free hand, she pulled out the flashlight again, shining it around and then at the “back” of the warehouse, which wasn’t what anyone would label “back-like.” Whatever was behind it was dark, like the sky only without stars. Sparks of light like fireflies did beat against it in random patterns, as if trying to get in. If they knew what it was like, they wouldn’t try so hard. It flickered and kind of sizzled and she thought she saw a more normal—though old-fashioned—warehouse for several seconds. Since she knew squat about anomalies, particularly dream anomalies, she didn’t know how to assess this one, though in some weird way, she felt she should know, kind of like she sort of knew the weight ratio of the airship was off and how to ninja knockout that zombie.

Outside the dream storm kicked it up a notch, with a little more earthquake action. Okay, so maybe their kissing wasn’t causing it. Without Robert’s steady grip, she might have stumbled into the anomaly, but instead she stumbled into his gaze and got caught. And if that weren’t compelling enough, the stumble brought Robert’s lips into her sight line—they were great lips, something she’d never had cause to think before—bending up at the edges and making her toes curl. Before Emily could do more than start to reciprocate the lip bending, not-Colonial guy joined them.

“That is the wall of our prison.”

Robert bent, grabbed a piece of crate, and shoved it into the “wall.” When he pulled it out, it was half its original length, much like the screwdriver she’d used to probe the anomaly in the bug. The moment almost called for a question, but she couldn’t think of one, which made a change from her usual not-wanting-an-answer-to-a-question problem.

“Prison?” Robert murmured the question a bit absently, as if it was just one of many things on his mind. “Unusual walls.”

“It’s very like the traps, though I don’t understand the science in either. Not my specialty.”

“Traps?” Robert shook his head. The movement was slight, but not hesitant slight, more like thoughtful slight. He blinked once, then directed his yummy gaze at not-Colonial guy.

The attention grabber.

Not-Colonial’s gaze narrowed a bit. “Don’t you remember hitting it?” Robert blinked. “Which of you is the tracker?”

“I’m the curator.” Emily put this in, because she was sure it wouldn’t be apparent by looking at her and because she needed to say something or she might pop out a lame question. If she were going to break a near lifetime ban on questions, it wasn’t going to be for a lame one.

“So you’re the pin.”

Was that an insult or just cryptic?

He looked at Robert. “And you’re the tracker?”

“I’d like to hear more about this trap.” He offered the words with an air of caution, as if he were feeling his way through a maze.

And she noticed he didn’t answer the question. Emily felt an odd sense of reluctance to say too much, too. That wasn’t at all like her. Usually she said too much, though not much that was useful.

Purple-not-people-eater joined them. “I don’t remember a lot about it. I was in the stream and then I wasn’t.”

Green-not-giant piped up. “It felt like I hit a wall. Don’t remember being in it or anything until I arrived here with no nanites.”

Nod flinched. She rubbed her chest, saw Robert do the same, a frown pulling his brows together. Emily might have said something that wasn’t a question, but felt a caution from Nod.

It is better to get information than give it.

Something her family could have stood to hear. Like the others, she looked at Robert, wondering how he’d respond.

“This appears to be a low tech environment, except for the automatons and airships and they aren’t what you’d call high tech.”

Not-Colonial frowned, glanced between them. “Without nanites, there is no way to know how tech based they are.” He paused, then added, “It’s unusual for two pins to travel together.”

It sounded like a saying gone wrong, which it kind of was, not to mention a bit on the probing question side. She bit back an inappropriate urge to giggle, even though the issue of what was and wasn’t appropriate in a dream was a bit sketchy and changed from dream to dream.

Inside the silence, suspicion filtered into the fetid air.

“We aren’t pins and I don’t know how we got here,” Robert offered this statement—keeping it devoid of actual information, though it rang with truth because they didn’t know how they got there and as far as Emily knew they weren’t pins.

Clever. And cautious
. Nod offered voiceless agreement.

The ground shook enough to make all but Robert stagger. He pushed Emily back toward the doorway as the horizon ate more of the warehouse.

“It’s shrinking again!” The not-that-Southern belle lacked the accent, but she had shrill down pat.

“How long—” Robert stopped, as if not sure what or how to ask.

“Around the time you arrived,” not-Colonial said, eyes and tone grim. He didn’t radiate suspicion, but he also didn’t radiate trust.

They don’t know Robert-oh-my-darling like we do.

Emily didn’t know Robert that well, but it felt like she did, so gave a mental nod to Nod—a thought that made her eye twitch a bit.

“So something changed around the time we arrived.”

Robert-oh-my-darling never assumes.

We agreed to call him Robert
, she reminded Nod.
Tracker. That’s an odd word choice.
Granted it was an odd word choice among a lot of them.

I’m accessing data—possible match to freaking lying time creeps.

Robert had said that back in the bug, so no surprise it was back, but could her mind come up with elements in a dream that she’d never seen or thought or read? Science fiction and steampunk books were not all sweetness and light, but even mixing things up, like dreams were wont to do, this seemed a bit extreme. Usually she could follow little dream clues and figure out where things came from, even in her nightmares. She didn’t even know what to call this dream.

I am not an expert in the science of dreams, but are they not a random accessing of long-term memory? This would seem to mean that if this were a dream, you would be correct in your assessment of your inability to imagine that which you have never seen.

Emily blinked at that, not sure how to respond. Of course the dream voice in her head would say this isn’t a dream, but the logic made her head hurt, even factoring in dream logic standards. Though as soon as the hurt manifested, it eased, as if from a touch…

The group reassembled close to the doors, with biker guy taking a sentry-like position there and green-not-giant keeping an eye on the anomaly. The rest of the motley crew eased onto crates they must have previously tested for soundness because Emily wouldn’t have plopped down on any of them based on how they looked.

Robert paced back and forth in front of them, towing Emily with him. She didn’t mind the constant contact. It kept her grounded as she grappled with maintaining denial—no, not denial. Denial would involve denying reality. This could not be real.

“You said we—my friend and I—must be pins.” He stopped, studying each one. “Someone who pins time. That’s what you’re talking about isn’t it? That’s what you are.”

Emily felt oddly relieved that Robert hadn’t told them her name, though she had no clue why.

It is always better to get information than give it
, Nod reminded her.

Right. I’ll try to get it into long-term memory.
It might be worth taking with her when she woke up if she managed it. Didn’t have a lot of success remembering her dreams.

Green-not-giant looked surprised and wary made a comeback. “What else would we mean?”

Emily felt like someone had stuck a pin in her eye, but as soon as the pain spiked, it eased again, as if someone—or something—soothed it.

Not-Colonial appeared thoughtful. He nodded. “We were all in transit to time assignments when we and our escorts were trapped. All nanites were extinguished and our escorts rendered unconscious. None of us has seen the trackers since. A few of the other pins, captured by the ’tons, have been released with the scars you observed on the two men we left in the airship.”

That was a bit of an info dump. Not sure if it was better to get that kind of information.

“And when we do see them, they are not themselves,” Purple-not-people eater amended. “They look through us.”

“That’s why we check necks after we’ve been apart.” Not-Colonial finished.

Apparently the looking through them wasn’t clue enough for the motley crew. Maybe her dream had used up all its good stuff on Robert.

“Does everyone but you have them?”

Not-Colonial hesitated. “There are some who don’t look around, but don’t appear as blank as those with scars. The deeply poor often have no reason to look up or question. We have wondered if they came with the alternate reality, while the rest of us have been added.”

Emily had read alternate reality books in her quest for steampunk fiction, but this—she shook off the thought, not eager to follow it anywhere.

Robert nodded, resumed pacing with an abruptness that caused Emily to stumble before she matched his stride. They all, Emily noticed, watched him like he must have all the answers to all the questions. She didn’t blame them, since she felt the same way. He stopped again. Emily bumped into his back. Emily didn’t mind the spurt of warmth, maybe with a little lust mixed in there. She stayed there, snugged against his back, letting warmth seep into the marrow of her bones. It was almost as good as getting kissed. This place should suck too much for kissing thoughts, but somehow she managed to go there. Too bad they had the crazy quintet with them. She could use the distraction of some toe curling kisses. Seemed like a girl should get kissed when she wanted to in her own dream. So she shouldn’t care about their audience, but somehow did.

Biker guy glanced at Emily, a slight frown forming between his brows, as his gaze traveled up, then down. His expression softened some. “Where are you from?”

“Not from any place or time like this,” Robert spoke for them both, his tone going from absent to belligerent in less than a second.

Point eight tenths of a second
, Nod put in, sounding a bit puffed, too.

“You are not Garradian.” This from the un-Belle, her gaze did a tracking thing to Robert. “But you could be.”

He is pretty
, Nod conceded, still sounding puffed.

So I guess I just got insulted.
Emily smiled, though it didn’t feel friendly. Too much baring of teeth for friendly.

“No. I did experiment with vegetarianism for, like, a day,” Emily pretended she thought the question had been meant for her, “well, maybe less than a day, but I had to give it up because I’m basically a carnivore.” That silenced not-Belle, which Emily didn’t mind at all, because the wench shouldn’t be casting languishing glances at Robert-oh-my-darling. Emily mentally winced. Now Nod had her doing it. This had to stop before she said it out loud.

The wench gave a pissy smile and then smoothed it into a come hither one for Robert oh—Emily managed to shut it off as she felt an almost territorial shift inside. With the shift came something more than a desire to yank the hair the witch couldn’t smooth without about three showers. In a little moving picture inside her head, Emily saw how to send the not-belle ninja sailing, a bit like she did the guy in the airship. That was kind of cool. She was jealous, she understood that, but it was her dream, so the wench better rein in the languishing looks. She edged in closer to Robert, who accommodated her by sliding his arm around her waist. Emily sent a look half triumph, half warning toward the not-belle. The witch pretended not to care, but she shifted uneasily all the same. Emily had an odd urge to say, “Hoo yah,” but managed to quell it.