Safety Ed knocked a simple rhythm onto the wall panel which obediently slid back and then down revealing a 15-ton forklift that might have seen better days in the not-so-recent past. It was lit from above in almost a halo fashion to give the appearance of an old trusty steed that could—and had survived anything the world threw at it. Hundreds of small chips in the yellow paint covered the old forklift like well-earned scars, each with a story told in hushed whispers around the union water cooler to ensure a manager wouldn’t overhear. The name “BERTHA” was inscribed on the rear engine compartment in black letters that looked like they had been taped on as an afterthought some years ago and only stuck around because they had no place better to go. There was an old blood stain on one of the forks, but Mac had to really look closely before he realized what it was.

  The wild-eyed man knocked on the next panel over which opened a smaller, troll-sized door. “Use the smaller doors when working around these large pieces of equipment,” Safety Ed explained, “even when you know there is no threat. You might have noticed that old Bertha doesn’t take too kindly to people using what rightfully belongs to a machine, which isn’t much in this world.”

  “I regret to admit that we’ve lost at least six people who used the vehicle doors instead of the “man” doors,” the instructor began counting on his fingers. “Three were killed by laden forklifts whose drivers never saw them, one was killed when a Type V battle suit landed on him, another passed after three days of excruciating pain from being impaled by a fork. The last, while not vehicle related per se, walked heedlessly into an ambush by attacking forces. The principle however, remains the same. The doors belong to the machines and their current operators, not you.”

  “On a related note, please always use the designated personnel paths and wear the specialized, light capable suits or the bright yellow safety vests you’ll see hanging… laying around… almost everywhere,” the safety instructor frowned as if personally slighted, “when operating near heavy equipment.” “Additionally, pilot equipment is uniquely equipped with beacons to prevent accidents with anything over 20 tons, but the smaller stuff is still a real threat,” Safety Ed paused and glanced disapprovingly towards the forklift, which rather unsurprisingly ignored the wheezing bag of meat. “You’ll need to pay attention to your surroundings. It’s a good habit, that much like breathing, will naturally lead to your death if you stop.” Then, he tossed all three of them spandex looking suits obtained from somewhere up his voluminous sleeve after finishing his admonition with a sigh.

  “There’s a changing room a few panels down,” Safety Ed informed them. “Knock three quick for female and two spaced for male. You’ll find we use that as standard in our multiple modern facilities. Oh, and this is important, make sure you come back out through the door you entered. It can be a real pain to find people otherwise. The Ancients War, some years from now, is not a simple place to send a search party. If I ever find out who was responsible for that mess…” the instructor trailed off in a mumble.

  Natalia stepped up to the panel and knocked the prescribed three quick knocks. A door appeared outlined in the panel, which Natalia opened and went through. Mac was just about to ask where the men’s room was, but Natalia walked back out a half-second later fully suited in a very flattering red and black one-piece jumpsuit and with her chin-length hair parted correctly and set right again. Her makeup was also a bit crisper.

  “Hurry up you two slow pokes,” Safety Ed urged the Troll and human exchanging confused glances with each other.

  Mac cautiously reached out his hand and tapped the panel twice with about a second between knocks. A similar door phased out from the panel with a standard men’s room symbol about the height of Mac’s eyes. A receded latch permitted entrance and Mac stepped inside with Grist right behind him. “Don’t forget to make sure it shuts all the way,” the tattered man called after them, “You wouldn’t want it to leak.”

  Mac made his way around the privacy wall and stepped into the main aisle running perpendicular to the door he entered through. “Door 3-2-1” announced a pleasant voice with a high-class, Anglic accent. Mac turned back to see the numbers worked artistically into the tile of the wall behind him.

  His eyes drifted up to the high ceiling, even for Grist, lit with recessed lighting giving the white tile that appeared everywhere a clean-feeling sheen. A butler stood patiently about twenty feet farther in, “Grist and… Vivian?” the man asked looking up from a tablet.

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  “Please, call me Mac.”

  “Very well… Mac,” the butler replied and then fixed a smile on his face after making a small note in the tablet. “Welcome to the Facilities. I understand this is your first experience.”

  “Yes,” Mac replied still trying to take in the unique architecture, a blend of high school locker room, Nipponese subway, and Roman bath. He couldn’t see any columns from where he stood, but Mac was sure he would if he just looked around a bit longer. A pleasant warm mist tinged the air giving it a humid but not overpowering air.

  “If you will look behind you,” the butler nodded back the way they had come in, “you’ll always find a few stalls near the entrances for easy access. We have single use lockers on the main corridor. They have the red numbers at the top. Please don’t leave anything in them beyond your visit, or it will be… relocated to the lost and found, which is a subject for another day and not to be abused. Further down these main corridors, like what you are standing in now are the shower rooms. If you are confused how to use them, we have pictures engraved on the steel plaques as you enter. The shower rooms with blue doors are specifically for trolls such as yourself,” the butler nodded to Grist.

  “Now, please follow me to your lockers,” The butler turned and walked away leaving the two newcomers to follow like lost puppies. He took the first left turn and then pointed down the row of lockers, “These are lockers that function as you are accustomed to. You can leave things here as long as needed. Simply scan your hand on the scanner at the front of the locker. You’ll hear some movement and then your locker should open. If it has items in it you don’t recognize, I recommend you close the locker and rescan. The gene scan isn’t always perfect, and you wouldn’t want to inconvenience yourself later.”

  Just then, Mac watched himself come around the corner and smile, “Oh, I remember this now. Hi Mac.” Mac unconsciously waved back with a worried look on his face.

  That drew a frown from the butler, “I recommend to you that when you cross paths with your other time streams that you treat it much like a chance encounter at the urinals in a public restroom. Don’t talk to each other and try to avoid eye contact.”

  “Mr. Jenkins can be a real stick in the mud,” Mac’s other-self replied, “but he does have a point. And I know it’s safe to say this next piece, because I already did.” The butler raised his eyebrows and looked down his nose at the rule breaker who kept talking. “Be nice to Sakura, she’s doing the best she can. That other girl…” he gave a sad shake of his head. “No, I wasn’t talking about you,” the other-self commented to an empty space in the room. “I wouldn’t…” “Are you quite done, Mr. MacDonald?” Mr. Jenkins gave the evil eye to Mac’s future-self, cutting him off. He still looked a lot like Mac, so he couldn’t be too much in the future.

  “I’m just going to get changed, and then I’ll be out of here.”

  “You do that,” the Butler all but threatened scorched-earth and weeping women if not obeyed. The butler turned his attention back to present-day Mac, “There is a little bit of time sharing for efficiency’s sake, but it saves quite a bit overall. One last thing. Don’t climb inside your lockers. That would be ill-advised. Now, get changed and exit through door 3-2-1.”

  Having given his introductory spiel, the butler left Mac beside himself and Grist to get changed. Mac couldn’t help but glance over at himself as he changed and asked, “My future-self tells me to be nice to some girl I haven’t even met? Seriously! Of all things I could have told myself, that’s what I choose?”

  His other-self looked back at him and shook his head, “Life isn’t always what you think it’s going to be. Just remember your training, and you’ll be fine. Or rather,” the doppelganger seemed to weigh his words, “you’ll at least be alive at the end of it. There is not enough time in the world to explain everything, and you should spend as little time in here as possible. I mean it. Save our long showers for our quarters.”

  When had Mac become a cryptic? Just what was going to happen to him? Why should he not take the time to enjoy a shower in what was obviously a high-class facility?

  Mac’s future-self finished changing into a suit that was almost exactly like the one Mac was putting on now, and stood up to leave. “Glad I’m not you,” he commented to Mac with a poor salute and shake of his head before turning the corner.

  “It gets better…” Mac’s voice echoed encouragingly from out of sight, “Eventually.”

  Mac pulled the white, single-piece pilot suit up and around his shoulders and tapped a red button on his sleeve like he had seen his future-self do. The suit then conformed to his body over the next few seconds. He felt the suit gently seal around his body, noticing what felt like flexible armor plates woven into the material. The word, “Mac” was emblazoned on his chest with a picture of his face inserted into a plastic pouch above it. On his shoulder was a simple green patch with no other markings on it.

  The hissing sound of air drew his attention to Grist as the troll’s blue suit secured itself around his barrel chest. “Tight, but free,” Grist commented as he examined himself.

  “Looks good on you, buddy,” Mac stated honestly as he stashed his clothes in the locker. “Are you ready?”

  Grist nodded and tapped his chest just hard enough to make a sound as the flexible armor hardened to resist the blows.