But L.S. was no ordinary Hand member, were they? The rules didn't 
seem to quite apply to them. And Alison had the papers, the room, 
the key to the room... the power and secrecy of L.S., in short. All 
she had to do was use them, and she would become L.S., with all 
the privileges thereof. Alison decided it was the only responsible 
thing to do. 


A missive went out from L.S. to a certain scribe, requesting that 
certain books be located and excerpts transcribed. Another reached 
a Foundation informant, requesting containment documents from a 
certain site. Both specified the same delivery point in the Library. 
Then a third went to a telepath favored by L.S., asking that the right 
information reach the right entities before the deadline. Thus it was 
ensured that the Armed Containment Area would face a battle on 
two fronts: from the empowered Insurgents, and from its enlightened 
captives. 


Alison had always been running, redirecting force in one direction or 
another from the front lines. The Black Queen went all over the 
board. Now she had entire cells of the Serpent's Hand ready to fulfill 
her requests. It did cross her mind, as L.S., that the title wasn't hers 
until a week ago, and that with that L.S.'s plans about to come to 
fruition, that that L.S. would not be gone for much longer. But it 
didn't fully register with her until the time came. 


Alison spoke the incantation and appeared in the L.S. room. She 


brushed past the attendant and set to work on a scrying spell, so 
that she could watch the events unfold. But Alison realized, to her 
dismay, that she had forgotten the powdered silver. So she opened 
cupboard after cupboard, hoping some would be around. 


"Second shelf, third from the right," said the attendant, in a way that 
made Alison realize that the room didn't have an attendant. 


"| knew this day would come." Alison began to mix her ingredients 
differently: the scrying spell would become a sending spell. "| need 
this, and | hope you understand." 


"| do," said the attendant. "| understand better than you could know." 


"Great, so you won't mind if | do this." Alison tossed the dust in an 
arc. The breeze blew it to the side, and a mirror was sent reeling into 
the Attic Dimensions. 


"Was | ever this young?" The stranger removed her cap, and her 
face came into view. It was the same experience Alison had found 
looking into the mirror wearing her cap, except that the mirror had 
been teleported beyond the reach of thought or gravity, so this was 
clearly something else. "You're a driven woman. You're always a 
driven woman. Did you think that here, in the realm of those 
dissatisfied with the knowledge of a single universe, you wouldn't 
run into yourself sooner or later? 


"No," said the other Alison, "and neither am |. This has all been built 
by us, for each other, with signs only we would see. | knew you'd 
find a way in." 


"There's so much more for you to learn, Little Sister." 


Footnotes 
1. Don't worry, no Catholics were harmed. The Cl has an endless 
fountain of the stuff. 


Castling By Hand 


A nonsensical amount of distance away from home, across an 
infinifold interuniversal membrane, in an n1-deviated Earth where a 
series of assassinations had torn apart the United States in bloody 
revolution, the Foundation still stood. The Foundation still endured. 
Site 19 still stood in defiance of all sociopolitical and architectural 
logic. The fluorescent light in the Floor 2 break room still flickered 
and buzzed. 


It would drive the Black Queen mad, if that idea still had any 
meaning to her. 


The Black Queen had seen that light when she was here last, back 
in her own Earth. Julia Bitterfield had seen it, too. In fact, Dr. 
Bitterfield may have passed out to that buzzing, audible through the 
door to the supply closet, where the Black Queen had administered 
the taserspike. 


A more careful Black Queen would have lurked for her target outside 
of the facility, instead of infiltrating on memory of another timeline. A 
less cavalier Black Queen might have trusted only her own 
equipment to disable the target instead of being lured by the charms 
of the taserspike, a universe-native innovation, a precision 
instrument which incapacitated for hours if you targeted the proper 
anatomical locations. This Black Queen was none such Black 
Queens, and she wore the badge to prove it. Site 19, Level 3 
Access, Julia Bitterfield, Engineering. 


She took Julia's coat and glasses as well. The unconscious body 
would be discovered before long (a wiser Black Queen wouldn't 
have, and so on) but it pleased her to have a time constraint. It kept 
her focused. 


The Black Queen, wearing Julia as she was, took a shuttle cart into 
the engineering wing. The antiseptic smell of the facility was tinged 
with ozone and copper. Scent memory... and then she thought of 


the sleeping body of Miss Bitterfield, soon enough to recognize the 
door she needed. 


There was one researcher inside the lab. He was flabby and bald, 
and his mouth had settled into a slight scowl more out of gravity than 
any internal factors. 


The Black Queen spoke. "Doctor Gears?" 
The man she addressed turned around. "Yes?" 
"| need you to come with me." 


"Show me the form, researcher. | can't leave this project unattended 
without the express orders of the Site Director." 


The Black Queen knew this would be the response. There would be 
a problem if it hadn't been. She approached him, and took hold of 
something in her pocket. Then she reached an arm around to draw 
him close. The other hand administered the taserspike. 


"Sorry, father." She hefted him over her shoulder. "I didn't give 
myself time to convince you." 


The Black Queen was fiddling with a space heater when the father 
Gears stirred into awareness. "What did you just do?" 


"I've hidden us in the city." The Black Queen was examining the 
dome-shaped apparatus, another work of native design. "Getting out 
wasn't easy. My wall-slider implant doesn't accept passengers, and 
the shuttle cart didn't last long beyond the security gate. Too many 
bullet holes. | carried you the rest of the way." 


"| don't understand this." Doctor Gears glanced toward the window; 
the tattered blinds were drawn, but he could tell that it was evening. 


"We're hidden in this apartment because | thought it'd be relatively 
difficult to find us. Normally we'd be trapped if the task force did 
close in on our location, but | have something to deal with that." The 
Black Queen had figured out that the packs of what looked like glow- 
sticks were disposable batteries. She snapped the tab on one and 


Slid it into the flat side of the plastic dome. 


"You seem to be deliberately missing the point. I'm asking about 
your motive." 


The Black Queen flipped the dome over and laid it onto the bare 
floor. Then, for the first time since he woke, she looked up from it 
toward her captive. "I'm Doctor Gears's... I'm your daughter." 


"No, you aren't." 


"How do..." The Black Queen filed that question away. "| spent 
years looking for my father. And when | found him, he was... lost to 
me. Lost forever. And that loss snapped me back to my senses. | 
realized | had no connection to the world anymore. So... | left." She 
gave a sweep of her hand to add emphasis to this statement. "I 
found this Earth. | saw that this Earth had a Foundation, so it must 
have you." She pressed a switch on the dome. Internal coils began 
to glow orange; warmth spread out into the room. "I've earned a 
second chance." 


Doctor Gears was silent for a moment. Then he adjusted his 
glasses. "Tell me more." 


They spoke together after that. The conversation might have lasted 
an hour; the Black Queen didn't keep time. He asked her to describe 
the method by which she had traveled from one universe to another. 
But the Black Queen was more concerned with describing her 
childhood with an analogue of him: details of sights and sounds and 
emotions. She wanted to find some common ground between her 
father and this one. She evaluated this man that shared her father's 
design, checking for authenticity. 


Ignoring his logistical questions, she began to ask about the doctor's 
life. He provided answers: his life was much like the life of her 
father's, except where the deviations in history bent his trajectory 
here and there. He had a daughter, but he hadn't seen her since he 
began work for the Foundation. He didn't know whether or not she 
was alive. The matter hadn't crossed his mind in years. 


He began to ask her about herself in the present, and she gave up 


04/12/ : 

While blood production continues, there are difficulties in instituting 
the organ removal program. Even while restrained, surgical 
procedures are difficult while the subject continues writhing. 
Severing the hands allows the collection of a complete body of 
organs at once, but interrupts the blood production. Decapitation 
seems to be the best solution, but unpredictable regeneration of the 
brain stem continues to cause difficulties. 


Date: 04/13/ 

From: Dr. Jon Drake 

To: Foundation Technical Development Request 
Subject: SCP-596 - Automatic brain stem removal 
Morning Chaps 

Any chance you technical boffins could throw something 
together to chop off a head and stop it growing back? 
We've been doing it manually so far, and it's becoming 
quite tedious, not to mention making everyone jump if 
the process is forgotten and the poor bugger starts 
screaming again. 

Please see the attached documentation, which has been 
censored appropriate for Level 1 and above. 

Regards 

Dr. Jon Drake 


Date: 04/13/ 

From: Foundation Technical Development 

To: Dr. Jon Drake 

Subject: RE: SCP-596 - Automatic brain stem removal 
Your request has been received and approved. A 
technician will contact you shortly. 


Date: 04/21/ 

From: Mike Smith - FTD 

To: Dr. Jon Drake 

Subject: RE: SCP-596 - Automatic brain stem removal 
Dr. Drake 

Your completed request has been dispatched. Please 
see attached specifications. 

Although the device cannot perform the initial 


this information. She told him of the work she had done in wresting 
various items of great value and power from the Foundation after 
what they had done to her father. Some of these she had used as 
leverage to gain connections and influence; some of these she had 
bartered away to a private firm in exchange for passage on a secret 
road leading out from the world; some of these she had made into 
parts of her, so that she would be sure to survive the journey. He 
followed along carefully. The Black Queen felt like a mechanism 
being studied. Maybe that was his version of affection now. 


After all this was shared between them, Doctor Gears removed his 
glasses (this one wore glasses, it turned out) and rubbed his eyes, 
as if they were strained from... hours? with only the heater as a light 
source. 


The Black Queen noticed. "You're tired, aren't you?" 
"Yes, | suppose so. When was the last time you ate?" 


"It's been... since morning, actually." The Black Queen was 
astonished to wonder if he was thinking about her needs. "I think 
there was a vending machine downstairs. It probably hasn't been 
stocked in six years, but maybe there's something in it that's lasted 
that long. | can check..." 


"That sounds like a good idea." 


The Black Queen took his hand to pull him up to a standing position. 
She handcuffed him to a pipe, disappointed in herself for forgetting 
to do so before now. Then she slid through the door. 


From the hall, she surveyed the streets in front of and behind the 
apartment building. She saw nothing resembling a threat—and her 
eyes had a large field of view. So she descended. 


Something about the night's events had generated a crawling 
sensation at the back of her neck. The strangeness of it bothered 
her while she crossed the stairs. Eventually she realized it was a 
neurological condition she'd thought had subsided long ago: a 
conscience. This wasn't her father, as congruent as he might be. 
Could she let him pass as her father? And what of his daughter? 


Somewhere there was a woman like her, perhaps searching for this 
man for the same reasons. 


Or perhaps her body had been burned away after elimination by 
whatever remains of the Occult Coalition. Who could say? 


The Black Queen surveyed the provisions available. It seemed that 
potato chips had never occurred to this society, for all their wartime 
advances; the grimy vending machine was stocked with packets of 
roasted, dried seaweed in an assortment of flavors. The Black 
Queen wrapped her hand in the sack she'd taken along. Then she 
punched through the glass and filled the bag with packets. 


There was a man with her father's face and voice up there waiting 
for her. Wasn't that what she tore two Foundations open to find? He 
didn't raise her, but... he was so close to the one who did. She could 
open the pathway and take them to a world less beaten-up than this 
one where nobody could find them. It would be a fresh start. 


All she had to do was call him "dad". 


The Black Queen entered the abandoned apartment once again. 
Doctor Gears hadn't moved from where she'd placed him. "I brought 
dinner." 


"| can't eat like this." 


The Black Queen set the preserved snacks on the floor and 
unfastened his handcuffs. His arms fell to his sides. "Help yourself to 
dinner." She pulled out a packet of sea-salt roasted kelp, then 
looked back up to him. 


There was a momentary silence. Gears had that scrutinizing glare 
again. The Black Queen suspected that he had thought the same 
things she had, when she'd left him alone. 


Then he spoke. "Actually, could you come here for a second?" 
Doctor Gears stretched out an arm. "I need to do this right now, if 
you'll comply." It was such an awkward way to ask for an embrace. 


The Black Queen hesitated. The crawling sensation on her neck had 


been replaced with a much more familiar feeling: the jolt of her 
danger instinct. This felt all wrong. 


The doctor watched her halt, and slowly lowered his arm. "Perhaps 
later, then." 


The guilt came back again. The Black Queen saw him reaching out, 
and then saw herself reacting to the intensity of it. She was giving in 
to fear. No Black Queen could ever let herself give into fear. So she 
approached him. 


He carefully wrapped an arm around her. For one quiet moment, it 
was everything that she had expected it to be, and everything she 
had worked for. 


Gears's taserspike dug into the base of her spinal cord. He only 
released the grip when she crumpled on the ground. The air smelled 
of ozone and burnt plastic. Gears looked upward at an indicator on 
his lenses. "Glasses, cease recording.” The indicator changed from 
red to green. 


It was eleven minutes and fifteen seconds, by Gears's count, 
between the subdual and the arrival of the task force. The door was 
open, the subject still unresponsive. They collected her in a field 
chamber as Gears looked on. An agent asked if he was alright; 
Gears said she'd never hurt him. All he had to do was distract her 
long enough to make the call without interference. 


The post-recovery processes were longer and handled by more 
personnel than was necessary, so the matter was now out of the 
doctor's hands. Even so, as he watched them cart the subject away, 
the containment procedures began to form in his mind for SCP- 
AATR, or informally, The Extrauniversal Woman. 


House Of Gears, Part One