Work Text:
The light woke him. Ah - it was his personal morning already. He had some decisions to make today.
He wriggled his toes in hello, flexed his fingers, slid out of bed into his slippers. Breakfast first.
~o~
After breakfast, he went to the coordinates box. It was a beautiful model, now that he’d found the right combination. An antique black lacquerware box, with mother-of-pearl moon and gleaming tracks arcing to stars. He had placed it next to the coordinates box before bed one night, and set a simple spatial shift to run overnight, hoping. The next morning, it was as if they had always been one box, all dials and buttons black urushi, pleasingly smooth to the touch. The interface now had occasional glints of iridescence, like the stars were still there somewhere behind the screen, shining their own codes if only he had the enhancements to see them.
He entered his preferred pace for the day, and browsed the list of available social settings, adjusting the filters until he found a route to somewhere and when he wanted to work, a place that needed what he had to offer in an era he could come. He confirmed his selection, and left the box to begin its adjustments. There was time for another cup, and a round of sidewords.
~o~
Today’s syncer had the shape of an old-fashioned wrist-watch. Early Reiwa era, if he was any judge, He lifted it out of the coordinates box, and fumbled for a moment with the strap mechanism; this kind was entirely manual in how you put it on, and the first hole he tried pulled too sharply tight.
It helped to sync his personal time in advance to the local train station he was trying to catch.
~o~
He opened his door to heat, sun and sounds of local morning flooding in.
Stepping briskly down the street, he greeted his neighbors as he saw them. Kato-san returning with her groceries. High up on an electric pole, Ōkuma-san having his morning soak in the polehouse bath, the back of his head barely showing. A pair of samurai visitors wandered past, chatting quietly. He liked his current neighbors, and hoped to stay with them if there was another neighborhood shift. Learning their names, making a point of greeting them, inquiring after their days, their children, the latest doings of the local cats - he was still from away, but every shared bit of story helped his home stay part of theirs.
The first shift had been distressing, he remembered, letting his gaze soften, registering each electric pole he passed like a tick of his wrist’s chronometer attuning him to today’s tempo. No one was expecting the Unmooring, or the potential for merges. Some of the motorcycles parked a few streets over had become horses in the morning who drank electricity in gulps, and lipped at oil as if it were sugar, their horse heads in somewhat disconcerting contrast with the fine metal gears of their innards. They made fine steeds for the visitors who started to wander in from adjacent eras, whose homes and streets shifted in for a season here, a day there, sometimes finding a fit and staying as if they’d always been. Perhaps they had been; perhaps the city had just forgotten for a while, and then remembered.
Checking the time, picking up his pace a tick, he started looking for the station cat. Around him, the electric poles began to shift in place, accumulating burdens of extra wires, a history of patchworks, arrangements sagging back out of harmony. The closest electric pole had lost its base cafe the next time he glanced; ah, he was getting closer to sync. Yes, there was the dignified marmalade tomcat, laying sideways in the shade. He stopped, crouching to proffer his hand; the cat deigned to stretch his head forward to sniff, then resettled, slow-blinking amiably.
The station was now visible, its fixed clock with the large roman numeral display anchoring station time for all to know. He checked his watch: perfectly synced. He had just enough time to slip inside the station, find today’s locker, retrieve its contents, change, adjust to today’s uniform. He joined the waiting crowd, settling into today's load. One minute more exact, and the train was there, and the rails with it: a small city in constant motion. He stepped aboard.
The trains were even more important now that local time was so often unsettled. The stations anchored distinct nodes of time and place; they could be traveled to, and from, and therefore became stable locations, with trains providing the connecting schedule, the active network that kept them so.
As they steamed out of the station, the first of the golden clouds was suddenly upon them, the windows completely full of dense swirling currents glinting like maki-e. Then they were clear, and the city, the whole island of Kyushu was already far below, verdant green hills nestled in azure seas.
As was his habit for the first 30 minutes or so, he wandered the train cars, enjoying the changes since his last trip. The car behind his was now a marvelous miniature hotel with several floors, full of sleeping guests, an inviting onsen set in the roof garden. His car had a rooftop cafe with ceramic dragon teapots, rooms for card games, a pottery studio that was clearly the source of the teapots, some quieter spaces with window seats and luggage storage.
His own equipment had been neatly tucked; no need to keep the yoke with its balanced loads heavy on his shoulders when the trip, even on a fast train like this one, would still take noticeable time.
Eventually he settled in with a book, which he promptly ignored to strike up a conversation with some fellow passengers, and the remaining trip passed enjoyably.
~o~
Hauling his load down to another era’s memory of the city he called home, he soon found the right outdoor spot for today’s work. Setting down his two compact towers, and unpacking them, an impromptu charging cafe was soon established. Each unit became a freestanding deskspace, one for him, one for his clients; his newly purchased dragon teapot puffing fragrant steam in promise of refreshment. The umbrella now raised overhead had his neighborhood’s latest solar tech, practically indistinguishable from paper, already drinking up this day’s sunshine to charge the battery in its pole.
He would return to tomorrow soon enough; here was where he could serve today.
