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  And any moment now, Harley will be dead from Chronolixer poisoning and left to float endlessly through the mists of time, disconnected from all times, un-anchored, adrift in a timeless void.

  A ghost.

  “Ah, the sweet smell of success,” says Harley, appearing next to Yon and sniffing the salt air through a gleaming smile.

  “You? But, I –”

  “What? You didn’t think I’d pull it off?”

  “I just expected you to be in there,” he motions to Jo’s, “watching your brilliant plan play out.”

  “That’s where you don’t know me, don’t understand me, dude.” Harley picks up a piece of driftwood and tosses it into the surf. “Watching is for the weak – those with no confidence in their planning. Babysitting the execution of the event is a sign that you don’t believe in yourself. If I really want to see it, I can just watch the official vids later – you know, they’re always making my missions into training vids.”

  “Right,” says Yon, feeling a little stunned that his own execution had failed – he’d made the fatal mistake of assumption. He really was off his game.

  Or was he?

  “Harley? You ever had Jo’s chowder?”

  “Nah. Never bothered.”

  “You have got to have a bowl. It is to-die-for. Go on, you owe it to yourself for a job well done.”

  “Really?”

  “Look, I know when I’m beat. You really got style, Zim. And I’m getting tired, getting a little sloppy. I’ve lost my human touch – the ability to really affect outcomes in an efficient way. Maybe it’s time I passed the torch to those who’ve proven themselves worthy.”

  Yon extends his hand.

  Harley slowly takes it and shakes it with increasing speed.

  “Thank you, Yon. Thank you. I’m sure you’ll enjoy retirement. You just leave all this running around through time to the rest of us, and take care of yourself. Hey – you wanna grab that chowder with me?”

  “No, you go ahead. This is your moment. I gotta get back to base and make arrangements to, you know, call it a day for the last time.”

  “Suit yourself,” says Harley.

  Zim Harley turns and walks up the sandy slope and into the restaurant, while Yon stands facing west and waits for the sun to set on a promising young career, humming an ancient Beatles song to himself.

  Hello Goodbye . . .

  THE END

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