Microstory 2016: Missouri

< > Table of Contents

Papa graduated from Promontory University in the Spring of 1996 when he was 22 years old. Like I mentioned before, he met a lot of friends at college, and some of them belonged to a religion called Mormonism. He didn’t believe in the same things that they did, but they still got along with each other. A few of them had families that lived in Missouri, so they invited him out for a big graduation celebration. They had actually already been to a few other parties, but this was the only one that was over a thousand miles away. It took them three days to drive all the way there, which they did to save money on plane or train tickets. They drove through Wyoming and Nebraska on their way there, but of course, he had already been to those two states anyway. They slept the first night in Cheyenne, Wyoming, where some of his old friends lived. Remember that he lived in Buffalo, Wyoming for about ten years when he was younger. On the next night, he once again helped his college buddies with somewhere to sleep. He still had lots of family in Grand Island, Nebraska. He wanted to help them with where to sleep because his friends were going to give him somewhere to sleep once they arrived in Missouri. They lived in Independence, Missouri. The party was really big, with I think over a hundred people! Some of them were just family members, but others were other graduates who had gone to schools in other parts of the country. He stayed with one of his friends’ parents for three nights. He slept on the floor in a bedroom with five other people. Can you imagine? When it was over, he took the train back home to Idaho alone.

Firestorm: Orson Olsen (Part V)

« < » > Entire Story

Two years ago, I witnessed a miracle. Well, there were actually three miracles in one day. I watched a girl appear out of nowhere, standing on a stump in my yard. Her arms were stretched wide, and a halo shined from above her head. Hours later, I ran into that girl again, though she did not seem to know who I was. I watched her disappear again, and realized she was a time traveler, who needed my help to save her friends. I saw my angel a third time later that day, and before she disappeared one last time, she gave me a mandate. I am to worship time. That is the one true God, and I’m embarrassed I didn’t realize it before. I used to follow an imaginary flying spaghetti monster, because I was indoctrinated into it from birth. But now I see the truth. Time is real; it’s abstract, and impossible to hold in your hand, which makes it magnificent, but it undeniably exists. If that’s not God, then God cannot exist.

I realized I had to spread the word. Most of my brothers and sisters in the church would not be swayed. They did not witness the Trinity Miracle, like I did. There were others, however, that I knew I would be able to convince. My mother was always worried people would leave the church, and she taught me to spot these people, so I could help bring them back from the brink of damnation. No matter what I did, though, they retained their doubts; they just learned to hide it better. Fortunately, my memory is totally fine, so I had this excellent list of people who would be willing to hear the true word. I started out slowly—very slowly. I knew that my best friend would believe me without question. It was he who discovered a magician in the area who might be what we were looking for. He was right. This guy had real powers to move things from one hand to the other. They weren’t very impressive, but they were enough to convince my church’s doubters. I brought them to the shows one by one, never giving away that we knew each other. They saw for themselves that time travel was real, and our movement grew. This was not the magician’s only purpose. I knew he would know others like him, so we watched him for weeks, like secret agents. He ate at the same restaurant almost every single day, and every time he showed up, he was surprised, as if the restaurant was attracting him against his will.

My friend and I realized the restaurant was more special than the man, so we switched gears, and started to investigate them instead. Through a complex series of timing the employees, and watching certain customers being led through the kitchen, we determined there was a whole world in the back we couldn’t see from here. We started watching the whole building, and could tell that there were some strange goingson that people like us weren’t allowed to see. We have to see the miracles, though. My people deserve the truth, and I am the only one who can show it to them. I’ve been coming here ever since, waiting for someone in there to notice, and here he comes. My plan has worked. I’m about to be read in.

“Detective Bran,” the man says, showing me his badge. It’s not the first FBI agent I’ve met, but that’s a different story. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, have I been loitering?”

“What are you writing in there, your manifesto?” he asks me.

My notebook. “Oh, heavens no. This is the good book.”

“You’re rewriting the bible?”

“I’m writing the real bible.”

“Hmm,” is all he can say.

“What are your abilities?” I’m pretty good at playing it cool, but I can tell there’s something different about this guy. Security has been coming by nearly every day to get me to leave, but they’re just regular people. I can smell the power coming off of him. Perhaps I’m one of them. Perhaps my ability is to sense other abilities.

“Well, I’m a good marksman, and a halfway decent investigator. My true strength lies in getting people to leave.”

“Please. You don’t have to lie to me. I don’t know exactly what you are, but I know that you’re special. I’m not going to hurt you. Just...read me in. Show me the light. I am..open.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Agent Bran says. “This is private property, and it is time for you to leave.”

“I’ll leave, if you let me in...just once. Let me see what’s really in there—no illusions—and I’ll never bother you again.”

“Sir, this is a secure facility. I cannot let you in.”

“You think I’m going to believe that this is nothing more than a CIA blacksite? I’m not stupid. I saw through the windows. Dozens of people ran into that unit, right there.” I point to some kind of club. I never got a good look at the sign, so that’s the only word I could make out. “A minute later, they all came out. They looked different. I have a really good memory, and an eye for faces. People were wearing different clothes, and none of them looked like they had just ran inside, and came back out. Something happened in there, and I demand to know what it was.”

“It’s all right, Agent.” She’s come. She’s come to show me the light again.

“Paige, get back inside,” Agent Bran orders. “Who is he to talk to an angel like that?”

“Angel Paige,” I utter. “You’ve returned.”

“I have,” she says to me. “You wanna see the light. Then let’s go take a look. Let’s go back to the beginning, or near it, anyway.” She takes out her phone. “You ever been to New York?”

“Paige, don’t do this,” Bran pleads.

“The cat’s out of the bag,” she explains to him. “We can’t put it back, but we can domesticate it.” She shows me a picture of a house on a hill. It’s black and white and yellow, but I think the yellow is probably just because it’s really old. The edges are damaged, as if melted, but again, that’s probably due to the ravages of time. This is a very old photograph. “How about New York 1848?”

“Paige, no!” cries another voice, but I never get a chance to see who it is.

She takes me by the arm, and whisks me away. In seconds, we’re standing at the bottom of the hill in the photograph. For a second, a part of me wonders why it’s not still in black and white, but of course, that would be stupid. We’ve just traveled into the past. The angel has given me such an amazing gift. “Let’s take a walk.”

We walk along the fence for a few minutes as I patiently wait for her to say something else. I am in the presence of divinity, but I know she will be turned off if I act too enthusiastic about it. I just keep thinking about how incredible it is to be here, and how much she must trust me to show me this.

“Orson—can I call you Orson?”

“You can call me whatever you want, Angel Paige.”

“I’ll call you Orson, and you can just call me Paige, because I’m not an angel, and I think you know that.”

“Anything you want...Paige.”

“When we met, I was young, and still getting a handle on my abilities. I was desperate to help my friends, and that made me reckless. I showed you something that you were never meant to see. There are people in this world, and other worlds, with time powers. It’s not illegal for us to tell one or two people what we can do. We have to be able to trust our families, and our closest friends. It is a problem, however, if word spreads. So my question to you is, who the fuck do you think you are?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you need me to repeat myself? You’re just some random mormon who got a peek at something that wasn’t for him. What gives you the right to run around, showing a bunch of people magic tricks, and telling them what to worship? Do you think we want that? Do you think we want you exposing us? Do you think, maybe, there are consequences to this sort of thing? Do you think it’s possible that somebody built a prison, stuffed my best friend in it, and left her there to rot for a year? You can’t just go upending everything we’ve done to protect ourselves from the general public. Because you don’t matter, and it isn’t fair for you to assume all this responsibility.”

“I’m sorry, I meant no disrespect. You told me to worship time.”

“That was an off-handed comment. It wasn’t a real command. Jesus Christ.”

I don’t know what to say.

She takes a deep breath before continuing. “This prison isn’t designed for criminals. It’s only there to house those who risk outting us to the world. If you don’t stop what you’re doing, we’ll all go there, including you. You’re human, which affords you some special consideration, but that will only take you so far. If your cult gets any bigger, they’re gonna step in. I’m surprised they let it get this big.”

“I don’t know how to do that,” I say to her honestly. “It’s grown beyond my control. People saw the truth. They saw that magician.”

“People see magicians all the time, they don’t start worshiping them.”

“We don’t worship Delmar Dupont. He’s a lesser god, at best.”

“You need to explain to your flock that you were wrong. You need to get them to believe that...they shouldn’t believe.”

“That sounds impossible. I mean, I already pulled them from a church. Now you want me to tell them to go back? They would see right through that.”

“You’re the only one who saw what I could do, right?”

“Yes.”

“You’re the only one who saw people run into Salmonday Club too.”

“Is that what it’s called? Yes, I was the only one there at the time. Like I was saying, though, the magician was enough. They watched carefully, and they listen to me.”

“They listen to you?”

“That’s not really what I mean,” I start to clarify. “They listened in the beginning, because they saw proof, and they needed an excuse to leave the church. That’s not gonna work a second time. I can reinforce what I’ve already told them, and they’ll still listen, but I can’t contradict myself.”

We keep walking as she thinks this over. “Why do they listen to you? Why did they agree to go to the magic show?”

“Magic doesn’t go against the church, because most of it is just sleight of hand and misdirection. They only started believing after what they saw, and because I told them it was real. We can’t undo that.”

“That’s the key, though. You told them it was real. They could have just as easily happened upon the venue, watched it on their own, and assumed it was an illusion, just like most people do.”

“Yeah, I guess.” I’m not sure where she’s going with this.

“If they stop believing in you, then they’ll stop believing in him, and if they don’t believe in him, then they don’t believe in time magic at all.”

“How would they stop believing in me?” I question.

“We have to discredit you.”

“What are you gonna do, like, doctor photos of me in bed with a man, or something? It’s 2027, they won’t like that, but it’s not enough anymore. I mean, it would be one thing if I preached sexual purity, but I don’t even mention that in my sermons. Their hang-ups would all be carryovers from their old lives.”

“No, I wouldn’t wanna do that anyway.”

Now I’m scared. I wouldn’t love that idea, but I would do it for her, even though I’m not gay. I’m afraid she’s about to suggest something really bad. “So...”

“It’s really bad, you’re not gonna like it.”

I suck it up in my own head, and say, “I’ll do anything for you.”

“That’s the problem, it can’t be you. At least, I don’t think it can. How long were you a member of that church in Independence?”

“I was part of Independence Temple my whole life, until you. Why?”

“That’s what I was worried about. I need the name of the newest member of your church who is also now a member of your...cult?”

“We don’t like that word, but...”

“But who?”

“But there’s no one. There’s no one like that.”

“Damn. If we had someone like that, we could discredit them instead. Bran could barge into your worshiphouse, and arrest him for fraud in three states, or something like that. Then we could convince them that he was the one in control of everything.”

“That’s terrible, Paige.” I guess she really isn’t an angel.

“I know. It was just my first idea.”

I sigh. “Well, you’re a time traveler, right?”

“Yes.”

“Then let’s undo it. Take me back to 2025. Change the past. That’s possible, isn’t it?”

“I’ve seen it done, yes.”

“Okay. I’m ready.”

« < » > Entire Story

Firestorm: Kallias Bran (Part IV)

« < » > Entire Story

I’m not in hiding, but I have been laying low for a while. Back in the year 1990, I started investigating a child’s disappearance. It was my first case as a detective, and the weirdest thing I had ever seen up until that point. Things like it would eventually become commonplace for me, but back then, I couldn’t explain it. Escher Bradley was missing according to his supposed father, but according to the mother, he never existed. I spent years trying to figure what the hell was going on. More children disappeared over the next decade, and I was the one assigned to them all. Other strange things happened in Springfield, Kansas until it all just ended when the entire town itself disappeared. I continued to investigate, though. I traveled to other planets, other points in time, and even other universes. My life was non-stop adventure, so when I was given the opportunity to go back to where it all began, and lead a more normal life, I took it. Sort of.

The first moment I experienced nonlinear time was, as I said, way back in 1990. But since then, I’ve seen all kinds of technological advancements. Living in a time before I could look up literally anything in an online encyclopedia, or navigate to a new location on a little computer phone, was something I didn’t think I could do. I hitched a ride back to the future—the 2020s, to be exact—and I’ve been generally avoiding other time travelers ever since. There are some good people in this underworld, though, and I should have left myself available to them if they ever needed me. I don’t know how he did it, but one of them did finally manage to find me, and he apparently needs my help.

“Where’s your family, Ace?” I ask him.

“They’re still looking for you,” he says. “We got separated, and I found you first.”

“Can’t you call them?”

He pats his pants. “I don’t have a phone.”

“How did you know where I was, but they didn’t? Why were you separated?”

“I was in prison,” he explains. “Don’t worry, I didn’t belong there, and The Warden let me go. I came into possession of some intel while I was on the inside, which led me to you. If you don’t help us with our mission, you’ll still need to bug out. Not everyone who knows your location is on your side.”

“Am I, like, wanted?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “My cell neighbor seemed particularly interested in you, though. You could better understand what it is that makes you special. I just consider you a friend.”

“Okay, I appreciate the warning. And I’ll definitely help with whatever mission you’re talking about. I’m sorry I haven’t reached out lately. I’ve been kind of staying out of the game, but I think I’m ready to be involved again.”

“We appreciate that. Come on. We’re based out of your safehouse.”

The condo I bought a long time ago has been used for many different things by many different people. I probably lived there for the shortest amount of time, but I still technically own it. I’m glad it’s been there to help so many people. It is a joy.

Serkan Demir runs over and tackles his boyfriend when we arrive at the condo. “How did you get out? Did we win? I don’t remember winning.”

“It had nothing to do with this,” Ace explains as he was peeling Serkan off so he could hug their adopted daughter too. “A friend I won’t have until the future broke me out.”

“They broke you out?” Slipstream asks. I’ve never met her, but she’s famous in all of Kansas City, and beyond. It’s an honor just to be in her presence. “So they’re coming for you.”

“Well,” Ace begins, “when I say he broke me out, I mean he literally broke the bars on my cell. I don’t understand who he is, or what our relationship will be in the future, but the Warden basically said he can do whatever the hell he wants, and she has no right to go against him. I’m in the clear.”

“So, is that it?” Paige asks. “Do we not have to do what it is the Warden charged us to do?”

“I still need to,” Alexina McGregor says. She’s one of the Springfield Nine, like me. She got her time powers from another dimension, and while most of them are amoral, at best, she’s recently tried to redeem herself. I hope she makes it. “I still have to get the rabbit dog from the FBI. I can’t ask you to continue if you don’t have to.”

“Of course we will,” Ace assures her. “Now we have some real firepower to back us.”

Is he referring to me? “Are you referring to me?”

“Slipstream has some clout,” Serkan says. “She’s still a civilian, though. We could use a real law enforcement officer on our side. Ace, how did you find him?”

Ace looks like he doesn’t want to explain how it is he found me. He told me it had something to do with other people in the prison, but maybe it’s a lot more complicated than that, or it’s something bad. There’s a phrase I’ve heard before, which serves as what I guess you could call the time traveler’s way of saying shut up. To avoid paradoxes, and other timeline problems, all you have to do is say, “eh. Time, right?”

Serkan still wants answers, but he’s letting it go for now. “Right.”

“What exactly do you need from the FBI?” I ask them.

And so they go about telling me what they’re hunting for. There’s some kind of psychic hybrid creature, and a temporal object that’s so powerful, no one seems to know what it does. They’re both being protected by a federal agent who probably has special time powers, and he may be in possession of other things they don’t know about. What his motivation is, or what his ultimate plan is, they don’t know, but they know they have to get these things back, because he can’t be trusted.

“And what do you need me for?” I go on. “I’m not a detective in this timeline. I don’t have a badge, or even a gun.”

“We can make you a detective again,” Paige says. “We need it to be you, because you know what questions to ask; how to get into people’s heads.”

“Are you planning on taking me to The Forger to get my badge back?”

“That was the idea, yes,” Paige acknowledges. “Do you not think that’s gonna work?”

I sigh. “It probably will, as long as we give his bouncer a thousand dollars. I’m willing to do just about whatever it takes to help you, but I don’t know if I want to go back to that life. I gave up the force a long time ago.”

Paige comes over, and takes my arm in her hand. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. We weren’t going to contact you, but Dupont dropped your name, and it made us realize we could do with a little more help.”

“Delmar Dupont? The magician guy? Hm. Weird.” I sigh again, and watch them watching me, wondering what I’m going to do. “Okay. Let’s go make me a cop again.” I start heading towards the other side of the condo, while everyone else heads for the exit. “Where are you going?”

“Where are you going?” I ask them. The Forger is this way.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Ace questions. “He’s downtown.”

I study them a moment, to see if they’re joking. “You’ve been living here the whole time, and you didn’t realize he and The Communicators moved here last year?”

Slipstream and Serkan tilt their lizard brains.

“Yeah,” I go on, “they’re in the closet. Come on.”

I lead them to the closet, which gives us access to another dimension. We step through it to find ourselves in a much nicer facility than the one these people were working out of before. It’s cleaner, brighter, and modern. I was in here once recently, since I’m the one who gave them the money to upgrade, but I haven’t been here since they finished fixing it all up.

“This used to be a clothing warehouse,” Paige notes.

“Yeah, they moved that to The Hub,” I explain, but it’s clear they don’t know what that is yet. That’s okay, I’m sure they’ll see it later in the timeline.

The same bouncer is standing at the entrance. He seems to recognize everyone, except for Alexina. “She’s cool,” I tell him.

The bouncer nods his head towards Ace. “He owes me a thousand dollars.”

I pull two thousand bucks from my back pocket. “I got it covered.” Ace doesn’t look happy, but I shake my head. “I’m rich, and I didn’t even work for it. I don’t want you to bother paying me back. Money isn’t gonna matter much in the future.”

We keep walking down the great hall. A wide-smiling Ennis waves to us through the glass of his new post office. Susan’s office is darkened, with a red light above the door, which indicates that she’s currently napping. Allen and Richard’s restaurant is open to the public on the other side of the kitchen, and it sounds like a lot of people are dining right now. The time traveler side, however, is almost empty. Only one young woman is eating right now, and she looks a little worried about this group of people walking by her. The Salmonday Club isn’t open at all right now, but we see somebody cleaning the entrance. Finally we’re at the Forger’s new den. I open the door, which knocks into a little bell hanging from the ceiling.

The man himself, Duane Blackwood, comes in from the back, and lifts his arms in a welcoming fashion. “All of you together in one place. My heart is warmed. Mr. Reaver, I heard about your jailbreak. How do you know Mateo Matic?”

“I don’t yet,” Ace answers.

“Ain’t that how it always goes?” Duane asks rhetorically. “How can I help you fine folk? I’ve expanded my business. I can now offer direct transport to another time and place, and discount prices on certain living places. I would just generate the cash myself, but that can screw with the local economy too much, so you’ll still need to pay a little yourself. We even house a Nexus replica on the premises, so if you need to get to Tribulation Island, that can be arranged.”

“That’ll be all right,” I say to him. “I just need...I need you to make me a detective again.”

Duane frowns, but not too sadly. “I thought you were done with all that.”

“My friends evidently require access to the FBI building,” I say. “I’m the only one they know with enough experience to help them.”

“You need access to the fed building, then you need to become a fed, not a detective,” Duane suggests.

“You can do that?” Paige asks.

“Hell yeah, I can,” Duane says. “With my new digs, I can make authentic badges, and appropriate firearms, as well as necessary identification papers.”

“I don’t know much about what it takes to be FBI,” I say honestly. “They’re very different professions.”

“You just need to get through security, right?” Duane asks. “That’ll be easy. I do...umm...ask for payment these days? Not money, of course. Like I was saying, I have my own bottomless ATM, but I do need a favor.”

I was worried something like this would happen, but I’m not gonna freak out until I hear what it is he wants from us.

“There’s a guy at the front door,” Duane begins. “He comes every single day. He knows there’s something here. I’m not a hundred percent sure what he wants, but he’s just human. The Salmonday Club has had to let people in the side entrance, so he doesn’t notice them.”

“What’s the Salmonday Club?” Paige asks.

“You know how there are only seven days a week?” I pose to her.

“Yeah.”

“There are eight, as long as you enter the club thirty seconds to midnight at the very end of the week.”

“Everyone rushes in all at once,” Duane continues for me. “This place is a madhouse on Saturday nights. This dude saw the clubgoers coming into this building one time, and I guess he’s been obsessed with us ever since. The power/pattern detector filtered him out, and just showed him a regular abandoned building, but he knows something’s up. Security can’t get him to leave.”

“Is he there right now?” I ask him.

“Yeah.” Duane walks up to the counter, and reaches over to swing the computer monitor around. It’s showing security camera footage from the main entrance of this building. A guy in a button-up shirt and skinny tie is leaning up against a pillar, hastily writing in a journal, or something.

“Oh my God,” Paige says with a bit of disgust. “That’s him. That’s Orson Olsen, the mormon I accidentally inspired to start a religion.”

I sigh one last time. “You make me FBI credentials, and I’ll get him out of here.”

« < » > Entire Story

Firestorm: Delmar Dupont (Part III)

« < » > Entire Story

I struggle to open my eyes. I can see a silhouette watching me from the corner, but I can’t gather enough strength to figure out who it is. I keep working at it, though, and I’m eventually able to confirm that it’s human. Then I can tell it’s a woman, and then I can see her blurry features, and finally, I would be able to recognize her, if we had met before.

“Delmar Dupont, my name is Dr. Mallory Hammer. I’m a choosing one who—”

I sigh. “I know who you are.”

“Do you remember what happened?” she asks.

“I know what happened, but I don’t know why.”

Now she sighs. “Lemme guess, you practiced your latest trick with a comparable-mass dummy?”

“No, that girl couldn’t have been more than forty-five kilograms. I practiced with a dummy that weighed twice that much. It should have been easy.”

She started shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter; it was still a dummy. A living organism—especially a human—is infinitely more complex. Miss Turner has blood in her veins, and electricity in her brain. You’re lucky she’s spawn, or I would have demanded Beaver Haven lock you up.”

“What’s Beaver Haven?”

“It’s a prison for people like us.”

“What’s a spawn?”

“It’s when a salmon or chosen one somehow converts a human into someone who can experience nonlinear time with no further aid.”

I wait a moment. “What the hell is a chosen one?” I can see that she’s not used to having to explain quite this much about our world. I have a time power—well, it’s more like a space power—but I haven’t met a lot of people like me. My abilities are extremely limited, so others don’t have much use for me. I kind of stay in my own world. My knowledge of what’s going on out there doesn’t go beyond knowing that the others exist.

“As I was saying, Miss Turner is strong. What happened to you—if you had chosen a human as your volunteer—would have happened to them, but about ten times worse. They probably would have died.”

A man walks into the room.

“Mr. Demir, I understand you’re upset about your daughter, but this man deserves as much privacy, and time to rest, as anyone else would.”

“I’m not mad,” this Demir guy says. “I heard you through the door, though. Why isn’t he going to Beaver Haven anyway? Why hasn’t The Warden already arrested him?”

“Wardens don’t arrest people,” I point out.

“This one does,” he replies. Yeah, maybe I should recognize that I don’t know what I’m talking about. “He exposed us to the humans just by having a magic show in the first place. Isn’t that enough?”

“No,” Dr. Hammer says. “By disguising his powers in a magic show, he’s actually helping his case. No one in his audience thinks it’s real, even now that he’s done his grandest trick yet. One or two might believe, but not enough to raise concerns on a larger scale. Plenty of people believe in aliens among us, but that barely impacts social practices.”

“Yeah, that’s right,” I say. “I’m just not powerful enough for anyone to worry about what I’m doing.”

Mr. Demir squints his eyes, and stares at Hammer for a moment. “Are there aliens among us?”

She smiles, not expecting such a light question. “Not that I know of; not in this time period. Now, as I was saying, Mr. Dupont requires rest. I would thank you to leave and let him be for now. You can ask him your questions later.”

Now he may be getting a little upset. “The longer he sleeps, the longer my husband is sitting in Beaver Haven. I want him out, so give this man whatever it is you need for him to magically recover, and let us get on with it.”

He starts to leave, but I urge him to wait as I’m finding the remote. I see that I’m in a hospital bed, but this just looks like a bedroom. Once I’m sitting up, I catch my breath. I have to help these people however I can. I guess I owe them that much. “What do you wanna know?”

Demir steps closer. “We need information on someone we’ve heard you met. His name is Austin Miller. No, Agent Austin Miller.”

“Agent Miller, yeah. He came to a lot of my shows, for months. I thought it was weird, because no one else does that. Well, I do have one groupie, but she’s there for a different reason. I’m not that good. I only chose the profession because of what I can do, but I’m lacking a lot of showmanship. I would much rather just be selling insurance, or something. Anyway, this guy seemed like he was studying me, like he knew that my tricks were more than just tricks. I was about to pack up, and move on before I got caught, but then he finally approached me. He said he thought he was one of us, but wasn’t sure. He could remember things happening that no one else can. He can see alternate realities, or something? I dunno. You could probably better explain it.”

“What did he want from you?” Demir asked.

“He could see that I wasn’t anybody important, but he hoped I knew someone who was.”

“Who did you lead him to, Dupont?”

“Ya know, when I was just trying to get my magic show off the ground, this guy who called himself The Delegator showed up. He warned me that there would be consequences if I got too big. He and his people would allow me to proceed, as long as I didn’t try to go viral, or something. I had to keep my act moving, and not making any waves. He told me there were others like us, and offered to put me in touch with your little network. I declined, because I didn’t really care. I still don’t. I’m all right with my life, and I have no interest in getting mixed up in all the craziness I’m sure you people go through on the regular.” I nod over to the doctor. “He gave me your card, in case I ever needed medical attention, but other than that, I don’t know anybody. He didn’t even say you had powers yourself. He just said you treat our kind. Well, I didn’t give her up to the agent, and I didn’t give up the Delegator either. That was only because he didn’t give me the means to contact him again anyway.”

“Who did you lead him to, Dupont?” Demir asks again.

“Oh, don’t be so concerned. I’m just giving you background; not building suspense. You see, the agent wasn’t the first person to come to my show, looking for answers. There was another dude. Wore a button-up white shirt, and a skinny black tie. He looked like a mormon, and he was very interested in basically giving me anything I wanted. He was treating me like a god, and it freaked me out. I almost moved because of that time too, but then he left me alone, so I let it go.”

Dr. Hammer looked confused. “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

“He introduced himself as Orson Olsen,” I explain. “He doesn’t have powers. If he did, he would be worshiping himself.”

“He worships people with powers?” Demir questions.

“He sounds like a cult leader,” Hammer points out.

“That was the impression that I got,” I agree. “I think he sensed how uncomfortable I was, and also realized I wouldn’t be able to help him, so I never saw him again. I didn’t feel bad about giving the agent his name, though. I don’t know what he did with it.”

“When was this?” Demir asks. “When did you last see Agent Miller?”

“A couple weeks ago,” I answer honestly.

“Where can we find this Orson guy?”

“I don’t know,” I say, also honestly. “I have a picture of him, though. I took it on the sly when he was in my audience.” I grab my phone from the bedside table, and swipe through the camera roll until I find what I’m looking for.

Demir studies it a moment, then shows it to Dr. Hammer, who shakes her head, indicating that she doesn’t know who he is. He takes out his own phone, and double bumps it with mine, to transfer the photo to himself. “Thank you. I think that will be all from me. Don’t leave town, though.” He starts to walk out again.

“I think I have to,” I remind him. “What your daughter did on stage; that was probably too much. I have to move my act to the next location.”

He looks over at the doctor. “Can you keep him in one of your basement environments until we’re sure we’re done with him?”

Dr. Hammer frowns. “That’s not really what those rooms were designed for.”

He lets out an apathetic wince. “You forget, I’m a time traveler. I’ve been here in the past. This is Fletcher House. Those rooms weren’t designed for what you’re using them for either.”

She stands up for dramatic effect. “Yes, they were. The architect knew where history was headed.”

“Please? For Paige?”

It’s obvious the doctor is about to give in. “You’re lucky she’s one of my favorites. You’ll have to clear it with Carmen, though.”

“Who’s that?” Demir asks.

Demir and Paige—who looks far too old to be his real daughter—help me down two flights of stairs, to the most insane basement I’ve ever seen. At the bottom of the steps is a giant bank vault. When they open it for me, I see it’s not a real vault, but the door must have been stolen right from a bank. He called this Fletcher House, which is a name that sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. The first room beyond the vault door contains two angled desks facing each other, but there’s nothing on them. I see four more doors, all of which are closed. This place is real creepy, and I don’t understand who these people are.

A woman is standing to the side, wearing a toothless smile, with her hands holding each other in the front. “My name is Carmen Felt. I’ve been told you need a room. You have three options.” She points to three of the doors. “1987 to 1997, 1998 to 2008, or 2020 to present. The other one is being used for 2013 Saskatchewan.”

I casually walk towards two of the doors. “These lead to other points in time?”

Carmen laughs. “No. Ashlock sends our operative through time by switching bodies with someone who lives there. That individual then waits here, in one of these rooms. We dress it up to look familiar to them, so they’re more comfortable. And when I say we, I mean mostly me. I’m the interior designer.”

I point to the door on the opposite wall to the vault door. “Where does that one lead to?”

She turns to take a quick look at it, even though she knows what I’m talking about. “You don’t need to know that. You’ll be in one of these three rooms. Or, if you would prefer, I can have you placed in one of the holding cells.”

“The twenty-twenty room will be fine, thank you.”

“Perfect.”

“Is she always so scary nice?” I ask Paige after Carmen leaves.

“I have no idea,” she answers. “I met her when you did.”

“So, you don’t know if she’s single?” That’s an inappropriate thing to ask a teenager I don’t know.

“No. But I’m sure Morse will kick you out as soon as you’re well enough to leave, so it doesn’t really matter. This is a special place, for a special team. Outsiders like us can visit, but not stay.”

“That’s all right. I need to start thinking about where I’m gonna go next.”

She nods. “Well, while you do that, I’m going upstairs to help plan the mission.”

“Wait, you’re going to confront that mormon?”

“That mormon is my responsibility,” she explains. “I’m the one who told him to start a church to worship us. I was a child at the time, but it was still stupid.”

“He’s dangerous.”

“So am I,” she says.

“Wait.” I sigh again. “I lied upstairs. The Delegator wasn’t the only time traveler I met. There’s another one, but I promise I haven’t told anyone else about him. I think I can trust you guys, though, and I know he’ll be able to help, because he used to be a cop.”

“Who?”

“His name is Bran...Kallias Bran.”

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 1112: Orson Olsen

< > Table of Contents

Orson Olsen, who was psychologically incapable of recognizing how funny his name sounded, was a member of the Community of Christ, which sprang from the Latter Day Saint movement. He was indoctrinated into his faith from birth in Independence, Missouri, and never thought to question what he had been taught. When he grew older, he started taking on more responsibility in the temple. One day, he was copying some missionary files when a young girl appeared outside the window, literally out of nowhere. He wasn’t certain he could trust what he thought he saw, though, so he watched her as she snuck in, and approached the podium in the sanctuary. She then conjured a bird from the aether, wrapped a message around its leg, then sent it on its way. This was not the first time he saw this girl, or witnessed her miracles, but it provided him with proof and confirmation. She first appeared to him earlier that morning, in his backyard. He had been so mesmerized and shocked by it that, though he did what she asked of him, he didn’t know what to think of it. She appeared to him a third time later that day, and charged him to change everything about his life. She told him that he should stop believing in the prophets, and to worship the only one real higher power in the whole universe, which she claimed to be time itself. It wasn’t as difficult for him to take on this new task as one might assume. He had believed every single thing his family and church taught him, but they had always demanded faith of him. This girl was the only person to ever show him real evidence of an almighty power. She disappeared from this life, but his drive to seek others like her was not lost. It’s not every day you encounter someone with temporal powers, but once you do, and you have some idea what to look for, it’s a lot easier to spot a second time. He remained in the church for the next few months, but all the while searching the metropolitan area for anyone who exhibited the same kind of abilities as that first girl. He found it in a man who could transport an object from one hand to the other. If he was willing to suffer through a psychic nosebleed, he could send something a meter or two farther, but that was his absolute limit. It wasn’t a very useful ability—but not all of them are. He incorporated it into his magic show, to make a little money on the side, but he was at little risk of becoming famous from it. With this man, Orson had real proof that time really was something to be worshipped. The magician knew of others like him; those with more powerful abilities, and Orson realized this was just the beginning. It would be pointless if this new church consisted only of himself, though. Orson was surprised at how easy it was for him to recruit others. He was smart enough to start with the people he knew were already doubting their faith. Once their numbers were high enough, they started thinking outside the original church. At that point, the new movement was unstoppable, and it was destined to cause more than a few problems for people with time powers.

Fervor: Swingin’ on the Flippity-flop (Part VII)

« < » > Entire Story

I’m about to get myself as far from the temple as I can when I remember that I never did send that time pigeon to my past self. I’m meant to summon one to me using a special phrase, spoken over a podium, and surely this place has one. I sneak in the building, fearful that a mormon is about to catch me. I’m not worried they’ll kick me out for trespassing; I’m worried they’ll try to convert me. I saw the Book of Mormon, I know how this works. I see several people walking the halls as I’m slinking around, and a few of them notice me, but none of them bothers me, which is a great relief. I make my way to the sanctuary, or whatever it is they call their worship space. Thank Lord Xenu no one’s in here, because I’m about to do something strange.

I stand at the podium, but take a moment to recall the words that Laura taught me. I take one more look around, before repeating the line, “if he or she does their schoolwork seriously; does well, takes school.” A pigeon appears literally out of nowhere, and waits patiently for me on the podium. I remove the coffee receipt from my pocket, and prepare to write a note to myself. I can’t remember exactly what I read before, but that’s probably for the best. It’ll be more natural if I just write what I feel. Paige, take a photo of the wall outside of the cell. There, that’s both cryptic and clear. I tie the note to the pigeon’s leg, and shove it into the air. It disappears through a portal.

I hear the sound of papers falling to the floor, and look over to see a man wearing a white button-up shirt and black tie, staring at me in awe. He falls to his knees. “It’s a miracle,” he exclaims. “You have returned as proof.”

I walk down the steps, and approach him, and he bows his head. “Stand, my child.”

He stands up, and regards me with reverence and admiration. “Are you a new prophet?”

“Let me see your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yes, your phone.” I’m using a gliding voice to impersonate this holy creature he believes I am. “Did you take any photographs earlier today?”

“I...I did. You know this.”

Closed time loops are confusing and dangerous things, but if the man says he’s seen me, then I better go prove him right. I have him open his camera roll, and show me the latest one. “Why did you take a picture of a stump?”

“The workers were meant to remove the whole tree,” he answers. “I was planning to send it as proof that they did not complete the job.”

I make my eyes burn, and travel into the photograph, back in time a few hours. I’m standing on the trunk, arms outstretched like a welcoming messiah. The man from the future drops his arms down in shock. “How did you do that?”

“You will drive me downtown,” I order him.

He has so many questions for me, but I just tell him that he will understand everything when he is ready. I make him buy me a burner phone, then take me back to J.U. Mithra Labs, which has not yet slid back to the 15th century. Someone’s left a window on the second floor in full view, and if I were more like this guy, I would pray that no one was in that room. “You’ve been trained how to spread the good word?” I ask him as I take a quick photo of the window.

He stutters a bit. “Uh...yes, I’ve memorized thirty percent—”

“I don’t care about that. Just go in there and try to get whoever you see to accept Jesus Christ into their hearts, or whatever. Be as loud as you can. We want the whole building coming down to hear what you have to say.”

“Yes, prophet, he says. Then he eagerly leaves the car, not even asking what I’m going to do.

I take one last look at the window, only to see myself up there, giving me a salute. “This is going to have to take some getting used to. First order of business once this is all finished is finding a way to store in one place every single photo that has ever been taken, or will be taken, in the history of mankind, so I can go when and wherever I want withing running into myself. Shouldn’t be too hard.

As the mormon—which I think he probably doesn’t want me to call him—is providing a nice distraction, I lean against the wall, and jump through the photo I took moments ago. I then step over to the window, and give Past!Me a salute. Then I hide out there for the rest of day. Just before the building goes back in time, I take one last photo of a strip of shops in the distance.

I’m about to go down and free my friends from the basement hock, but then I remember that this did not happen in the original history. I have to preserve the timeline as much as possible. In fact, I may not be able to change the past at all, no matter what I do. Maybe my life has all been written, and I’m just fulfilling my destiny, with free will being nothing more than an illusion. Armed with these deep existential ponderances, I wait out there for another couple hours, surprised with every passing minute that I go unnoticed. But then someone comes in.

It’s a security guard, but not the same one. He sizes me up real quick, then hands me his electroprojectile gun.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Protect yourself,” he says, as if I should already know.

“Why would you help me?”

He takes a mobile device from his pocket, and shows it to me. “This is live security feed from the basement. There are your friends, and here you are on the outside of the bars. Don’t worry, I’ll erase this, but you might want to get back down and free them soon. I’ll escort you down there.”

“Again, why are you helping me?” I ask him as I’m following.

“I had a partner once; Kolby Morse. He went to work for the good guys, and I chose the bad guys.”

“It sounds like you regret it,” I say once we’ve reached the bottom of the stairs.

He shakes his head, and points to a door on the other side of the hallway. “I don’t at all. I’m deep undercover.”

People keep helping me, as if they have foreknowledge of my future. The mormon, I guess, actually did have such knowledge, but who is this guy? And who was the man who gave me the telescope picture? I don’t have much time to think about it. I hear the first guard shout, “hey!” to a past version of me. As I’m opening the door, I see myself fall drop my phone, and crumple to the floor. Then I pixelate and disappear, on my way back to 1972. The guard is staring at me in shock, so before he has time to figure out what to do, I raise the gun, and shoot him in the chest, to give him a taste of his own medicine. I then notice a tiny little screen on the back of the weapon, and discover that there are two kinds of projectiles. I switch it to the tranquilizer darts, so I can put him down without him causing any more problems for awhile.

“It’s been ages for me,” I say to my friends as I’m removing keys from the guard’s belt. You’ll never guess where I’ve been.”

“Well, we’ve just been here,” Laura says, “swingin’ on the flippity-flop.”

“Doing what on the what?” I ask.

“Never mind.”

I unlock the gate for them after only a few tries. Why are they still using physical keys when everyone has a perfectly good phone? “Come on. I took a picture of the future, so we can all get out of here.” I open the photo of downtown Independence, and hold it up in front of us, like I’m taking a selfie.

“Wait,” Laura stops me. “This might not work for us.”

“Yeah,” Samwise agrees. “The powers that be have a plan, and they may not let us out of our time period, until it’s...time.”

“You have to promise,” Laura says out of concern. “Promise that you won’t come back for us if it doesn’t work. We belong here.”

“It’ll work, so we won’t have to worry about it,” I say dismissively, and raise my arm again.

“Just promise,” Samwise insisted.

“I promise. Now let’s go before they send someone else.”

They were totally right. Despite the fact that Laura and Samwise were between me and Hilde, the latter is the only one who manages to come through with me. I wasn’t even touching her at the time. The evil group of unseen overseers have too much control over time and space. After we take of this Jesimula Utkin problem, I intend to go after them next.

“You’re back,” the mormon boy declares. Goddamn, is this guy in every one of my pictures, or what? “Did I do well?”

“You did it perfectly,” I say in my prophet voice. “Now do one more thing for me.”

“Anything, mistress,” the creeper says.

“Take off that outfit...not literally” I cry as he immediately starts trying to remove his clothes.

“I just mean stop being a mormon, because the religion is total garbage.”

“What should I believe instead?”

“There’s only one real higher power in the whole universe,” I announce, starting to drop my persona.

“And what is that?” he asks.

“Yeah, what is it?” Hilde asks.

I snap a pic of the empty lot in the distance where the laboratory once stood. “Time.” Hilde and I look at the photo, and teleport back to the parking lot, where our friends are standing around. They look lost and confused. “It’s a long story,” I say to them. “But we’re back, and we have some pretty good intel.”

“Story?” Leona asks.

“Intel?” Slipstream asks.

“Who are you people?” Hogarth asks.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 288: Perspective Sixty-Three

Click here for a list of every perspective.

Perspective Sixty-Two

Even with this “love is love” campaign, and others like it, people like me and my family have trouble with public perceptions. Sure, things are better than they used to be, and I have to believe that, but we still have a ways to go. It would seem as though society is finally all right with two people of the same sex being with each other. You still have your holdouts—backwards hicks and smarmy politicians (i.e. people whose opinions don’t matter)—but for the most part, we’re moving not only past hatred, but past tolerance, and into acceptance. It is believed by many that acceptance of transgendered people is our last hurdle, but it’s only the most obvious one. In fact, the world’s increasing appreciation of sexuality is about recognizing the differences in who people are at their core, but says little about practice. As an example, lots of people are all right with gay people, as long as they don’t have to hear the specifics. The question of group marriage or polyamory, however, involves how people behave in their daily lives. Gay people are gay because that’s who they are, but polyamorous people are strange because of what they do, and how they act. But we are not so different from you, as a well-adjusted person would be able to see. Most people will not understand this word upon hearing it, but upon learning its definition, will make snap judgments about the family. We are assumed to be wandering sex-obsessed indecisive deviants. The words I hear most often are “hippie” and “tree-hugger”. Much like bisexuals, the assumption is that we simply cannot decide who to love, and so we just take what we have at the moment, comforted in the fact that the relationships do not have to last forever.

I would like to clear up a few misconceptions. We are not polygamists. Polygamy has a deep history of imbalance, rape, and a sort of numbers game. It is so much a male-centric concept that polygamist relationships with one woman and multiple men uses a completely different word, and is considered even weirder than the normal kind. Certain mormon sects practice a form of polygamy where underaged girls are forced into marriages because they’re raised to believe that this is their duty in life. And when they consummate these marriages with their “husbands” it’s called rape, because it is not consensual. It can’t be, because they’re only married because they’re told they have to be, and to this specific man. You can call it sex-slavery, if you prefer that term instead. And it’s a numbers game because a higher number of wives indicates notoriety and respect. Polyamory, on the other hand, is a form of relationship based on love, mutual expression, consent, and everything else that composes any other kind of relationship. My husbands and wives are all in this together. For us, there is no “primary relationship”. We are all bisexual, and we are each in love with all the others. No two of us are legally married to each other, because we believe that this would distort the group dynamic. We have sex as a whole, in smaller groups, and as couples. Our family is particularly large, I admit, but the standard criteria stipulates only a minimum of three people. We want to be heard and accepted, just like anyone else, but we understand that other changes need to take place before these things will be put forth in legislation, or even the media. And so we patiently wait our turn.

Perspective Sixty-Four

Microstory 61: Grace

In the universe of my canonical stories, most people identify as bisexual. The number of true monosexuals is to a very low extreme. And I say true monosexuals, because there is a not insignificant number of people belonging to a religious order called the Amadesins who all claim that sexuality is a choice, and that they all choose to be heterosexual. Amadesis is an amalgamation of Mormonism and Scientology, but also exhibits the absolute worst aspects of any and all other religions. The rest of society recognizes the difference between love, sex, and procreation. They understand that you can have one without the other two. With modern technology, even procreation is now possible without sex. Back in the day, homosexual relationships were slightly discouraged, but only to foster the increase in population. This led to a few still-standing traditions, along with the misguided Amadesin movement. In an opposite-sex relationship, the resulting child will usually inherit the surname of the father. This is because of earlier theories that children received more than half of their DNA from their mothers. The father being able to pass down his name was symbolic way of balancing out the contribution, and the practice remains to day for simplicity, and to have some kind of standard. Similarly, in the case of same-sex relationships, one caregiving parent will also be a genetic parent, while the other caregiver is not. The child will usually use the name of the non-genetic parent.

Because of the prevalence of bisexuality, the words boyfriend and girlfriend do not exist. Besides sounding juvenile and unsophisticated, it would never occur to society to use such gender-specific terms. Instead, they use gracer and gracie. These are technically opposites of each other, but are used interchangeably, and respectively mean “one who favors” and “one who is favored”. It’s possible to refer to someone who either favors you, or you favor, but with unreciprocated feelings (i.e. crushes). Clarifying language will be used for these situations. There is another reason for using these terms instead of limiting words like partner, companion, or significant other. They perceive romantic relationships to reside on the same spectrum as friendships; only to a higher degree. Even though emphasis was placed on population sustainability millennia ago, pairings solely for the purpose of propagating the species were never part of common practice. A marriage of two people who were not friends would have always been seen as strange. Arranged marriages did exist in some cultures, specifically Amadesis, but it was pretty taboo.