Microstory 2799: They Will Get Married After This

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Now that Jande’s speedy trial is over, he has been able to catch up with what else has been going on. Dare left. He quit his job as Axiom of War and ran off. He employed the new induced blind suicide protocol, so there is no record of where he ended up. When that’s used, it bounces the user’s consciousness all over the galaxy for up to a few days before settling on one location, so he could be anywhere by now. He’s likely wanting to go back to his life as a hermit crab, but they may never find out what happened to him. His position and department were shuttered, like their predecessors, the Safety Department. It has since been replaced by the Defense Department. A shortlist of candidates is being vetted for it. Reportedly, no former superintendent candidate is on it, which makes sense. Looking back, that was all a big mistake.

Jande knows now why they didn’t bother firing him as superintendent, or rather impeaching. Firstly, it would make the stain on the history of this planet bigger than it already is. The first and only superintendent has to be removed after barely serving? No, they can’t have that. What they can do, however, is work around him, and quietly cut him out of the decisions. He was annoyed at first, but then he remembered that he never wanted any of this. His parents got in his head, and generated ambition that wasn’t initially there. He can’t believe he let that happen. He just wants to be a farmer.

“That’s this whole thing. They’re calling it rededication.” Ersence also quit her job, but not due to any sort of scandal. She just decided several months into Jande’s disappearance that she didn’t want it anymore. The competition changed her. She doesn’t want to be a leader, and she doesn’t want to hold on to the principles she valued when she was identifying as a Doma Tertian. Most of them don’t anymore.

“They want me to rededicate myself to the community? I can do that.”

“It involves switching to a new body again, even if the one you’re in now technically qualifies. You also have to swear an oath to Quiratan, and...”

“And what?” Jande presses. “If it’s bad, just tell me. I need to know regardless.”

“Someone in your position doesn’t get their own plot,” Ersence goes on. “You have to marry into a family, and they decide your lot. You won’t be head of household, even though you were before.”

“You and I are still married. What does that mean?” Jande asks.

“We were stripped of our status when we started the games,” Ersence begins to explain. “To get back in, I had to marry someone else. Now you’re a dangler.”

Split marriages happen all the time. It’s when someone is married to people who aren’t married to each other. They used to be kind of frowned upon, but it’s not the 22nd century anymore—lol—and there was a time when group marriages weren’t legal, full stop. And before that, you were only allowed to marry someone of the opposite sex! Society eventually realized that restricting other people’s happiness doesn’t make any sense, and the rules were always arbitrary. So now, it’s open. Do whatever you want, as long as it’s consensual. It’s perfectly normal to have a complex family tree. Some might say that it’s a little embarrassing to be a dangler, where you’re only tangential to a family. There’s only a slang term for it, but it’s also common enough in the galaxy.

“Who are they?” Jande asks. “It would be easier for me to stay on the same track, instead of finding some other random family to join.” He would have to divorce Ersence first, so there aren’t any land allocation questions. At least that’s how it worked before.

Ersence nods. “I would be okay with that. I honestly don’t know how the others would feel. It’s more of an arrangement than anything. I care for the young uquirapods in the nursery, getting them used to human interaction, but it’s not like the Quiratan you used to know. Not everyone is a farmer...they don’t have to be anymore. One of them actually works for Defense. He may have an opinion about you. I hardly ever see him.”

“I would like to meet him,” Jande decides, “as well as the others.”

“I can set you up on a date,” Ersence says. “It would be best if it were one on one, I think. He doesn’t like to be ambushed, I know that much about him, so while it might sound better to win over the others first, we should start with him. If he doesn’t accept you, it really doesn’t matter what the others think. Can you handle that?”

“I’ve been on a date before,” Jande replies.

Ersence turns around to get started. “Not like this. Not after what happened.”

It’s not for another three days when Ersence’s other husband, Ridley Forrester has time off enough for a date. They’re at a restaurant at the top of Tiny Tower. It’s called that because it’s only five stories tall, but that makes it the tallest living space structure in the world. There are taller objects, of course, but not for regular usage. Still, it’s a nice view of the valley below. Ridley’s face is so hard and still, if you only saw his head, and someone asked you to guess whether he was the type to wear his uniform at all times, you would say yes. And you would be right.

“Can I ask, what do you do for the Defense Department?” Jande asks.

“I’m Hock Watcher for the Prisoners of War sector,” Ridley answers.

“POWs?” Jande echoes. “Did you hold that role before we even had any, or is that a new position that had to open up because of what happened a couple months ago?”

“I was just Hock Watcher. Then I was promoted when the new sector became necessary. I applied to the original job sixteen years ago, hoping that I would never have anything to do. I wasn’t lazy, mind you, but I wanted to walk into that cell block every day and be completely alone. I wanted the isolation to show me that we rose above our past mistakes.” His passion increases noticeably as he speaks. “I wanted to see...the proof that crime no longer existed. And then they came.” Now he’s tearing up. “They came, and they proved me wrong. I didn’t want the promotion, but I accepted it, because now every day, I need to see that I was wrong. I won’t forget that lesson anytime soon.”

“I’m sorry,” Jande tells him. “I’m sorry for my part in that.” He doesn’t understand it. They came from a distant star, thinking that Bida was responsible for sending the Kugelblitz black holes to them, instead of the truth, which is that both worlds were victims. They don’t feel the same way Ridley does. They believe in death. They’re human, but that’s such an alien concept. You don’t jump into war before you have all the facts. Or rather, according to most Milky Way cultures, you don’t. Who knows what they’ve been through, and why they felt they had to do it this way? They didn’t. A single conversation, and this whole thing could have been cleared up.

Ridley is still teared up. “What you did, Superintendent Ter Avest, was believe the same thing that I did. You believed in the goodness of the universe. Don’t you ever apologize for that. Despite what happened, sir, you are a hero to Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, and I would be honored to one day call you my husband...if you’ll have us.”

Jande breathes, having not expected that response. “Yes.”

Spaghetti West: Star Wars (Part VII)

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The stage was set. Sugar and Liselot navigated their still unnamed ship to Waizidi, also known as YZ Ceti d. It wasn’t a particularly inspired name for an exoplanet, but not all of them were. There were around 400 billion stars in this galaxy alone. A single individual owning one of them was not unheard of, but it was exceedingly rare this close to the homeworld. YZ Ceti was only about 12 light years from Earth, and should have been allocated to more general colonization efforts. The reason Pribadium was able to get away with it had everything to do with its proximity to Tau Ceti.

Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida was arguably the most important interstellar colony. Proxima Doma was the nearest, but it wasn’t very hospitable. Living there required building domes and other pressurized habitats, and only within a narrow band of habitability. Bida, on the other hand, was Earth’s closest twin. A transitional respiration adapter and a pack of gravity gum, and you were good to go.

YZ Ceti was less than two light years from Tau, which actually lowered its value. Waizidi wasn’t the worst planet around, but it didn’t have a comparable atmosphere, and had the same kind of narrow habitability band as Doma. It took work to survive there—too much work, especially for early settlers with limited technology. It was fine when that was your only choice, but in this case, it would be like driving by a free luxury condo to get to a refrigerator box in the alley. To be sure, had Pribadium not taken it for herself, it would likely be colonized right now, but with a minimal population. Nobody was crying into their milk that it was off limits. Most would not even give it any thought.

“Did you figure it out?” Liselot was pacing the room while Sugar was working.

“No,” Sugar replied. “No answers here.”

“So his sacrifice was for nothing,” one of the Denvers determined. He asked to be present to oversee the procedure, which was a perfectly reasonable demand.

“He didn’t sacrifice anything but a disposable body,” Liselot pointed out. “And I don’t know if you noticed, but since we technically killed one of you, the attacks have stopped.”

Denver!Two shook his head. “When he died, it sent an alert to them. It takes time to verify and update their records, but they will update them, and they will calculate that twenty-two of us are still around. The attacks will restart.”

Sugar stopped operating. She pointed the scalpel at Denver!Two. “Then why don’t we just kill all of you, and place you in virtual storage?”

Denver!Two approached the plasma barrier. He ran his fingers along it, letting it ripple like water. “Because then they’ll run a second tier test, where they’ll determine that our consciousnesses maintain coherence. They know that a dead body doesn’t mean dead. They’re just prioritizing physical substrates until the base reality phase is over.”

“They’re going to great lengths to destroy you,” Liselot pointed out. “Is there any information about them you can give us? Maybe you’re not lying, maybe you just forgot. If we knew where they were, she wouldn’t be cutting into him right now.”

Sugar sighed and went back to the post mortem, but she stopped again right away. “I’m done cutting into him. This is getting us nowhere. It was a bad call.”

Denver held up his hands defensively. “Hey, you wanted us to give you possible countermeasures. You didn’t accept an answer of nothing, so he came up with something. No one promised that it would work.”

Sugar snapped her gloves off and threw them into the hazard bin melodramatically as she stepped towards Denver!Two. “They know when you’re alive. You said it yourself, you’re sending a signal. If a signal is being sent, it can be traced. You just have to know where to look.” She turned her head to face Denver!One’s body again. “The brain is the most logical place to look, followed by the heart.” She stared at it for a moment before facing the second Denver again. “Any other ideas?”

“You think I don’t wanna help?” Denver!Two questioned. “You’re the only one who might have a shot against these people. I want it to stop as much as you. I’ve given you all I got. They’re from your side of the void, they have time tech. That’s all I know. I don’t even know why they hate me so much. I’m important, but I’m not a threat.”

“If they have time tech,” Sugar reasoned, “maybe you are.”

“Ah,” Denver!Two said, nodding his head. “You think I’m Teen Hitler.”

“I never said that,” Sugar volleyed.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Which one was Hitler again?” Liselot asked.

“I’ll tell you later,” Sugar said to her. “For now...I’m gonna turn him back on.” She went over to the terminal and reengaged the virtual interface. “Denver. Denver!One. Come in Denver!One, are you there?”

The bulge in the blanket stirred. A pair of hands reached out and pulled the sheets out of the way. Denver!One started kicking at them aimlessly like a tardigrade stuck between two microscope slides trying to get away from its own waste. He groaned. “Who dares wake the sleeping giant?”

“You’re not real, you don’t need to sleep,” Sugar complained. “Wake up.”

Denver!One groaned again as he gradually lifted his hand. As soon as he snapped his fingers, the bed was gone, he was vertical, and fully dressed, smiling into the camera. “I’m awake, mom, but I’m not going to school today. I need a personal day.”

“I looked at your brain,” Sugar informed him. “I saw nothing. Whatever signal you’re sending, I don’t know where it’s coming from.”

“Well, we tried.” Denver!One snapped his fingers again and generated a beach. He took off his shirt and pants and plopped down into a hammock. “Now, if that’s all...”

“Ambition,” Sugar said simply.

“What’s that now?” Denver!Two asked from his cell.

“That’s what I see when I look in your eyes,” Sugar answered. “Any of your eyes,” she added. “I don’t see someone who would rather lounge about in a simulation than be out there, doing things. There’s something you’re not telling me—something vital, which could blow this whole case wide open. So out with it, or I take control over your sim, and lock you into a Foggy Forest environment forever. No hammocks, no sleeping.”

“Kindness,” Denver!Two said. “Kindness and patience. That’s what we see when we look into your eyes. You wouldn’t torment him like that.”

Sugar turned around and tapped on the interface. Denver!One fell on his ass when the hammock disappeared, along with the beach and water. He was in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t haunted, because ghosts weren’t real, but it looked like it was, and given enough time, it would start to feel that way too. “Kindness for innocents”

“Okay, I’ll tell you,” Denver!One said quickly. “Just put me back.”

“Shut up, Denver,” Denver!Two scolded.

“You’re not the one trapped in here,” Denver!One spat back.

“And whose fault is that?” Denver!Two asked rhetorically.

“Our parents,” Denver!One said. “Valencia Raddle and Omega Parker. They had me, and changed their name so we would all have the same one. I have many enemies of my own, but none which would do what they’re doing. I stay out of Milky Way politics, but my parents didn’t, and their actions followed me to Miridir. They think hurting me will hurt them, which will hurt their true enemy, the Extremus.”

“The Extremus?” Liselot questioned. “The generation ship that left Gatewood 300 years ago.”

“The history is complicated,” Denver!One went on. “A faction broke off, and settled 16,000 light years from the Core Worlds. There was a quiet war, which despite seemingly insurmountable odds, the Exins lost. My parents were instrumental in turning the tide. Don’t ask for details, I don’t have them.”

“The Exin Empire,” Sugar echoed. “So you do know where they are.”

Denver!One shook his head. “No. They’re not in the Goldilocks Empire. I already checked. The empire is fractured, and I believe one new faction has moved off somewhere else. That’s why I came to Bida. I was going to use it as my base of operations while I looked for the Exins, but I...woke the sleeping giant. They started going after me, and at some point, they realized I was a dupe, so they sent more. I really wish I could tell you how they’re finding me.”

“There’s still one question none of this answers,” Sugar began. “Why do it like this? There’s overkill, and then there’s this; it’s ridiculous. Why not just send an assassin to shoot you in the heads? It’s obviously not working, yet they’re still trying?”

“Well, they have not tried in hours,” Liselot pointed out. “Not since we killed one.”

Sugar nodded as she was trying to work through the problem. She looked back at the screen. “You said you didn’t know how they were tracking you, and I didn’t find any means of doing it either. But there is one way that we would not be able to trace back to them because it doesn’t require you to have anything on you but your own mind.”

“What would this be?” Liselot asked.

Sugar remained in her head for a moment. Then she switched off the interface, and strode over to close the physical door to Denver!Two’s cell. She looked at Liselot. “These aren’t the kind of duplicates that you’ve heard of. In your world, if you want to make a copy of yourself, you just clone or bioprint a new body, then Control-C yourself into it. When you do that, you’re just copying the data, and it doesn’t maintain any connection to the original.”

Sugar hurried over to Liselot and teleported them both to her main lab on the other side of the planet. She started turning on the machinery that she needed. “Quantum entanglement, spooky action at a distance; these are the phenomena we use to make faster-than-light communication work, even if you don’t have time travel technology. When Denver copies himself, he doesn’t just make a clone. He pulls a version of himself from a temporary parallel reality, and to reach that microreality, he has to quantum tunnel to it. That leaves a mark.”

“I’m following you for the most part,” Liselot admitted, “but I can’t see where it’s going. What does this all mean?”

Sugar stepped into the recess in the wall and lowered the brainscanner over her head. She pointed. “I need you to push that purple button for me.”

“Okay.” Liselot dutifully went over and pressed the button.

After a few seconds, a figure appeared in the imaging chamber. Pribadium Delgado looked around until she spotted Sugar. “You called? I’m kinda busy.”

“I just needed to check our connection,” Sugar said to her alternate self. “Do you know the range of this thing? I need to find someone else, and they may be farther away. I built the tunneler, but I think you modified it after my last save state.”

“It sends signals through the bulk now,” Pribadium answered. “Unlimited range.”

Sugar smiled. “Perfect. Thank me.”

“I’m welcome!” Pribadium’s image shut off.

“That was who you used to be?” Liselot asked.

“It’s more like I’m who she used to be,” Sugar explained. “Give me a moment.”

Sugar disappeared for a few seconds before returning with Denver!Two. She not-so-gently shoved him into the tunneler. “Don’t move. There are twenty-one more of you in hock that I can use for this, so don’t think I will be afraid to use deadly force.”

Denver looked around. “I don’t know what this is.”

“I know how they’re finding you,” Sugar said, “because I know who they are. I know who he is. He must have a machine not unlike this wherever he is.”

“I don’t understand,” Denver!Two claimed.

“I hope that’s true, or we would have a lot more enemies than we thought.” Sugar reinitiated the tunneler. It took a little doing, because it mostly tried to redirect them to the other twenty-two Denvers on this planet, including the one that was living disembodied in a simulation. Finally, though, she was able to force it to ignore those, and find the one she was looking for.

The imager turned back on. A twenty-fourth Denver showed up. He looked a little surprised to be there, but not shocked or nervous. “Clever girl.”

“You’re trying to kill yourself,” Sugar accused. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Denver!Two questioned. He tried to step off of his perch.

“No,” Sugar demanded. “Stay there or we lose the connection.” She approached the newest Denver. “What’s your beef with your alternates?”

The evil Denver shrugged like it was obvious. “They’re my alternates. They threaten my power. There should only be one Denver Strong.”

“But KBHs?” Sugar pressed. “Why go through all this trouble?”

She decided to call him Denver!Zero in her headcanon. Denver!Zero smirked. “Anyone capable of fending off a KBH attack is also a threat. I was trying to kill a billion birds with a hundred stones.”

“It’s not working, you didn’t kill anybody,” Sugar contended.

“Except for innocent plants and animals, like the uquirakind,” Liselot added.

Denver!Zero reached past the hologram’s field of view and retrieved a cup. He sipped it coolly. “I feel nothing, killing a mortal. If you don’t have the good sense to back your mind up remotely, you don’t deserve to live. At worst, I took a hundred years off their lives. That’s nothing to people like us, so who cares? Believe it or not, the KBHs, as you call them, were incredibly easy to send. Every time you push one back, it just goes somewhere else. Then they push it back, and someone pushes it to someone else. It’s like a game of Cosmic Ultimate Frisbee. You were doing my work for me, and they would have succeeded eventually. I’m a patient man.”

“Where are they now?” Liselot asked him. “We’ve not had to push them back for a while.”

“Such an eager beaver.” Denver!Zero laughed. “You want more black holes, I’ll send you more black holes.”

“We want it to stop,” Sugar demanded. “Forever.”

“I understand,” Denver!Zero replied. “How about I send you twenty-three more—no, only twenty-two—I’ll give you a freebie. For every Denver you kill, I’ll take a KBH away. Does that sound fair? Aiming black holes isn’t easy, but I think if I send you that many, one should end up destroying your base.”

“We’re shielded,” Sugar warned.

“We’ll see how well that holds up,” Denver!Zero decided. He turned off the imager.

Denver!Two finally stepped off the perch. “Were you bluffing? Will the shields hold up, or no?”

“Probably not,” Sugar admitted. “Fortunately for you, now that I know what the problem is, I can fix it. I wish you had been more honest earlier. No, I wish you had been honest at all, because you didn’t tell me jack shit.”

They all jumped back to medhock, where Sugar retrieved the drive storing Denver!One’s IDCode. Then they jumped over to regular hock, where the other Denvers were in their respective cells. She evacuated them all back to her ship’s hock. They were not happy about still being locked up, but they couldn’t be trusted.

The KBHs started coming. They appeared from all angles, and started ripping the planets apart. Before Sugar could jam up all quantum signals, one of them clipped the ship, and started unraveling it. They were lucky as hell. It left everyone alive, and all major systems operational. They were just now strung out. Fearing it could get worse, though, she teleported to outside the star system. They watched the Kugelblitz black holes ravage the worlds, pulling them apart, and rendering the entire area uninhabitable, even by modest standards.

“Hm,” Sugar said with a light chuckle.

“What?” Liselot asked.

“It really does look like...spaghetti.”

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Microstory 2570: Head of Pharmaceuticals

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People ask me why I’m doing it. Why would I invest hundreds of millions of dollars into developing a panacea when “there’s more money to be made in the treatment”? To be clear, that’s actually a low number for developing even a single drug, and that’s because we were coming at it with a huge advantage of having a source for the cure, instead of having to start from scratch. So that was one reason why we calculated that it was worth it. Number one after that is that my name will go down into the history books as the woman who provided the world with the greatest accomplishment humanity has ever achieved. Of course, Landis will be at the top of the list, but no one’s going to remember his nurse, or one of his patients. He cured millions. I’ll cure billions. And I’ll keep doing it over and over again. We’re not sure if this drug will grant virtual immortality, but honestly, I don’t see why not. And if it doesn’t, we’ll work on that too. And we’ll be able to do that, because at that point, we’ll be the only pharmaceutical company left in existence. The other ones, who only ever hoped to sell treatments, will become obsolete, almost literally overnight. Unless they diversified into selling diagnostic equipment—or, I don’t know, something unrelated, like microwaves—they’re destined to have a bad time. Their stock prices are already tanking in anticipation for an announcement that we’ve made a breakthrough. People are actually saving money that they would usually spend on medicine, because they think we’re preparing to send them a fix tomorrow. Well, I can’t condone such behavior. Time is a huge factor here. They’re close—my researchers are close—and I have been funneling a lot of the money dedicated to this endeavor into bolstering mass production, but we’re not there yet. My competitors want to get in on this, and we will agree to that, because it will help with rollout, but I have demands, and it all has to do with what I said; keeping my name at the top. I curated the relationship with the Foundation. I made Mr. Tipton promises. I’m in charge here, and if that slows down production, then so be it. People will wait for months, because some have been waiting their whole lives, and humanity has been waiting for thousands of years—at the risk of being too specific. Pharmaceutical companies are known for being greedy and uncaring, and I’m not going to sit here and try to tell you that it isn’t true. We charge too much for insulin. We make our customers jump through hoops. We didn’t make the industry the way it is today (not alone, anyway) but I admit some fault. So in the end, that’s why I’m doing this. My competitors’ reputations are set. Nothing can be done to show them in a better light, except maybe if they get in line, and help with production in the right way. But no one will remember what we used to be. Once the panacea comes out, with our label on every single inhaler, that’s what we’ll be known for. And the world will be grateful. For us.

Microstory 2509: Former Girlfriend

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Landis wasn’t always the great and noble guy you’ve heard of. I’m not surprised that he became what he is today, but I do wish that it was happening while we were dating. He wasn’t a bad guy, but he really struggled with motivation. He didn’t want to work very hard at anything. He didn’t want things handed to him, but he didn’t want to have to think too hard either, and figure the solutions out for himself. He wanted to know how to do something, and understand why he should be doing it. He didn’t have a great job, bu he was content with it, because he gave an unremarkable interview, yet they gave it to him. He didn’t care about being promoted, or even making more money. His budget was always based on the bare minimum, and he didn’t care about anything else. He didn’t want to improve, or have a better life. This sounds really selfish of me, but it might have been nice had he treated me to dinner every once in a while. I felt like I was the only one making an effort in the relationship. I had to leave him, because it was so one-sided, and when I finally did, he didn’t seem to care. This goes to show how dispassionate he was. I wanted him to want something, even if it wasn’t me. I couldn’t tell you how he got his powers, because I wasn’t around for that, but I’m happy for him. I am not bitter, and I’ve not tried to get back together. He’s doing his thing, and I’m doing mine. I feel lucky that the path we walked took us to where we are. Even if I were miserable, at least he’s a superhero now, and that’s a beautiful thing. People ask if I regret not sticking by him but if I had, the Foundation might not exist. It’s all so mysterious, so we don’t know how he ended up with the abilities, but he has told us that we received them. He wasn’t born with them, so he would not have randomly developed them in an alternate reality. He was reportedly simply at the right place at the right time. If we had still been living together, he would have been in a completely different place at that particular time. We would have gone on with our lives none the wiser, still not happy, and none of you would be cured. I guess I should say...you’re welcome.

Microstory 2502: Father of the Cure

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I’m going to be totally honest here, Landis and I have not always agreed. His mother always believed that he was gonna move on to do great things, but the kid was approaching his thirties, and he had nothing to show for it. Don’t get me wrong, I love him to death, and nothing he could have done would have been able to change my mind. I just remember wishing that he would have some kind of ambition. I wasn’t one of those fathers who had a plan for their kid, and they were going to follow it no matter what. I only had a few requirements. Number one, he had to learn a second language. Most of the world understands English, and I feel like the least we can do is meet them halfway. You can’t learn them all, but you can at least learn one. Well, he didn’t do it. He didn’t even try. He did the bare minimum in school, in his language classes, and everything else. He wasn’t an idiot, but he was a poor student, because he lacked motivation. I only got him into sports to teach him discipline, and perseverance. I didn’t care if he became obsessed with it, or even if he liked it. He could have switched to theatre or A/V Club, if that’s what struck his fancy. I chose baseball, because that’s what I was familiar with, but I made it clear that he had a choice. What he didn’t have a choice in was doing nothing. He couldn’t just coast through school, and work minimum wage for the rest of his life. I know, that might seem unrealistic. Someone is working minimum wage, that’s why it exists. I just wanted him to want more out of his life. Again, he didn’t have to do anything that I specifically chose for him, but he had to have at least some passion about it, even if that passion was for the money itself. He had to contribute positively to society, and if that meant sticking with that minimum wage job, well, I figured I could get over that. At least he was doing something. But he kept losing them, and having to find something new. Secretly, I think that he preferred it this way. He gets tired of things, you see. He doesn’t quit because he’s no good at it, but because he just doesn’t wanna do it anymore. It becomes tedious. I’m actually kind of surprised he came up with his foundation, because it’s the same thing; day-in, day-out. I can’t believe that he can take it, but I’m proud of him, and I’m happy for him. I never expected him to cure the entire world. I would have just been happy with him holding down a job for longer than six months. But he went for it. He really went for it. He exceeded all of my expectations, and I regret every doubt I ever had for him. That’s my kid, and I’m grateful for him.

Extremus: Year 104

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Tinaya never did figure out how to get back into the Bridger Section so her son could make a mirror call to the past. Security there is tighter than it ever has been, but that’s okay. Silveon was spiraling, and he wanted guidance, but he will be okay without it. He has his family and friends. Well...he has one true friend and peer. He has not bothered to make friends with anyone else, because they’re all so much younger. It wasn’t just romantic connections that he was potentially forgoing when he sent his consciousness back in time. He really is going to be okay, though. He decided to reassess his priorities, and recommit himself to his mission to help Waldemar. Even though Audrey is the one who is closer to him now, they’re all still friends, and Waldemar needs all the guidance he can get, even if he doesn’t know it. This mission is more critical than ever, because today is the day that Waldemar announces his campaign. If he goes through with his speech, he will be the only one in the race, and that’s because the position he’s vying for doesn’t exist.

“First Chair?” Tinaya questions.

“Yeah, that’s why he said,” Silveon confirms. “He’s been working on this operation in secret. That must be what this press briefing is about. He didn’t specifically say as much, but what else could it be? He still won’t give me any details, but I suspected that it was about finding another girl to get pregnant, so I guess I’m relieved.”

They both look over at Audrey, who responds, “I’ve been laying it on pretty thick. He can pretty much have me whenever he wants. Before you ask, I am on birth control now. I don’t want to get pregnant again, and he doesn’t want that either. The way he sees it, this is the best outcome. He gets the sympathy votes for the dead kid, and bonus, he doesn’t have to pretend to raise the thing. Silvia’s job is done.”

A twitch of a smile flashes on Silveon’s face at the sound of the baby girl who was named after him. It falls back down, however, when he realizes that she’s also talking about her sex life with the enemy. “Just be careful.”

Audrey nods solemnly, but doesn’t say anything.

“How is he gonna pull this off?” Tinaya asks, getting back to the matter at hand.

“He took a page out of your book, mama,” Silveon goes on. “Speaking of the way he sees it, the way he sees it, you were able to abolish the position, so he should be able to revive it.”

Tinaya shakes her head. “I was able to abolish it because I was First Chair. It was in my best interest to keep it, which means I was sacrificing something. I actually rose in popularity that day. He’s asking to bring it back so he can gain power. It’s the exact opposite of what I did. And anyway, I thought he was destined to become captain.”

“We’re in uncharted territory,” Silveon replies. “We have changed so much in the chain of events, but I don’t think I’ve done much to change him. I suppose I managed to lure him away from the captain’s chair, but I couldn’t take away his ambition. He has evidently set his sights on civilian government instead.”

“And he’s going right to the top,” Tinaya says, “to a job that he would first have to create in order to get it.”

“That’s from your book too,” Silveon says sadly. “Before you, there was no such job as Director of Population Maintenance.”

Tinaya exhales exasperatedly. She came to hate that title. It’s too broad. She was there to promote population growth, but it could easily be reversed to oversee population control, and that should never be the objective.

Arqut shifts awkwardly. It was he who came up with the title in the first place, and he too regrets it. “I’ve already submitted a provision to the charter that, if the need for the job arises again, it should be changed to Director of Family Planning. That way, the change will outlive me and-or my tenure as Superintendent.”

“Thank you, honey.” Tinaya turns back to the kids. “How do we stop him, or should we?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Silveon replies. “I’m starting to think that everything we do is a waste of time. Maybe what we should really do is flip to Plan C.”

Audrey shakes her head as she suddenly looks exhausted.

“Wait, what is this Plan C?” Tinaya questions. “Plan B was straight up murdering him. Would you also kill his mother? What’s Plan Z, then, destroying the whole ship?”

“They don’t go in order,” Silveon explains. Plan C is not selected because Plan B fails. It’s a secondary alternative, equally as likely as the first alternative. It involves shifting focus away from my relationship with Waldemar, and towards the creation of the resistance.”

“Unlike before,” Audrey adds, “these resistant forces would be composed of those who have forewarning on what’s to come. Rather than being reactionary, and fighting an uphill battle, like we did in the original timeline, we would be in a place of advantage. That’s the hypothesis anyway.”

“It sounds too late for that,” Arqut reasons. “If he’s already campaigning, has enough damage not been done?”

“It’s the perfect time,” Audrey contends. “Imagine going back to 1922 and trying to warn people that Hitler’s a bad guy. They would be all, who the hell are you talking about? We were always going to have to wait before the right circumstances triggered Plan C. Though your logic is sound, we do have a short window. Gaining power is one thing, but gaining popularity could make forming this preemptive resistance all but impossible. We have to decide now.”

“We?” Tinaya echoes. “We’re just the old fogies. We can give you advice, but you’re the ones with the intel, and it’s become quite clear that we barely know anything about what you’re doing here, or why. How many of these letter plans are there? Hopefully not the full twenty-six.”

Silveon and Audrey exchange a look.

“I don’t even wanna know,” Tinaya says before they can elaborate.

“I will say,” Arqut begins, “at the risk of overstepping, there is no coming back from Plan C. Once you go down that road, you lose all friendly ties with Waldemar. He may not find out that you’re a part of it right away, but he will one day. You’ll recruit someone that you were wrong to trust. Or someone will turn on you. Or you’ll just slip up and say the wrong thing to him. Once you become his enemy on the outside, you lose all hope to change him. Plan A doesn’t have to lead to Plan B, but if Plan C fails, it might. Success means either putting him in hock, or in the proverbial ground. There’s not much wiggle room.”

“That’s why I hate it,” Audrey tells them. “That, and we already tried it. Sure, maybe we started too late, but I’m not sure a time advantage gives us that much of an edge. It will just make him angry. Leona’s Rules of Time Travel, Number Fifteen, don’t antagonize the antagonist. Just like killing him, there’s a reason it’s not Plan A.”

“There’s a way to have the best of both worlds,” Tinaya suggests cryptically. “You could continue with your camaraderie with Waldemar, trying to keep him on the best path while recognizing that his personality is out of your control, and you can’t stop his thirst for power. Meanwhile, completely separately, there is a slow-burning faction of dissidents, ready to keep him in check from the outside. You wouldn’t be involved with them. You would feed them information, but get none in return. This would allow you to keep focus, and keep them from ever needing to be activated.”

“That’s shockingly diabolic of you, mother,” Silveon points out.

“Yeah,” Audrey agrees.

“It is.” Arqut is less impressed, and more disquieted. “Who would do this? Surely not us, we’re an obvious connection.”

“No, we’re too old anyway,” Tinaya says. “I have one or two people in mind.” There’s a knock at the door. No doorbell, no proximity alert; just a knock. It surprises and confuses all of them. “Thistle, what gives?” Tinaya asks to the aether.

“The Thistle Central Systems Intelligence is presently offline for maintenance. For basic assistance, please state your query using clear and unambiguous syntax.”

“Do you think they found out that he’s real?” Tinaya asks as she’s heading towards  the door.

“He’s real?” Audrey asks, quickly having to accept the fact that no one would answer her.

Pronastus Kegrigia smiled from the other side of the doorway. “I believe that I’m supposed to be here?” Yeah, he was Tinaya’s first idea. They know they can trust him, because he’s the one who took care of little Silvia while they were waiting to deliver her to Verdemus. He’s always felt like the anti-Waldemar—just as ambitious, but with an ethics book in his hand. Once Tinaya and Arqut are dead and gone, he may be the only person left on the ship who would be conceivably powerful enough to counteract anything that Waldemar might try to do. It’s also hard to keep secrets from him, which Tinaya recognized from the start. She knew that it was better to keep him on her side than let him end up in opposition.

They get Pronastus up to speed, but they leave a lot out. They take Tinaya’s advice to her son seriously, and just claim to have knowledge of the future. Nobody is a time traveler, and nobody is older than they look. Waldemar is a known future threat who can’t be allowed to assume full control over this ship. That doesn’t mean he can be stopped by any means necessary, and it doesn’t mean his power can be blocked entirely. Pronatus will have to carry a heavy burden, navigating this new mandate with his regular future duties as some kind of official pathfinder for Extremus. He literally asked for it, though. He came to this suite looking to help, and they’re going to take him up on his offer. There is still plenty of time for him to back out. He’s young, and Waldemar has not yet shown himself to be a genuine threat, at least not in this timeline.

It’s time for the press conference, so they head to the briefing room, but separately of course. Audrey is expected to stand next to Waldemar, quietly like a good partner. Silveon has an invite because he’s a friend, but there aren’t enough seats, so he joins the people who are just standing against the back wall. Pronastus told them that he is going to use his pathfinding powers to sneak in, but doesn’t elaborate on what that will entail. Waldemar is not there when they arrive, but everyone else is. Lataran waves Tinaya and Arqut over from the front row, having saved them seats.

Captain Jennings is the last to walk in. He sits on Lataran’s other side, in a seat that is always reserved for him, even if he’s the one standing on stage. He doesn’t know what any of this is about, and he doesn’t know all that much about Waldemar, but due to the latter’s sad history with baby Silvia, he was granted permission to hold this conference. Obviously, they can’t just let anyone stand up there and say whatever they want, but you don’t have to be super famous to make an appointment request either. Children have presented their book reports, and shared interests clubs have used this space to attract new members. It’s always broadcasted, but people don’t have to watch if they don’t want to. It’s usually not quite this full during such mundane announcements and speeches, which speaks to Waldemar’s social magnetism. He’s getting better and better at drumming up intrigue, and people are all terribly curious as to what he’s about to say. Some are members of the press, while others are just well-connected, and work in related fields.

Finally, Waldemar steps out from the backroom, and approaches the microphones. Audrey mousily walks in, and stands obediently at his flank. She’s changed her clothes into something more stylish, and quite frankly, more revealing. He does like her body, even if he can’t form a healthy emotional attachment to her. He clears his throat, and taps on one of the mics. “Thank you all for coming, ladies and gentlemen. I understand that you’re all very busy, and I won’t waste too much of your time. There has been a lot of talk lately about what I’m going to do with my life. I didn’t receive high marks in school, and I did not choose a specialized track. I considered pursuing a career on the crew, even maybe to one day become a captain. In the end, I just wanted to keep my options open. This has led many of you to believe that I have my eyes set on the passenger government. I’m not ruling that out, but it’s also not my concern right now.” Waldemar looks over his shoulder at Audrey.

She breathes deeply through her nose, and forces a smile, but hopefully most people see it as sincere.

Waldemar smiles widely, and looks back at the audience and cameras. “This is about what truly matters...family. I have gathered you all here today to declare my undying love for Audrey Husk, and to announce to the world that we...are getting married.”

Shit.

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Microstory 2316: Earth, August 23, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

My father had to extend his diplomatic mission, which happens all the time—he had already extended it twice before this—but he calls every time, so I was able to confront him about his involvement in our separation. I would have preferred to speak with him in person, but I didn’t want to waste any more time, because there’s no telling how long this will take. We really need that food and the medical supplies, and they just can’t come to an agreement with our neighbors. I believe that he will make every effort to return as soon as possible, though, as delaying a real talk will only give me more time to hear the truth from you instead. He would have rather gotten ahead of the narrative, but of course, we both know that he had every opportunity to fess up, and never did. In the meantime, I’ve been trying to find anyone who may have known our parents back then, but he and I came to this habitat alone a year ago. So far, no one here has been of much help. I did meet a rather old woman who believes that such awful practices were not unheard of four decades ago, and there’s apparently precedent that goes back even further. Back in the early days of space exploration, there were two famous sets of twins who were studied for comparison. One would go up into space, while the other stayed on the ground. That’s how they learned that low gravity changed the immune system, and even genes. There were other twin studies throughout history, such as when one turned out to be really intelligent, and the other not so much. This old woman thinks that these experiments became more ethical over time, but started to backslide as governments lost control of society, and corporations started being able to make up their own rules. It’s hard to know for sure what I can trust about what this woman says, though, as she’s made some more outrageous claims, like that aliens walk among us, or that she once met an immortal mystic man who was born in the nineteenth century. Anyway, I’m quite curious to know more about how Vacuus works. I know that it’s quite dangerous to live on an airless world, but what does that do to people? What kind of laws do you have? Would you call them fair and reasonable? I should think that a mission that included a kidnapped baby would be rife with corruption and amorality, but I truly hope that things have changed since then, and you at least feel safe and happy with the people around you. Write back when you can.

Love (I hope it’s okay to say that),

Condor Sloane

Microstory 1795: Drudgery Clock

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It wasn’t really until the day I graduated from college that I realized I had no direction in life. I had this liberal arts degree that didn’t lend itself to a particular career, and while everyone said it opened doors for me, I didn’t believe them, and I would find out later that I was right to have my doubts. I spent years, unemployed off and on, only able to find temporary work, and just hoping someone would ask me to stick around. I became so disillusioned by the whole thing that I gave up trying to be what people told me I should. I began to be more honest in interviews, and for the most part, that didn’t work out. People don’t like honesty. They want you to pretend to be perfect so they can justify hiring you, and then when you make a mistake, they have a justification for getting pissed at you for being dishonest. Completely contradictory is the resting state of middle management, and I will die on that hill, if need be. Ha-ha. I never stopped trying. I kept applying until I told one interviewer that the reason I never last long in any position is because no one has given me a real chance. That seemed to speak to him, so he accepted me for a fulltime, permanent job. I was elated and relieved. There is no such thing as a hundred percent job security, but I felt safer than ever, and that was enough to keep me from stressing out over it so much. The months ticked by, and before I knew it, I had been there for two years, which was longer than I had ever been at one place before. It felt like a huge win, but it was also incredibly depressing. I started to realize that I didn’t like being the veteran. I didn’t like it when someone who had been there for one year told the person who had been there for a week that I was the one to help them. It made me feel weird. That’s when I got a promotion that moved me to a new facility.

Ah, it was like getting a fresh start. I was the new guy again. Sure, I was still working for the same company, but it was different enough to reset my internal drudgery clock. But then two years rolled around, and I got that feeling again. People came, and they went, and it always felt like they were moving on to better things while I just stayed here as a nobody. I saw one of them again once. He had the misfortune of delivering me a sandwich, which actually proved that he didn’t move onto something better, but at least he got out. At least he reset his drudgery clock. I needed that, and I needed to feel good about myself. I quit my job. It was the first time I had ever done that, and it felt amazing. I was the one in charge of my own fate; not someone else. That was incredible. Now I just needed to find something else. It was a little frustrating, going back to the beginning of the search, but it wasn’t too hard, and my drudgery clock was at zero. It stayed there for two more years, which was clearly my limit. I was smarter this time, and applied to something new before I quit the current job. So I just kept doing this a few times, staying in one place for two years, and then getting something else. It didn’t have to be better, it just had to be new. Over time, this technique became harder to sustain. As my résumé grew, I found the interviewers to be less enchanted with me. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I hold down a job? I couldn’t rightly tell them the truth, or it would make things worse. I couldn’t warn them that I didn’t care about their organization, and that I didn’t have any ambitions. So I didn’t. I went back to lying. It didn’t matter. I didn’t look very good on paper, and before I knew it, I retired after thirty years in the same crappy job. That delivery guy I met years before? He was my boss.

Microstory 1794: The Message

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For the most part, my life was boring, so I won’t get into everything that I did. I’ll just talk about the most traumatizing, and simultaneously most transformative, experience I had. I worked on the factory floor for about half of my career, and up in the offices for the other half. It wasn’t something I thought I would ever achieve, but I was a lot more comfortable sitting in a chair all day, pushing paper. It was safer, and had better climate control. My boss was a decent guy, who treated people fairly, and always listened to his employees. He wasn’t great at pay. Well, it wasn’t really his fault. It was company policy back then to not give people raises unless they asked for them. Even if you were promoted to a higher level, they kept you at the same rate unless you specifically pled your case, which made for awkward conversations that could have been avoided. Some managers were better at making this less awkward than others, but mine was clueless and difficult. He also liked everything to be really formal, so instead of talking to him directly about some change you felt needed to be made, or a grievance, you had to write a letter. I hated writing letters, but I learned to do them well, and that’s how I ended up at the desk in the first place. This one day, after thinking over why I thought I deserved to be paid more, and why I needed it, I wrote a letter too hastily, and ended up spelling my manager’s name wrong. I didn’t realize it until after I had sealed it and sent it. I guess I just took a mental photograph of it, but didn’t check the film until later. I was so upset, and so distracted as I was driving home from work, that I didn’t even realize that I had tried to make a U-turn, let alone that there was a pesky concrete barrier in the way. I hit that thing hard. I probably would have died instantly if the turn itself hadn’t slowed me down. I don’t remember feeling any pain, but an intense pressure on my legs. I do remember what I was thinking while I was sitting there, and it’s embarrassing.

I should’ve thought, this is it. This is the day that I die. This is the way that I die. I’m never gonna see my family again. I’m never gonna have another nice steak dinner. But all my brain could focus on was that spelling mistake. I had to fix it. That was what kept me going, as absolutely insane and irrational as it was. Pretty much everyone dies with unfinished business, and it’s sad, and it’s not fair, but that’s the way life is. A normal person is driven to wake up the next day so they can make something of themselves. All I cared about was getting to my boss before he opened that envelope. It didn’t make any sense, but that’s me, I guess. I can’t be sure how much it played into it. Maybe if I had been thinking about how much I hated to be alive, I still would have survived, because my mind wasn’t powerful enough to have that much of an effect on my body, but I always attributed it to that letter. I held out long enough for rescue. I was in hospital, of course, so I never managed to intercept the letter, but also of course, he didn’t care. He wasn’t offended, and he even said that he almost didn’t notice. He just wanted me to get better, and that I did. I lived a good fifty years more. It truly was a good fifty years too, because I learned that day to try to relax, man. Everyone makes mistakes, and people tend to be more understanding if you give them a reason to. I worked hard to become more personable and likeable, and I found that people would generally give me the benefit of the doubt. I think that’s the most important lesson that I instilled in my kids, and I die in peace, knowing that this simple message remains my legacy.

Microstory 1793: Conversion

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I don’t want to talk about the final moments of my life. They aren’t important. I have always felt that way; not about myself, of course, but others. Death is a scary topic that I don’t like to think about. My best friend growing up was fascinated with it. He liked to read about real serial killers, and fiction that was specifically about murder and mayhem. He owned one book about crazy freak accidents, and another that listed famous people’s famous last words. He started to write a book of his own once, combining these two concepts. It was all made up, and it wasn’t very good, but he was a child, so that’s not surprising. It’s what drove us apart. I didn’t like thinking about all that violence and sadness. I didn’t hate him for it, but the older you get, the more important it is to find people you have things in common with. We were just too different. Years later, I found out that he had rewritten that book as an adult; transformed it into something decent and marketable. I didn’t read the signed copy he sent me. It wasn’t just signed, he also wrote a personalized note, saying how much he treasured those few years we spent as friends. He hoped to reconnect at some point, but I never reached out. Again, I didn’t dislike him, but you know how it is. We both had our own lives. Now he’s the only one with a life, and mine’s ending. Man, it’s hard not to think about it when you’re dying, isn’t it? No. Life. What about my life? Well, after we drifted apart, I started getting more interested in music. I didn’t create it myself, though. I couldn’t play worth a darn, and I could clear the room in ten seconds flat if I tried to sing. I just loved the culture. I liked to get backstage passes, and I wanted to learn how the lighting system worked. I liked to see the performers when they weren’t performing yet. I didn’t care for the drugs, though, so I knew that I could never be a roadie.

I ended up getting a job as a conversion crew member at a large performance and event venue. Different bands and events needed the layout to be particular to them. I moved chairs, and stages, and booths, and everything you can think of, to make a unique experience for each of our clients. It was hard work, but I got a great workout everyday, and I enjoyed it a lot more than some of my co-workers did. The pay wasn’t the best, but it was above minimum wage, and my wife made more than enough to support the family. She was the best pediatrician in the state, and she never made me feel bad about having no ambition. I would occasionally get free tickets too, so that was a perk she would never be able to compete with. We had two daughters. One moved up to become the editor of a well-respected magazine, and the other is a foreman for a construction crew. I couldn’t be prouder of both of them. We all took it hard when their mother died. I could barely take myself to work in the morning. What was I going to do without her? Suddenly, as if sensing my pain, my old friend called, and told me he was looking into doing a major presentation for his new book in the area, and he remembered what I did for a living. I helped set up the deal, and he obviously gave us free tickets. We watched him talk to the audience from backstage, and I felt something change in me. I started to see where he was coming from, and why he was so intrigued by the idea of death. He was so good at explaining how crucial accepting death is to helping us lead full and healthy lives. I read his books in one week, and became a convert. Now, as I lie here on the pavement, blood oozing from my head, I’m comforted by the fact that I was happy.

Microstory 1322: Maintenance

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Maintenance Supervisor: All right, what do we have here? Looks like you’ve had a few jobs over the years, but nothing in maintenance.

Unskilled Laborer: Right. I haven’t been paid for this sort of thing before, but if you look down there at the extra activities, I listed volunteer work with my church. We remodeled homes for the poor, and fixed a few things in schools in low-income neighborhoods. I’ve also helped my dad around the house my whole life, so I know my way around a drill.

Maintenance Supervisor: Okay, okay. What about education? Did you go to college at all?

Unskilled Laborer: I didn’t even bother applying. It’s not for me.

Maintenance Supervisor: Yeah, I get it. So, where do you see yourself in five years?

Unskilled Laborer: I don’t really know. I wouldn’t say I’m an ambitious person. I’m not after your job, or anything. I just wanna put in my time, then go home and sit in front of the TV for the rest of the night.

Maintenance Supervisor: A lot of us are like that; that’s fine. Why don’t you tell me about a time when you...um.

Unskilled Laborer: Sorry?

Maintenance Supervisor: Tell me about a time when you had a disagreement with a coworker, and had to—Jesus, this is stupid. Why would I ask you this? I printed this list of questions to ask a candidate off the internet, but the way I’ve been hiring people has been good enough. I mean, sure, we’ve had some duds, but they were smooth-talkers too. They could have easily lied on their résumé, and then given me bogus answers. I don’t need to know...what kind of animal you would be, or...who you would want to be stranded with on a deserted island.

Unskilled Laborer: I’ve gotten those questions before.

Maintenance Supervisor: How have you answered them? Not a serious question; I’m just curious.

Unskilled Laborer: I just B.S. my way through it.

Maintenance Supervisor: That’s what I would do. When I was a kid, employers only wanted to know a few things. Can you get here on time?

Unskilled Laborer: Yes.

Maintenance Supervisor: Can you be here every day that you’re scheduled.

Unskilled Laborer: Yes.

Maintenance Supervisor: Do you do drugs?

Unskilled Laborer: I smoke a little weed.

Maintenance Supervisor: Ah, whatever. Are you gonna steal from us?

Unskilled Laborer: No, sir.

Maintenance Supervisor: Can you lift fifty pounds by yourself, and are you cool to stand for extended periods of time?

Unskilled Laborer: I can do both of those things.

Maintenance Supervisor: Welcome aboard.

Microstory 1225: Irving Hummel

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Irving Hummel was a reality corruptor, but not an exceptionally good one. His ability to alter reality was fairly limited, and often only significantly impacted his own life. If he wasn’t careful, any changes he made could quite easily revert, and he might not be strong enough to change them back to the way he wanted. He wasn’t that great of a person in general, and the power he wielded only made him worse. He was by no means evil, but he lacked both drive and skill. Ambition wasn’t a problem, but that and drive are not the same concept. He wanted to do great things, and to be recognized for them, but he didn’t want to put in the effort. And so, thanks to his time power, he forced the world to become what he needed in order to realize his dreams. He barely scraped by at the police academy, but he did make it, and he didn’t do anything bad to get there. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t reach any of his goals beyond that. He was stuck as a regular uniformed officer, and it wasn’t looking like things were going to get better, so he changed them. He arbitrarily turned himself into a Sergeant. It was no Lieutenant, or Captain, but it was kind of the best he could muster. You see, the modifications he could make to reality had to have some kind of plausible basis. He couldn’t just make himself king of the world, because no world would accept him as such. He did have the potential to become a sergeant, if only he worked harder at it, but that would always be the best he could do. The problem—though he wasn’t sure he saw it like this—was that his corruptions also had an effect on his personality. He couldn’t just slip his mind into his new life. He had to become the person he would be if he had done it in a more conventional way, and apparently, the more conventional way led him down a somewhat darker path.

Sergeant Hummel was a lot grumpier and harder to get along with than Officer Hummel. He was snarky, and short with people, and constantly pushed them away. Even though he could still remember his life before the corruption, he couldn’t help but adopt this new behavior, and start treating people poorly. There was only one person he knew who could see through him. A colleague of his evidently had his own temporal power. It was immediately clear to Irving that Detective Bran could see the discrepancies between the two conflicting realities. He didn’t want to let on that he was not only fully aware of the changes as well, but that he was responsible for them. Well, he didn’t think he was responsible for all the changes. Bran was regularly concerned about the town literally shrinking in size with no logical explanation, but Irving had no clue what he was talking about, and couldn’t believe that it had anything to do with him. He just kept doing his thing; transforming himself into what he hoped was a better person, eventually faltering, and going back to the way he was, and then trying again once he was strong enough. In the end, none of his efforts mattered. Irving was in the wrong part of town when the phenomenon Bran kept talking about swallowed it up. Presumably because of his own ability, Irving managed to survive the trip through the portal, and landed on a different planet entirely, as one of very few who weren’t torn apart, and scattered throughout time. Now what was he going to do? There was no reality where this dead world wasn’t a terrible place to live.