The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 14, 2099

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Mateo, Gilbert, and Horace spent the rest of the day hatching their plans and explaining themselves to each other. After the alternate version of Reaver shot Gilbert in the Australian cell, Gilbert began jumping into other people’s bodies. He eventually learned precision, and could use whatever temporal powers his victim at the time had. He spent years leaping from life to life, not putting right what once went wrong, but doing anything he wanted. He leapt into good people, bad people, helpless salmon, and powerful choosers. Each jump corrupted him further, and caused him to lose a little bit of his old self. But he was back now, and he was ready to help. Unfortunately, their plans were thrown out of whack when midnight came and they discovered an unusual phenomenon. Gilbert and Horace were meant to spend the interim year setting off a series of events that would culminate in a climax that would come once Mateo returned in 2099. For some reason, though, the other two jumped forwards in time with him.

“Why did this happen?”

“It’s happened to me before,” Gilbert said. “Someone high up the chain wanted me to help Mateo bring you in,” he said to Horace. “They temporarily placed me on his pattern.”

“That could be explained by you reverting to some earlier version of yourself,” Mateo began, “but why would Horace be here now?”

“We bound you together this once,” said a child who came out of nowhere. “We know the kinds of things you’re planning in your campaign against The Cleanser, and frankly, we don’t have time for it.”

“Who are you?” Horace asked, skeptical.

“He’s The Emissary,” Gilbert answered.

“This is is correct,” the Emissary confirmed. “I speak for the powers.”

“Why don’t they speak for themselves?”

“We are not yet prepared to explain that to you.”

Mateo and Horace looked to Gilbert for answers, who simply said, “that I actually don’t know.”

They looked back to the Emissary, who went into his spiel. “Mateo Matic, you operate at the pleasure of the powers that be, but they have loaned you out to the Cleanser for whatever he feels like he needs to do.”

“Yes, I am aware,” Mateo said.

“The powers, however, maintain precedence. Right now, we are in need of your services.”

“Hold on, go back,” Horace argued. “Why have you loaned him out to the Cleanser? What obligation do you have to do such a thing? I thought you hated the choosing ones.”

“I am but the Emissary.”

“That has been established,” Horace retorted. “Why don’t you give it your best shot?”

The Emissary did not look pleased, but could tell that they would not let him proceed without some explanation. “The Gallery is a separate entity. It is a sort of...home base for choosers, and we are not allowed to go there. The powers have their equivalent where choosers are not allowed to go. We have...an arrangement. Asking us to interfere would be like asking Apple to police AT&T.”

“You’re afraid of him,” Mateo guessed.

The Emissary did not want to let on that this was true, but his face betrayed him. “We respect him.”

“I bet.”

“May I proceed?” the Emissary asked rhetorically.

Just the same, Mateo nodded to allow him to continue. It was important to maintain dominance over any conversation with a chooser, power, or whatever else he encountered from now on.

“We need you to protect a young girl named Xearea Voss.”

“What kind of name is Shayaraya?” Gilbert questioned rudely.

“The kind that starts with an X.”

“Why does she need protecting, and why do we need to do it?” Horace asked.

“She angers someone in the future who’s coming back to kill her,” the Emissary explained. “She becomes extremely important when she grows up, so she cannot be allowed to die.”

Horace and Mateo both squinted and tried to remember why that sounded familiar. Then they looked to Gilbert for answers again. “Yeah, it’s Terminator 2,” he said confidently.

“It is not Terminator 2,” the Emissary protested, extremely offended by the suggestion.

“It’s Terminator 2,” Gilbert repeated, not havin’ none of that.

“No matter what anyone says, all of my tribulations have been tied to movies. This one is no different.”

“I guess there’s nothing new under the sun,” Horace pointed out.

Gilbert chuckled. “Depends on the sun.”

The Emissary just shook his head, dumbfounded by their bizarre reactions. “Look, she’s the new Savior. She was conceived and marked for duty upon the death of Makarion Dimitrios, but she will not be activated until she turns thirteen. Until then, the powers can’t protect her themselves.”

“Oh, and you say it’s not Terminator 2.”

“Wait,” Mateo said, “Saviors start their pattern when they’re thirteen?”

“It’s true, Gilbert noted.

“I started even younger,” Horace said, referring to the fact that he started repeating each day from the moment of birth.

Does she know who she is?” Mateo asked.

“Her brother works part-time in 1999, so she’s aware of our world, but she does not know her own destiny. Now, if there are no further questions, I’ll send you off.”

“Actually, I have a question—”

“No? Good. Byeeeeeeee.”

“Hello?” a young girl said from the other side of the threshold, arms crossed, chewing gum. She was wary, but not fearful, of three grown men at her door. Mateo could immediately tell that she was sarcastic and irreverent. “Can I help you?”

“Xearea Voss?”

“Yeah...?” she waited for them impatiently.

“We’re not sure how to say this,” Gilbert said awkwardly.

Now she was a losing a bit of her edge. “Are you from the 20th century? Is it my brother? Is he okay.”

“No, your brother’s fine,” Horace tried to backpedal. “I mean, I assume he is. We’ve never met him.”

Mateo took over. “Oh my God, your brother is fine. We’re not here about him. We’re here for you.”

“Is it about to happen to me too?” She asked. “I’m a little young for you, don’t you think?”

“It won’t happen for you for another three years. We cannot stop it, though we would like to.”

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why would I want you to stop it? My brother’s life sounds awesome.”

Mateo looked to Horace and Gilbert, just to make sure that they were all on the same page. “I always err on the side of pure honesty,” Horace admitted.

“Yeah, we know,” Gilbert snarked.

“Xearea,” Mateo began. “You won’t get your brother’s life. Yours...will be much harder. It will be nonstop. I’ve seen it. Saviors don’t have personal lives.”

She tightened her arms around her chest. “In three years? They don’t even wait until you’re an adult.”

“No.”

“How old were you?” she asked of Mateo.

“I was twenty-eight.”

“Well, maybe I’ll be twenty-eight too. You don’t know.”

“We do,” Horace assured you.

She clearly wanted to deal with the news, but was determined to continue. “If it’s in three years, then what are you doing here now?”

Mateo went on, “the people controlling us don’t want you to die, so once you’re activated, they’ll keep you safe. Don’t get me wrong, your job will be dangerous, but you’ll survive anything until retirement. They’re not protecting you because they care, but because they have no use for dead people. They sent us to keep you safe so you live long enough for them to protect you.”

“You really know how to make a girl feel special.” Sarcastic and precocious.

“I’m sorry, Xearea,” Mateo said. “I’m sorry this is the way it has to be. I’m sorry these people exist, and that they forced you into it.”

“Wow, this is nothing like Terminator 2,” Gilbert noticed.

“Are you sure about that?” They could see Xearea’s eyes widen in fear at the sight of something behind them.

They turned around to see a stone-faced man walking towards the door, completely unperturbed by the fact that the three of them were standing between him and his apparent target. “Xearea Voss. You have been judged by time and found guilty.”

While Mateo raised his arms to shield Xearea from the attacker, Gilbert walked down to meet him halfway. “Now, you know that we’re not going to let you do anything to this young lady.”

“We shall not be moved,” the man claimed.

Horace took a pistol from the holster hidden in his coat and shot the attacker in the head without a second thought.

Scared for Xearea, Mateo looked back through the doorway, only to see her spin around a bolt towards the back of the house. As he was running past them to catch up with Xearea, he could hear Horace say, “man, I wish Serkan were here.”

Even without Serkan’s help, they were able to catch up with Xearea before she made it all the way through the backdoor. Had they not, she probably would have been killed. Another attacker was waiting for her in the messy backyard. He swung an automatic rifle from behind his back and began spraying bullets in their general direction, presumably hoping he would eventually get lucky. While Gilbert and Mateo pulled Xearea to the floor and protected her like a blanket, Horace removed his second gun from its holster and began laying down returning fire.

Horace ran out of bullets at about the same time as the attacker did, so he left his weapons on the kitchen counter and marched out to confront him in person. It was no contest, though, as the man thoughtlessly brushed him away like dirt on his shoulder. Gilbert, the next violent person in their group, stood up with the intention of taking up the reigns, but this was not necessary. Darko Matic jumped into the timestream by object threading Horace’s guns. He engaged the enemy in close quarters combat. Seeing him again was his own reward, but Mateo was especially excited to watch the fight. He was never into boxing or MMA, but Darko’s work was particularly impressive. Still, it was not safe there, not for Xearea, so they had to get away. While Darko was keeping the attacker busy, Gilbert went out to make sure Horace was okay and Mateo took Xearea upstairs.

A third attacker teleported into the room just as they opened the door. He smiled at them sinisterly and started to remove a knife from its sheath. Mateo grabbed a nearby lamp and bashed it across his face. This didn’t seem to faze the man, but he was amused and curious. Mateo continued to grab random items from the room and hitting him, or throwing them at him. “All right, that’s enough, kid,” the attacker said.

What would Vin Diesel do? He would kick ass, that’s what. And he would do it all on his own. But Mateo Matic was no Vin Diesel. He was just a normal guy with no fighting experience. He wasn’t even particularly clever, but he did have a random desperate idea. He looked over the man’s shoulder and shouted, “okay, now!”

This was enough to distract him. Mateo slammed the door shut and rapidly entered the Baudin code. Before the attacker could stop her, Xearea ran through the new door Mateo opened for her. The Constructor’s headquarters was no fortress, but one thing he noticed when he was last there was that it did have some level of security. A muscular man running after a ten-year-old girl in their lobby was enough for them to raise their defenses. The man was quickly apprehended and taken to another room for questioning.

As Mateo was trying to catch his breath, the Cleanser appeared. “Oh no.”

“Oh yes,” the Cleanser said. He shook his open hands in the air and formed this weird sort of mirror portal which he promptly ushered Xearea through.

“What did you do with her!” Mateo argued.

“She’s back home.” Then he waited for dramatic effect. “I’ve spent so many years, peering through time, looking...for you.”

“Dear God, no. Not now. I’m already in the middle of a tribulation.”

The Cleanser arched his arm and opened a spark portal. “Now you’re coming with me on another one.” Mateo reluctantly followed him through it.

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Microstory 215: Okay, Phone

Jan Albani was being sexually assaulted. The stranger in the zorro mask cliché held her down by her wrists. Miniscule holes in the kitchen tile grout took hold of her hair as she threshed around, trying to get free. He jammed his knuckles into her side, causing her to twist away on reflex. Her knee flew up and knocked his leg off balance, dropping him down on top of her. Jan called upon all of her might and pushed him to the side, slamming her palm into his nose before rushing into the other room. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, leaving a smear of his blood behind, but the broken nose wasn’t stopping him. He tackled her as she was trying to input her passcode. When she was fell to the carpet, her phone bounced under the bed. “Okay phone,” she tried to call out, “call nine-one-one!” The voice activated assistant dinged onto the screen and informed her that it was contacting emergency services. The man laughed and hung up her phone before sending it smashing against the wall. Jan continued to struggle against him, searching desperately for another opening to incapacitate the stranger and get away. “No!” she screamed repeatedly, pleading for him to spare her. But he just continued to laugh. They began to hear a noise from his chest. It sounded like a voice, but it was very faint. He continued to hold her down, but sat up to take a look at his phone. The screen shown into his beautiful green eyes. Jan couldn’t help but notice that they looked very kind, and that she might find him attractive under normal circumstances. Come to think of it, they were actually quite familiar, as was his jawline. She could not remember his name, but she had several times rejected his advances at work when she was handing out the mail on his floor.

“Mona? Hello?” he asked into the phone. When Jan had tried to call the police from her phone, it had also activated his artificial assistant, and called one of his contacts automatically. “Honey?” That was his mistake. He should have dropped the call immediately.

Jan cried out, “help! He’s hurting me!” Her attacker had run all the way out of the house in fear before she had the chance to sit up and catch her breath.

Microstory 204: Species

There were a number of genetically engineered races across the galaxy, and the universe. They were all created using human DNA, sometimes mixed with that of a different species, but often just altered manually to mimic the properties of something else. If the new species was created from scratch, and guided as it went along its journey of billions of years, then we call it a superspecies. It is human, but it’s what humans would have become under slightly different environmental circumstances. If the DNA is taken from a live originator, and changed to form a separate human line, then we refer to it as a tangent species. It will only take thousands, maybe millions, of years of evolution to stabilize the new race. But if the genetics of a Generation Alpha is adjusted, with the material remains within the bloodline, then we end up with a subspecies. There are many reasons to create a human subspecies, but usually scientists did so in order to create something tailored for a certain job, or way of life. Here are some examples from the Lactean galaxy:

The Laieran were sort of made accidentally as a way to prolong a normal human life. It was not their intention to create an infectious new race. Werewolves were actually not originally human. They began as experiments to find a way to increase the intelligence of animals. Few of the test subjects survived, but the ones who did passed on their intelligence to their children, and their descendants were later subjects of further experiments to give them the ability to become human. This was a long process, and an often painful one for the highly unstable generations that had to endure life as outcasts before being accepted into society. Dwarves were bred to be short and stout so that they could mine for desirable materials on heavy worlds. Giants were...really just made to see if it could be done. Theirs was a disastrous failure, resulting in great deal of extremely large people with a host of medical problems, causing them to die out rather quickly. Savons were also formed out of sheer incompetence. They were wise, and valued for their ability to speak profound truths, occasionally with a hint of precognition, but they also somehow had the side effect of aging rapidly until resembling the elderly, and being forced to remain in this state after death, which usually occurred a bit later than it did for standard humans. Like Tabachi, Elves too were created to be warriors, but their lower bodies were disproportionately muscular, and their upper bodies were dangerously dense, preventing them from being able to swim. All of these subspecies had their benefits, as well as their design flaws. But in the end, many scientists came to the decision that natural evolution had already picked the best possible outcome.

Microstory 203: Self-fulfilling Prophecy

James Smith laid out careful measures to make sure that he could pass as a normal person. He moved from one monotonous temporary position to another, never settling, and never so much as attempting to find a career. He lived in a world where the majority of people had special abilities, but most of these abilities were common. Some could see beyond the visible light spectrum, others had superior memory, and a few were superhumanly strong. James, however, had an incredibly rare gift. He could read the thoughts of those around him. And even though he could choose whose mind to read at any given time, he generally preferred to be alone. Knowing what people were really thinking gave him a perspective few could understand, and it soured him on humanity. To make matters worse, there were two separate camps when it came to telepathy. There were those who admired telepaths, and even worshipped them. They were sometimes hired to visit long-term care units of hospitals, and translate the thoughts of coma patients. But most people, of course, feared people like James. The world was an extremely dangerous place for him. On the one hand, he could sense every move before a theoretical attacker makes it, but at a certain point, he’s still being attacked, and is at risk of being physically harmed. He lived in constant danger, knowing that anyone around him could hate him for his ability, and try to act against him for it.

One time, James was sitting in an interview with a potential employer. He left his telepathy on a rather mild level, really only concerned with how his responses were being received, but not interested in hearing the interviewer’s exact thoughts on the matter. A woman walked into the room and handed the interviewer a clipboard, asking him to sign a document, but this was a lie. By reflex, James focused his ability to pick up more details from the interviewer’s thoughts. The woman had shown him a single slip of paper with the words, He’s a telepath written on it. She must have had the ability to sense the abilities of others. This too was a rare gift, and people like her were often hired by governments and paramilitary organizations as recruiting tools. Without hesitating, the interviewer removed what was supposed to be a decorative bayonet sitting on the counter behind him. He quickly swept the blade over the table and ran it across James’ throat. James had predicted that this would happen, and pushed his foot against the desk to fall backwards, but it had not been quite enough. The interviewer had done enough damage to ultimately kill him. Fortunately, the ability-senser’s job was to inform her client of interviewee abilities; not to kill people. She disarmed the interviewer, placed pressure on James’ wound, and called emergency services. James was never the same after this incident, as one would imagine. His bitterness grew inside of him day by day, and after moving away and buying a new identity, he himself became violent and deadly. What the murderous interviewer feared most about a telepath was coming true, because of his own actions. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Short Story: Hydrosis

Ainsley Rigby lifts her leg to the bench to finish tying her shoe, drips of partly chlorinated water fall from her hair. She hardly had enough time to shower, much less dry it out completely. She has just stepped out of the locker room when she realizes that water was beginning to soak her white tee-shirt. She reaches into her gym bag and covers herself up with a green zipper jacket.

Once outside, she realizes that she needed the jacket anyway. It has gotten much cooler in the evening hours. A strong breeze overcomes her so she rings out her hair in a desperate attempt to stay warm. It doesn’t work. It seems as if it’s getting darker by the second as she tries her best to jog across the parking lot. Strain from the two mile swim is taking hold of her body. She shakes and stops under a streetlight to find a candy bar to quell her diabetic issues. But no candy is found and it reminds her that she gave it to a young boy in the park earlier that day. In retrospect, she probably shouldn’t have done that. Hopefully his mother taught him better after that.

Giving up and hoping to reach her house in a timely manner, Ainsley steps onto the grass. It must have rained during her workout. More water, still settling on the surface of the ground seeps into her shoes. The combination of the cold and weight makes it feel like icebergs attached to her feet. Another strong breeze comes from the side and a rolled up sock falls out of the tear in her bag. Plans for fixing it have been on the agenda for only a few weeks. She’ll surely get to it tomorrow afternoon. Tonight, however, she needed to get home. An important job interview awaits her in the morning and sleep is a necessity.

Reaching down to pick up the now muddy sock, something catches her eye. It’s an indiscernible figure, coming toward her, still in the parking lot. The darkness prevents her from being able to see detail but judging from the build and the way the figure is waving its arms at her, it is most certainly a man. She’s not sure if she knows the man but since he isn’t trying to call out to her, she assumes he is crazy.

Ainsley stuffs the sock back into the bag and turns to run up the hill. The wind grows stronger and tries to keep her from moving but she is determined. Whoever this man is, he doesn’t look friendly. She rotates her head back every once in a while and sees every time that he is just as determined. Frustratingly, the grass becomes more water-soaked. She slips on blades of grass, rocks, and mud. It’s a struggle just to keep her footing and finally she falls to her face. Because of the incline, it isn’t that far of a fall and doesn’t hurt that much but it causes her to slide down a little and slows her escape.

The man is still chasing her. She stands up and continues, the low blood-sugar worsens. Upon reaching the top of the hill she is able to move faster. She uses this opportunity to search for her cell phone. Her hand scrambles within the bag, always grasping something else; a comb, a washcloth, and something she doesn’t quite recognize by touch. Her goggles slip through the tear but she doesn’t take the time to retrieve it. Any swim gear who falls behind is left behind. She pulls her hand out, thinking she’s found it but it’s just her deodorant.

The waning moon that was giving her partial visibility fades away as clouds move in front. The crack of thunder shocks her. Where was the lightning? Still moving as fast as possible, she comes to a grouping of trees and ducks behind one, hoping that her pursuer didn’t notice. With her back pressed tight up against the bark, Ainsley breathes deep through her nose to calm down. But panic returns as she thinks she hears the pursuer coming up on her. The thumps of her heart fill her ears like drums, causing more panic. All she can do is blend in as best she can and hope her heartbeat doesn’t give her away. Beads of water trickle from her forehead and into her eyes. It stings. Somehow, even with the pool, shower, rain, and cold she’s perspiring.

A few seconds later, the pursuer appears several meters away, scanning the area for her, thoughts of violent rape no doubt fluttering around his brain. A drop of rain lands on her overexposed neck. A split-second of fear leads her to believe that she’s been shot or bitten and she screams, “ouch!” She covers her mouth, disgusted with herself for being so careless. A miracle, the man has not heard. He doesn’t even react. She gives credit to luck, assuming there was another strike of thunder that she either didn’t hear or quickly forgot.

Microstory 25: At Odds

Robert Mathers opened the door to the roof and switched on his favorite song. He slowly walked over and stepped up onto the ledge. He had to wait until he got to hear the best part of the song one last time before jumping. As he was standing there, he saw something in his peripheral vision. It was a woman, standing on the ledge and crying. They made eye contact. What are the odds? He slipped off his headphones while they stared at each other, neither one knowing what to do in such a strange situation. If they both jumped, it would look like they were connected. The police would handle the case incorrectly. Robert stepped back down and bowed, opening his arm to graciously give this moment to her. He would have to find another roof. He started to walk away so that he wouldn’t be there when it happened but was stopped by a scream from the building across the street. He turned back and saw a man and a woman fighting in an apartment. They watched as the man grabbed the nearest heavy object and struck the woman across the face, dropping her to the floor. Robert and the other jumper looked at each other again. Things had gotten even more complicated. They looked back and saw the attacker prepare to hit her again. Before he could, sirens flared up in the distance, getting closer. The man stopped when he heard it too and ran out of sight. "There," the other jumper said. She was pointing toward a different window in the other building. Another woman was watching them, talking on the phone. The police cruiser pulled up and nearly struck the other man as he ran out of the building, still holding the weapon. They all lived.