The Fourth Quadrant: Bag of Rocks (Part II)

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Selma and Andrei volunteer to become Pryce Tree’s human agents, as does Andrei’s love interest, Ayata. The two of them have not yet defined their relationship, but they are definitely some sort of couple. Ayata’s boss, Cosette doesn’t want her to go, but the tree needs a team of three people for safety reasons, and no one else is stepping up. It’s not like the others won’t be doing anything. If they’re going to live in the Garden Dimension, then they’re expected to contribute. Princess Honeypea will have them working with the plants, making sure they’re healthy and happy. She’s excited to have this many people around all at once. It’s a rare sight. These organisms aren’t for show, only for their own preservation. Selma thinks that it’s a bit weird, but the people who run this place seem to think that protecting the otherwise extinct strains is inherently valuable, whether anyone is around to enjoy them or not.

The three agents are asked to wade through the water, halfway across the conflux of the rivers, and onto the dry land on the other side. They expected it to be quite cold, but it’s the perfect temperature, and actually quite relaxing, even as they’re moving through it at a fairly quick pace. They continue to walk in the same direction over the prairie until they come to a door on the side of a hill. They ring the doorbell, as instructed, but instead of receiving a vocal response, the door opens on its own. They follow the steps down into what looks like a bunker. It’s a bit eerie, but only because they don’t exactly know what’s going on; not because anything feels nefarious.

A woman in a lab coat is sitting on a stool behind a counter with her back to them. She’s working on something that they can’t see. She spins around, and pushes her steampunk goggles up to her forehead. “Can I help you?”

“We were told to come here. Are we in the right place?” Andrei asks.

“I dunno. Who told you?”

“The...tr—tree.”

“Ah, yes. If that’s what it said, that’s what it meant.” The scientist removes her goggles altogether, and pulls off her gloves. She grabs an earpiece from the table between them, and sticks it in her ear, but has to hold it in place. “I have three people here?” She listens to a response. “Full tack?” She waits again. “Well, what is their objective?” More waiting. “I could give them the nanosuit implants that Ramses Abdulrashid invented in the main sequence. That would be superior.” Only a few seconds this time. “Okay, then. I’m on it.” She sets the earpiece back down.

“What is a nanosuit?” Ayata asks, intrigued.

“She also said implants. I’m not up for that,” Selma contends.

“You’re not authorized for them anyway,” the scientist lady says. She reaches out. “My name is Weaver. I don’t work for the Garden Dimension, per se, but they let me work out of here, and in exchange, I use some of my technology to protect this world from external threats. I’m told that you’re to receive tactical gear for recon—and possibly offensive—missions. I can tell you how the gear works, and how to use it, but I’m guessing that you’ll be meeting with Captain Montagne for the rundown of your responsibilities. I’m also assuming that Eight Point Seven will be your pilot.”

“Is that someone’s name?” Andrei questions. “Eight Point Seven?”

“It is. Please don’t interrupt me.” She steps around the table, and heads towards an open doorway. “Right this way.” She leads them down the dim hallway, which automatically lights up before them, then dims again behind. A door opens up for her, and they walk into a locker room. She points. “Lav through there, booths for privacy if you need them. You can put your old clothes in one of these bags, and take them with you, or just find an empty locker. Follow the instructions to designate an access code, and leave them here. These big lockers here will have everything you need. It will be obvious how to put the clothing on. You don’t have to look in the packs right now. I’ll train you on them once you’re ready, which we’ll do in the briefing room across the hall.” She goes back through the door to leave them to it. “Whenever you’re ready.”

They’re all friends here, so they don’t use the privacy booths. Once they’re finished getting dressed, they look like bona fide soldiers, and Selma is worried about stolen valor. They aren’t wearing any sort of rank indicators, or whatever, but it still feels disrespectful. She is a civil servant and a leader, not a fighter. What the hell has she gotten herself into? They grab their packs from the bottom of their lockers, and walk over to the briefing room. Weaver has all the contents that are in their own bags laid out on the demonstration table. It’s like a spy movie. She goes over every item, no matter how obvious or mundane, including the extra socks, and firestarter.

“But you don’t know where we’re going, or what we’re gonna be doing?” Selma presses.

“I have no clue,” Weaver admits. “I found out where you’ll be conducting your training, and it won’t be here, but other than that, they’ve told me nothing.”

The faint image of the magnolia tree appears on the other side of the room. Pryce Tree steps out of it as if it were a door, and lets it fade away behind him. “Are you all ready to go?”

“We’re doing training?” Andrei asks him to confirm.

“You didn’t think we were just gonna throw you out there with nothing, did you?” Pryce Tree laughs. “We’re not monsters. You never answered my question.”

This is all very overwhelming, but no one says anything out loud. They just exchange looks, and it’s clear that none of them was prepared for what they were getting themselves into. They should have asked for more information before raising their hands. It doesn’t matter, though, because it’s done. They’re certainly not going to back out now, and saddle someone else with this responsibility. They each nod, and let the magical tree spirit them away.

They’re standing in front of a man in a dojo. He’s wearing robes, and no shoes or socks. He’s cycling through a deck of note cards, presumably trying to learn or memorize something. “I’ll be with you in a second.” He keeps pulling the top card out, and slipping it back into the back. He does a few more before he comes to a stopping point. He checks his watch. “My name is Darko—”

“Heh,” a woman sitting in the corner interrupts him.

Darko rolls his eyes. “For the sake of consistency, I have been asked to change my designation. In the spirit of cooperation with my gracious hosts, you may call me Prince Darko. That’s not my real name. It’s a holdover from an old reality where I was a little less...conscientious. That over there is my apprentice, Jesimula Utkin. Don’t worry about what she thinks.”

“Uh, he’s teaching me taekwondo,” Jesimula corrects. “I know how to fight, I’m just expanding my repertoire.”

“Don’t you have an away mission to prepare for?” Darko asks her.

“It’s a wellness check on New Welrios,” Jesimula explains. “They don’t want me there.”

“I understand the sentiment.”

Jesimula sticks her tongue out like a child, but then leaves.

“Sorry about that. We’re still learning to get along, but we don’t hate each other. As I was saying, I’m Prince Darko Matic—”

“Are you related to Mateo or Leona?” Andrei asks him.

“He’s my half-brother,” Prince Darko answers. “You didn’t get any background info before you came here, did you?”

“We have no idea where we are, or what we’ll be doing,” Selma says.

“What are your names?” Darko asks.

“I’m Andrei Orlov. This is Selma Eriksen, and the lovely and beguiling, Ayata Seegers.”

Darko narrows his eyes at them, but specifically at Ayata. “Seegers.” He starts cycling through his note cards again until he finds what he’s looking for. Hartwin Seegers.”

Ayata is very surprised to hear this. “That’s my grandfather.”

Darko nods. “He served as a tactician in a covert outfit known as SD-6 in the Third Rail. Were you aware of that?”

“We were aware that...he did something,” Ayata acknowledges. “He died a few years ago, before he ever got into specifics.”

“One of his teammates lives here, Kivi Bristol. Would you like to meet here?” It looks like Darko is about to make a call through his watch.

“That’s okay,” Ayata answers quickly.

“Very well.” Darko nods again. “Moving on, I was asked to teach you basic well-rounded combat skills, as well as introductory use of firearms, and common weapons. I was told that this is time-sensitive, which is a little strange since you’re apparently from the past. But I’m not gonna argue with a sentient tree, so I’ll be taking you through my intensive program.” He reaches down to the bench behind him, and lifts the seat to retrieve three mesh bags. He drops one at each of their feet. “These are your bags of rocks. You’ll notice that there’s only one rock in there right now. This represents your lack of skill. Go ahead and pick up your bags,” he directs as if they should have known to do that unprompted. “You will keep your bag with you at all times. You’ll sleep with it, and you’ll shower with it, and when I ask you to run five kilometers, you’ll lug it around the track with you. When you screw up, you get a new rock. When you fail to meet time, you get a new rock. When you talk back to me... That’s right, new rock. Luckily, I’m a merciful teacher. When you do something well, I’ll take a rock back. At the end of your training, the person with the lightest bag wins. I’ll tell you precisely what you win when we cross that bridge. Any questions so far?”

Andrei holds up a hand, but doesn’t wait to be called upon. “Are they weighted? Are major screw-ups awarded by a heavier rock?”

Darko salutes facetiously. “Major Screw-up. Yes, a heavier rock means you failed miserably. A pebble would just be a tiny little mistake.” He pulls a smallish rock out of his robe pocket, steps forward, and slips it into Andrei’s bag.

“What’s this for? Did I already mess up?”

“I just kinda don’t like your voice.” Darko drops another small rock into his bag.

Without a hint of anger, Andrei fiddles with his watch, and then lifts it up to his lips. “How’s this?” he asks, using technology to replicate Darko’s voice instead.

Darko drops a third rock in his bag for a total of four. “I don’t like people mimicking my voice either.” He went back to his place before them. “This was your first lesson. I am the Keeper of the Rocks. I decide what constitutes an addition or subtraction, and there will be no arguing with me about it. I literally asked for questions, so he didn’t technically do anything wrong, but I’m the boss, and I reserve the right to change or reinterpret the rules without even telling you. Any other questions?”

Silence.

“Good, that means you’re learning.” Darko takes two rocks out his pocket, dropping one in Selma’s bag, and the other in Ayata’s. “These are just because it’s Tuesday. All right. Clip those around your waists, and let’s get to it.” He claps his hands, and walks over to slide open a door to another room, which seems to be a boxing gym.

They’re afraid to ask, but come to learn after a few days that this intensive program is set to last three weeks. They run the gamut for basic training. They do weightlifting, cardio exercise, self-defense, boxing, martial arts, weapons safety, marksmanship, and mindfulness. None of them is an elite superspy when they’re done, but they feel stronger and more prepared than they were when this all began. It is Selma who ends up the winner with zero rocks left in her bag. She doesn’t question it when Darko reaches over, and plants a sticker of a smiling sun on her chest. That’s it, that’s the grand prize. And it’s more than enough. For now. She decides that she doesn’t really want to go on any missions. She wants to keep learning.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 30, 2398

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Alyssa adds more shirts to the suitcase as Carlin stands there, watching her. He’s old enough to pack for himself, but he doesn’t want to go, so this is his way of being defiant. If she’s the one who wants this, then she’s going to be the one to make it happen, and he doesn’t have to help her with that. Young Moray has just finished packing his own bag, because while he doesn’t want to leave either, making people do things for him is not his style. Alyssa smiles sadly over at him. “Thank you, Mor.”

“Why do we have to go?” Carlin questions.

“Because it’s not safe here anymore.”

“It’s never really been safe,” he argues. “These people’s lives are dangerous, that’s what makes them so interesting.”

“It’s become more dangerous since we arrived,” Alyssa clarifies.

“Then why aren’t you coming with us?” Moray asks her.

She stops trying to close Carlin’s bag, and goes over to Moray. She gets on her knees, and holds him by the arms. “You understand that they’re time travelers, right?”

“Yeah,” Moray confirms, holding back tears.

“Well, they know things about the future. They know things about my future. I’m destined to work with them, they’ve already seen it.”

“What happens to us in the future?”

Alyssa looks at Carlin over her shoulder, and then back to Moray. “You’re safe, and it’s because today, you go to Palmeria.”

“You’re lying,” Carlin believes.

“I’m not,” Alyssa lies. “That is where you belong.” She stands back up. “And this...is where I belong. We’ll see each other again, I promise. Mateo can teleport me there whenever I need to. In the meantime, we’ll holo-chat, and text, okay?”

“Okay.” Moray is still holding back those tears, and doing a pretty good job of it.

“Okay,” she echoes. She leans over to kiss him on the forehead, then turns to face Carlin. “I need you to take care of him, because I’m not in a position to do it anymore.”

Carlin seethes just a little, but then grows determined. He punches the top of his suitcase, and holds his fist in place while his other hand zips it up. “I assume they have internet. I’m not done with the religion research.”

Relieved, Alyssa nods. “They do; Mateo confirmed. In fact, they don’t have dogma filters, so you won’t be limited to any given religion’s biased interpretation of competing faiths. You’ll have a better understanding of the history and culture for your thesis.”

“What’s a thesis?” Carlin asks.

“It’s kind of when you come to a conclusion before your research, and then you do the research to find out if it’s actually true.”

“Do they even need this anymore? I mean, if I’m leaving...”

“Part of the reason you’re leaving is so that you can continue safely, and without worrying about anything else,” Alyssa explains. “It’s still vitally important data; more so now, probably. We’re not just tryna get rid of ya, I promise.”

“I’m helping with it,” Moray interjects.

“I know,” Alyssa says to him proudly. “Now, come on. “We’re going to have one last group meal together before the big move.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 18, 2256

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The adjoining of Radiant Lightning, and The Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was totally finished when Mateo returned to the timestream. While they did fit well together, geometrically speaking, they weren’t designed with that in mind. There was still a lot to be done to adapt them to each other. Whatever it was that made the AOC go before first had to be taken out, which was apparently the easiest part. There was always a way to jettison it in case something went wrong, such as what happened in that movie where Tommy Lee Jones goes crazy alone in space. The end result of the new ship was exquisite, even though Mateo wasn’t intelligent enough to know what exactly this meant. They could now get to any planet in this region in a matter of days, sure, but why that was suddenly now possible was something that would always fly right over his head.

On a personal note, Leona and Cassidy were still off on whatever it was they were doing, wherever they were doing it. They kept in contact with Homebase, so people would know they were still alive, but neither of them agreed to talk to Mateo. Cassidy had done nothing wrong, and Leona certainly hadn’t, so Mateo was rightfully being treated as the bad guy. He just hoped this didn’t mean his life was essentially over. If he couldn’t be with Leona—either literally, or as soulmates, or both—he didn’t know how he would survive.

Things were awkward in 2256. The crew of the AOC had already known what happened between Mateo and Cassidy, but now that it was no longer an open secret, and just open, it couldn’t be ignored. Mateo, on the other hand, was ripe for being ignored, which was what most everyone was doing. Trinity had a completely different personality than he remembered Paige having before. That was no big surprise, though. They were two totally separate people now, who had experienced wildly different lives. She was ignoring him as well, but it didn’t seem to have anything to do with his indiscretion with Cassidy. She kind of acted like she didn’t love that there were now so many people here, and was ready for some to leave. Eight Point Seven seemed fine with Mateo, leading him to ask her if she would shrink him like she did for Leona so many times, but Eight Point Seven said that it would be a conflict of interest. This decision was probably for the best. The only person who didn’t seem to have a problem with him was Ellie. She was still as bubbly and tenderhearted as ever.

“Oh hold on.” Ellie pulled a pair of glasses out of her bag, and a clipboard. She crossed her legs, and looked at him inquisitively. “Go on.”

“I’m not really looking for a therapist,” Mateo said. “I just don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“So I’m your last resort. How does that make you feel?”

Mateo laughed at this. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m just joking”

“How do you feel about what happened?” Mateo asked her. One of his biggest problems right now was that no one was expressing their thoughts on the matter. Did they just not know what to say, or were they deliberately trying to make him feel bad, simply because he certainly didn’t deserve to feel happy?

Ellie shrugged. “It’s not really my business.”

“But Leona is your friend.”

“And when she comes back, I’ll be here for her. That doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you too. Shitty sitcoms from the two-thousand aughts teach us that the friends of a couple in distress have to take sides. But that’s really reductive; relationships are more nuanced than that, and very complicated. You screwed up, and there’s no denying it, but you’re not irredeemable, and Leona isn’t beyond forgiving you.”

“That’s a very mature position to hold. I’m not sure I would be so thoughtful if I weren’t the one who done it.”

“Well, you gain perspective when you can eavesdrop on the conversations of faceless strangers from thousands of miles away.”

“You do that a lot?”

“I see what you’re leading to,” Ellie said. “I’m not going to listen in on Leona and Cassidy.”

“What if they’re hurt, or lost?”

Ellie reached back into her bag, and retrieved a tablet. She tapped on it a few times, and then turned it around to show him. He could see what appeared to be vital signs, separated into boxes; one for each of the core group at Homebase, plus the two who weren’t there at the moment. Only Mateo wasn’t on there at all. “We chipped everyone after Leona got lost on another continent. As you can see, they’re both fine.”

“Eight Point Seven is on here.” It looked different than the others, though, since she didn’t have a heart rate, or blood pressure, or any other biological reading.

She chuckled a bit. “Well, yeah. We still need to know how her internal systems are faring.

“What’s wrong with that one?” Mateo was pointing at a box that should have been displaying someone’s vitals, but whoever it was, they appeared to be dead.

“Oh, that’s Briar’s. His chip was damaged recently, but I guess he’s not allowed to undergo any medical treatment for this whole month? It has something to do with his religion. I don’t know anything about it.” She dropped the tablet back into her bag.

Mateo decided to change the subject, because he had another question. “Hey, um. Is that a bag of holding?”

“It is, yes,” Ellie confirmed, holding it up. “Do you two not have your own?”

“No one had them on Tribulation Island, which would have been a good place to stock them. I don’t know where else to find something like that.”

“I got mine from an old man I met in 1804 Kansas. Or rather, what would become Kansas a few decades later. I don’t think he made it, though. I won it off him in a game of poker.”

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to reconnect with him.”

“I would have to find him throughout time and space, and then I would have to speak to him. Both of those things require using my time power, which I’ve agreed to not do while I’m on Bida.”

Mateo nodded. “I understand.”

“There would be no guarantee he would have what you’re looking for anyway. Transdimensional bags aren’t the rarest thing in histories, but they’ve never been mass-marketed either. Lots of people who can create pocket dimensions can’t link them to a bag like this. It takes pretty refined skill.”

“It’s just..Leona has always wanted one.”

“You’re not gonna win her back with a gift, Mateo, and I think you know that.”

“If the gift didn’t win her back,” he began, “she would at least still have a bag of holding. I don’t see the down side.”

“I do,” Ellie claimed. “If you give a gift now, you’re just like any other cheater who thinks it’s possible to make up for the betrayal. You can’t compensate for it. Your only hope is to regain her trust. That’s done through things like being a good person from now on. Listen to her, acknowledge her contributions, ask her for help; basic things that a decent human being does for another. She has to feel like you think of her as a real person. A gift, of any kind—even something less materialistic, like a fun or romantic experience—will only perpetuate her perception that you think she’s a broken object you can repair. Relationships can’t be repaired; they can only grow a new branch, in a different direction, and hopefully leave the dead branch far enough behind that it doesn’t kill the whole tree.”

“Wow. Maybe I was looking for a therapist.”

“I’m not a therapist, Mateo. I’m just a woman.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

After his little therapy session with Ellie, Mateo went out to take a walk on his own. Everyone said it was one of the most beautiful planets, and that Trinity had settled on the most beautiful part of it. The path did not disappoint. The trees and other plant life were gorgeous and calming. Even the animal noises sounded more pleasant than he ever remembered hearing on Earth. Maybe they were just different, and given enough time, he would grow used to them. This wasn’t his first time outside on this world, but he hadn’t paid much attention before. His walk wasn’t perfect, though. Throughout the whole thing, he had this sickening feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps that mad scientist who was trying to transfer people’s consciousnesses to animal droids was following him around, or a hungry real animal. His anxiety worsened every few steps, until it was no longer worth it to keep going. He turned to leave, and came face to face with that guy Leona found alone in the woods. He was acting creepy, but Mateo wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh, hey. Briar, right?”

“That’s right,” Briar said. “I’m here to kick your ass.”

“Mateo sighed. “To defend her honor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll let you hit me once. I can say that I tripped, or something. But if you hurt me more than that, I’m gonna have to tell her what happened, and she isn’t gonna be happy.”

“I dunno, I think she would probably be really happy about that.”

“You obviously don’t know her very well. She abhors violence.”

“She what’s violence?” Briar questioned, confused.

“She hates it,” Mateo translated.

She hates you more.”

“That’s not true. I know I made a big mistake, but she and I are going to get through this. It doesn’t matter what you do to me, she’s not going to leave me, and run to you.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I’m not gonna hurt you to get you out of the way, and take your place. I’m gonna hurt you, because you deserve it.” He started inching forwards.

Mateo didn’t get into fights when he was a kid, but he also wasn’t easily intimidated. He didn’t know why, but Briar was really freaking him out. It could have been the wrathful fire in his eyes, or just the way he was so convinced that this was the right call. Or maybe it was because they were now standing near the edge of a pretty steep drop. “She won’t forgive you.”

“She won’t need to.”

“I’m under the protection of the powers that be.”

“Then you shouldn’t be worried at all right now.” Mateo was starting to think this guy was genuinely mentally ill.

“Don’t do this, Briar.”

“Don’t do what?” Yeah, to be insensitive about it, he was definitely bonkers. “I’m not even here.” He presented the inside of his wrist. “My medical chip has been broken for a week.”

Briar had forced Mateo all the way to the very edge. If the powers that be were going to do anything to save him, like send the Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida’s version of The Savior to pull him back, this was the moment. Presumably banking on the unremote possibility that they weren’t going to do that, Briar delicately tapped on both of Mateo’s shoulders, and sent him tumbling over.

No Savior, no giant bird, no last-second portal. Mateo fell however far it was to the bottom of the cliff, and landed hard on his back. His whole body was in pain, and warm blood was pooling around him; almost like he was peeing his pants. After a few minutes of lying there, a butterfly-like insect started fluttering over his face, giving him one last beautiful thing to look at before he died. He couldn’t help but smile in wonder. This tiny little thing barely had what you would call a brain. It didn’t think, or feel, or hope. It just searched for food, and propagated the species. It probably didn’t even realize it was flying over the dying body of another creature. It probably just considered Mateo to be part of the landscape. He could feel his life slowly draining from him, but as it did, the insect slew down, until it was almost not moving at all.

This was the day Mateo Matic died.

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Microstory 1026: Willis

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Yo, my name is Willis, I talk a mile a minute, and I got a lot to do, so let’s make this quick. I’m on my way to the pharmacy, ‘cuz my father, he is sick. I didn’t really know the girl; we were never tight, but I saw her by the pond one day; she was in a fight. She was talkin’ all crazy, to herself, no one was there. I looked for something in her ear, but it was totally bare. I think she thought a ghost was by her side; or something invisible. Whatever it was, it had lied, and she felt that was impermissible. It was something about religion—myself, I don’t have faith. For Viola, it seemed like hers was the same case. Someone close to her was in a cult, or maybe something like it. She needed help to save her friend. As for the cult, she thought she’d fight it. She caught me peeping on her convo, and stopped right in her tracks. She didn’t seem upset with me, but told me I needed to relax. She did not deny she had had a religious argument, but didn’t want me thinking that she was just intolerant. I assured her that her business was her own, and I’m only telling you right now, since she’s gone off to the unknown. Well, we shook each other’s hand, and parted ways, but I could tell she was still worried. I later found her...stands [sic], by the locker bays, and now she was real hurried. I tried to ask after her friend, but she brushed off any issue. I thought that she would start crying, so I checked my bag for any tissue. By the time I looked back up, she was nowhere to be found. I tried to keep looking for her, but she got lost in the the high school crowd. I went on vacation the next day, so that was the last time I saw her face. By the time I returned, Viola was gone, and out of this lively race.

Microstory 912: Fandom

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I have mixed feelings about this topic. On the one hand, I love that people love to love things, but I think they can take it a bit too far. Back in the day, men were allowed to like sports, boobs, explosions, and more sports. Women were allowed to like horses, and making sure my dinner was ready by 5:15. These days, it’s cool to like comic books and video games, and it’s not really cool to like those traditional things. I take issue with this too, because while the jocks ruled the school of yesterday, the nerds run the show now. There’s just as much judgment and animosity as there was before, but now with different divisions of people. I admit that this is getting better already, with the mini-generation after millennials basically not caring what anyone does, as long is it doesn’t negatively impact the world. I also think there is quite a bit of materialism going on, even more than there used to be. Man, my goal of being more positive for this series isn’t going all that, is it? I’ll do better next time. For now, I want to talk about all the stuff. Major content creators make more money off of merchandise than they could ever hope to make from the source material. Why is that? Why do full-grown adults find satisfaction from owning an action figure, while doing nothing with it but set it on a shelf. Or they own so much of this crap, they can’t even display it all. Do you not find that absurd? Exactly how many plush porgs do you need? If you’re about to look around the room and count your porgs, don’t bother. The answer is a hard zero. I’m all for expressing your love for whatever, but there’s a way to do it without losing half your income. You need a cup to put your drinks in, so buy a cup with some insider quote from your favorite show, like “I’m the one who knocks” or “time out on this game of thrones; I need to pee!”. You need a bag to carry your essentials, so that one works out as well. But all these little stickers, trinkets, figurines, and costumes you never wear; it’s all just useless junk to which one of two things will happen. Either you’ll die, and burden your family with all that stuff you overestimated how much they would want, or you’ll become immortal, your priorities will shift, and you’ll wish you didn’t have it anymore. And you won’t be able to sell it, because guess what, everyone around you feels the same way. So now the world is down in resources, but up in full-sized pokeballs. Like I said, it’s all about priorities. If you have some disposable income to burn on a real 1940s police box, why not instead give that money to charity? You’re not gonna make me feel bad about trying to make you feel bad for wasting your money on a sonic screwdriver that stopped making noise after a week.

The Mystery of Springfield, Kansas: Chapter Four

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As part of my research into Analion, which is this window manufacturing company I’ve never heard of, I look at their website. I have lots of different windows open at the same time, and I’m multitasking, because sometimes that’s just how I work. I stop everything else I’m doing, however, when I find a picture of all the Vice Presidents, because I recognize every single one of them. They’re the kids who disappeared at the same time as Rothko Ladhiffe. They’re a little older now, so they don’t look exactly the same, but it is undoubtedly them. I just can’t believe it. I should have kept better track of them, but I was just so obsessed with protecting Springfield, so everything beyond its borders seemed irrelevant. So not only did they stick together, but they formed a company. I don’t recognize the President, or the Executive Vice President, though. Either the two of them are even more powerful than these kids, or there’s some other reason they’re not just in control of the place themselves.

Regardless of whether there’s a mystical artifact in the President’s office, I need answers, and it’s about goddamn time that these vice presidents give it to me. I rush out of the coffee shop to jump in my car, only then remembering that I don’t bloody have one. I barely got to Topeka, but now I have to figure out how to get out of it. That will be next to impossible, because I don’t have an identity anymore either. Though I was outside the boundaries of Springfield when it made its final descent into the void, I had no life elsewhere. I’ve tried getting back to my bank account, and the like, but they’ve been erased. I might as well have never been born. Completely out of options, I just start walking. I don’t plan on getting all the way there like this, but maybe I can bum another ride from a nice man in a truck.

No truck, but a man does approach me after a half hour of wandering on the streets. “Kallias Bran?”

“Huh?”

“Is your name Detective Kallias Bran?”

I just stand there in shock. Who the hell is this guy? “Yeah?”

“I’ve got somethin’ for you.”

I instinctively place my hand at my hip, readying my sidearm.

The stranger pulls an envelope from his coat pocket.

“What’s this?”

“Money.”

“Money? Why are you giving me money?”

His face betrays some slight level of horror. “Wait, I did this wrong. I totally messed up my line. I’m supposed to call it a letter. We need to go back and try again.”

He snaps his finger and disappears. I revert back to the position I was in just before he showed up, as does everyone around me. He’s just reset time.

He walks up again. “Kallias Bran?”

“We’re not gonna try it again. Just tell me what the money’s for.”

He looks surprised. “You remember that? But...but, I reset time.”

“Yeah, I’m immune to some of those things,” I explain to him, not fully understanding it myself. “What do you want?”

“Ah crap. It was this whole bit. It’s not raining, though, so I don’t know why we were trying.”

“What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“The money is just for you, to spend as needed. We are aware that you are in a bind, and require transport to Kansas City. I am not authorized to transport you myself, but this should be enough.”

I look through the envelope he hands me for the second time, and thumb it open. “There’s, like, thirty thousand dollars in here.”

“There is?” he asks, still just as surprised as maybe he always is. “Oh, here ya go.”

He flicks the envelope with his finger, which causes a second envelope to magically appear just under the first one. He does it two more times, and I nearly drop them all on the ground.

“I don’t need a hundred and twenty thousand dollars either.”

“Oh, that’s only a hundred twenty? I’m not great at math.” He tries to flick them again.

“No, no, no. That’s quite all right. I would just like to know who you are, and why you care what I do?”

“Have you ever heard of a deus ex machina? God in the machine?”

“Yeah...” I say, because I sorta remember that from High School English class.

He smiles and tips his hat. “Sometimes the machine breaks down. I’m The Repairman.” Then he disappears, leaving in his place a greenish bag.

I open the bag, but close it quickly. Of course, it’s more money; at least a million, probably closer to two. A little note is safety pinned to the handle. As I read with my eyes, I can hear an actual real-life narration in my head. “We have reviewed your case, and determined that about twenty-six years have been stolen from your life. Though we cannot fully repair the damage caused by the temporal anomaly, we hope these funds will sufficiently compensate for any loss in wealth that you should be enjoying from those years of hard work.” There’s a post-script on the back. “Do not spend any of this on a bus ticket. You have a magic door knob that can cross into other dimensions.”

I don’t spend the money on a bus, but I do figure out how to command the Escher Knob to take me to the Kansas City bus station. Here I stash the cash in a locker since I don’t really have anywhere else. I try to get the knob to take me to the upper levels of Analion Tower, but it won’t do it. I pull up the memory of the pictures I saw of the building from their website. D’uh, I can’t magically teleport myself in there. The building itself was constructed into the shape of a cylicone, which is the same technology used to make the Escher Knob work. It’s basically warded against unauthorized entry, like a giant safehouse. When you can manipulate time to the degree of the kids I know from Springfield, you’re bound to form an enemy or two, so it’s no surprise they sought protection. They can’t hide from me, though. I simply pull up a trusty map of the city, and Knob to the closest building. Then I just walk.

I get into the lobby, but security won’t let me by, because what reason would they have to do so? I could have all the money in the world, but I would still be nobody. As grateful as I am to that Repairman, and whoever he may be working with, I would have been happy with just a driver’s license. I leave the lobby and sit down on a bench next to a lavish water fountain. I open my bag and examine my resources. Okay, I already know the knob won’t work. I don’t know exactly what the HG Goggles do, but probably nothing useful right now. What I could really use is some psychic paper, but all I got is this half-empty pack of gum, a broken shoestring I’ve been meaning to toss, and the Rothko Torch. Oh and my gun and badge, but I don’t really wanna do that, because what if they look close and try to figure out what Springfield, Kansas is? Plus, I have no official business with the vice presidents, and whether I’m a real law enforcement officer or not, I still respect the badge, and I refuse to abuse its power.

So it looks like we’re back to the flashlight, with its indeterminate power. If the building is cylicone, then time magic should work while inside it, just maybe not against it. From what I’ve learned about these objects, along with other crazy things I’ve encountered throughout most of my adult life, is that you have to be creative, but also remember what things seem to be. The goggles don’t have the power to paint the future, because goggles aren’t a tool for painting. You would need a cylicone paintbrush for that, if such a thing exists. A normal flashlight is used for one thing; to shine light. You can use it to illuminate your path, or it can brighten your surroundings to find something. Or it can be a beacon.

I stride back into the lobby, giving off the impression that I am up to no good, which isn’t what I was going for, but whatever. A security guard standing guard in the corner approaches from the corner of my eye to corner me for security. Before she, or the receptionist, can get anywhere near me, I raise the Rothko Torch up in the air, pointing it towards the top of the giant atrium that runs all the way up. I flip it on, and suddenly feel the light pulling me upwards, like an alien abductee—oh, I’m sorry...an experiencer.

“We got the message.”

I’m standing in a conference room of some kind. At least that’s what it looks like it’s going to be, once they finish construction. Apparently the building isn’t quite ready for prime time, despite being in full use. “Ishimaru,” I say to the one woman in the room with me.

“Hello, detective,” she says.

“You don’t call, you don’t write, you don’t teleport in and get me up to speed. What the hell is this place, Yatchiko?”

She looks at the walls in a more general sense. “A failed experiment.”

“What were you trying to do?”

“Save the world,” she answers.

“From a window company?”

“The company was just the beginning. Is the beginning,” she corrects herself.

“Forgive me,” I say to her, “I’ve forgotten what your power was. Are you the one who can read minds, or whatever?”

“No. I can change time. Move things around.”

“I read the literature. The company’s older than you.”

“No, it’s not. I just make people think that.”

“I need your help. I need to find Springfield. I hear you have some kind of astrolabe?”

The word seems to smell bad to her. “I know what you’re talking about. It is not here.”

“Well, I read—”

“Then what you read was fake news,” she interrupted. “The astrolabe couldn’t be further from Analion Tower. I would never let it within these walls.”

“Then what good are you?” I ask callously.

“I’m not,” she says as profound truth.

I let me breath go, realizing only then that I’ve been holding it for however long.

“That doesn’t mean I can’t help.”

“Please. I’m desperate. If there are survivors, and they’re lost, or hurt, somewhere, they need my help.”

“Sometimes we help people in ways they don’t want, but instead need. You want to find your missing town, but you need purpose. You’ve lost that, but I can get it back.”

“Whatever you’re about to do...don’t do it.”

She smiled coolly. “It’s done.”

I start to feel drowsy, and then I’m drifting down towards the floor, or maybe my bed. When I wake up, I’m a retired former detective of the Kansas City Police Department.

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Overwritten: Train Train Go Away (Part IV)

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As I’m waiting to board the train, I can hear the woman who sells tickets get into it with a guy who is trying to purchase one at the last minute. As she’s giving him a hard time about his identification, I realize that I recognize him. His name is Mateo Matic. He first disappeared mysteriously in 2014, and then again in 2015, almost exactly one year later. Ever since then, I’ve spotted him hanging with Reaver’s alternate timeline wife, Leona Delaney, but only once a year. I was watching her before Reaver was paying me for it. He must be some kind of time traveler as well. I can’t be one hundred percent sure, but Reaver probably has dastardly plans for him. They might could be friends, but I highly doubt it. If he feels threatened by Mateo when it comes to his theoretical love, then only death will follow. Are my plans failing? Is Reaver falling into the same pattern as before? What am I going to do now?

I board the train, cautiously sit behind Mateo, and flip on the tablet that Micro gave me. She never told me exactly where they want the train to be, or when they want it to be there. I’m just supposed to let the program she wrote run and do absolutely nothing else. But I am going to do something else. I’m going to monitor Mateo and get a better sense of who he is. If I fear that his death is imminent then I’ll pull the plug on the whole operation. I’ll only be able to do this once, though. After I make that move, Reaver will no longer trust me. He doesn’t go on his killing spree in the alternate timeline for the better part of two decades. Anything could happen. Man, I really hope I don’t have to burn this bridge.

Mateo does nothing of note throughout most of the trip, but then someone gets on the intercom and claims that all the frequent stops are just as annoying to them because they have to be there too. Yikes. I adjust my body into a defensive position, worried that they’ll find out that I’m the one causing this. Micro assured me that no one would know, that these kind of scheduling issues used to happen all the time, but I’m still worried. Maybe I should have gone ahead and taken that stage combat class. A man on the other side of the aisle reacts to the announcement, “the difference between us and the crew, is that we are paying for the misery, while they are being paid.”

“So true,” Mateo answers.

“What’s your final destination?” the man asks. Who is this guy? Is he another time traveler? Another investigator? A threat? An ally? Does he know something, or is he just a stranger on a train?

Mateo takes a long time to answer. Either that or he’s ignoring him. I don’t have a great vantage point. I should have sat behind this dude’s seat so that I could secretly see Mateo from there. Rookie mistake.

“I didn’t know it was a trick question,” the man says with a laugh.

“No, sorry. It’s Grand Junction, Colorado.”

“Business or pleasure.”

I see Mateo take a deep breath. “New life,” he says with conviction.

“Ah, interesting. Running from, or just running to?”

Mateo tilts his head and pauses again. He must just be a thoughtful character, not wanting to answer inaccurately or rashly. “Both.” Nice answer; short and sweet.

“Well, I’m rooting for you. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

“Thanks,” Mateo says, but it doesn’t sound genuine. The train lurches and begins to move again. “What do you do for a living?” He doesn’t sound all that interested.

“I’m a physicist. The name’s Duke Andrews. I assume you don’t have a career at the moment. What’s your name?”

“Mateo. I don’t have a last name anymore, though.”

“Full commitment,” Duke says back. “I respect that.” He really does sound like he respects the decision, if that really is what Mateo is going for. If Mateo’s struggle to buy the train ticket is any indication, his last name is no longer relevant. To perhaps his family and friends, he’s been missing. To the world, and particularly the government, he would no longer exist. Once you’re gone for long enough, they’ll just decide you’re dead. Mateo probably hasn’t reached that point yet, but he will relatively soon.

After another delay, I look at my watch and see that we’re about nine hours behind schedule. I wonder if that means we’re on schedule. I can hear Mateo open a paper map. A paper map. Paper. Guy still uses paper; what a weirdo. Eventually, he stops moving. I have this strange thought that the program I’ve been running does more than just manipulate train movements. Or maybe it doesn’t do that at all. Maybe it’s been sending out a magic signal that’s programmed to rupture Mateo’s brain stem, or some crazy science fiction like that. I stand up and head towards the front of the train so I can get a look while I’m heading for the lavatory. Crap. The lav is behind us. What will my excuse be then? I’m overthinking it, and no one is watching me. Yes, they are. Duke eyes me with suspicion. Or maybe it’s curiosity. I just need to leave. I could have business in another car. What does he know? He doesn’t know. Screw him! I’m going to another car, and he can’t do anything about it. Is the food car up ahead, or is it behind us? No, it doesn’t matter. Just keep walking. My only threat is Duke Andrews, and he can go to hell!

But he’s not the only potential threat to my life as a train schedule hacker. With each subsequent car, the chances that the food car is up ahead decreases. Soon, I realize that it can’t be, and I’m walking forward for no reason. There are other people here, and they are all watching me. They’re all cops, and judges, and time travelers, and “Reaver Enterprises” spies. That’s right, this entire train is full of people who work for Reaver. This is all a big test, and I’m failing. Shit, I have to get back to my seat. But how’s a man gonna turn around? If I just stop in the middle of one of the cars and start heading in the opposite direction, people will be like, dafuq is that guy doing? Because, like I said, they all work for Reaver, so they’re all watching me. Doesn’t matter. If I’ve failed, then I’ve failed. All I can do is go back and keep my head down from now on. Sure, I might be headed towards my death, but I knew that from the start. This train may very well be on a collision course. It could have been designed to kill Mateo, or to kill me. But that would be ridiculous because all the other people on the train work for Reaver too. Surely he wouldn’t kill so many of his own employees. No, stop thinking like that. That’s called paranoia. They don’t all work for him. Maybe half. No, shut up! Nobody works for Horace Reaver. Well, except for me, of course. And maybe someone else. And probably one more for good measure.

I sit back down in my seat and take my anxiety medicine. After a while, I can hear Mateo moving around again. He’s alive. For now.

Duke shuffles his newspaper. He uses paper too. “Welcome back.”

“Where are we?” Mateo asks. He sounds panicked.

“Don’t worry. You’ve not missed Grand Junction yet,” Duke answers in a very comforting voice. It even makes me feel better about possibly sitting in a death tube. “You can go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up.”

“No, I made a mistake. I meant Glenwood Springs. I’m supposed to go to Glenwood Springs!” His voice seems to wake other people in the car. A baby starts crying. Such a terrible mother bringing a baby to a death tube. Oh that’s right. This is not necessarily a death tube, and she does not necessarily—I mean, probably does not—work for Horace Reaver.

“Oh, well you’ve missed that. But it’s okay. You’re starting a new life. Does it matter where? You won’t be that far off course either way.”

“What time is it?” Mateo gets up and desperately looks at his watch. “Oh my God. It’s almost midnight.”

“No, it’s eleven o’clock.”

“I mean a different midnight!” He’s right. It’s almost midnight central time. Maybe this is everything the train schedule manipulation has been leading to. Are we where Reaver wants us to be? Am I okay with that? If we’re not, will he blame me? I can handle myself. What I’m really worried about is him blaming his hacker, Micro. She has no clue what kind of guy Reaver is. She doesn’t know he’s a murderer. I need to get back to Kansas quickly, just in case. Or maybe I’ll call Brian and burn his cover. No, it’s too early. I have to stay in the shadows, but ya know, in a visible way.

The tablet Micro gave me beeps and the train comes to an abrupt a halt. That is definitely not a coincidence. We are where we need to be, which means we probably shouldn’t be here.

“We apologize once more,” says a different the voice on the intercom. “We’re not sure why the train stopped this time, but we are looking into the matter and will have you back on track in no time.”

“I have to get off!” Mateo screams. Yeah, we’re here. He’s scared of this place, wherever it is.

“You won’t be able to,” Duke says. “We’re on a bridge over the Colorado River.” That makes sense. Bridges are dangerous places for trains. Just ask any action movie. This is it. It’s time time to die. I shut my eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’m still on the upper level!” Mateo jumps up and tries to pull his bag from under the seat, but is unable to. He gives up on it and runs for the door, but doesn’t make it. At exactly midnight central, he disappears from sight. Some of the crowd screams while others shudder while others didn’t seem to be looking at him at that moment. Yeah, Mateo is most def a time traveler. I look over to Duke who clearly didn’t know that was going to happen, but isn’t all that shocked by it. He did say that he was a scientist of some kind.

Mateo’s bag. There might be incriminating evidence on it. I can’t let the authorities get there hands on it, but I don’t want Reaver to see it either. I can protect Mateo, even if I don’t really know why. I can keep this secret, if I decide to trust the only other person on this train with any interest in what happens. I sneak over while everyone’s freaked out about a man disappearing in thin air. I take my time and release the bag from its grip on the seat’s frame. I sidestep over to Duke and hand it to him. “This is his. Keep it safe.” My God, I sound like a spy on a park bench. “Tell no one about me.”

“Who are you?” Duke asks.

“Nobody.”

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