The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 11, 2463

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Carlin McIver knocked on the door, and waited patiently. Kineret opened it, even though she knew that he was on the other side. She looked him up and down as if she hadn’t seen him before. Then she sighed, and looked behind her where her boss was working. “Have you changed your mind?”

“Have you?” he prodded.

“I’m steadfast in my convictions.”

Carlin peeked over her shoulder at the Primus. “Or is that just what you would have her believe?” Kineret didn’t believe in using the Westfall boy as a bioweapon any more than he did, but this was what the world government was trying to do, and she had to fall in line. As influential as she was in her position, she wasn’t a god. He was only hoping that she would eventually openly admit her disapproval, so it would at least be on the record.

“Did you need something, Carlin? Because if you’re not going to change your mind about sending one of the sick Ochivari to their homeworld, the Primus has nothing to say to you.”

“When was the last time you even had an Ochivar as prisoner?”

“It’s true, it’s been slow, but we’ve never gone longer than eight months without a new incursion. We’ll get a new test subject soon. I’m hoping that you see reason. We have a saying where I’m from, all’s fair in love and war.”

“That it’s poetic does not make it true. Where I’m from, we call that an aphoroid, not an aphorism.”

“Goodbye, Carlin.”

“Madam McArthur, Madam McArthur!” a man in uniform yelled from down the hallway. He was running towards them.

“Slow down, soldier. State your business.” She was being protective of Naraschone.

The soldier caught his breath. “We found ‘im. The weapon.”

“Where was he, an oceanic island?” Dutch Haines, a.k.a. The Dragonfly Slayer. He was the carrier of a disease that seemed to only affect Ochivari. They wanted to send him to the aliens’ homeworld to wipe them all out, but some people believed that to be a war crime, including Ramses Abdulrashid, who decided to put a stop to their hopes and dreams by abducting Dutch, and hiding him somewhere. Since Ramses only existed in the timestream once a year, even if they had the means of extricating the information from his brain, they would only ever have twenty-four hours to get it done. For two years now, all available resources had been funneled into the manual search. They had evidently finally been successful in that mission.

“No, he was living in a cave above the arctic circle. He was actually only about forty kilometers from the nearest settlement. He was apparently quite comfortable there, albeit alone.”

“Is he on his way here?” Kineret asked

“Yes, by chopper.”

She looked at her watch. “Team Matic comes back in three days. We have two to make this happen if we don’t want further interference. Divert them to the Ochivari prison. The Primus and I will meet them halfway.” She looked back at Carlin. “You’re coming with.”

“Oh, no thank you,” Carlin said.

Kineret just darted her eyes to the soldier, who knew what that meant. He took Carlin by the shoulders, and escorted him away.

A half hour later, all three of them were in Carlin’s jet, along with Primus Mihajlović, as well as a small strike team, and of course, the pilot. He didn’t love them using this for a mission that he did not agree with, but it didn’t really belong to him, and anyway, that wasn’t the problem here. They were likely planning to coerce him into transporting Dutch to the Ochivari home universe, and he was worried what their methods would be. This was a civilized society, with laws and everything, but they didn’t all make a whole lot of sense. For instance, a prisoner of war could only be held for a certain amount of time before they were legally entitled to a return trip home, but the laws determining what the prison could do to them within that time frame were a lot less clear cut. Did Carlin qualify as a war prisoner, or were they just going to call him a guest, and in that case, were there any laws dictating their treatment of guests? Were there other loopholes? And what about Dutch’s rights? Did he have any, or was he nothing more than a walking, talking, Sunday chillin’ weapon of genocidal proportions?

They arrived in the Subarctic North, and landed by the prison. Dutch was already there, taking a nap in something called the VIP room. Carlin was dragged in there too, which served to wake the former up. “Hey, dude.”

“You been doin’ okay?” Carlin asked.

“Same as it ever was.”

“That can’t possibly be true.”

He just shrugged. Dutch was a carefree guy who once worked at a plant nursery, and seemed to take everything that happened to him in stride. Surely there was a limit to that. Surely dying in a strange universe after spreading a deadly disease to upwards of billions of aliens would be enough to wipe that kind smile off his face. Once the Ochivari realized what was happening to them, and that Dutch was responsible, were they just going to let bygones be bygones? Probably not.

“You know this isn’t right, right?”

Dutch shrugged again. “They need me to go to that universe and kill all those funky-lookin’ people. They need you to send me there. Way I see it, we just keep refusin’, no matter what they do to us, their plans ain’t happenin’.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Carlin lamented.

Dutch stood up, and opened his arms up. “Come on. Come on,” he urged quietly.

Wanting to keep this oddball on his side, Carlin approached, and accepted the hug. It was actually kind of nice.

“With this warm embrace, I donate to you...half of my confidence.” He pulled his chest away, but kept his hands on Carlin’s shoulders. “It’ll grow to full-size before too long, like a lone lobe of a liver.”

Carlin unwillingly released a chuckle, and looked away as he struggled to tamp down his own smile. “Man, is that how livers work?”

Dutch nodded with a wider smile. “Yeah.”

Carlin breathed deeply, and separated fully from Dutch to pace the room a little. “There’s a way to put an end to all of this. I could just send you home. I don’t know about you, but it sounds like the safest place for you. Do you want that?”

“I don’t know that that would be a good idea. The government is aware of your power. Why would they put us in a room together, knowing what you’re capable of? Seems sloppy to me.”

Carlin looked over at the door. “You’re right. Sloppy, or...part of a plan.”

“Have they experimented on you? Maybe they have a way of overriding the navigation, or just suppressing your powers altogether.”

“Yeah, that’s...that’s certainly possible. This whole situation is fishy.”

“I’m willing to try if you are.”

“It’s too risky. You can’t go within two meters of an Ochivar without making them sick. By the time you can run away, the damage will have already been done.” Carlin shook his head disappointedly. “They’re playing mind games with us. They know we can’t try without being absolutely certain. We’re in this room together either because they have indeed screwed with my powers without me realizing it, or because they knew we would be worried about the possibility, and end up stuck. Either way, it’s hopeless.” He had a way of finding out the truth, but it wasn’t a peaceful solution, and it would burn a pretty big bridge. Plus, a lot of things would have to go right for him to even be in a position to gather the truth. He didn’t want to threaten Naraschone’s life anyway. He didn’t agree with her, but he wasn’t about to take her hostage for it.

Kineret stepped into the room. “You’re still here.”

“Yeah, it was locked,” Carlin reasoned.

“Right, but you could have sent him home.”

“Or is that what you wanted all along?” Carlin questioned.

Kineret didn’t understand why that should be so nefarious. “Yes, we figured you would want to do that.”

“Did you mess with my power somehow?”

“We would have no clue how to go about that. We took blood samples from you years ago. The power isn’t in your blood, it’s in your brain, and I think you would remember if you had had brain surgery.”

“Would I?” Carlin pressed.

Kineret exhaled, annoyed and tired. “Your powers are fine. We don’t need him anymore. Elder came up with a new plan. All we required were more blood samples from him. His job is done now.”

“Blood samples for what?” Dutch asked.

“The virus,” Kineret began. “We’ve abandoned our plans to attack the homeworld. We’ve decided that our only concern is our world. So we will be distributing it to our people, and our people alone. It won’t end the war, but it’ll get us out of it. And I guess that’ll just have to be good enough.”

“You’re gonna spread a virus to the whole planet? You don’t see a problem with that?” Carlin asked her.

“Obviously I do, but Elder is confident that it will not mutate into something that can harm humans as well.”

“Oh, right. Elder Caverness, the security guard with no background in epidemiology. Glad you got your top people on it.”

“I swear,” Dutch said, “I never donated any of my confidence to Elder.”

Kineret winced, having no clue what that meant. “Send this man home. This will be your room alone, and you’ll only be given rations for one person. Your job for the government is done as well. You’ll be permitted to leave when Team Matic does, if they should ever come back with a way to travel freely.” She unceremoniously left the room.

Carlin tried to open the door, but it was locked again.

“We can try to share the rations,” Dutch suggested.

“No, she’s right. There’s no way they could have messed with my power. I’m from another universe, it’s not that easy. Very few people in my universe are called metachoosers because they can do things like that, and they’re always on the run because of it. If any rando scientist could figure it out on their own, that wouldn’t be such a problem.”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with these people,” Dutch said sadly.

“I’ll be fine. I should have sent all three of you home when you first got here. I was under the impression that you were here for good reason, but...well, I suppose that’s still true. I guess I just never thought it would be for a distasteful reason.”

“There’s a parable from my world. A man was late for dinner after he was working in the fields,” Dutch began to recite. “When he did return, the dog had eaten his portion while the family was asleep. So he returned to the fields, and picked some vegetables to eat instead. That night, a storm rolled over the lands, and destroyed the fields. And the farmer, he, uhh...well. Hold on. A farmer went home for dinner, and the dog. The dog... What was the dog doing? There—there was a war. And the farmer’s son...”

“Dutch?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I get it.”

“Okay.”

Carlin didn’t get it, but Dutch was never going to get to the end of this story. It was time for him to go. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. Carlin relapsed him back to his universe, or at least he attempted it. It was unclear whether he ever made it at all, because seconds later, Dutch walked through the door. Westfall brought him here, so this was where Westfall wanted him to be. There was no getting around that. They still didn’t know who was the mysterious force running the show, but there was probably no overriding that kind of power.

Kineret and the government believed them, and allowed them to stay in the VIP room together, one portion of rations each. A few days later, Ramses and Olimpia came back. They were not happy about what the Primus had decided to do. Ramses looked over the data as best he could, but he was no epidemiologist either. He understood how profoundly unpredictable the variables were, though. Just because Elder thought he knew how the virus worked, didn’t mean he was right, or that things wouldn’t change in the future. Just the very idea of a difference between the future and the past had to be thrown out the window. They may not see the consequences for centuries. The people of Stoutverse may never know the damage they caused. But Ramses knew one thing, Elder’s plan didn’t work the way he wanted it to. Humans were going to die. That was how the multiverse worked.

Ramses also wasn’t down with the whole VIP room in the prison thing, so he swiftly teleported them out of there, and placed them somewhere safe. While not particularly luxurious, they had everything they needed on the island, including one important thing. If Dutch was ever going to find his way back to his universe, it likely required constant access to a door.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 9, 2461

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Ramses had it figured out. Through a lot of experimentation and trial and error, he was able to come up with a device that measured an individual’s cosmic frequency. This was all taking place on the quantum level. Normal samples, like blood, did not give him any useful information about them in this regard. They needed an EEG. He theorized that every brane in the bulk vibrated at a unique frequency of its constituent particles and waves. Each one had some form of the cosmic microwave background radiation left over from its inception event, and the collection of subatomic particles that made up any individual or object from that universe harmonized with that radiation. When something was removed from its universe, and placed in another, it exhibited a disharmony with its environment. By sampling the brainwaves of thousands of people in Stoutverse, Ramses had been able to come up with a baseline, and then write an algorithm which compared that baseline to visitors, such as himself and Olimpia.

The three men who came through the Westfall doors each disharmonized with the environment in a different way, as did their current group of Ochivari prisoners of war. By comparing the three men’s cosmic frequencies to the Ochivari, Ramses was able to determine that they were not from the same universe. Unfortunately, that wasn’t inherently good enough as the human allies were suspected of originating from somewhere other than the Ochivari homeworld anyway. He needed more data, and more time, to dig deeper into the subatomic properties. He now believed that he could also determine whether an individual had ever been to another universe, even if they had only stayed there for a few minutes. Each brane evidently left its signature upon their quantum consciousness. A cosmic imprint, he called it. It didn’t seem to work with inanimate objects, but he was able to detect a number of these imprints on himself and Olimpia, as well as the Ochivari. They were not present in the other three visitors, nor the natives of this universe. They were probably not spies, or they likely would have traveled to other universes before.

It was now required for all residents of this version of Earth to submit to a cosmic frequency test to make sure that they were all from this brane, and had spent their entire lives here. That was beyond Ramses’ control. He invented the machine, and the local researchers had reverse-engineered it while he was out of the timestream. Primus Mihajlović probably would have told them if they had discovered any spies using the new test, but his mind was preoccupied with something else. After using other interrogation and investigative techniques to decide whether the three Westfallers had good intentions or bad, an attempt was made to assimilate them into society somehow. It did not last very long. Last year, Dutch Haines—the gardener who was rather apathetic about all this—was bored enough to ask to meet one of the Ochivar in person. Naraschone granted this opportunity. If he turned out to indeed be an evil spy, seeing how he interacted with the POW would only give them more information.

Shortly after Dutch left the prison, the Ochivar fell ill, and ultimately succumbed to a mysterious disease that doctors could not explain. It was apparently airborne, so the rest of the prisoners contracted it too. The first one to get sick was the closest to Patient Zero, and the last one was the farthest, but they all suffered from it, and they all died. Dutch was carrying some kind of pathogen, even though he wasn’t exhibiting any signs or symptoms himself. Other humans appeared to be just fine too, for he had been free to move about the world before they placed him back in quarantine. Several months ago, another Ochivar came through a portal to complete his nefarious tasks. They sicked Dutch on him, and he too died. They had all but proved the viability of a new weapon against this multiversal threat. A biological weapon. They began to research it.

“We could wipe them all out,” Elder suggested.

“You can do what?” Ramses had heard him, but he couldn’t believe it.

“All we have to do is infect one Ochivar, and then let them try to go home. The pandemic will spread from there.”

Olimpia shook her head. “You can’t do that.”

“Oh, but we can.” Elder was apparently the biggest proponent of this project, believing that it would save human lives, and render the Transit Army obsolete. His reasoning was not without its merits. The Ochivari operated by intruding on other people’s universes, making judgments on their lifestyles and cultures, and deploying their own virus, which sterilized the entire population. Fighting fire with fire was how he justified this plan.

“Did Primus Mihajlović agree to this?” Ramses questioned.

“This is a military operation,” Elder explained. “It would not be completely out of her hands, but the Generals can override her decision in such matters, especially since it’s not taking place on her world.”

“The hell it’s not,” Olimpia argued.

“The initial infection is, but the latter deaths will happen on the Ochivari homeworld,” Elder explained. “It’s foolproof. Humans are totally unaffected.”

“You don’t know that,” Ramses contended. “Pathogens mutate. If you were to dispatch this to the major Ochivari population, it could change and evolve, and eventually maybe become a threat to humanity.” This was wrong; probably a war crime. They had to do everything in their power to stop it, which was easier said than done. They were powerful, yeah, but they still didn’t exist most of the year. That gave this new program a lot of freedom to continue. If Naraschone didn’t know about it, then it was his responsibility to tell her while he still had the chance.

This actually seemed to resonate with Elder a bit. “Well, we can’t stop it now.”

“Yes, you can. Don’t let Dutch infect anyone else. It’s immoral,” Olimpia began. “There is a reason that biological weapons were declared illegal worldwide where we come from. Besides the logistical issues with targeting and containment, they are a profound human rights violation.” She dismissed Elder’s argument with a waggle of her finger. “It doesn’t matter that the Ochivari are not humans. We are. Humanity is not about how you’re treated, but how you treat others. This. Is. Wrong.”

“You don’t understand. Dutch has already infected two more Ochivari, and they’re about to leave. I wanted you to watch.” He pressed a button underneath the window, which raised the curtain. Two clearly weak Ochivari were heading towards each other, coughing and heaving. Each one was being escorted by a human in a hazmat suit, forcing them to keep walking using cattle prods. “We asked Carlin to just send them back for us, but he refused. He said that you would not condone it,” Elder explained. “He appears to have been right about that.”

“The torture devices alone are immoral,” Olimpia pointed out.

Ramses lurched, but Elder took him by the wrist. “If you’re really worried about the disease mutating, then I wouldn’t teleport in there if I were you. That’s why they’re wearing suits. We’re careful.”

Ramses was still angry, but he recognized how powerless he was here. It didn’t look like it was going to work this time, but these people were going to try again, and they just had to wait a day. Someone had to be here to talk them out of it. The Primus was their best option for that. He did teleport away, but not to stop the Ochivari from trying to return to their home universe. He instead retrieved Naraschone from her meeting in one of the South American bunkers, and brought her to the observation room.

She looked at everyone present. “You told me you would wait until I could be here,” she said to Elder.

“It was too important to wait a year,” he replied. “I wanted these two to see it too.”

“I thought she didn’t know,” Olimpia complained.

Elder shook his head. “I never said that.”

“Madam Primus, you cannot let this go on,” Olimpia begged her. “Put a stop to this. Please.”

“Pia. Trust me, it’s fine,” Ramses said calmly.

Naraschone narrowed her eyes on him. “What do you have planned?”

“Nothing,” he said. “I don’t have to do anything. This isn’t going to work.”

“Why not?”

“Just look.”

They watched as the two Ochivari drew nearer to each other. The hazmat prison guards grabbed them by the shoulders, and turned them around, slamming their backs against each other until they were locked up. At first, they seemed to be refusing to open their portal, but the cattle prods came out again. So they relented. Their skin rippled, and glowed with a slight increase in temperature. Their wings stiffened up, and they began to struggle against each other in a battle of wills and biology on a level that the humans could neither see nor truly fathom. After a few minutes of this, they both disassembled, with their body parts falling to the ground. According to the research, when a group of Ochivari wanted to create a brane-hopping portal, they would perform this back wrestling ritual, and it would end with one of them exploding into a million pieces while the other was pulled into the resulting portal. This time, no portal formed, and they only exploded into maybe a couple dozen pieces. Ramses was right to believe that it wouldn’t work. The infection was just too much for them.

“What happened?” Naraschone demanded to know.

“They’re too sick,” Ramses figured. “You need strength to form a portal, whether you’re an Ochivari, or a human choosing one. Neither of them had it. You and Dutch made sure of that.”

A few hours later, they tried the experiment again, but instead of waiting for the subjects to exhibit symptoms, they made them do their wing fighting right away, and just hoped that they did end up getting sick, and eventually began to spread the disease. But it didn’t work either. They were too sick and weak immediately upon infection. The fifth subject died in this universe, same as all the others. Ramses and Olimpia were pleased, but they should not have been, because Elder and Naraschone came up with a new plan. Instead of infecting an Ochivar here, and then sending them home, they would just send Dutch there. That came with its own questions on morality, so Ramses had to stop it this time. He teleported Dutch away, and hid him somewhere on this planet where hopefully no one would find him.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 21, 2399

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Across the street from the parking lot where the transreality anomaly is, there is another parking lot, and across the next street is an office building that is no longer in heavy use. A few companies still hold their offices there, but the majority of them had moved to newer facilities by the time any of this got started. Some of the rest of them left when the government first put up the containment tent. Those still lingering were placed in their own special quarantine on the top floor following Humbert Messer’s attack. Other nearby office workers faced similar situations. A long-ass plastic tunnel was placed at the entrance to the tent, going all the way to the new isolation building. Everyone who happened to be in the tent at the time was sent through, and relocated to their own room. There were enough executive offices that had their own bathroom to accommodate the bulk of the patients. Some were placed in actual bathrooms, but a few had to suffer with a bucket. But they didn’t stay that way for very long. The point of these rooms was to separate the infected from the non-infected. It wasn’t long before they were all symptomatic. They were recently moved to the popup clinic that the government set up in the cafeteria on the bottom floor.

No one who wasn’t in the tent at the time of Humbert’s arrival has shown any signs of infection. They were fortunate enough to have not undergone a shift-change by the time Vearden showed up and figured out that he was contagious. According to experts who have begun to research the disease, killing Patient Zero immediately was the only option there. He would have only made things worse by staying alive. They will study his corpse, and the living patients. The quarantined office workers will be released and evacuated soon. This whole area will be a ghost town in a matter of days. The government takes this seriously, and will not accept any pushback from the public. Fortunately for the process, they’re not getting any, because this is not the first outbreak this world has experienced. There’s a reason the team keeps being locked up in quarantine when they travel, despite there being no current threat...until now.

Leona flew back to Kansas City from São Paulo. She was trying to find the Harlows there, but it’s been difficult. The satellite can give them a good idea of where they are, but not only is it a dense and heavily populated city, and not only have they been hiding out in a particularly dense area, but the nation was also celebrating a religious holiday last week, so the streets were chaos. It’s already begun to clear up, though, and it should be easier now for Kivi and her team, who are taking up the mantle. Leona isn’t annoyed that she had to cut her search short. All they need is for someone to confirm whether or not Alyssa is the other target. Once that’s made, the hunt will be over, because if it’s not her, they will be out of leads.

Vearden is in a private room, and will remain there as the others are moved downstairs. He’s shaky and weak. His skin has turned red from capillary leak syndrome. Inflammation is causing severe damage to the blood vessels, resulting in blood leaking into the interstitial tissue. Doctors can usually make it go away, but the root cause has been hard to identify. They have never encountered a pathogen like this before. The fact that it appears to not be from this world is not what’s tripping them up, but the fact that it’s new, and there is no antibiotic or antiviral for it. They’re not sure yet if it even is bacteria, or a virus. It could be something else. “It doesn’t hurt. Shouldn’t it hurt? I mean, look at me. This looks like it hurts.”

“I would say that not feeling any pain is a good thing, unless you don’t feel anything at all, like you’re numb,” Leona replies. “Are you numb, because then we would have to call the doctor back.”

“I’m not numb.” He slaps himself in the face. “No, not numb.”

“Don’t do that.”

“I’m sorry. Thanks for coming back here. I know you have your own crap to deal with.”

“You are my crap. I mean...you know what I mean.”

He nods. “How are all the other patients doing?”

“They’re the same. This pathogen does not discriminate.”

“I bet they’re pretty butthurt that they had to convert the nearest emergency pandemic research facility into a time lab that you’re not even using anymore.”

“Their new lab is also close, and anyway, they’re not even using it. They’re based out of this building so far. It’s not even an epidemic, let alone a pandemic.”

He nods, but his mind is elsewhere. “Listen, I’ve been meaning to ask you for something. I can’t believe I never thought of it before, and like I said, I know you’re really busy, so I don’t want to put you out—”

“Vearden,” she interrupts. “Ask me.”

“Will you try to talk to Arcadia using all that fancy technology that you and Ramses built? Like, with the Insulator of Life and the Livewire? Can they help?”

She smiles. “That’s a good idea. When I leave here, I’ll give that a shot.”

“Could you...leave right now? If you have to fly all the way back to Indonesia—”

“All that stuff is still here. We never thought to transport it to Mangrove One. It’s unrelated to our work out there.”

“Good. I appreciate it.”

“Do you need anything? I can get you some real food. There’s a way to pass it through without risking cross-contamination.”

“I’m okay with what they give me. I’m more worried about Arcadia.” His face tells her that the request is still urgent, even though she won’t have to fly overseas first.

“All right. I’ll go grab the supplies, then head for the hospital.”

“Thanks.”

Leona goes to get what she needs. It takes more than the Insulator and the Livewire. Interfacing with people’s minds is not something that any known special temporal object can perform. It requires technology that Ramses reverse engineered from research that experts spent centuries developing. Vearden was right, though, that they should have thought of trying this before. Arcadia is still in there, she just can’t wake up. Leona doesn’t even think that comas are a thing in the main sequence. It’s the kind of technology that should be inherently produced in tandem with consciousness transference advancements.

She has to call Ramses for a little help, because he understands this stuff better, but she gets it working. Nurse Chenda stays awake as a failsafe to pull her out if need be. Leona connects herself to Arcadia’s mind, and tries to reach out to her. It’s not long before she hears the sound of screaming. She runs towards it and finds Dream!Arcadia, who is standing in place, unmoving, and unrelenting in her piercing cry. Leona tries to shake her a little, but a skintight forcefield prevents them from touching. She just holds there like a statue. This isn’t a coma. This is something else.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 20, 2399

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“Thank you, Tom. I’m sure those squirrels appreciated all those pillows, even though they can’t speak any human languages, and generally don’t care. Well, bizarre and frightening news out of Germany today. The shell of a High-Orbit Ballistic Missile, also known as an HOBM, landed in the middle of the Obstgarten in front of the capitol building in Berlin last night. The Obstgarten was closed for the day at the time, so no one was injured in the incident. Sources close to Festung Privatsphäre have revealed that the HOBM is of Germany’s own design, sparking conspiracy theories regarding the government’s plans to bomb their own people. However, the missile was not carrying an explosive payload, and was not capable of causing any mass destruction in the area. It is almost as if it was placed there intentionally to send some kind of statement, rather than any physical harm. As of yet, no individual or organization is taking responsibility for the possible attack, and authorities are actively investigating the matter.

“In other news, the number of sightings of unexplained seasteads in various locations around the world’s oceans has grown to nearly four thousand reports in the last two weeks. No confirmation of the existence of any of these mysterious structures has been made, and assorted national governments have denied the validity of these wild claims.”

Vearden mutes the TV, and turns his head towards Arcadia. “How much you wanna bet Team Matic is neck-deep involved in both of those things?” He acts like he’s waiting for an answer. “Yeah, I wouldn’t bet against it either.” He sighs when his phone rings. “I just saw the news,” he says after answering. “About the missile and those ocean bases, or whatever.” He waits for a fairly long response. “You want me to what?” He waits some more. “Can’t you teleport or something?” He sighs again. “I kind of have to stay here, and it’s not really my job. It’s—” She interrupts him. “I know, but—” She interrupts him again. “No. Just.” He has to interrupt her now. “No, just say it. Just say that she’s never gonna wake up. It’s fine, you don’t have to tiptoe around me.” He sits through her rebuttal. “Well, the next time you wanna ask someone for help, try to be a little nicer, okay?” He hangs up the phone.

Arcadia is still in the coma, and unable to speak, but that alone says enough.

“Argh!” He picks up the phone again. “Leona? I’ll do it. Give me twenty minutes to get down there.” She thanks him. “You’re welcome.” He kisses Arcadia on the forehead. “I have to go do a thing, but I’ll be back soon, I promise. I’ll have Nurse Chenda come in to sit with you, okay?”

When he leaves the room, Chenda is sitting at the nurse’s station on her computer. “Going out for supplies?”

“No, they gave me a mission.”

Chenda nods. “I understand. I need to finish this class assignment, then I’ll be right in, okay?”

“Class assignment? Are you...not a real nurse yet?”

She laughs. “No, I am. This is part of my continuing education. Medicine is always changing, and this course is required for me to maintain my license. I’m almost done, I’m just not allowed to work on it in a patient’s room.”

“Okay, thanks.” He heads out, worried about how he’s being received lately. He’s never been this acerbic, but what happened to Arcadia has changed him. He was going to ask her to marry him soon, but he never got the chance. Now he may never will. He gets out of his head, and into the car that’s waiting for him.

“Good morning, sir,” the driver greets.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Vearden asks.

“Absolutely, Mr. Haywood.”

They leave the hospital, and drive to that parking lot in Crown Center where time travelers come through. That’s why he’s being sent there. Someone new has arrived, and he’s the only one still in Kansas City. He doesn’t even consider himself part of Team Matic, but he’s the closest they have, and the government wants someone who’s actually traveled through time to be a liaison in this matter. It hasn’t happened in a while. They erected a gigantic white tent that covers the entire lot. He can’t remember what cover story they told the public, but for the longest time, the soldiers and agents assigned to guard it have had nothing to do. They’re probably pretty excited today.

The driver parks across the street, and insists on opening the door for him. Vearden walks over alone, and tries to present his badge, but the entrance guard waves him through without looking at it. Time travelers are famous now, at least in certain circles. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He takes his coat off, and hands it to the clerk at the front table, because the heat from the space heaters hits him fast, and it hits him hard. If he were in charge, he would turn them down.

The clerk notices him tugging at his collar. “We can turn the temperature down, if you would prefer.”

Vearden is looking around to find whoever has just arrived. “How does the visitor want it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I’ll find out. This may be too cold. We don’t know who they are, or where they came from. Their comfort is most important right now.”

“Of course, sir. Right over there is the quarantine section. You’ll need one of these.” She hands him a respirator mask.

He takes it, and puts it on. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. He walks over to the back corner, where a clear plastic room has been set up to contain the visitor-slash-refugee-slash-invader-slash-whatever. A middle-aged man is sitting on his cot. He’s wearing all white, and doesn’t look outwardly perturbed, suggesting that he’s been cooperating, and the government hasn’t been driven to force him to follow the new rules. This could have been Vearden. He came through this temporal anomaly months ago, and things could have looked very much like this for him. So he’s going to try to be as empathetic as possible.

The man stands up, and approaches. “You look like you’re the man in charge.”

“Not even close,” Vearden replies. “I’m the liaison. I happen to be the only time traveler still living in the area. Far more qualified people are busy with other things.”

“I’m hurt,” he jokes.

“They also live far away.”

“I see.”

“Have you given them your name?”

“They didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now. What’s your name?”

“Humbert Messer.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Vearden Haywood.”

“Hm. I’ve heard of you. Didn’t know what you looked like.”

“Now you do.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Your people think I’m dangerous.” He gestures to the two soldiers chatting with each other with their arms resting on the guns that are hanging from their shoulders.

“No, I mean why you’re in this reality. This is a new reality, by the way. It’s called the Third Rail. Where are you from?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Lawyer.”

“This isn’t an interrogation. We just need some information.”

“That’s what an interrogation is for. Lawyer.”

All right, if he wants to play it that way... “Main sequence, Parallel, Fourth Quadrant, Fifth Division.”

No reaction.

“Sixth Key.”

There’s a reaction.

“So you’re from the future.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yeah.”

“In our experience, people from the Sixth Key come here on purpose, unlike people like me.”

Humbert keeps quiet.

“Were you traveling alone?” Vearden continues.

“Technically.”

“What does that mean?”

He pauses again. “More are coming.”

“How many more?”

He pauses yet again. “Millions.”

“Are they coming here?” He points to the ground. “Specifically here?”

“Specifically yes.”

“Are you running from the war?”

Humbert smiles. “You know more than I was told you would.”

“We cannot accommodate millions.”

“That is why I came here as vanguard, to clear a path.”

“You mean you’re going to attack us? How are ya gonna do that alone?”

“I already have. You think that mask will save you?” He looks at the plastic wall between them. “You think this...crude polymer can hold me?”

Vearden glowers at him. “You’re diseased.”

“The portal moves. It doesn’t move much, but I knew that I wouldn’t appear already inside of quarantine unless I got very unlucky. You shoulda built a bigger tent.”

Vearden gets the attention of the soldiers. “Shoot him. Now.”

“It’s too late,” are Humbert’s final words before a dozen bullets hit him in the chest, killing him in seconds.

Vearden didn’t want to do that, but the love of his life is in this reality. She’s in this very city. If one man has to die to save her, he’ll accept that sacrifice. If everyone else in here has to die, including himself, he’ll accept that too. “Seal the place up,” he orders. “No one in or out. This whole tent is under quarantine now.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Year 272,398

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Mateo climbs out of his pod, and into the main living area. Most everyone is sitting on the couches. It almost looks like he’s walked into a party that he wasn’t invited to. They all look pretty happy, especially Curtis. “Hey, look who’s awake! Finally! What’s it been, like eight—nine thousand years?”

Mateo glances back at his pod. “Ten, just as it usually is.”

“Ah, that’s too long. Come on, buddy. Join the celebration.” He puts his arm over Mateo’s shoulder.

“What are we, uh...celebrating?” Mateo asks, letting Curtis lead him deeper into the room.

“It’s Abigail,” he explains. “She’s gettin’ out for good behavior. Hail Abby!” He holds up his glass, and waits for everyone else to echo him, but they don’t. “Ah, you people are no fun.”

“Hail Abby!” Mateo chants alone.

“Thanks, Matt,” Abigail says, raising her glass.

“That’s what I’m talkin’ ‘bout. You’re good people. Here, have a drink.” He hands him his own glass of water, then goes over to the bar to get another to replace it.

“Dani, what does this mean?” Mateo questions.

“I’m letting her use the time machine,” Danica replies.

“Transtemporal relocator,” Aquila corrects. They took Mateo’s advice. Aquila always wears sunglasses, and Bhulan never does, though she sometimes leaves them on top of her head for ease of switching if the two of them are shifting control back and forth. It’s nice to know that he can still contribute.

“Whatever,” Danica dismisses.

Mateo nods, happy for Abigail, but confused, and just a little ticked off. That’s good, Danica is finally loosening up a bit on her restrictions, but that doesn’t explain why Mateo can’t go home too. Based on their experience with the time machine, she should actually be able to return him and his friends to the main sequence. “Cool.”

Danica can sense his frustration. “I know you’re upset, and I would be sending you back too, but things have changed. Tamerlane changed things. No, I’m not still mad at you, but he’s forced my hand. I have to place someone in charge of the Omega Gyroscope, and it has to be someone I can trust. Leona is already part of the line of succession. I have already set in motion a series of events which will lead her to coming back here to rescue you. All we have to do is wait. All you have to do is wait.”

“But then we’ll have to stay here, won’t we? At least every 49,999 years, she’ll have to come out of stasis to reclaim control over the damn thing. But other than that, we don’t have real lives. We don’t have any choice.”

Danica shakes her head, she will be able to leave anytime she wants. All she’ll have to do is modify the Gyroscope’s programming to generate a new succession list, starting with me. Then I’ll send you both wherever you want.”

“What if we don’t do that? What if she refuses to relinquish control? How will you stop us? You can’t leave us out of stasis, unless you make us immortal, or we’ll die long before humans start living on this planet. The Gyroscope is all but useless until then.”

“Remember,” Danica begins, “it’s possible to change the differential. For now, ten thousand years equals one second, but I can slow it down. I can make it so that ten thousand years is more like an hour. You’ll age forty-five years in the meantime. Either she gives up control of the Omega Gyroscope, or she gives up control of her life.”

“Wow, way to be a party pooper,” Curtis criticizes.

“You don’t need to be part of this discussion,” Danica shoots right back.

“Lay off my husband!” Cheyenne volleys.

Danica sighs. “Enjoy the party,” she says to the group. Then she approaches Mateo, and takes him by the arm. “Transport us to the pool.”

At the last second, Bhulan and Aquila take his other arm, so all four end up there. Bhulan takes off the sunglasses. “This involves me as well. Team Triple Threat, remember? Aquila, please go dormant,” she says to her brainmate.

“I want us to be friends,” Danica claims. “I don’t like all this hostility.”

“Really? Because you’re going out of your way to be hostile most of the time.”

“I know that it feels that way, but one day—”

“It’s worse in the future, I can’t even friggin’ find you.”

“Don’t talk to me about the future, I don’t wanna know.”

“Oh no? Because it appears as though you’re totally sure of yourself about it. You have no doubts, no qualms. What if I told you that the future is a hellish hellscape with hellacious demons from hell, hellbent on helling it up with hellfire all over that hellhole world? Would you believe me? Would you do something different?”

“I would not believe you. If you could prove it, I would try to prevent it.”

Mateo breathes. “Your father told me that you gained some insight into the other realities, so you know how bad they are. You know how volatile the Fourth Quadrant is. You know how dangerous and unequal—and boring—the Fifth Division is. Of course, you’re from the main sequence, so you know how terrible that one is. I can’t say anything bad about the Parallel, except that they can be pretty pretentious and heartless. You seem to be under the impression that you’re going to make this world better. Maybe it’s because there’s no time travel, maybe it’s because of all the religions you create, but while I wouldn’t actually describe it as a hellish hellscape, it ain’t paradise neither. People are assholes, and then they die. This is true of every reality...except for the Parallel, because they don’t die. Ya know, why don’t we always just ignore that one?”

“They’re warmongers.” Cheyenne has snuck into the pool area.

“What?” Bhulan asks. “Who are?”

“The Parallelers. They’re warmongers. They killed more than anyone in the Reality Wars. They were heartless, and they were...ruthless. Nothing was off limits to them, or will be, rather. Women, children; antimatter weapons, bioweapons. They only lost because...” It’s too hard to go on. She doesn’t think about it, let alone say it. Anyway, it’s before my time, but I’ve seen the VRDocs.”

Danica looks down at the ground. “We’re the cause of the war, though, aren’t we? This machine. Every Constant has one. We’re the easiest link between realities. At least one of us opens a door that can’t be closed.”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Cheyenne says.

Danica sneers. “New plan. No one’s going anywhere. Unfortunately, Abigail is just never gonna get home, and neither are you,” she says to Mateo. “We’re going to destroy that machine...right after we destroy the other four.”

Microstory 861: X Gratia

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Most people around here grew up wanting to be medical professionals. They played doctor when they were children—and I’m not talking about exploring each other’s bodies; they legitimately pretended to treat patients. I’ve never had a problem with blood or broken bones, but I also never considered a career in the field. It wasn’t until I was well into adulthood, working as a faceless engineer for a gigantic corporation that I started getting itchy. I saw a post on social media advertising for a free Emergency Medical Responder course. I had never heard of it before, and had always called knowledge that fell between first aid and EMT second aid. My role-playing game team recently disbanded when two of us moved out of town at about the same time, so I was looking for something else to do with my evenings. I signed up for the class, thinking a little extra education couldn’t hurt. I didn’t find out until later that my company provided a minor pay differential for intermediate medical training, because it allowed me to be a designated first responder in the office. That would have been good enough for me, because the worst that could happen in an office is a paper cut, or maybe a hot coffee accident. But then I started getting really into it. I didn’t realize how rewarding the training would feel, how satisfying it was that I knew something my friends and coworkers didn’t. Even if I never changed careers because of this, I felt comfort in knowing that no matter where I was, at least one person in the immediate vicinity would be able to help in an emergency. If no one better trained was around, at least I would be there. Once the class was over, and I was fully certified, I started looking into EMT training, while not being sure whether I would be accepted into a program if I had no intention of applying for a new job, and starting to drive an ambulance. Then the war began, and none of that mattered anymore.

Things got real bad real fast. My city was evacuated, and we were rushed to a refugee camp in the middle of nowhere. As I was sitting in the processing area, the intake counselor asked me for my profession, but I was not paying attention. All I could focus on was the triage canopy down the way. She told me to try to ignore the screams, and that the people there were doing everything they could. “I need to help,” I found myself saying. She asked me if I was a doctor or nurse, and I said no, but that I had to do what I could. So without permission, I jumped out of my seat, and ran over. I told them the limits of my knowledge, thinking there was a strong chance they would tell me to just take a hike. But they were happy to have the help. While the people with real expertise were busy treating patients, I could easily help with assessing newcomers, and assigning color tags. I also ran around to find fresh water, and helped unload emergency supplies. I wasn’t saving anybody’s life, but I was helping, and that was exactly why I continued my classes. I was finished cleaning the blood off one of the cots, and no one had told me to do anything else, so I went up to the nearest nurse, and offered my help. Before she could answer, the head of the patient she was treating burst open like a soda can in the freezer. Blood and brain matter oozed out, and I swear I could see some kind of gas leaking from the opening. I heard the nurse yell to the doctors that it was confirmed they were dealing with sudden onset intracranial pressure, brought on by a bioweapon that the enemy was using. I asked what the treatment was, and he just handed me a scalpel, telling me that I had to relieve the pressure manually since an EMP had fried all the drills. He ran off to help others before I could remind him that I was barely beyond a Boy Scout. I whispered to another nurse that I had no idea what I was looking for, or what I was doing, so she said that everyone in this canopy was in the same mall during the attack. They all had it, and would die if we didn’t help them. Then she showed me how she was doing it, carving the letter X in her patient’s forehead. So I gathered all of my courage, and got to work. And wouldn’t you know it, I was great at it? I should have started studying this years ago.

Microstory 12: Round House

Detective Urdea raced through the alleyway, the suspect always at least four meters out of reach. They flung themselves over a fence, under a railing, and in a space so tight, the buildings might as well have been attached. Urdea was about to take his shot when they found themselves in a large crowd. There was some kind of block party. They zigged and zagged and weaved and bobbed through the mess of arms, beer cups, and balloon animals. Instead of trying to protect himself within the crowd, the suspect got himself out, and Urdea took his shot. Dead.

After checking for a pulse, he opened the case that the suspect had evidently stolen. Eight slots. Seven vials. He ordered the contents to be analyzed immediately. They discovered it to be what's known as The Silver Plague, a bioweapon that could wipe out the planet. And Urdea had apparently killed the only person who could have told them where the last vial was.

For the next several hours, he and his partner sifted through restaurant receipts and security cameras, trying to find out who the suspect had been working with, and what they were planning to do with the plague. They talked to confidential informants, family members, field experts, and sister departments. Nothing. Meanwhile, the entire metropolitan area was evacuated. The country was put on DEFCON 3. The nation panicked. The world held its breath.

Finally, a uniformed officer caught someone trying to break into the dead suspect's apartment. They took him to an "off-the-books" location and started "interrogating" him,  using the phone book as a "frame of reference". They asked him questions about how he knew the dead suspect, what he did for a living, etc. But they said nothing of the vials, hoping that after hours of questioning, he would give away what they needed without even realizing it. Finally, he appeared to be broken, and they asked the real questions. "Where is the vial?"

"What vial?"

They hit him again. "The other vial!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

The phone book was more red than it was yellow. "What did you do with the missing vial!"

"I don't have any other vial. They were all in the case!"

Urdea was growing impatient. "You're telling me that there were eight vials when you last saw the case?"

"What? No." He spit some blood on the floor. "There were seven vials. There are ONLY seven vials."

"Do you think I'm an idiot?" Urdea growled. "There are eight slots in the case. I'm not gonna ask you again. Where. Is. The last one!?"

"Yeah, I DO think you're an idiot," the man shouted. "The case manufacturer could not have known exactly how many slots we would need. They didn't have one with only seven slots, so we rounded up! You have all the vials! You've had them the whole time!"