Microstory 2435: Bloodbourne

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

This dome is scary, even though you know that you’re technically safe. I won’t go into specifics, but it’s heaven for fans of the horror genre. While Zombie Dome has its niche, due to its broad appeal, Bloodbourne takes care of everything else in the genre. Ghosts, goblins, evil demons, and other monsters. If you’ve read about it in a book, or saw it in a movie or show, it’s here...somewhere. Lurking. Waiting to pounce. Some are trying to kill you, some are trying to scare you, and some have more bizarre motives. Bear in mind that the safeguards are extremely strong here. If you go in there with a regular human body, nothing is going to hurt you. I even think they’ll lower the scare level so they won’t even give you a heart attack, though I don’t know how they ensure that when everyone’s personal constitution is different. If you’re wearing a sufficiently mechanical or strong substrate, you’re fair game. The monsters can kill you, and they will. They follow whatever rules they’ve been programmed to follow, based on their nature in the source material. If you see a guy in a mask holding a knife, you better run, or try to fight. That’s another important note. Even though you may be in a mechanical body, it’s not superhumanly strong. You will not be able to bat the hostile force around like a cat with a ball of yarn. You’re meant to be in a simulation of what the horror would be like if these characters were real, and that goes for the victims just as much as the bad guys. Your body is capable of bleeding, and it’s capable of dying. Of course, you’re consciousness will survive, but getting back into the scenario is difficult. I think it should be easier. They could treat it as a learning experience, where you get to try new tactics, but I guess they think you should have to choose a different scenario to keep going. That could change in the future. That’s why feedback like this is so important. I hope they read them. Now here’s the question, can you play one of the bad guys yourself? No, you can’t. I think that’s a shame, and they should change that too. My mind can just as easily be uploaded into the body of a psychopathic killer as a scream queen. I wonder if they just have an issue with potentially targeting people who are already psychopaths, and just haven’t had the pleasure of living out their wildest fantasies. People have been debating these things for centuries, because virtual reality affords us the same opportunity to be our sickest selves completely free from punishment or other consequences. We still haven’t found an answer, though some black market stuff can be really disturbing, so I think we kind of have settled on some boundaries. There’s something very different about doing it in base reality. Maybe that’s just taking a step too far. I’m not sure. See? This is why the debate is still raging after all this time. Draw your own conclusions. In the meantime, enter the scariest place on Castlebourne...if you dare.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 20, 2502

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

Everyone was home now, and they were having a meeting. Even Boyd was here, because while he felt like a separate unit, it also seemed like he was somehow part of this. He and Romana exchanged awkward glances, which were annoying to Mateo, but he didn’t want to overshadow the purpose of this gathering. Marie had the floor right now, because she studied this in school in multiple classes. “Simulation hypothesis,” she began. “It’s a modern flavor of one of the oldest philosophical conundrums in history. Since the dawn of man, we have been asking ourselves what reality is. Is it subjective or objective? Do we all share the same reality? Are you real, or just a figment of my imagination? I think, therefore I am, so I know that I’m real in some sense, but I can’t say the same thing about you. Or this couch. Or anything in the world. Maybe I’m dreaming...remembering. Or maybe we are all real, but everything else is some kind of construct. What we’re concerned with today is specifically whether we are in a computer simulation, and it’s not necessarily full sim hypothesis. Perhaps, it’s all about us. Everyone in this room feels connected. Olimpia, you don’t remember applying for the role of Mateo’s assistant, you just know that you did.”

“I...I must have,” Olimpia decided.

“Must you have?” Marie asked rhetorically. “We all have weird memories, and we all look at each other with this familiarity that shouldn’t be there. Mister Maestri, you and I only met today, yet I feel like I’ve known you for a while.”

“Is that a good thing?” Boyd asked.

She cocked her head to the side, and regarded him. “No. I don’t like you. Anyone else feel the same way?”

People grimaced, or they looked away. Everyone was uncomfortable.

“Well, I feel like I like all of you,” Boyd defended. He crossed his arms, and started to pout. “But whatever.”

“Yeah, and...I get that,” Marie went on. “You don’t feel the same way about us that we feel about you. But...those kinds of feelings should come from history, not first impressions. I don’t know anything about you. That’s why I think that it’s not really simulation hypothesis. That’s why I think...we’re stuck in a virtual environment. Just us, and everyone else is an NPC.”

“NPC?” Romana questioned.

“Non-player character,” Leona answered. “Just a program, coded to act like an independent entity, but ultimately only an extension of the system.”

“We’re all part of the system,” Ramses argued. “If we are in a virtual reality, and our minds have been messed with, it means that we can’t even trust our own thoughts. I may not have a choice in saying what I’m saying right now. The programmers could be feeding this into the program, and forcing me to say it. While Marie is right, we all feel real, and we feel like everyone else here is real, in contrast to everyone else, we’re just as vulnerable to the code. We’re just as hopeless.”

Marie was loudly quiet.

“Marie?” Angela prompted.

She looked at her sister with a smile. “It’s true, what he says. That’s why I studied these concepts in my philosophy courses, not computer science. It’s unverifiable. Any evidence we find one way or another could merely be what the overlord wants us to see. I use that word, because maybe it’s not computer programmers. Maybe it’s an evil demon. Maybe it’s God.” She chuckled. “Maybe it’s me.”

“So, what do we do?” Boyd asked, trying to be involved, and maybe get on people’s good side. “Is there anything we can try?”

“We can certainly try,” Marie encouraged. “You can always try.” She took a breath. “Simulations are expensive, there’s no way around that. Coding an entire reality is a lot of work. Even if you ask an AI to do it, you’re just shifting that work to the AI. It still has to get done, and it’s not really easier for that AI, it’s just theoretically better equipped to handle the workload.” She carefully pulled a red hair from the arm of her chair. Leona’s. “I can put this under a microscope, and see all the fine details. I can put it under a stronger microscope, and see even finer details. I can put it under the strongest microscope in existence, and resolve atoms. Can you imagine how much work it would take to program a simulation so detailed that it can be broken down into all the atoms in the universe? Some theories say that that’s not really what’s happening. The simulation renders basic visible objects most of the time, and only generates smaller bits when they become necessary. If I were to actually procure that transmission electron microscope, only then would the program say, okay, let’s code a few billion atoms. Well, perhaps there’s something there. If we want to test the boundaries, we could start pulling random things, breaking them down, and testing how detailed they look. If we do it fast enough, maybe the servers that the construct is running on don’t have enough bandwidth to keep up, and we’ll start seeing low-res results.”

“Should we be talking about this out loud?” Romana asked. “Could someone be listening right now?”

Ramses laughed. “If they are, it doesn’t matter what we do. Again, we’re helpless.”

“You said hopeless before,” Olimpia reminded him.

“It’s both,” Ramses agreed.

“All we can do is try,” Leona said. “We might as well run whatever tests we can think of.”

“Sis, what were you talking about last night?” Angela asked. “Geo—geometric—”

“Geometry instancing,” Marie helped. “That’s another thing; related.” She gently kicked the end table. “When you went to the store to buy this, you might have seen multiple copies of the same model. In the real world, you would have to manufacture each one separately. You might use machines—I doubt it’s handcrafted—but you can’t just copy and paste like you can data in a computer. But if we’re in a computer, then you can! So all the other end tables that are just like this one were probably only coded once, and literally re-rendered whenever it was necessary. Because, why wouldn’t you do it like that? Why bother wasting your time writing the same code over and over again? Even if two things aren’t exactly alike, but very closely similar, copying and pasting will help you get the work done faster before you tweak the modifications. Imagine doing this with the houses on this block, or the trees.”

“Or blades of grass,” Romana offered.

“Yeah, grass is perfect,” Marie confirmed. “People don’t pay attention to grass. It all just looks the same. A programmer, trying to save time and resources, might only come up with a dozen or so grass blade models, and just reuse them repeatedly. That’s how I would do it.”

Mateo had been very quiet throughout this whole thing. It wasn’t only that he was listening, but if they were truly at risk of being overheard—by a simulation developer, or a scientist with a bunch of vats full of brains—then someone should be staying quiet, and not give anything away. If they could read his mind, it wouldn’t matter, but on the off-chance that the overlords were limited to audible speech, he was gonna play it close to the chest. He looked over at Leona now. She turned to meet his gaze. Still, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at her. He didn’t know what he was trying to tell her, just...maybe only that he couldn’t tell her anything. She would have to come to her own conclusions, and do it totally with his help.

Leona’s eyes suddenly widened. “Marie, Angela, go get a microscope. Start breaking things down. Olimpia and Boyd, you’re with me. We’re gonna touch grass.”

“What about me?” Romana asked.

“You have a final exam to study for,” Leona reminded her daughter.

“If we’re in a computer simulation, then I don’t,” Romana reasoned.

“If we’re not, then you do. Why are we arguing about this? The whole point of running these tests because we don’t know the truth. Go study.”

“Fine,” she huffed.

“And me?” Ramses asked.

“I thought you said we were hopeless and helpless,” Leona said to him.

Mateo deliberately stared at his wife again.

“Keep my husband company,” Leona decided. “He doesn’t have a job either.”

Mateo stood up, and finally said one word, and it was to Boyd. “Keys.”

Boyd was confused, but Mateo was his boss, so he handed him the keys to his car.

Mateo went outside without saying anything else.

Ramses followed, and then got in the passenger seat. “Where are we going?”

Mateo still didn’t speak.

“Gotchya.” Ramses didn’t know what was happening, but Mateo was his boss too, so he chose to trust him.

Mateo just started driving, going the speed limit, and following all traffic signs. After about ten minutes, he realized how much danger he was putting Ramses in, as well as his family. If they turned out to be wrong, their lives would be ruined. “How confident are you that none of this is real?”

Ramses did nothing for a moment. Then he placed a hand on the door handle. “Keep driving. Don’t stop.” He opened his door, and let his right arm hang over the edge, scraping against the asphalt below. After fifteen seconds, he pulled his arm back in, and closed the door. He sighed as he examined his bloodied hand, front and back. “Pretty confident.”

“Doesn’t hurt?”

“Not really,” Ramses replied. “I can already feel myself healing. It looks worse than it is.”

Mateo nodded. “Good enough for me.” He slammed on the accelerator, and while this wasn’t the fastest car in the world, he was going over a hundred miles per hour before too long. Cars were honking at them as they were whizzing past. He was an administrator at work now, but he still knew how to drive. He didn’t even put two hands on the steering wheel. He was as cool as ever, fully in control. Even at these speeds, they were in no danger of crashing. If that was going to happen, he would have to do it on purpose. He just couldn’t put anyone else in danger. Just because they thought only their small group was real, and everyone else was an NPC, didn’t mean it was true. It was still possible for them to be in a simulation, and these other people were just as real, and just as oblivious. Their connection to each other could be something else, or just because they happened to be the ones who were sensing the inconsistencies. Mateo thought they made a movie about that once, but he couldn’t remember it. Maybe that was in a different world altogether.

He was about to hit traffic, so Mateo jumped up onto the median, and started driving on that instead. Cars continued to honk, but after he drove past, everything just looked kind of normal. They went back to their daily lives, now that the game players were no longer triggering their preprogrammed responses. The traffic jam ended, so Mateo got back on the road, but not before running over a couple of small trees, and an orange sign warning drivers of an upcoming construction zone. Perfect. He saw what it was talking about. They were building a new high rise on the corner, and having to close down one of the lanes next to it, probably to work on the sewage line. For a few seconds, they were Tokyo drifting when Mateo made a sharp turn, and then blew through the fence. The closest call was when he nearly ran into another car who was probably coming in to work here. Construction workers waved their hands in dismay, but again, just went back to what they were doing before he showed up. Man, if this wasn’t a program, something had to be going on.

Mateo continued to drive on the rough dirt non-road, splashing in the mud, and sideswiping some kind of big white and yellow machine. It slew him down, but he didn’t stop. There was a dirt ramp up ahead. He smirked. “I’ve always wanted to try this.”

“It might be the last thing you do.”

“Hashtag-worth it!”

“What’s a hashtag?” Ramses questioned.

They drove right onto the dirt pile, and jumped over the far side of it. It was short, and low to the ground, so they didn’t land on the moon, but it was still pretty fun while it lasted. And luckily, it wasn’t enough to stop them in their tracks. Mateo kept driving, but had to swerve to avoid a small group of workers on their lunch break. They didn’t even seem to notice, reinforcing this hypothesis of theirs. “You wearing your seatbelt?”

“Nope,” Ramses answered.

Mateo pulled the bar under his seat, and pushed the seat as far back as it would go. “Ready to eject.”

“Ready,” Ramses confirmed.

The concrete traffic barriers were coming up fast, but he never wavered. He did grip the wheel with two hands now, though, in anticipation. At the very last second, he remembered something from his past that he didn’t think he was meant to. The truth. A look of horror fell upon his face. “I don’t think we’re in a computer!” Crash.

The car stopped suddenly. Both Mateo and Ramses did not. They flew up, and through the windshield. There was a reason those concrete blocks were there. They were trying to prevent people from going over the edge of a ravine. The two of them arched over the barriers, and down that ravine, onto the dirt and rocks below. They lay there, bloody and mangled, for a couple of minutes. Then they stood up, and instinctively began to reset their own bones. Mateo noticed that Ramses’ leg was twisted the wrong way, so he stepped on his foot, and twisted Ramses at the hips to get it back in place. They looked up at the top of the ravine.

“We’re in trouble,” Ramses mused.

“We’re a distraction,” Mateo said. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

« < » > Table of Contents

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 19, 2501

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 2

Leona, Olimpia, and Romana were on a trip together in Portland. They checked into a hotel for one night, but then they left to rough it in a cabin in the woods far outside of town. This was a bonding experience meant to strengthen Leona’s relationship with Olimpia, and create a relationship between Olimpia and Romana. The former seemed to be okay with the three-person arrangement that her parents had, but she hadn’t spent much time with their third. They weren’t intending on her becoming a second mother—especially not since Romana was approaching adulthood—but it was important for them to get to know each other better.

“Do you still know where you’re going?” Olimpia asked. They were on a hike now, straight away from their cabin.

Leona checked the satnav on her watch. “Absolutely, I do. Not far now.”

“I hear the highway,” Romana said. “We’re not in the middle of nowhere anymore. If we need to stop and ask for directions, I’m sure it’s fine.”

“That you can hear the highway is a good sign,” Leona said. “The surprise isn’t remote.”

“What is it?” Olimpia asked for the umpteenth time, knowing that she would not receive an answer this time either.

“Just be patient.” We’re really close. She wasn’t wrong. Ten minutes later, they were passing through the trees, and onto the edges of some town. “Welcome...to Kansas City.”

“We walked all the way back to Kansas City?” Olimpia questioned. “What did we do, teleport?” She laughed.

“Kansas City...Oregon,” Leona clarified.

“Is that even a thing?” Romana asked.

“Clearly. You may now look at your phones.”

They both pulled them out, but Romana was faster. “There’s, like, fifteen people here.”

“I know. Cool, though, right?” Leona said with her hands on her hips.

“This was the surprise? A few people moved here from Missouri, and were too unoriginal to come up with a new name.”

“Well, I thought it was interesting.”

Olimpia turned around. “I’m headed back.”

“Oh come on, there’s a pool hall,” Leona whined.

“There is a pool hall,” Romana confirmed, still looking at her phone. “It’s pretty much all there is at this point. There isn’t even a restaurant.” She dropped her hand, and stood there with a blank face.

“There’s a school too.”

“No, it closed down.”

“Since when?”

Romana lifted her phone again. “Today.”

“Oh.”

“They had to finish up some summer schooling, but now it’s over.”

“Well, I’m sorry I wasted our time. I thought we could take a picture in front of the town sign. Ya know, like what people do when they go to a small town that shares its name with their surname?” She looked out, and blocked the sun with her hand. “It should be somewhere on that other road over there.”

“No, they took the sign down too,” Romana explained to her. The county stepped in, because it’s an unincorporated community, instead of a real town. So they weren’t allowed to have a sign anymore.”

“Fine,” Leona lamented.

“It’s all right, I still got my steps in today.” Olimpia looked at her own watch. “Eleven kilometers, not bad.” She patted Leona on the back. “That’s reason enough to come here.”

“Can we just take some pictures at least?” Leona begged.

“Sure. Let’s walk closer and get some more steps.”

They took a few photos of each other near one of the few buildings, which must have been a barn, or something. They went to check out the pool hall, but it was very smoky, and gross, so they didn’t even play one round. They just left, and started hiking back to the cabin. Leona was more upset than any of them at how anticlimactic this was. She kept walking with a frowny face, which the other two kept trying to pull back up at the corners. Eventually, she was able to forget about the whole thing, and get back to normal. It was only one day, and the hike was still lovely, so it wasn’t like it was a total waste of time. Besides, they would be able to laugh about it later, and tell a decent story at parties. Or so they thought, until Olimpia fell.

They were on a narrow trail on a ridge, switching their order organically and unintentionally. Each new leader would warn those behind of obstacles or dangers awaiting them. Unfortunately, this meant that one of them would not enjoy any given warning. Before Olimpia had the chance to inform the other two of a loose rock in the soft dirt, she became the victim of it. At first, she believed that she was okay. She caught herself on a whip tree, and even had enough time to say, “I’m good” before the pole trunk snapped under her weight, and dropped her over the edge. She fell so far, Leona and Romana couldn’t even tell how far it was. She kept tumbling and tumbling down the hill, ultimately disappearing through the forest, but they could hear the sounds of her knocking against things as she kept going, and her screams.

“Stay here,” Leona ordered her daughter.

“You’re not going after her.”

“Of course I’m going after her.”

“You’ll die too! You think it’s gonna be easier for you to get down than her?”

“She started on her back, and gained too much momentum,” Leona reasoned as she was dropping her pack. She took out her trekking poles, which she so far hadn’t bothered using. “I have the luxury of being more careful. We can’t just leave her.”

“I’m not saying that. We need to call for help.”

“Yeah, you do that,” Leona said as she was starting down the hill. “We don’t know how long that’s gonna take, though. I need to go assess the situation. That’s why we brought radio transceivers in addition to the sat phone. I’ll stay in contact from down there. Call S&R.”

“Be careful,” Romana warned, as if that could ever help.

“Yeah.” Leona cautiously walked down the hill with her four appendages, but it was taking too long. If she were going up, she could just keep climbing and climbing, but facing forwards, she had to be mindful of where she placed the tip of her pole. It could sink into mud, or slide on a thick leaf, and then it would literally be downhill from here. Momentum was Olimpia’s problem, but it was going to be Leona’s solution. Now that Romana probably couldn’t see her anymore, she started to slide—not uncontrollably, but more like she was on a snowboard. She went as fast as she could, leaning back to keep herself from tipping over. She still used the poles to slow herself down a little, and occasionally catch herself on a tree. As she got the hang of it, it actually started to be less like snowboarding, and more like skiing. She could just about glide down like a pro, like this hill was designed for it. Then she hit an invisible root, which reminded her why boot skiing wasn’t a real thing. She did tip over, and fell right on her face. Her ass flew up over her, and sent her rolling farther down, and just like Olimpia before, she couldn’t stop herself. She kept going and going until she felt a sharp crack in the back of her neck, and the lights went out.

“Mama! Mama!” Leona could hear. It was Romana.

Leona fluttered her eyes open to see that pretty face looking down at her. “Roma,” she whispered.

“She’s awake,” Romana said to someone out of view.

Olimpia’s equally pretty face appeared above her. “How is that possible? Her neck was broken. I swear, it was broken.”

“Clearly not,” Romana argued.

“Help me up, daughter.” With Romana’s aid, Leona got into a seated position. She leaned back against a boulder on the edge of a creek, and looked up at Olimpia, who was absolutely covered in blood; not quite like Carrie White, but not entirely unlike her either. “How are you alive?”

“I don’t know,” Olimpia replied. “I guess we’re both lucky.”

“Where’s the rescue team?” Leona asked.

“They’re not here yet,” Romana answered. “They said that it would be a couple of hours.”

“That’s funny,” Leona began. “They would be your only way down here since I explicitly ordered you to stay up there.”

“I’m younger than you two,” Romana reasoned. “I have better balance. Even with these things.”

Leona scoffed. Ever since Romana’s boobs came in, she was always talking about them...like Leona ought to be jealous. “You’ll get sick of ‘em.” She struggled to stand up all the way. “I’m all right, I can do it,” she insisted when Romana tried to help again. She looked up at the sky as if she would see a helicopter on its way. “You need to wash yourself off. You survived something that you probably shouldn’t have, and we don’t need people asking questions.”

“What are we?” Olimpia asked. “Superheroes, or something?”

“I’ve never saved anyone in my life,” Leona replied.

“Yes, you have, you’ve saved trillions,” Romana said.

“What?”

Romana flinched, and took a beat. “What?”

That wasn’t true, yet it did sound right somehow. Leona turned back to Olimpia. “Get in the water.”

“I don’t wanna get dysentery.”

“Just don’t get any in your mouth, you’ll be fine,” Leona assured her.

“You could also use these,” Romana countered. She removed a pack of wet wipes from the side pocket on her pack, which she managed to keep on her person.

“Thank you,” Olimpia said, graciously accepting them from her. “I’m gonna need them all, I think,” she decided, looking down at the mess. “And a change of clothes?”

“I can afford it,” Romana told her, “and certainly. How do you feel about pink crop tops?”

Olimpia stripped down and cleaned herself up. In the meantime, Romana tried to cancel search and rescue, but that went against protocol. They said that they couldn’t just turn around and erase the mission from their logs. She could be under duress, or suffering from a concussion that made her confused. They received a distress call, and were obligated to go out and investigate. Welp, they would have to lie and say that it wasn’t as serious as they thought. Romana wasn’t lying about the crop top, though. For Olimpia’s larger frame, however, it was extra croppy; more like a bra. They opted to climb back up the ridge. It wasn’t safe, but they seemed to be some kind of invincible, and they were hoping to find Olimpia’s bag along the way. They did, which allowed her to change into her own extra set of clothes instead.

They found Leona’s bag back up on the ridge trail. After taking a stop to drink water, they simply continued on their way. Oddly enough, the rescue team didn’t show up, and never called back. Concerned, Leona called them again an hour later, but the line was dead. “The phone number you are trying to reach is unavailable, or has been disconnected. Please check the number, and try your call again.” They tried a few more times, and still got nothing. That was super bizarre, but not their problem anymore. They just returned to the cabin, and collapsed on their respective bunks.

The next day, they got back in touch with the boys back in the regular Kansas City area. They immediately confessed what happened to them on that ridge, which prompted Mateo to admit that something similar happened to them, though less accidentally. There was something going on between the four of them, and their neighbors, the Walton twins. Even though they had no clue what was happening, their instincts were telling them that Romana was a lot more fragile, and her durability should not be tested with stabbings, falls, or surge protector strikes. Still, she was one of them, and other than Boyd, and maybe Pacey, no one else was. The more they thought on it, the more convinced they were that they were in a simulation. They had customers and clients and employees, but none of them could relate any specific story about one of them. They couldn’t remember the last time they were at the dentist, or a conversation they had with a classmate. There was something wrong with their memories. That was what it all came down to. And Pacey. He knew something. They could feel it.

The girls boarded their plane, and went back home, or at least that was what they believed. They didn’t have any memory of that either. Not clearly. They returned with the impression that a sufficient amount of time had passed between Portland and Mission Hills, and it seemed like they were at the airport, and then on a plane, but they had no recollection of it. They needed answers, and they needed to find a way to get those answers without their memories being messed with again, if that was really what was happening at all. They didn’t know. They didn’t know anything. Maybe confronting Pacey wasn’t the right call. Maybe all they could do was go out and push the boundaries. If none of this was real, there would be clues. There would be little rendering mistakes, and coding copies. Ramses called this geometry instancing. If they were in a virtual environment, each blade of grass would probably just be a copy, repeated from a single block of code. Through enough examination, they should be able to detect this, even though they obviously couldn’t read the code directly. Hopefully, whoever was watching over them—if anyone—wouldn’t catch them in the act. Perhaps a distraction was in order?

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2368: Earth, September 5, 2179

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Dear Vacuus Base,

My name is Condor Sloane. You may know my twin sister, Corinthia Sloane. When we were still infants, Corinthia and her mother left Earth on a daring mission to explore the unknown darkness that lies beyond the orbits of the sunstruck planets. Corinthia taught me that term to refer to the eight other planets, including Earth. I suppose it still technically fits, because the sun’s rays do technically hit our planet, and our sky is technically illuminated by it. Unfortunately, however, after you left, society broke down as greed overpowered all forms of civil fairness. Corporate espionage was rampant, leading to no one company gaining any innovative advantage over any other. In the past, a fair market encouraged healthy competition—which ideally makes things better for consumers—but certain legislative changes led to loopholes in regulatory oversight. They weren’t competing anymore, they were fighting. They were killing. These Corporate Wars turned blood red, and then a sickly pale green as researchers developed weaponized noxious chemicals to use against their boss’ enemies. No more is the sky as blue and beautiful as you’ve probably seen in images. The surface has been engulfed in a toxic cocktail of poisonous gases. We live in domes, or on the rare mountaintops that rise above the toxin line, frozen but habitable. The good news is that the wars are over. Most of the aggressors from those days are either dead or imprisoned. There are definitely still some out there in hiding, and there is definitely a job that involves bringing them to justice. My father and I came across these bounty hunters from time to time. We were transport coordinators, facilitating relocations between safe zones, across the lethal no-man’s lands that litter most of the world. We helped people find work, and reunite with their families. We met all sorts of interesting folk, and kept up with the goingson of the new society that has bloomed in the wake of the terrible devastation. Now, we live on the ocean. They built one of the domes on top of a giant floating platform. Since the platform has to be so large to accommodate the dome, it’s livable as well, and that’s where our cabin is. We have recently taken on immigrants from a dome in Australia. I managed to snap a photo of it from the outside while we were stopped on the road for some brief maintenance, and attached it here. I think that’s just about all I have to say about that. There are so many details missing, and I’m sure you’ll have questions. Corinthia has agreed to accept them from you, and will compile what she can’t answer herself for me. If necessary, I can write a second letter. Thank you for taking the time to hear a little bit about myself and my world. Stay safe up there, and don’t forget to close the door behind you when you go in or out!

Regards,

Condor

Microstory 2283: Is How it Goes

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

I’m sorry to disappoint you, folks but there’s nothing special to report in regards to my sleep study. Why am I sleeping poorly, besides the pain that I’m still in? Stress, mostly. Stress and anxiety. We were pretty sure that that was the issue, but we tested for it in case it was something weird. They took a lot of blood and other samples, though, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve always had problems sleeping. When I was a kid, people would tell me that you need eight hours of sleep per night, so I would ask whether that meant we need six hours total, accounting for the two hours it takes to fall asleep, or if I need to give myself a ten hour window. They had no clue what I was talking about. It was taking them ten or twenty minutes to fall asleep. That’s when I realized that I hated people. Not really, lol, but...kind of. I apologize that I’m giving you such an unexciting explanation, because my readers may tune out because of it, but this is how it goes, and it should be for now. Maybe it’s not great for engagement, but that’s what we want. I prefer it to be boring, after all that I’ve been through this year. Stress, I can handle. I have been dealing with it my whole life, even as a child. I’m sure I’ll start to sleep better now. Speaking of which, let’s go test that out now. Goodnight, everybody!

Extremus: Year 88

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

For her first year as Captain, Tinaya lived with a lot of anxiety. It was eating her up from the inside. She was keeping so many secrets, and she just wanted to forget everything. She used to be grateful that at least she wasn’t dealing with a bunch of other tangible problems. Omega and the Verdemusians were protecting them from the war, leaving the Extremus free to continue on its journey. The crew and passengers were getting along, and there weren’t any major crises to solve. Her therapist would say that if she were working through those kinds of captainly issues, she probably wouldn’t have much space in her brain for anxiety, and that might be true. Whatever the case, all of that disappeared the day that her husband, Arqut did. Tinaya didn’t see it herself, but one person happened to be in the corridor with him at the time. He didn’t just blink away, which is the most common form of temporal or spatial travel. No, if he had done that, then the witness probably would have just assumed that he had gone away on purpose.

The way the passerby described it, Arqut was looking rather sweaty. Then he started spinning around like there was a bug on his back, and he was trying to get ahead of it. The witness apparently tried to reach out to help, but missed his opportunity when the spinning seemed to start to happen on its own. He vanished in a haze of dark particles, which gradually faded within seconds. Current temporal engineer Sabine Lebeau had never heard of anything like that before, and it wasn’t in any database that she could find. The uncertainty scared Tinaya more than anything. This was no accident. Someone wanted Arqut, and for the last three months, had yet to return him to her. Unfortunately, her means of investigating were severely limited.

Most people on the ship could not know that he was missing. He disappeared once before, but that was in pursuit of getting Tinaya back. If she admitted that this time was not a planned departure, it would raise too many questions. Only a few people were allowed to know what was going on, and were sworn to secrecy. The witness agreed to his silence in exchange for a minimum on his contribution score. Basically, no matter what he did now, his score would never go below a certain threshold. It was a small price to pay, as long as he didn’t try to use this advantage to become a serial killer, or something. But even if he did, no deal with the captain would protect him from retribution. After that matter was settled, she started to work through the investigation, mostly on her own, though she couldn’t let it interfere with her regular duties either. That would raise questions too. But she wasn’t completely hopeless. She couldn’t make a big fuss about it publicly, or risk other truths coming to light, but there were still ways to conduct this investigation both vigorously and quietly at the same time. She made a list of suspects, and started running down every lead. She started by accusing the Bridgers of having something to do with it, but they denied it, and even let her return to the Bridger section to see for herself. He wasn’t there, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t show up in the future, or hell, the past.

Today is not a good day, though. All of her leads have dried up. She has no one left to talk to, no test left to try. He could be lost forever. It’s worse than it was when she was the one trapped on the outpost planet. She knew where she was, and she knew where Arqut was. The uncertainty; what could she do to remedy that? She’s supposed to be discussing her problems with her therapist at the moment, but instead, she’s retching into the toilet in her stateroom.

“How are you doing, Tinaya?” Most people would not be able to just start talking to her like that without waiting for Tinaya to answer first, but some people have special communications privileges, such as medical staff.

Tinaya spits into the bowl. “I’m fine.”

“Come back, I need to talk,” Dr. Lebeau requests. That’s right, another Lebeau. Tinaya would normally use the Executive Psychologist for her personal needs, but Sabine introduced her to her sister in order to enact a sort of loophole. While any therapist would respect patient confidentiality, the EP is obligated to report meeting times to the ship’s council, so they can make sure their captain isn’t isn’t showing signs of not being able to handle this job. A private therapist, on the other hand, is under no such obligation. Tinaya can talk to her all she wants, and do so at their joint convenience. Plus, Virve Lebeau already knows many secrets that not even the EP does.

“I’m a little busy.” She spits again.

“I can tell. I can help.”

“Fine, one second.” Tinaya flushes the toilet, and washes her face. Then she teleports back to Dr. Lebeau’s office. “What is it?”

Dr. Lebeau is holding her watch between her thumb and index finger.

“It’s your watch. Okay, are you scolding me for wasting your time? I’m sorry, next time I’ll use your bathroom, and talk to you about my feelings in between forcing last night’s dinner out of my stomach.”

“No, it’s not about that, Captain.” Dr. Lebeau walks forward, and drapes the watch over her opposite backhand, as if presenting it as a prize for a gameshow. “See these little dots under here?”

Tinaya is confused. “Uh, yeah, those are for blood tests. They spring microneedles to take samples on the fly. Why are you asking me about them?”

“These are necessary when the user doesn’t have any sort of medical implant that could test twenty-four-seven,” Dr. Lebeau goes on. “Obviously, though, you can’t program the watch to poke you whenever it wants. You have to tell it to do it. You have to decide when you’re ready for an update.”

“Are you saying that I have a virus, and I should test myself for it?” She’s still so confused. “Okay, I’ll find out. I think it’s just acid reflux, though. Stress-induced, I’m sure; we can talk about that, if you want.”

“Not a virus. I think you’re pregnant.”

Tinaya chuckles. Then she does it again, but louder. She manages to stop at that, though. “What? I can’t be pregnant, I’m in my sixties!”

“Did you ever go through menopause?” Dr. Lebeau questions.

“I think so.” This isn’t a dumb answer. Thanks to advances in medical science over the centuries, menopause still happens for those who were ever biologically capable of birthing young, but it’s far less pronounced than it was for ancient humans. The same is true for pregnancy and the menstrual cycle as a whole. These conditions are not nearly as uncomfortable as they were back in the day. It’s not that uncommon for people who lived particularly physically rough lives to not even notice that menopause has come and gone for them. If they’ve ever been on advanced chemical or implantable birth control too, it’s really easy to lose track of the cycle due to persistent interference in the body’s natural scheduling.

Dr. Lebeau raises her eyebrows, and looks down at Tinaya’s own watch.

“Y...you want me to test right now? Fine.” She swipes the screen to the appropriate menu, and releases the microneedles. Once it’s done, she self-assuredly bobbles her head a little bit while they wait for the results. After the beep, she takes one look at it, and shows it to the doctor. “See? Look. Pregnant. Pregnant? Fuck.”

“Congratulations,” Dr. Lebeau says to her, rather unconvincingly, one might add.

“I can’t be pregnant.”

“You can. You receive some of the best medical care in the galaxy. Many don’t experience the change until their seventies. You don’t read that in the reports.”

“Virve, I can’t be pregnant. The Captain. Can’t. Be pregnant!”

“There’s no law that says a sitting captain can’t be pregnant. It’s just never happened before,” Dr. Lebeau reminds her.

“For good reason. It splits attention. I must be fully committed to the operations of this vessel, and the safety of its crew and passengers. That is literally my only job.”

“If that’s how you feel about it—”

“I can’t have an abortion either. It’s not illegal, of course, but it’s...unbecoming.”

“Sounds like you’re in a tough spot. I can help you through it, but you have to be willing to explore all options. And you have to be patient, with me, and yourself.”

“Those are my only two options. I mean, what the hell else am I gonna do?” She starts to pace the room. “And yeah, I know, I could put it up for adoption, but that would be scandalous too. That kid will grow up knowing that its mother was just too busy for it, not that she was genuinely incapable of caring for a child. Adoption doesn’t hardly ever happen here, because nobody dies before they’re old! And they don’t have kids after they become old, because that’s nuts! I mean, if Arqut were here, maybe we could make it work together. He could take care of the baby, and even when I’m there, I would be able to teleport at a moment’s notice when duty calls, and I could always argue that that’s an option when anyone tries to criticize me for going through with the pregnancy. But is that enough anyway? Because it’s not just about the perception that my priorities are split. It’s about them actually being split. How can I look out for everyone on the ship, when there are only two people I truly care about? Then again, I am the only Captain who has ever been married at all, so that’s always been a lingering criticism, even though I’ve never heard anyone say that to me, I’m sure that plenty of people feel that way. And now he’s missing, and I can’t even tell anyone about it. I have to claim that he’s on a new mission. But then once people find out that I’m captaining for two, they’re gonna wonder why the father of my child hasn’t come back for his family. Then some are gonna realize the possibility that he’s not the father at all, and there will be a cheating scandal that isn’t even true, but do you think people even care about the truth anymore? That’s all we’ve been talking about; perception, and there’s nothing I can do about that. And either way, this whole thing is gonna get people wondering where Arqut has been this whole time, and they’ll start asking questions, and they’ll all find out that he’s missing, and that we’re been course correcting for decades, and that Verdemus wasn’t destroyed, and why aren’t you trying to call me down!”

“I think you need this outburst,” Dr. Lebeau explains. “It sounds cathartic.”

“Well...” She starts, prepared to argue. “I think you’re right, I appreciate it.”

“Captain?” Tinaya’s First Lieutenant asks through her watch.

“What is it, Faiyaz?”

“It’s Arqut. He’s back.”

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2239: Marrow and Index

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3, and by Pixlr AI image editor

A private citizen with a whole lot of money—who I shall not name—has offered me a substantial amount of money for a sample of my bone marrow, and my index. Not just a biopsy of it, but the entire thing. I didn’t want to do anything like that, but I feel like I have no choice now. The FBI can’t be responsible for us for the rest of our lives, and it’s not going super great. Someone broke into the house that we were just living in. We’ve been moving around for security reasons, but if the suspect had been a week earlier, this might not have had a happy ending. Instead of trying to hide, and stay out of danger by remaining inconspicuous, I think a better strategy would be to be out in the open, but to become so well-guarded that I’m virtually untouchable. That’s how world leaders do it. We all know where the President of the United States lives, that doesn’t mean attacking her would be easy. This will obviously require significant capital. The procedure wouldn’t be simple, nor safe, but it would be relatively quick. I’ll only have to stay in the hospital for a couple of days, and only be in recovery for about a month as I regain my strength. I don’t know for sure what the backer thinks he’ll be doing with my marrow and index, but I explained to him that my immortality is gone, and it’s not something that can be studied in this universe. He’s willing to take that risk, and if we’re being honest, I don’t know with certainty that his researchers won’t gain any insight with it. Doctors have been taking samples for weeks, but never this much. So I think I’m gonna do it, to help myself, and my friends, and for the possibility that it helps everyone else.

Microstory 2236: Stop Sending Me Messages

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3, and by Pixlr AI image editor

We’re running into the same problem with the FBI that we had with the jail. No one has my contact information, so they’re reaching out to the only entity that they know is already in contact with me. They had to hire a temp to sift through all the letters and emails. It may actually be a team, I don’t really know. But I’m sure it’s a stressful job, because it includes death threats. Well, in truth, I don’t know that there are any death threats, because if true, part of the temp’s job would be to filter them out, so I don’t have to see them. But let’s face it, there are. No one should be sending anything like that, but I don’t really want anything anyway; good or bad. I don’t want your love letters, propositions, or proposals. I don’t want you to publish a book about my life, or cast me in a romcom. I won’t go on a date with you, or father your child, or give you my blood. It’s not a healing elixir; we know as much. Just stop. Not too long ago, Kelly suggested that we might consider hiring a publicist to handle all this stuff. They have the infrastructure and hiring practices to handle this sort of thing, not that I want anyone to have to deal with this stuff. I would rather it just stop altogether. Back in my younger days, I wished that I would be famous, and I guess I always knew that it came with drawbacks, but knowing about them, and experiencing them, are two different things. So please just calm down. As I’ve tried to explain, my blood cannot heal you. Doctors have been studying it for weeks—even longer than that when you consider the fact that I was a former immortal before I even came to your world. That’s the thing about your universe, it dampens my abilities, which is of course, what opens me up to all those death threats. God, I just can’t get away from the strife. Please just stop sending me messages. I’m sorry, but I’m not reading most of them. I don’t know what I’m going to do with the rest of my life, but I can tell you that it will be on my terms. The more you beg me to follow your lead, or listen to your ideas, the more I’m going to pull away. That’s just who I am. If you really wanna stay in the loop, simply read my website and socials. Personal connection isn’t a thing; not with me. I have all the friends I need.

Microstory 2228: More Advanced Care Now

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2, and by Pixlr AI image editor

Nick is back in the hospital, and this is where he’ll stay for the rest of his life. It seems that we were too quick to decide that he was capable of staying at home. We weren’t back in the apartment for more than a few hours before he started having some real problems. His temperature was going up each time I checked it, eventually reaching a full fever. Soon after that, he started coughing, and feeling dizzy even though he was just lying in bed. The nurse had already left for the evening, but I called her back, and she agreed that he couldn’t stay there untreated anymore. For a normal healthy individual, these symptoms could be treated on their own using over-the-counter remedies, but Nick is in a really vulnerable position. He requires round-the-clock care, and the kind that I’m not qualified to provide. They conducted rapid blood tests, and confirmed that it’s a virus. Again, a normal person might be able to fight it off on their own, or get some medication after a quick doctor’s visit, but that’s not enough for him. He’s hooked up to machines, which are monitoring him for a team of top-notch medical professionals. But where does that leave me? I know that, when you add it all up, I’ve not known him for very long, but we’ve grown pretty close in that time. I’ve seen sides of him that no one else has. So I can’t just leave, even though he has more advanced care now. There’s a protocol for this situation. It’s called a “hand-off”. And I’ve officially done that, though I am still here, just now as a friend, which is what our relationship was when we were co-workers. He doesn’t have any real family in this world, so I’m going to do what I can to make him feel safe and comfortable, even though it’s not my job anymore.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 11, 2463

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Pixlr AI image generator

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.

« < » > Table of Contents