Microstory 2359: Earth, July 23, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Thank you for reminding me about the whole study aspect of our separation. I did ask dad about this, and didn’t let him leave the room until he explained everything. At least that’s what I said when the conversation began; he never actually tried to escape. He doesn’t know what happened after you and your mother left. They deliberately withheld information from him. The way we’ve understood it thus far, it seemed like this twisted, nefarious conspiracy with a cabal of evildoers who don’t care about ethics. Dad painted it in a new light, even though I’m not sure he realized it. In reality, it kind of sounds more like an amateur job. They weren’t very well-organized, and they didn’t have much of a plan beyond separate twins, study behavior. Imagine that in a caveman voice, because the more he talked about his limited involvement, the dumber the researchers sounded. After the atmosphere started to become toxic, the only constant in my life was him. No one else was around for any meaningful length of time. There was no one studying me, up close, or from a distance. They couldn’t have. Society was breaking down, and had yet to rebuild itself in a new way. Whoever was assigned to keep tabs on me would have either lost me, or given up. Or, I suppose they could have died. Not everyone made it through that dark period in our history. Dad says he doesn’t have names, and I believe him on that part. I mean, you can look through your own databases on Vacuus, but I can’t find a single study that has anything to do with observing twins across two planets. I think you said it early on, we’re not identical, and we’re two different genders, so right there, the study was already bizarre. There are too many relevant variables to account for, so unless it’s part of a larger case study, you’re not going to gain any significant insights into how twins develop in terms of nature versus nurture. My guess is that they realized as much before too long, and eventually just gave up, leaving us to live our lives however we were going to. I don’t think we’ll ever really know who was responsible for this, or what they were thinking. Some information has been lost on my world, but I do have access to quite a bit of it. A small group of brave people during the toxic buildup dedicated their lives to preserving humanity’s knowledge. Some regions have information that others don’t, but only due to oversights and lapses, not a concerted effort to hide the truth from us. At least not when it comes to this stuff. The people who poisoned the air in the first place? Sure, they hid as much as they could from the people they were hurting, and still do, but they really would not care what happened to the two of us specifically. On the lighter side, I’m glad that you’ve worked things out with this Bray fellow. Let me know if he gives you any more trouble, though, and I’ll beat him up for you.

Enjoying my private life,

Condor

Microstory 2320: Earth, September 19, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

That actually sounds like a great job to have. It may not be as glamorous as field work, but you’re gonna outlive all your peers, which is good for me, because now we have more time to get to know each other. I’m in a bit of a different situation. My work is boring, but not because there’s nothing to do; it’s just really terrible. I am our father’s assistant, but only when he’s here. When he’s not, I report to his boss. He’s not a bad guy, but he gives me these tedious tasks that don’t really need to get done. I swear, he asked me to file a batch of documents last year that I just refiled last week according to case number instead of tracking number. For an explanation, while these two numbers are different, they only ever refer to the same thing. One case will always have one tracking tag, and one tag will only have one case attached to it. It doesn’t matter anyway, because everything is electronic, and these are just for backup! That is merely one example, and I won’t bore you with any more. Suffice to say that I would take your job over mine any day. You may never have encountered an issue yet, but it’s quite important, and if something does come up, you could be instrumental in saving lives. Mine is pointless, and utterly redundant. As far as the pictures go, you don’t have to do anything you can’t afford, or don’t want to spend money on. I really mean that. I’ll send you one photo of my place, but you don’t have to send anything back at all. I’m happy just to read your words. I don’t know if I really thanked you for reaching out. A lesser person would have suppressed their emotions about it, or at least waited until they could wrap their minds around it. I want you to know how brave you are for speaking up, and giving us this opportunity. Attached is an image of my quarters, from as far back as I could step, so it would get as much in frame as possible. What you’re not seeing is the shared lav around the corner, and the closet that isn’t deep enough for a coat. I don’t want to complain, though. As I’ve said, I know how fortunate I am to have any of this.

Wishing you were here,

Condor

Microstory 2196: Countless Calls

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I’m pleased to report that everything went great today. As you know, my assistant and the logistician already started a while ago. Three new people had their start date today. I wasn’t able to say this before, but the social worker that I had while I was having my issues is in the process of moving to another state. He was training an apprentice to replace him, but before she could take any cases on her own, the chance to work on my team came up, so she applied to that as well. Since she didn’t yet have a caseload to work with, she was able to start with us right away. As per usual, I won’t be able to tell you her name, or divulge any details about her, but I wanted to say something about it right away. There’s going to be some criticism for this decision. It may seem like she doesn’t have very much experience, but you have to understand that social workers go through some of the most rigorous training curriculum of any job. Only doctors and lawyers have it harder in this respect, and even that’s debatable. She’s been working in the industry for nearly ten years now, and has handled thousands of cases to one degree or another. She’s just never been on her own yet, having gone on countless calls with her mentor who was in a supervisory role, or a partner. Unlike how it is in my world, social workers are often called to the scene of a conflict along with police. They sometimes arrive prior to police, or even instead of. So, they are extremely experienced before they officially graduate from the program. She will be running the Social subdepartment, and we’re very glad to have her on the team. The other two people who began today will work in the Psychology subdepartment. One is a former Jail Counselor, and the other a Job Counselor. Both of them have actually worked together before, helping guests cope with their situations inside, and also preparing them to become contributing members of society once they’re released. The six of us went on a tour of the jail facility together, learning about how the system works currently. We met a few of the intermittent guests. This was an important thing to do, so our new staff members get a feel for the vibe here. We’ll do this sort of thing again as the team begins to fill out in the coming weeks.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 23, 2444

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Now that they had tested the refurbished reframe engine from a safe distance, it was time to test it while on board. They would continue to monitor the machine to make sure it held up, but that was something that they did every time they used it. They were just paying extra close attention in case there was a temporal component to the repairs. Perhaps ongoing stress would cause the nanofractures to reopen. They would never be completely safe, but then again, they never were at all in this line of business.

The speed of a ship equipped with this kind of technology was limited to roughly 707 times the speed of light, which means that they would always be able to travel a distance of 707 light years during their interim year. Making it back to the stellar neighborhood would take them 23 years, which for the team, was about three weeks. That was doable, but they were too busy for that. For one, they had to find a place to drop off Korali, and the rest of the staff of Ex-467, who nearly died due to their interference, and would have without their intervention. They needed a new place to live. It had to be nice and safe, but also had the chance of returning them to whatever worlds they originally came from, or just wanted to go to now. Korali said that the space station had a manifest, but she didn’t have a copy of it, because why would she? Perhaps someone in the Subdimensional Crucible happened to have it on them, but they could not interact with those people yet. Not until they were released would that be possible.

“Well, I’m not sure if I should say,” Korali began cryptically.

“Why wouldn’t you say it?”

“It’s dangerous,” Korali answered. “Well, I don’t mean there are monsters running around, or something, but as enemies of the state, you would not be welcomed there.”

“They don’t know who we are,” Ramses reminded them. He transformed himself into the likeness of 20th and 21st century actor, Misha Collins.

“That’s true,” Korali admitted, but she was still reluctant.

“It’s just an idea,” Leona said encouragingly. “We don’t have to take it, but we need to know what it is, so we have our options.”

“It’s Ex-18118,” Korali said.

“That’s not on my list,” Ramses said, pulling his handheld device out to check. “Plus, it breaks the three-digit convention.”

“You probably don’t have Ex-403 or Ex-404 on your list either,” Korali explained. “Wherever you got your intel it was probably from an ordinary citizen. Loyalists like I was have special knowledge. Ex-18118 is for Rest and Relaxation. On the occasion that we’re given leave from our duties, like between assignments, we can take it on Ex-18118. Regular people live there to support our needs, like vendors and sex workers, but the majority of the population are people like me who need a little time off to recharge.”

“So everyone there would hate us if they found out who we were,” Mateo figured.

“Then it’s the perfect place,” Leona decided. “No one will be looking for us. Everyone will literally have their guards down, and if it’s a hub for loyalists, they probably come from all over the Corridor, which means that we shouldn’t have to worry about people wondering why they don’t recognize us.”

“They still may ask you where you’re from,” Korali clarified. “You’ll need to know how to answer that question.” She sighed. “I would recommend Ex-420 or Ex-69. No one will ask any more questions if you say that, not even people who have worked at either of those places. It’s just not something you talk about. You’ll need to know what to wear, and how to act, though.”

Korali showed Ramses where Ex-18118 was. It actually wasn’t too far from Ex-42, which again, no longer mattered. They could cross the span of the entire Goldilocks Corridor in a day from their perspective. Still, they were considering going there next. Before they engaged reframe speeds, she described the Ex-420 uniforms, which literally had an image of a marijuana leaf on them, so that was fun to program into the industrial synthesizers. While those were working, she taught them how 420 staff members behaved, which was odd, to say the least. They were hardened and imposing, but also high all the time, because they were around so much smoke? It was confusing to learn, but it sounded easier than figuring out how to pretend to be Ex-69ers, who were also overserious, but at the same time, too horny to be professional.

While the smart people were discussing the plan with the dimensional box, Mateo pulled Korali aside for a personal conversation. “How do you feel?”

“I’m okay,” Korali answered. “I don’t have any problems with stasis. Some people do, but you use better technology anyway.”

“I don’t mean that, though that is nice to hear. I mean, you’ve been behind enemy lines for a while now. Going down to this planet is your chance to return to your life, but it’s also a chance to...screw us over. If you were planning on doing that, I wouldn’t expect you to warn me, but I feel I would be remiss if I didn’t attempt to ask.”

She smiled softly, and kept looking forward. “In December of 1943, during what your people refer to as World War II, two enemy pilots named Charlie Brown and Franz Stigler encountered each other on the battlefield. Brown’s aircraft was too damaged to continue fighting, but instead of destroying him, Stigler escorted him to safety. Decades later, long after the animosities from the war had passed, the two of them reunited, and became true friends. I don’t know if you and I are going to reunite in 47 years, but I know that I’m going to show you compassion now. You saved those people on the space station when you didn’t have to. I still believe that the Oaksent is a good man, but I no longer believe that you’re not. For now, that’s just going to have to be enough.”

Mateo smiled back. “I understand, and appreciate it.”

Leona came up to them. “We’re ready. Korali, you need to get in your stasis pod. It’s going to be longer than half a day for you this time, and you won’t be allowed out until we let you.”

“I get it,” Korali replied respectfully.

Once the Vellani Ambassador arrived at the outer edge of the system, it turned invisible, and parked itself on a long-period comet. Ramses had programmed the exterior hologram to make them look like a standard recreational shuttle from Ex-420, but they didn’t want anyone to find it during their interim year, regardless of what it looked like. When they returned to the timestream in 2444, they released Korali from her stasis pod to go over the plan one more time, and then they got dressed, and began to cover the rest of the distance at subfractional speeds.

Their reputation preceded them, even though no one knew who they were. Just dropping down to the surface of the planet with those three big numbers on the side of their hull practically parted the sea for them. No one asked them for verification, or to register with an intake officer. They could presumably do whatever they wanted here, and no one would try to stop them. One thing they apparently weren’t allowed to do, however, was land in a remote area of the planet. There were satellites and ground stations positioned all around the globe. This was to ensure that no one tried to stay here for the rest of the lives when they were supposed to go back to their work eventually. Besides, that wouldn’t do them any good, because the whole point was to help the survivors of Ex-467 return to those lives. The team was just going to be really far away when that happened. So they did need to be away from the population centers, just not too far away. They couldn’t teleport, though, because that could be tracked.

They stopped at the hotel to check in, which basically involved them showing those three special numbers on the shoulders of their uniforms, and providing the clerk with false names. They spent a couple hours in their suite before claiming to be going on a leisurely stroll in the arboretum. That’s exactly what they did, except that there was nothing leisurely about it. They walked as fast as they could, and even ran a little, though Korali found it difficult to keep up, since her body was not enhanced. Mateo actually carried her part of the way, because they wanted to get really far from anyone else. The survivors would eventually make their way back, but not too quickly.

Several hours later, they were roughly forty kilometers away. They were far enough away, in fact, that no one who suddenly woke up here would have any particular reason to suspect that their best hope of finding civilization lay in the east. This was a good place to drop them off, even though they could have gone farther. The weather was calm here, and the environment felt safe. A beautiful clear pond provided them with a source of freshwater, and Korali said that a lot of these plants were edible. They were looking for a cave to sort of maybe encourage the survivors to dig in for the night, but they were liable to do that either way, which was why they chose to land the Vellani on this side of the planet, because night was falling soon anyway.

“Do you have your story straight?” Leona asked Korali.

“Yes. I managed to get into an escape pod as soon as I heard the alarm go off in the warehouse. I left so quickly that I didn’t even hear the announcement to head for the mess hall. The blastwave of a secondary explosion that the Lucius bomb triggered struck my pod, and knocked me unconscious. I’ve been surviving in stasis ever since until the Oaksent dispatched a rescue team to search for survivors. They ordered me to come here to Ex-18118 to give the survivors one year to rest and recuperate. I then decided that it was best to let them out of the Subdimensional Crucible away from the nearest hotel to avoid inundating them with questions right after they were released.”

“Are you okay with lying?” Marie asked.

“It won’t be my first time,” Korali acknowledged, obviously never intending to elaborate. She carefully took the Crucible from Ramses. It was still in the giant suitcase that they used to conceal it from others. She set it on the ground and opened it up to use the microscope. “They’re all right. They’ll be all right.” She stood back up. “Who knows what’s happened to them, though? They’ve had years to form a new society. Your supply drops have surely helped, but they could be anybody.”

“You know how to contact us,” Leona reminded her.

Korali tapped the comms device secretly implanted behind her ear.

“We’ll see each other again, Mateo said confidently.” He took her in a hug. “Hopefully we won’t have to wait a whole 47 years for it.”

“Agreed. I’ll probably be dead by then.”

They left her alone, and made their way towards the hotel. Running at full speed this time, they were back in less than four hours. They relaunched just before midnight.

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Microstory 2102: You’re Only Hurting Yourself

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Oh my God, the coppers must think I’m preeeetty stupid if they legitimately believed that I was in Chicago. I literally told you in my last post that I wasn’t going to mention any specifics about my location, and immediately after, I claimed that I was going to be on the Chicago River? You didn’t think that I would catch that “mistake”. It was a total misdirect, meant to accomplish two objectives. First, I wanted to see if anyone who might have been looking for me was trying to use my blog as a resource. Second, I wanted to gauge the response. For my part, I think it was blown way out of proportion. They had the whole city lookin’ for me; for one little guy who hasn’t hurt anybody. You people need to get your priorities checked. A part of me wanted to continue to waste their time and money looking in the right place, but I’m not vengeful and petty like them. So this is the truth, I’m not anywhere near Chicago. I chose it, because I’m moderately familiar with it from my experiences in my home universe, and because I had already made a minor connection to someone there. He was one of the people who answered my ad that was looking for other aliens. I haven’t talked to that guy in a long time, though. Make a list of every place you think I would hide out, and then cross it all out. I would never hide where someone might think to look for me. That’s Lam 101. I never said anything about Philadelphia. Why don’t you check there? Or I know, how about the entirety of China? My advice, cut your losses, and move on to more important cases. As I said, I never hurt anybody, and I won’t. I have no reason to. I’m not dangerous, I’m not angry. I’m just trying to get home. Anyone who doesn’t understand that probably has easier access to their own home, so I’m asking for a little sympathy here. Stop looking for me! I’m not worth it! You’re only hurting yourself. I ran, and I understand that I caused a problem when I did that, but I’m telling you now that you will never find me, so if you continue the investigation, it will be all on you. I will accept no responsibility for whatever resources are expended on it, or whatever it ends up costing the taxpayers of this country. Just leave me alone, and everything will be okay. Yours truly, the ghost.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 18, 2398

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Leona is sitting on a stool in her new lab. She normally just works in an office, or remotes in from home, but she’s waiting for the item to arrive. She’s been asked to make a preliminary assessment on a mysterious object that Ramses and a band of mercenaries “liberated” from a transport team just outside of Munich. As of yet, no one has been willing to tell her what this object is, or even hinted at what it could be. They just hope she can figure it out, and give them some scientific advantage. She’s bored, because she was required to leave all communication devices outside of the room. It’s actually a room inside of a highly insulated room with blast doors, which the executives hope will insulate the rest of the facility, should the object explode. When she pointed out that this was a way of telling her that it was a bomb, they seemed to not quite agree with that.

Petra walks in. Behind her are two military men in black uniforms, carrying a plastic grayish case between them. “Over there,” she orders, pointing. They set it down on the table.

Leona gets up to get a look. “Okay, now can you tell me what it is?”

Petra clears her throat suggestively. The military men leave, but even after they do, Petra hesitates to respond.

“Okay, I guess I’ll just open it myself.” Leona places a hand upon it. She doesn’t hear anything, but she can feel something inside click, and rotate.

“Good luck,” Petra says. “Let me know what you find.”

“Wait, what?”

“That’s your first task, to get the case open. We’ve already tried, and it appears to be impenetrable. That’s why you have so many tools and equipment at your disposal.”

Leona looks at her, and then the case. “You don’t even know what this is?”

“No.”

“Why did you steal it?”

She hesitates again, but gets on with it. “It appeared to be rather important to the people we recovered it from.”

Leona just stands there. “It could be a nuclear bomb.”

Petra nods. “Yes.”

“It could be a biological weapon.”

Petra nods again. “It could.”

“And you want me to just open it without question.”

“You’ll be handsomely rewarded.”

“If I live,” Leona amends for her.

Petra nods once more. “Correct.”

Leona sticks her tongue inside her bottom lip. “Thank you. You can go now.”

“Like I said...good luck.”

Leona scowls as her boss leaves the room, and then the other room. She places her hands on her hips, and looks around a moment when one of the observation cameras catches her eye. That’s what she’s calling them now, because they’re obviously not there for security. Petra and Senator Honeycutt are in a room right now, watching everything that happens. She’s not going to give them the satisfaction. She removes a giant freakin’ wrench from the wall, and smashes it against one of the cameras, and then another, and then most of the rest. She leaves the last one up for a second. “I’ll let you know what I find...if I feel like it.” With that, she destroys it, then sits down to wait for someone to arrive in anger, but no one does. So maybe they have a hidden camera that she can’t find, or they’re willing to take the L on this one.

Now that she’s alone, she can finally get to the bottom of all this. It could be anything. It could be dangerous. She’s just grateful that the thing didn’t pop open as soon as it found itself in her presence, because she doesn’t need any more questions. It is unlocked. It reacted to her touch as if she were always destined to have it. Wasting no more time, she goes back to the table, and lifts the lid. Inside is a large, blank piece of brown paper. Parchment, she might call it. “This is weird,” she says out loud. As she speaks, lines and colors begin to form on the page. In the top left corner is a square, displaying an image of this moment right here of Leona standing in her lab. Another square forms next to it, showing the observation room she predicted would exist. Petra, Honeycutt, and a few other people are watching her on a monitor, but they can’t see anything noteworthy, because the hidden camera is pointed at her back. The digital clock, that’s where the secret camera is.

She picks up the wrench again, and smashes the clock. When she returns to the parchment, a third square has appeared, illustrating that act, and then a fourth shows the Senator walking briskly down the hall. It looks like a comic strip, but that’s not the whole story. This...is the LIR Map. Lincoln Isaac Rutherford is a man from the main sequence with the ability to know everything about the universe, though not necessarily all at once. He has described time as a painting. Most people are standing very, very, very close to their little section of this painting. They can see some of the past, and blurred images of the future, but mostly only the present—their present. All he does is step back and get a better view, and then he can move over and look at a different section of the grand painting. A different section, kind of like a comic book panel?

Leona wasn’t around when Mateo, his brother, Darko, and Lincoln were charged with figuring out how to create this special map, which mimicked the latter’s ability, but reportedly, none of them ever actually saw it. They realized that the only way to get a clear picture of the universe was to leave it, but they were not asked to participate in this final step. Arcadia returned without showing them that it worked, though it obviously did. How it found its way to this reality, Leona couldn’t say, and neither could anyone else. If there’s one thing she knows about it, though, it’s that the map can’t be destroyed. Well, she doesn’t know that for sure, but due to its immense power, Arcadia probably demanded it to be made indestructible. So she folds it in half, confident that she’s not ruining a priceless relic. Then she folds it in half again, and again, and again, and again. When all is said and done, it’s the size of a quarter, and no thicker than it was before. She tucks it into her underwear just as the door is opening.

“What is it?” Senator Honeycutt demands to know.

“It’s nothing.”

He glowers at her, then steps over to look into the case. All he sees is the protective black foam, and an indentation that suggests that something the size of a desktop computer was in it at some point. “What did you do? What did you do with it?”

“Look around, my friend. Check the badge logs. I never left, and I couldn’t have hidden an object that size anywhere in here. That case is empty, and it has been this entire time. I don’t know why your enemies were transporting it so carefully, but it looks like you’ve been had. Maybe they knew you were coming?”

Microstory 1722: The Chameleons

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I’ve always been really great at fitting in. In grade school, I would seamlessly switch from clique to clique, making people feel like I belonged, and also that there was nothing wrong with me belonging elsewhere at the same time. People noticed that I was friends with pretty much everyone, but they still couldn’t see the big picture. I didn’t even really see it. It’s not like this was a calculated strategy on my part. I just did it. Everything changed when I went to college. I met people from all over the country, and beyond. I found it harder to relate to some, and that made it harder to want to try to relate to anyone. It was disheartening. It was a small liberal arts school, far from home, so I didn’t think I would ever see anyone from high school again, but there was one. I’m not being rude by calling him an outcast, because that’s how he referred to himself, and how he liked it. He and a few others deliberately separated themselves from the herd, not because they hated people, but because they were all destined to lead lives that required that they be excellent observers. One of them became a writer, who could tell meaningful stories about unique characters. Another decided to be a private detective, specializing in the hardest cases, which others were not able to crack. She operated on referrals from those who would be her competitors. This all may sound irrelevant, but it’s not. The guy who ended up going to the same college as me didn’t know what he wanted to do with his observational skills, but he knew they were important, and he didn’t think he was good at anything else. He was better with computers than people. That was fine when he was younger, but he began to feel too isolated when he was on his own, because he no longer had a support system. That’s why he turned to me.

The two of us became great friends from that point on. He helped me understand my talents, and get back to what I do best. I was making friends left and right, and I realized that doing this in college was even easier, because the individual groups never noticed each other. It was like a playground, where I honed my skills, and became the best version of me. In exchange, I helped him out of his shell. He started to make friends too. He was never Mr. Popular, but he was a lot better than he was before, and he had other gifts to bring to the table. We spent our days getting better and better at slipping into new social situations, and reading our practice targets. We practiced lying by coming up with wondrous, but believable, stories about ourselves. Some failed, but we learned from our mistakes, and we only got better once our writer friend started making the stories up for us. We didn’t know why the hell we were doing any of this—why it mattered—but it felt good to deceive others. It felt like power, knowing that people trusted us who really shouldn’t, and that we could hurt them if we chose to. But we never did. Not once. This isn’t a story about a group of conmen. It’s about three guys and one woman who want to help change the world. A few years after college, the four of us joined forces, and started working on cases together. We specialize in infiltration, with me on the frontlines. I penetrate a group, gain their trust, and solve whatever problem they’re causing. Cults, militias, other evil-doers. The detective finds the cases, the writer creates a backstory, the hacker fabricates the new identity, and I play the part. The problem is that none of us has any combat training, and some of our cases lately have been a little dangerous. We realize now that we need a skilled fighter. That’s why we’ve turned to you.

Microstory 1398: Truth

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Advocate: Before we proceed, there are a few things you have to understand about your case. First, we’re not going to be able to convince the arbitration panels, or the general public, that you’re not guilty. I think you’re well aware of that. There’s too much evidence against you, and there’s no evidence that anyone else is actually responsible for your crimes. Does this sound right to you?

Fiore Stern: It is. I have to accept the fact that I’ve been caught. I cannot deny that I killed those people. So if I’m already guilty, what else can we do? What is the point of any of this? Can’t they just lock me up, and walk away?

Advocate: There are still some things to work out, and some things we can do to make your time in prison easier. Even if there weren’t, this is how our system is designed. We can’t just start punishing people without due process. You might be willing to skip trial, but what about the poor nineteen-year-old kid, who just got addicted to drugs? No, it has to be like this, and I’m afraid to tell you that it’s not going to be pleasant. The adherent is going to make you out to be the worst person on the planet. They’re going to make the panels think you deserve nothing better than a hole in the ground, and some slop once a week. As your advocate, it’s my responsibility to prevent that.

Fiore Stern: Okay.

Advocate: To that end, I have to know a few things. First, how many people have you killed, in total, including your colleagues at the bomb-making outfit, and anyone you dispatched for reasons other than your ritualistic killings?

Fiore Stern: I have killed twenty-four people in my life.

Advocate: The authorities found eleven bodies that they can attribute to you, including your psychiatrist. The other ten were put on display, so as to be found. Did you kill others before that, after, or in between?

Fiore Stern: All before. I didn’t decide to come out to the world until I had already killed thirteen people.

Advocate: You started wanting people to know who you were?

Fiore Stern: I wanted people to know me, but I didn’t want them to know who I was. I didn’t want to be caught. I put them on display, so people could enjoy my artwork.

Advocate: Okay, well, maybe don’t say that in court, since we’re not going with an insanity plea strategy. Here’s the problem. The bodies you put on display make you look disturbed. The bodies you kept hidden make you look remorseless. What you need to do is tell the authorities where to find the bodies that they have not yet uncovered. That will go a long way to making you more sympathetic. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but the arbitrationers need to know you’re not using these missing people as leverage, or toying with the world. They need to see you feel remorse.

Fiore Stern: I don’t feel remorse.

Advocate: Yeah, again, don’t say that.

Fiore Stern: Well, I’m kind of all about the truth. That’s why I did what I did in the first place. I want people to see the beauty in death. The reality is that everyone dies, and I consider my subjects to have received the highest honor. I only took a few decades from them anyway, and now, they will never be forgotten. How many other people can say that?

Advocate: This isn’t looking good for you, Mr. Stern. People don’t like it when you say things like that. Do you honestly believe people will buy into that, and that it will help your case?

Fiore Stern: I don’t really care about my case. I’m going to prison for the rest of my life. What difference can you really make? We don’t put people in literal holes in this country. I’ve seen what the worst prisons look like, and I’m prepared for those.

Advocate: It’s not just about the facility itself. It’s about the people in them. Do you know how many people you sent to prison when you took down that terrorist organization?

Fiore Stern: Two hundred and sixteen people worked for them, and are considered to be responsible enough for prosecution.

Advocate: It’s more than that. The company didn’t just make bombs for themselves. They funded their cause with money from their clients. They sold explosives to other groups. Many of those groups are now being watched and investigated, thanks to intel the government received from people you helped arrest directly. Now, a lot of these people end up in special prisons that you probably wouldn’t go to, but not all of them. You could end up in a cell with one of them, and they’re not going to be very happy with you. I can get you to the right prison, with the right protections. You have to be honest, but you also have to be careful with how you frame the narrative.

Fiore Stern: I understand.

Advocate: Good. Now, let’s move on, and start from the very beginning. Who was the first person you killed, and why?

Microstory 1387: The Medium Psych Zone

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Law Enforcement Officer: Hello, can I help you?

Supposed Psychic: Actually, it is I who can help you.

Law Enforcement Officer: Do you have a crime to report?

Supposed Psychic: Not exactly, but if you provide me with a little information, I’m sure I can come up with something.

Law Enforcement Officer: I’m sorry?

Supposed Psychic: Oh, forgive me. My name is Supposed Psychic, and I am a psychic.

Law Enforcement Officer: You’re a psychic?

Supposed Psychic: That’s right. Now, I’m sure you don’t believe in people like me—

Law Enforcement Officer: No, it’s not that. I believe there is more to this world than science can explain, but you’re going to have to prove to me that you’re someone who can tap into these truths. I can’t just take your word for it, and hand you off to the detectives. They would laugh me out of the station. So you’re going to have to prove it somehow.

Supposed Psychic: I can most certainly do that.

Law Enforcement Officer: Go ahead.

Supposed Psychic: I can’t just do it on command. I would need to shadow you for some time, and pick up on energies. Visions don’t come to me automagically. Something I see or hear has to trigger it.

Law Enforcement Officer: You want me to show you confidential police files?

Supposed Psychic: Only if you want to solve them.

Law Enforcement Officer: Okay. You can sit in here for a few minutes. I have to find the right file; one that can do no harm in your hands.

Supposed Psychic: Okay.

Law Enforcement Officer: [...] All right. Here we go. This should be fairly harmless. Here we have a picture of a tow truck driver who has been stealing cars all over the suburbs. His truck doesn’t have any markings, and this is the best photo of him, so we don’t know much. If you can tell us who he is and/or where to find him, I’ll consider telling my superiors about your abilities.

Supposed Psychic: Hmm.

Law Enforcement Officer: Do you need—

Supposed Psychic: Shh.

Law Enforcement Officer: Okay.

Supposed Psychic: [...] This is a fake. The man’s name is Tow Truck Driver Jr. Your car broke down four days ago, and he’s the guy who showed up when you called for help. You were charged seventeen dollars on a bill you believe the roadside assistance company you used should have covered in total. You were pleasantly surprised that your engine needed more work anyway, and it could have been much worse if you hadn’t needed service that day.

Law Enforcement Officer: Anything else?

Supposed Psychic: No, that’s about it. Do I have the job?

Law Enforcement Officer: You absolutely do not.

Supposed Psychic: What are you talking about? I gave you a good reading. Just because it wasn’t a case, doesn’t mean I didn’t prove myself.

Law Enforcement Officer: I posted all that information on social media. I don’t remember what the driver’s name was, so who knows where you’re getting that? I saw you standing in the lobby, pretending to be looking at the public bulletin board, but really you were just waiting for me to walk by, because I was your mark all along. I don’t know what you’re really after, but you’re not getting a look at our cases.

Microstory 1342: Opening Statements

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Prosecutor: [Majority of opening statement cut for time.] ...so this is a simple case. The defendant threatened the victim in public. No, it wasn’t a threat of death, or even violence, but he promised to cause quote-great troubles for [him] in the coming days-end quote. That’s not a smoking gun, but it’s nothing either. He had access to the building, and the floor from which the victim ultimately fell. By the defendant’s own admission, the victim had ruined his life, which speaks to motive. Evidence will show that the defendant committed this crime. Footage and testimony of his behavior beforehand will prove that he intended to commit the crime, which means it was premeditated...which means it was murder. I urge you to look carefully at this evidence, and decide for yourselves. Thank you.

Murder Case Judge: Thank you, Madam Prosecutor. Mr. Defendant’s Attorney?

Defendant’s Attorney: Thank you, Your Honor. Before I go into my prepared statements, I would like to address a few things that the prosecutor said. Prosecutor called this a simple case. I believe I know what she means by that, but I hope you don’t take it to mean that the decision should come easy to you. All you have to go on are the facts, and the facts do not support the prosecution’s case. They are the ones who are actually making it complicated. They have drawn conclusions that are not true, only because their presumptions are technically possible. Possible and plausible, however, do not equal reality. We in the business call this circumstantial. As the prosecutor stated, my client made some hate- and anger-filled comments against the victim. I will not try to tell you what he meant by them, what his intentions were, or how he feels about them now. That will be his job when he takes the witness stand. Prosecutor is right that these remarks, coupled with the victim’s ultimate death soon thereafter, are suspicious. Evidence will show, however, that he was not the only one to say such things about the victim. The victim, may he rest in peace, was not the most belovèd person in the city. That’s okay, I’m not disparaging his memory. I don’t have a lot of fans myself. This is more about the suspect pool, which was egregiously small. My client’s name was chosen by the prosecution, and dragged through the mud, simply because he was the loudest. But that would be like blaming your neighbor’s dog for knocking down your tool shed ‘cause you can’t see the wind. My client had means, motive, and opportunity, but so did many others, and the prosecution will not be able to prove beyond a reasonable doubt that my client is guilty. So... [Majority of opening statement cut for time.]

Microstory 1330: Judgment

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Judge: Please, sit down.

Attorney One: I’m all right, Your Honor.

Attorney Two: As am I.

Judge: These are my chambers, and you will sit down when I tell you to. Understood?

Attorney One: Understood.

Attorney Two: Of course, Judge.

Judge: Okay, now stand back up! Good, you’re getting the hang of this. Now, tell me, what is going on with you two?

Attorney Two: Your Honor, I can’t do my job if Attorney One objects to every question I ask.

Judge: Some of those objections were sustained.

Attorney Two: True, but half of them weren’t. This is a tactic. He makes me look foolish in front of the jury. It doesn’t matter that some of them were overruled. The jury will only remember that I couldn’t get any of my questions answered.

Judge: He has a right to object to anything and everything. That is the cornerstone of our judicial system.

Attorney Two: Absolutely, but there must be some limit. That’s what you’re there for; to judge—not the case—but the proceedings of the court.

Judge: I understand my responsibility here perfectly, Attorney Two, thank you very much.

Attorney One: Could I say something?

Judge: If you must.

Attorney One: This has nothing to do with the case. Attorney One is still pissed that I stood her up for a date, and she’s attacking the witness, because she knows she couldn’t get away with attacking me.

Judge: Attorney Two, be careful with how you dismantle his argument regarding your personal relationship.

Attorney Two: There is no personal relationship. I asked him if he was going to be at the bar the other night for Attorney Three’s birthday. He said he would, but then he didn’t show up. I asked him about it the next day, not because I wished he had been there, but because I was making conversation. I am not upset about that at all. I went there myself with a date. This man is comically delusional, but in the saddest way.

Attorney One: All right, there’s no need for that. I think we can both agree that this was a misunderstanding, and move on.

Judge: Yes, I agree.

Attorney Two: I don’t. He’s been spreading rumors all over the office building about how I’m obsessed with him, and how I chose this case, just so I could see him.

Judge: I was not aware that you two worked for the same law firm.

Attorney One: We don’t. Our firms operate out of the same office building. We don’t usually cross paths in court, but the nature of this case demanded both of our respective expertise, on either side, of course.

Judge: Well, I’m going to help you resolve your issues, so we can get back to what’s really important, which is finding a resolution to this case.

Attorney Two: No, he was right. I can be professional if he can.

Attorney One: I can.

Judge: Oh, good. For a second there, I thought you thought I was serious. This is the last time I call you in here on a personal matter. If it comes to this again, you’ll both be in contempt.

Attorney One: Thank you, Your Honor.

Attorney Two: Sorry, Your Honor.

Microstory 787: Justice Clerk

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In 1791, the United States Constitution was placed into operation, establishing the foundation of the nation’s laws, including those of the Adjudicative Branch of government. Many legal systems were proposed, the one that survived being an amalgamation of practically all of them. These are the parameters, as originally set forth by the administration, some of which has been amended over time. In every court, no matter how small, or how large, there exists one licensed adjudicator, and two independent arbitration panels of five individuals each. Known as arbiters, three of these are average citizens of the country, called upon to represent the people’s voice during deliberations. They are theoretically unbiased actors, charged with executing justice fairly, and without preconception, though this would be an unrealistic fantasy. And so each panel also has two arbitrators, who have undergone formal training in all matters of law. They study a variety of fields that fall into the four major departments of humanities, communications, government, and law. They are meant to serve as a sort of bias police, to ensure the arbiters are staying on track and keeping to the facts, as well as explain to them how law and policy work. Educated arbitrators serve an incredibly important role in the process. With no prerequisite of ethics training, it would be itself unethical and irresponsible to rely on an unqualified peer acting as an arbiter to be impartial during a trial. The separation of panel deliberations ensures as well, an ethical outcome to the court proceedings, by preventing undue influence, which could lead to a form of contamination called adulteration. If all has gone well, both panels, and the adjudicator, will reach the same conclusion regarding the case separately, and this is referred to as absolute accordance. Each case is defined by an accused, who is opposed by their accuser in the form of an alleger, which may or may not be a prosecuting body. If the latter is true, they are allowed to act as the adherent attorneys during the trial. They are thus opposed by one, or a team of, advocates, who argue for the rights of the accused. In order to maintain fairness in the trial, each side must maintain a balance of attorneys with the other, by at most a ratio of three to one. If, for instance, the adherents would like a team of seven, they must procure at least two more advocates to oppose them. This prevents a client with too much social or financial power from subverting the best interests of the state. Beyond these individuals, the court requires a certain number of other parties. For the protection of all, there must always be two court marshalls present, whose job as well is to manage any attestants. Attestants are called upon to testify in court if they have some level of background knowledge pertinent to the specifics of the case, or the crime itself. Lastly, an attendant (formerly known as a justice clerk) is responsible for handling the administrative duties of the court; documentation, scheduling, attestants, etc. As previously stated, many particulars have historically been determined to help create the best adjudicative system in the world, and these are only the basics that the founding fathers came up with over two hundred years ago.

The Puzzle of Escher Bradley: Chapter One

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The first thing I notice when I step into the the police station is that there is nothing different about it. The vending machine is still eating people’s money, with Sergeant Mackle as angry about it as ever. The chairs are still squeaking, and the air still sweet. It’s me. Only I’ve changed. I’ve just become detective. This wasn’t exactly my dream growing up. I always looked up to the “boys in blue”. I thought of them as the ones on the front lines, the ones putting themselves in danger. It was only in the later years as a teenager that I realized I was one hundred percent correct about this. Even then, though, I never thought I would end up in law enforcement. As I’m striding through the “pit” I imagine my old mentor, Detective Pender, watching me from the coffee maker. But he’s still working in Kansas City, and I know that this is where I’m meant to be.

“Congratulations,” my captain says to me. “You’re the first person to make detective in Springfield the 1990s.” He drops a load of files in my arms, and sports a half-smile. “Here’s a bunch of paperwork.”

“Thank you, sir. And there were actually a lot of us—”

“Don’t call me sir,” he interrupts me to insist. It’s not that he’s a man of the people, he’s just so apathetic that formality makes him feel inadequate.

After the captain walks away to grab a nap, the hair on the back of my neck stands up. I can tell that Hummel is on his way to me. I turn around, and immediately say, “Officer Hummel, I’m detective now. I don’t have time to help you anymore. You should have this figured out by now.”

“I know,” Hummel says, “but I have this call. They didn’t call 911, they called the station. It’s a man. His son is missing.”

“How long?”

He’s not sure if he wants to answer, but does, “an hour. But there’s something weird about it.”

“Weird how?”

“I can hear a woman in the background, saying something about the caller being crazy. I dunno...”

I sigh and hand him my paperwork. “Do as much as you can with this, and get me that address. I’m goin’ out.” I pick up my coat, and leave. First day on the job, and I’m already responsible for a possible new case. It feels good, but I’m worried. The case could get real bad real quick, and I can’t mess it up. The media would eat me alive.

Once at the address, I park on the street and get out for an initial impression. There are boxes and other crap in the driveway, and on the lawn. A moving vehicle is parked up a little too close to the garage overhang. Either these people just moved here, or they’re trashy as all hell.

A woman comes out of the house, wrapping a shawl across her stomach. “I’m sorry my husband called you,” she says to me. “We are perfectly all right.”

A man comes bursting out of the house. “We are absolutely not all right, Cheryl, our son is missing!”

Cheryl keeps looking at me and shakes her head, “no, he’s not.”

“Yes!” the man screams. “He is!”

I keep my left arm back at my hip, ready to loose my gun, in the event it’s necessary. This case is already weird. I present to them the international gesture for calm down with my right hand. “My name is Detective Kallias Bran. I’m here to help. First thing I need to know...is where is your son?”

“He’s missing,” the man claims.

Simultaneously, the woman says, “he doesn’t exist.”

“I’m sorry?” I ask.

“We don’t have a goddamn son,” Cheryl insists.

“The hell we don’t!” The father is only growing angrier.

“Sir,” I say in an authoritative, but soft voice, “I’m gonna need you to keep it together. Now, Mister...”

“Bradley,” he says, still angry, but holding back. “Tyler Bradley.”

“And what’s your son’s name?”

“He doesn’t have a name,” Cheryl interrupts as Tyler is trying to answer.

“Ma’am,” I warn her.

“Escher,” Tyler is finally able to say.

“That is...a great name,” I say to him. “How old is Escher?”

“He’s eight,” Mr. Bradley says, feeling a little better just from having someone believe him. “He’ll turn nine this year.”

“Okay,” I tell him. “He probably just wandered off. I assume you just moved here?”

“That’s right.”

“This is bullshit,” Cheryl says, shaking her head once more. Her default setting.

“Ma’am, I’m going to need you to hold off on the swear words.”

She pointed to herself as she drew closer to argue with me. “I’m not crazy. I would remember if I had a son. But we’ve never had a son. We’ve never had kids at all!”

“Then why did we get rid of the two-seater?” Tyler jumped in.

“It got old,” she reasoned.

“It was running great,” he countered. “We got rid of it, and bought this van, because it’s more practical when you have a family. But make no mistake, Detective Bran, we are not van people. We just need one to get Escher to soccer practice...should he ever finally agree to try soccer for me.”

“Oh, you love this van!” Cheryl yelled.

“No, I don’t. Neither of us do. Escher offered to sit on the roof of a cool car so we could get rid of our embarrassing van.”

“Who the shit is Escher?” she cried. “Stop saying that.”

“Ma’am, language.”

“Oh, fuck your language!”

“All right, that’s enough. You’re going to have a timeout in my car while I discuss the situation with Mr. Bradley. I reach out, but I do not touch her.

“Get your hands off me!” She overdramatically pulls her arm away. “I’m not getting in your car, like a criminal.”

“It’s either the cuffs or the cruiser. You are not being arrested,” I promise.

She purses her lips and inhales. “Fine.” She starts walking towards my car. “You go have your chat, and look around. You’ll see that this Escher Bradley kid is just in my husband’s imagination.”

After letting Mrs. Bradley into the back of my car, I pull Mr. Bradley to the side. We start walking through the lawn. “Look, she may be angry enough for me to put her in a car, but I’m having trouble with the both of you. You say there’s a kid, but she doesn’t. I don’t see a kid.”

“He’s missing.”

“I know you think that, but where’s your proof?” I start mumbling a bit, because it’s a bit of an overstep. “I mean, I don’t want to say that either one of you is crazy, but either there’s a kid, or there’s not. One of you is wrong.”

“Okay,” he says, speeding up to enter the house. “Let’s go find some proof.”

He leads me upstairs, and into the only room besides the kitchen that actually has things in it already. I take a look around. There are a few boxes here and there. Trinkets, clothes, music band posters. There isn’t any furniture yet.

“This was gonna be his room. That’s all his stuff.”

I take a sweater out of one of the boxes. It does look small enough to fit a child. I sift through the rest of the garments, and they’re all for children. That isn’t proof, though. Anyone can buy these things. “I dunno, Mr. Bradley.”

“Tyler.”

“Tyler. These could be yours from your own childhood, or a nephew’s...or you bought them in hopes of having a child one day. It’s a pretty thin argument.”

“They’re his; they’re Escher’s,” he emphasizes.

I just shake my head slowly. I don’t know what else to do. “I don’t know what to tell ya.”

He thinks for a moment. “Pictures! I have to find the pictures.” He runs and trips back downstairs, and I hear him moving things around as I’m following at a more reasonable pace. The house is pretty big for just two people. Again, that doesn’t mean a whole lot. They could be planning a family for the future, or some people just have more space than they really need.

When I reach the bottom, I see him having found what he was looking for. It’s a brownish leather-bound photo album. “This is mostly him.” He smiles and opens the book. There’s no child in the pictures; just the two of them, and a few relatives or friends. “He’s not in any of these.” He turns the page. “No, not these either.” He turns the next page. “I could have sworn he was in this one.” He turns another.

“Is that him?”

“That’s my boss’ son. We had them over for dinner.” He continues to turn page after page, desperate to find one that featured this Escher, but none of them did.

Finally he stops, and I notice something weird. “What’s up with this one?”

“You’re right,” he agrees. “Why are we so far apart?”

I stare at the photo. It looks like a family portrait, but there’s entirely too much space between the two of them. “There’s supposed to be a kid between you.”

“Yes, there was!” he says excitedly. “So you believe me now?”

Not necessarily. I take the album from him and start looking through it more discerningly. It’s not the only one like that. Many others show too much dead space, either between people, or on one side of them. Some of the photos are just of doorways, or picnic tables. It’s crazy to think that an entire individual was ripped from a boy’s mother’s mind, and also physical evidence. Either this is an extremely elaborate prank that could potentially go back years, or this is really happening.

“Where did you last see him?” I ask, knowing that I have to explore this, regardless of which one of them is telling the truth.

“He’s a little young to be all that helpful in the move, so we let him take a break. He went straight for that empty lot next door. I turned around and he was gone, though.” He takes the photo album back and starts concentrating on filling it with his missing child.

“What empty lot?” I ask.

He keeps his eyes on the pictures. “To the North.”

I walk across the dining room, and peer out the window. The house next door is about as far from this one as any two houses ever are in the suburbs. “I don’t see what you’re seeing. There’s a house there.”

He comes over, a little frustrated by the tangent, and looks out as well. “No. There’s not.”

“Holy shit.”

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