Microstory 2487: Skilldome

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I don’t want to speak for you, but I’m guessing that your life is pretty easy. Everything you need is handed to you, along with a few things that you might just want. There are those who spend their whole lives holed up in their modules, connected to VR or the network. Dayfruit growers provide them with food. Drones deliver their feedstock. Their electricity and water is piped in, and their waste is shipped out. Their personal robot does all their work. I’m not criticising people who live like this. This is just a preamble so you’ll understand what purpose Skilldome serves. So many things that you may or may not take for granted were either not cheap for our ancestors, hardly available, or outright didn’t exist. Obviously, different time periods came with different limitations, and over the years, there are skills that we’ve lost to automation, and engineered simplicity. I’m not saying that you’ll become a better person if you learn how to drive a car with your hands and feet. I’m just telling you that the skill is something that this dome offers. You can also learn how to churn butter, command an animal to plow a field, or write something down with a pencil and paper. It’s hard to describe what these activities are, since there’s such a broad range, but it’s basically everything that people used to have to do to be productive that we don’t anymore. To be sure, there are some things that still hold some merit in our world. You might not have access to a medpod or healing nanites, even today, so knowing how to perform first aid is one of those skills that some people have maintained anyway. But for those of us whose minds it didn’t cross to do it before, if you’re on Castlebourne, come on down and take a class. As far as skills that are less practical in the synthetic era go, like stuffing mail in envelopes, or coding a program in an obsolete computer language called C++, you can do it just for fun, or to have a greater appreciation for modern living. Or come up with your own reasons. There are no requirements on what you have to do when you come here, but if you do come, and you do choose a particular skill, it is asked of you to use the tools you are given, and not “cheat”. If you’re taking a math test, only use one of those old basic calculators that they will provide you with. Don’t just ask an AI to do it for you. That defeats the purpose. I actually saw a guy do this, which was so stupid, because no one was making him take this otherwise pointless test. What you get out of coming here is entirely up to you. Ain’t nobody gonna hold your hand. Nor should they have to.

Microstory 2469: Gambledome

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Here’s the thing about gambling in a post-scarcity society...it’s not any fun! When money isn’t real, the stakes aren’t real, and there’s nothing interesting about it. The creators of Gambledome have managed to subvert this about as well as possible without completely shifting the paradigm of the economy. In Gambledome, money kind of is real, but only here. You start out with a modest amount of cash to spend on chips, and as you play, you win and lose those chips. If your stack starts piling up, you can cash them out, and spend it on things. You can get yourself a nice, luxurious room to stay in. You can spring for the (faux) lobster at dinner. You can give it away to your friends to make them like you. This is how it worked in other gambling communities on Earth back in the before-fore times, like Las Vegas. Here, it’s a recreation, which may make you think that your life can only get better, but that’s not true. If you run into the negative, you’re in trouble. You can’t leave the dome, and go back to the utopia that vonearthans have created since automation made fiat-based economies obsolete. You have to stick around, and pay off your debts. That’s right, there are real consequences. Some of the humans walking around as staff may be there because that is the experience that they have asked to be assigned while staying in the dome, but some are there because they have to be. Don’t come here if you don’t genuinely want to pretend to be an ancient human, because that’s the thing about gambling. You don’t know if you’re gonna win, and people lose all the time. A note on cheating: while they won’t torture you, it can land you in jail, where you’ll pay off your social debt by being locked up in a cell, unable to leave. We still have jails in the 27th century, of course, but the percentage of incarcerated individuals has never been lower, so this is rare. One woman lost her money on purpose, threw a tantrum, and tried to steal it all back, specifically so they would throw her in a cell, because it just doesn’t happen all that often anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to break any real laws. She didn’t want to go through the real justice system, and go to a real jail, where she might never get out. Overall, this place is a lot of fun, but only temporarily. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life here, and I certainly wouldn’t want to live in a world where people are sincerely desperate enough to gamble because they think they have no other choice. I don’t know if Gambledome is fostering any real addicts, but I sure would be interested to know if it’s happening, and if it is, whether the creators have any plans to do anything about it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 17, 2499

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Mateo and Olimpia were in St. Louis on one of their business trips. There was an issue with the booking, which was forcing them into a single room with a single bed. It was no coincidence that all of the hotels were booked up this week. They weren’t the only game in this town right now. Every ridesourcing company was hoping to strike a deal with St. Louis Metro Transit. They were looking to expand their service to multiple outlying areas, but found the project to be cost-prohibitive on their own. One of the bus drivers moonlighted as a driver for Tractus Rides, and suggested they form some sort of partnership. It was a last mile program, which could help thousands get to their destinations at lower cost than if they had to drive themselves, or use a ridesharing service alone. The executives actually thought it was a good idea, but they didn’t just want to close themselves up to options. Everyone was going to get a shot to pitch their idea. This would be a huge opportunity for RideSauce. While St. Louis fell under Mateo’s purview, he wasn’t in charge of the negotiations, because that was well above his paygrade. If they managed to secure something here, there was a chance that RideSauce would make similar deals in other cities.

Only the higher ups for RideSource were here, but Tractus went a different direction. They decided to secure rooms for their local drivers as well, reportedly to show their enthusiasm for the project, but clearly just to make themselves look stronger. They took all the hotel rooms just so they could walk around with their big swingin’ wieners, and that was annoying. There was nothing that the front desk agent could do, so Mateo was gonna have to swallow his pride, and speak to his archrival. “Pacey,” he greeted with an insincere nod.

“Matthew, what a pleasant surprise.” Pacey Henricksen was essentially Mateo’s equivalent for Tractus in the central midwest, though not exactly. Their organization was structured differently, so he managed more cities, and other divisions in those cities. RideSauce focused on ridesourcing, but Tractus was also in delivery and limousine services. And he knew that Mateo would be here, obviously.

“You took all the rooms.”

Pacey breathed in deeply through his nose and nodded. “We need them.”

“This is a stunt.”

“This is all a stunt,” Pacey argued. “That’s what we’re doing here. How we appear to the client is what matters most.”

“What we can provide to the client is what matters in our eyes,” Mateo countered. “They’ll see that.” He wasn’t really here to get in a fight, but he couldn’t help it.

“We’re bigger, and they need to know how much better we’ll be at scaling operations.”

“Your other divisions are irrelevant. The bus riders aren’t going to be getting in any limos.”

“They might if they pay a premium,” Pacey reasoned.

Mateo laughed. “They’re bus riders,” Mateo emphasized. “They don’t pay premiums. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“We’ll see. Did you need something?”

“We need one of your rooms. They overbooked, so now we’re stuck with one between the two of us.”

Pacey looked over Mateo’s shoulder, at Olimpia. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, you’re not her type.”

“What’s her type?”

“Decent people,” Mateo answered.

Pacey shrugged. “I’m sure she would make an exception.”

“She and I are professionals. You might look into it. Until then, what do I need to do to get one of your rooms?”

Pacey grimaced. “You see, if I give you a room, I’ll be taking it away from someone else, which means they’ll be pairing up instead. That doesn’t really solve the problem, it just shifts it to someone else. You have more experience with that than I do.”

Ugh. Of course he would bring that up again. He always found a way whenever they ran into each other. “For the last time, that driver was not in my area. Just because he was supposed to drive the rider from Sioux Falls to Sioux City doesn’t mean he worked for me. He was registered in South Dakota. I had nothing to do with the failed background check.”

“Well, it speaks to how flippant your company is with safety and security,” Pacey decided.

“The driver worked for you too, he passed your background check just as easily, so don’t give me that bullshit. And unlike me, South Dakota is in your jurisdiction.”

“Well, he wasn’t working for us that night, which is why the judge withheld it as evidence.”

Mateo had no retort, and it was a distraction anyway. “There are only two of us, and as her superior, it would be inappropriate for us to share a room. Pacey. Please. You must know of two people who can bunk up.”

Pacey looked away in thought. “Well...there’s this one driver that I’ve been seeing. I suppose that she and I could share. Your little assistant could sleep in her room instead. We wouldn’t even have to involve the hotel. We’ll just give her a keycard. But if she takes anything from the mini-bar, you’re paying for it.”

“She never would,” Mateo explained. “I’ll ask her if she’s okay with it.”

“Lovely,” Pacey said. “Always glad to assist a colleague.”

Mateo stepped over to talk to Olimpia, who was receptive to the idea. She wasn’t entirely convinced that the original situation was a problem that needed to be fixed, but she didn’t argue. She wouldn’t, though. He needed to get better at reading her, and recognizing that he’s her boss, and that she wouldn’t want to antagonize him. As long as Pacey’s companion stayed in his room, instead of going back to her own, Olimpia should be fine. That wasn’t what happened, though, and they should have known.

“They got in a big fight apparently,” Olimpia said at Mateo’s doorway.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping away.

She rolled her suitcase inside. “She was telling me about it, but I’ve become pretty good at tuning people out. I know what they want to hear when I’m pretending to listen actively, based on tone and pauses in their speech, so I don’t have to absorb the information. I’m sure it was very banal and meaningless. The fact is, she wanted her room back, and I didn’t want to stick around. She said she was fine sharing it with me, because I seemed cool, but I really don’t wanna do that.” She looked around this room. “I was hoping there was a couch, errr...”

“No, the company’s very frugal. I typically don’t care. It doesn’t need to be big, just clean. But you can sleep in the bed, and I’ll be in the tub.”

“I know you, Mateo, you shower at night. I can tell that you already have. The tub is wet.”

He shrugged. “I always bring a swimsuit. I’ll sleep in that.”

“That’s silly. We can share, it’ll be fine.”

Mateo looked down at the bed. “It’s a full, not even a queen. Pacey must have done that on purpose as further punishment.”

“Pacey?” she questioned. “How would he have any control over what room you were assigned?”

Mateo blinked. “I don’t know, how would he?”

Olimpia blinked back. “Can you sleep next to a woman without having sex with her?”

“Yeah, can you? Vice versa, that is?”

She hesitated to answer.

“Olimpia, it’s a simple—” Wait...

She still couldn’t answer, and she didn’t try to backpedal.

No, he couldn’t sleep in the bed with her. He couldn’t even sleep in the tub. He had to get out of here entirely. “You take the bed, I’m gonna hail a RideSauce Hot. They’re almost always SUVs, so I should be able to sleep in the back.”

“That’ll cost you a fortune.”

“Not if we don’t go anywhere,” he contended. “I’ll pay under the table.”

“That is not a service that our company offers.”

“No, but...I’m the boss. I’m sure whoever it is will say yes. That’s the difference between us and Tractus. The drivers know who I am. Nobody who works for Pacey could pick him out of a line up.”

“Mateo, it’ll be fine. I’m not saying that I won’t be able to handle it. I just want to be honest about my feelings.”

“I appreciate that. It would have been real easy for you to say nothing, and let it happen. But I have to nip this in the bud. You’re my employee, and I’m married.”

“Right, which is why I’ll get over it.”

“It’s too complicated. Things are different out there.” He pivoted, and started to gaze out the window at the stars. What did they have to do with anything?

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Mateo’s phone rang. It was Leona. “Hey, I’m about to go to bed.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. What would be wrong?”

“I just had this feeling that you’re upset about something. I can’t explain it.”

“Things have gotten a little bit awkward with the hotel rooms, but we’re working it out. I think you just get worried about me when I’m gone.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Oh, hold on. I’m getting another call.” He switched over without even bothering to see who it was. “Hello?”

“Mateo. This is Angela. Is everything okay?”

“Angela? My neighbor? Why would you think there’s something wrong?”

“Marie and I just started getting this weird feeling.”

A text came in. It was Ramses. Yu ight?

What the hell was going on?

They heard a series of beeps at the door just before it opened. Pacey walked in. He looked disappointed. “I thought you three had an understanding, but it looks like the feelings are a little more complicated, so this whole hotel room gambit isn’t gonna get you where you need to be.”

“What are you talking about?” Mateo demanded to know. “How do you even have a key to get in this room?”

Pacey looked back at the door, and then back to Mateo. “What room?”

“I’m so confused.” Mateo sat down on the edge of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.”

“I know,” Pacey said. “I messed up. I was trying to respect your privacy by only extracting the memories and knowledge that I needed to set up a plausible scenario, but it wasn’t enough. I’m afraid, in order to keep you here, I’m gonna have to go deeper.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Mateo argued.

“I know, and you won’t remember any of this anyway. You and Olimpia will have had sex tonight. That’s how you’ll remember it, and you will have already told Leona about it by the time you wake up. In fact, it will have been weeks ago. She will be fine, and the three of you will move forward with your relationship. Unfortunately, in order to make this work, you’re gonna have to lose the transit contract. I’ll become a weaker antagonist if you don’t.”

Actually, this was starting to make sense. Mateo’s memories were resurfacing. None of this was real. This wasn’t his life. This wasn’t any of their lives. “I know you. You met Leona before. She ran into you in the ka—”

Mateo was nervous. He had never been on a date with two women before. Well, there was that one time, but that was more of a double date where his girlfriend’s friend’s boyfriend flaked out on her. He had never been interested in that other girl. He was interested in Olimpia, and as fate would have it, Leona was interested in her too. She seemed to like them both. This might even go okay. But a first date was a first date, and those were stressful no matter what.

“Are you ready?” Leona asked. “I just need to pick a pair of shoes.”

“Wow. You look beautiful in that.”

“It’ll look better on the floor,” she joked. “Ah, come on, I’m tryna lighten the mood.”

“Is this weird? This seems weird. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“It’s almost the 26th century,” Leona began. “Polyamory is in.”

“I know, but...”

“Don’t shoot yourself in the foot. Two hot chicks are into you. Just let it happen. If things get messy in the future, we’ll clean it up. No one’s life is gonna get ruined.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You and I have been through worse,” Leona claimed.

“We’ll see about that.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “But I trust in your judgment. And I love you.”

“Were I you,” she said as he was walking out of the room.

“Were you me what?”

She blinked. “Huh. I don’t know. It’s an idiom, though, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “No, it isn’t.” But was it?

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 3, 2398

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Leona did a double take as she was driving last night on her way back from date night. She and Mateo were meant to have dinner downtown, but they got in a fight on the ride out there, and ended up just skipping it. He got out of the car to walk alone, so she decided to drive around a little bit to clear her head. It’s not everyday that he has the upper hand in an argument, so she wasn’t exactly excited to get back home and face her friends. She wasn’t too far away when she spotted one of them walking along the path in the park across from their building. “Hey!” she called out to him. He looked around for the source of the voice, and smiled when he found it. Before they could exchange one more word with each other, a dark van pulled up between them, and stopped for a few seconds. When it drove away, Ramses was gone.

She held for a second to go over the possibilities. He could have been taken against his will, sure. It wouldn’t be the first time for any of them. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he clearly saw her on the other side of the road. He wouldn’t have smiled if he didn’t realize in time that it was her. Given that, he would have made an effort to say something to her if he was intending to get into that van. He wouldn’t have just shrugged off the awkward timing, and went about his secret business. No, even though she didn’t know why he would be taken, it was the only logical hypothesis. So she moved over to the right lane, put on her hazard lights, and impatiently waited for the traffic to clear. Then she made an illegal u-turn, and begin to pursue the van.

She called his phone, just in case there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. After three rings, the driver of the van tossed something relatively small out the window. She was pretty sure she knew what it was, but she stopped anyway, and quickly opened her door to pick the phone off the road, and bring it in. Hopefully they didn’t just see her do that, because they might become suspicious. Fortunately, the car behind her still had a ways to go before catching up, so nobody honked their horn. Now it was pretty obvious that something nefarious was going on here, and she needed help. She tried to call Marie, and then Angela, but neither of them answered their phone. She called Mateo, even though he was surely still on foot, but his phone rang inside the car. Damn, he left it here when he hopped out in a huff. She was going to have to fix this on her own.

Twenty-five minutes later, they were into the rural outskirts of the metropolitan area, and the van was showing no signs of slowing. That was when the route started to become all kinds of crazy. They turned down one road, and then down another, and then another, until they were all the way back to where they started from. They winded around, and occasionally spent a little too long at a stop sign. Oh no, they must have realized that she was following them, and were just testing her. She tried to call her friends again, but this time couldn’t even get through to voicemail. She couldn’t find a signal at all. What were these people doing? And what were they going to do to Ramses once they confirmed that Leona was behind them. It was dark, though, and despite the fact that they were out in the country, there were still quite a few other cars around. She just hung back a little farther, and prayed that they couldn’t prove any suspicions. 

They played this game for hours, and now it’s after midnight. There’s still no cell service, and Heath’s car is running out of gas. The van probably is too, but she has no choice but to keep trying. All she can do is continue to follow, three cars back, and hope that they stop soon. They don’t, though. In fact, they turn off on a single lane road; that’s one lane, full stop. It would look mighty suspicious if she happened to be going that way too. But it doesn’t matter, because Ramses needs rescuing, and she’s the rescuer. They keep going until they reach this isolated little farmhouse.

Leona switches off her lights, and turns into the driveway, because if they haven’t noticed her by now, they probably never will. They go all the way up to the porch, but she stops near the road to watch. She sees them drag a Ramses-sized burlap sack, up the steps, and into the house. If he’s dead, she’s going to kill them. One of them leans against the van and lights up a cigarette while the others are starting to do whatever it is they plan on doing. That’s when she gets out of her car, and approaches without caution.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here! Who are you?” he cries.

“This your van?” she asks, nodding to it like a gangsta.

“What of it?”

“How did you not detect my pursuit?”

“Hell you talkin’ ‘bout?”

She pops him in the nose with her forearm, spilling blood out like a beer can at a college party. As he’s crying like a baby, and trying to shove the blood back into his body, she slams the back of his head against the passenger window, cracking it slightly. Lastly, she situates the inside of her ankle against his, and pulls the back of his neck away from the car. He trips on her leg, and crashes to the ground. She stomps on his back before casually walking up the steps, where she finds the other two men trying to get Ramses into a chair. They stop and stare at her of course, not sure what the hell is going on.

“Hey, wait, I know you. You’re just a floor worker.”

“No,” Leona contends. “I’m the lead floor worker.” She fights them both. They have knives, which is adorable, and they’re rolling on the floor in a matter of seconds. Those three years she spent training with the Crucia Heavy really paid off. These electronic repair idiots are no match for her, but it’s better to be overqualified than underqualified.

Once it’s all over, Ramses finally comes to. He takes a moment to assess the situation. “Thanks for coming after me.”

Leona starts to untie him. “What do these guys what?”

He chuckles. “Honor. You see, I quit, which apparently didn’t mean that the number two worker was promoted to supervisor, or as a thought, repromoted. They had to be tested again, and evidently, Bruno over there cheated the first time, so they fired him. And the other guy, Stockboy, just sort of does whatever Bruno says.

“We were driving for, like, four hours, but we’re probably less than an hour away,” she tells him, questioning the rationale.

“Yeah, they were worried about being followed or traced, so they thought going around in circles would prevent that. I guess they figured that would be good enough, and they wouldn’t have to actually look out for someone like you. True morons, if you ask me.”

“I would have asked,” Leona begins, “if I didn’t surmise that myself.” She tenses up when the front door opens, but relaxes when she sees that it’s the rest of the team. They’re in no hurry either, presumably after seeing the driver writhing on the ground.

“Okay,” Heath says, “next time you go into the Great Dead Zone, drop a message. We barely found you.”

Microstory 1824: Red Meat Cute

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Over a decade ago, I moved to a new city with big dreams. No, this wasn’t Hollywood, or New York. I didn’t think I was going to become rich and famous. What I thought was that I was going to get a fresh start. I wanted to—no, needed to—get away from my hometown where my grandfather closed the plant, and ruined the local economy. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The business was failing, and this was the only option. It happens. Still, it didn’t feel safe to stick around with my last name, so I escaped. I didn’t know anyone in the area, so I went out at night, hoping to meet some cool people. That’s when I met the girl who would become who I thought was my best friend. She took me under her wing, and showed me how things worked around here. One thing in particular she introduced me to was this app that lets you order food from various restaurants, and have it delivered right to your door. I would later learn that she was kind of playing on my naïvete by making it look like us dumb farm folk hadn’t learned about this newfangled technology yet, when in reality, the city belonged to the test population for an entirely new industry sector. Nobody had this yet, I wasn’t behind the times. The app didn’t even have very many restaurant partners at the time. Anyway, I knew what my new home address was, and I knew how to use a smartphone, but I’ve always been just a little bit careless. I entered 56th Street when I really meant 56th Terrace. So I’m waiting for my food, and watching the estimated time approach, and then I see the app claims it’s been delivered. I look on the porch, in front of the garage, even on the roof, like an idiot. No, it’s not there. That’s when I realize my mistake. I call the app, and the restaurant, and they both tell me that it’s not their problem. So I take a walk.

I went to the bad address, and rang the doorbell. The guy who answered was drinking my strawberry milkshake, and I could smell the burger and fries. I explained to him what had happened, and he was apologetic, but also not? He acted like he was just an innocent bystander who had done nothing wrong. I asked him where he thought it came from. Apparently, when a stranger showed up at his door, and handed him unasked for food, he didn't stop to think that maybe someone else would be missing it. Well, I was none too happy, and I let him know as much. He apologized some more, and offered to pay for it, because he was really hungry, and had already touched everything. Instead, I showed him what app to download, so he could reorder for me, and then we would call it even. I turned to leave, satisfied with this result, when he stopped me. Actually, he didn’t instruct the app to deliver to my house, but to his own again. If I wanted it, I was going to have to stay and share the meal. Okay, I admit, that was kind of a cute way to ask me to lunch. As we were waiting, we got to talking, and long story short, we were together for eleven years; married for eight. Today, I discovered that he has been cheating on me, for what’s probably been just about the entire time. I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m talking about my best friend. I realize now that I should have seen it coming. The signs were all there. She always thought I owed her for helping me get my bearings in the city, and he always felt entitled to take whatever he wanted without considering other people’s feelings. It was a match made in hell. To make matters worse, on my way to confront her at her work, a freaking loose brick falls off of the façade of that first goddamn restaurant I had delivered, and strikes me in the head. I guess I really wasn’t cut out for this city.

Microstory 1792: Reverse Karma

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I was a terrible human being, and I don’t regret anything I did, except maybe the choices I made on my last day on Earth. I learned to become the man I am from my father, but not in the way you’re probably assuming. Dad was the greatest guy ever, who literally wouldn’t hurt a fly. I had to take care of the pests myself, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. I wish his parents had encouraged him to deal with things like that, if only to teach him how to stand up for himself. His wife—my father—cheated on him, chronically, and openly. She just kept doing it, but never left him, because he made good money, and she didn’t think the court would make him pay alimony if she was clearly the bad egg in the relationship. He continued to give her anything she wanted, and didn’t divorce her, because he was just too nice. He was fired for costing the company too much in accumulated raises, just before he would be able to receive full pension. He got shot in the gut once, trying to mediate a street fight. He survived the attack, only to die in his hospital room a few days later after a nurse screwed up his medication. It was an ongoing issue too; something that had to build up in his system. We’re all pretty sure that he noticed the mistake, but didn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to bother her. I knew that I couldn’t live my life like he did his. He was forced to do his best to hide how miserable he was, and I realized that the only way to be happy is to take what you need, and not worry about how it makes other people feel. People hated me, but never fought against my selfishness, because they were worried about how I would react if they called me out on my shit. I’m sure things would have worked out just fine, but I found that letting them be afraid of me served me better than being kind and honest.

I was right to be the way that I was, all the way up to the day that I died...but not through the day that I died. I suppose you would tell me that that’s proof my lifestyle didn’t work, but it was really just one fluke, and had I survived it, I doubt I would have changed my ways, and I doubt it would have come back to bite me in the ass later. My dad suffered from reverse karma. The more good he put into the universe, the more the universe took, and it never gave back. I, on the other hand, had a wonderful life, filled with booze, broads, and buttloads of money. I had a high-paying job, and I didn’t listen to people who told me I didn’t deserve to be happy. It was only this one time that I guess I should have opened my ears a little bit. So I was walking down into the subway, trying to enjoy my audiocast when this smug asshole wearing all hemp assaults my senses with his mediocre—but loud—rendition of some dumb pop song I didn’t care about. As I was walking by, I kicked his guitar case closed. I didn’t padlock it, or anything. All he had to do was reopen it, but suddenly I was attacked by a bunch of social justice workers who thought I was starting a war on the poor. I didn’t care that he was poor, I just didn’t want him to interrupt the latest episode of Sexy Serial Killers. I defended myself, as one does, but they just kept screaming at me for being a bad person. Whatever, it wasn’t like any of these people mattered. Except, apparently, they did. While I was trying to stand as far from the crowd as possible, I ended up slipping over the edge, and down onto the tracks, twisting my ankle, and possibly breaking my hand. The injuries turned out to be the least of my concerns when I realized that no one was going to help me back up. Death by subway train. At least you can’t say it was boring.

Microstory 1788: Vulpeculiar

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I never wanted to get into gambling. My family has a history of gambling addiction, and I knew that I didn’t want to even look down that path, so I never put myself in that position. Unfortunately, gambling found me anyway, and I fell into it hard. Maybe if I hadn’t been so afraid of it, I could have learned restraint, but there’s no way to know now. I’m madly in love with it, and every time I lose, it only makes me want more, because there’s always a chance of turning things around. I’m actually not half-bad, now that I know the rules of my favorite games. I’ve come up with a system, and I know everyone says that, but most of the people who say it are thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—of dollars in debt, whereas I always keep myself in the black. I have a special savings account of money that I don’t touch. It doesn’t matter how close I get to losing everything else, that money is for food and shelter, and I’ve held firm on that. That doesn’t mean my life has been safe and happy. I’ve certainly had some problems, especially with sore losers who think that they’re entitled to live their own lives free from consequences. It’s hard to disabuse them of the idea that they won when they’re holding the scary end of a gun against my temple. I’ve recently become immersed in the shadier side of gambling, to which the authorities either turn a blind eye, or can’t even find. I’ve just been going deeper and deeper, playing games with higher and higher stakes. I’ve recently discovered the most mysterious and unusual game of them all. Bottom of the rabbit hole, I call it. The people who play it, though...they call it Vulpeculiar.

There’s a family game I remember playing as a kid called Catch Phrase. I don’t remember the rules, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s just the game disc for Vulpeculiar that reminds me of it. Only 121 people can play in the world, and the only time someone new can join is if someone quits while they’re in the black. This is hard to do, because if you’re in the red, you can’t choose to play. Only someone else can select you as an opponent. It’s a game of chance. You choose who you want to play against, and how much to bet. Then you squeeze the button. You either win, or you lose, and the only strategy is to decide to quit while you’re ahead. When you lose—and you will lose—if you can’t pay with money or collateral, you pay with your soul. You’ll be sucked into the disc, where you’re conscious, and totally at the mercy of the corporeal players. They can give you a chance to win back your freedom, or they can ignore your slot, and play against someone else. The guy who got me into this mess is probably best described as my frenemy. I guess he figured it would be easy to convince me to help him cheat. It’s a two-man job. If I hold the disc, and he squeezes the button, the game is confused about who the player is. If he loses, the round will be disqualified, and nothing will happen. But if he wins, it will pay out into our supposed joint account. Of course, he betrayed me, and never gave me access to those funds, so I’ve decided to screw him over too. I let go of the disc at the very last second, dooming him to losing after betting the sum of every player’s debt against the “dealer”, which he could never hope to pay. He’s sucked into the disc, and I realize I’m the last corporeal player left. It has to end here. The game is evil, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I bet the pot too. It’s over a billion dollars, so I assume that I’ll be sucked in, and leave no slots open for new players. I was wrong. Not only do I win, but the other 120 slots suddenly open up. I think I just killed everyone.

Microstory 1723: Pair of Compasses

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Pamela. You are my compass. When you found me, I was nothing. I was going nowhere in my life. My father, may his soul rest in peace, did everything he could to point me in the right direction, but when I lost him, I lost myself. Instead of honoring his memory, I continued on a pointless path, and made nothing of myself. Then you came along; my light in the dense forest. You showed me that it wasn’t too late, and that there was still hope for me. I will forever be grateful for where we have gone together, and how far we’ve come. Now, I know that I strayed from the path a little, and for that, I will forever be ashamed. But you forgave me my transgressions, and that just proves how perfect we are as a team. You knew that, even then—even after all I did—with my ex...and her ex, and your sister...and your sister’s ex—you knew—you knew that I was still redeemable. I will never be able to make up for what I did, but I believe together, we can walk towards a beautiful future. I will no longer attempt to walk alone, or find my own way. I will surrender to your wisdom. Your needle always points North, and knowing that, we can make our way to any way that we wish. Um. I think this metaphor is getting to be a little too much. Just give me a second. Notecards, I know, but...just hold on. (Let’s see, don’t want to bring this up—I’ve rethought this whole part of the  speech—my brother said that was an inappropriate—hold for laught—oh, never mind). Okay. Pamela. Poetry aside, I would just like to promise you that I have successfully changed my ways. You changed me, and you won’t have to worry about me ever again. As long as you’re by my side, I’m certain that we can get through anything. I vow to be faithful and fearless, interesting and inspiring, mesmerizing and motivating, and successful and satisfying. I can’t wait to begin the next leg of our journey together. Thank you.

Chaz. I think you’re right, I’m a compass. But you are a compass as well. You could even say that we are a pair of compasses. I don’t mean that we’re just two mariner’s compasses. We are the drafting instrument that architects and engineers use to make their designs accurate. I don’t mean to say that we are building something great, or that our home is perfect. The truth is that nothing has been remotely perfect about our lives together. Yes, you cheated on me, and I’m not sure why we needed a rundown of your offenses. Well...I think we all know that those were only about half of your offenses, and that it only includes the ones I actually know about. Who knows how many more there are? Which children here today are yours? Do we even know? I joke, I joke. You’re right, I forgave you for what you did. And that brings us back to my metaphor. (I admit, I took a peek at your vows, which is why I’m prepared to say what I’m saying now). When I took you back, my friends pointed out what we mean to each other, and what our potential is. I didn’t listen to them, but now I know that we truly are a pair of compasses. You see, the compass drawing tool involves two legs. One is steady. It stays in place, while the other makes the drawing. You are the steady leg. You plant yourself in one spot, and I revolve around you. That is our pattern. All we do is make circles. Sure, we can make smaller circles, and sometimes even larger ones, but we can never escape the pattern. We just go ‘round, and around, and around. The only way to break the cycle is for me to break the compass, and set myself free. So I’m leaving you, Chaz. You can sleep with whomever it is you want. It’s not my problem anymore. Goodbye.

Microstory 1608: Par Excellence

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I was tempted to believe at first that this next world involved mass spiritual abilities. There appears to be no particular reason why half the population possesses the same special ability, and the other half does not. It’s quite clearly not genetic, as one twin will often have it, while the other does not. But not always. It seems to be, on the whole, random. One in every two people will, early in their childhood development, start to be accompanied by a guide. This guide, which this world calls their excelschian, appears in the form of a person, and can alter their shape to fit their human’s needs or preferences. Only the human attached to the excelschian can see it. It’s unclear if excelschians came to be due to some evolutionary necessity, but it seems rather unlikely, since like I said, it happens to only half the population. The other half is left to their own devices, which as we’ll discuss, may not be a bad thing. The excelschian can answer any question that their human has, as long as the answer falls within the realm of humanity’s current well of knowledge. They could not, for instance, explain the answer to life, the universe, everything, because no one knows what that is. For the excelschian to know it, enough other people need to know it so that it’s accepted as fact, if only until new evidence comes to light. It couldn’t tell you someone else’s password, and it couldn’t reveal some other well-protected secret. It could, however, reveal other secrets, if too many people are cognizant of it, which is what really makes this universe so much different than others. State and trade secrets, and other proprietary information, does not exist, because it would not be able to. It wouldn’t even occur to this version of the human race to try to hoard such hidden knowledge, because it would get out, and it would get out quickly. So their civilization was built from a place of honesty and openness, not because they were more virtuous than you or I, but because it wouldn’t work anyway.

The assumption here is that people who have excelschians are more intelligent than the people who don’t. After all, they can pass any test simply by posing the questions to their excelschians. The excelschian won’t answer you if you don’t ask it something, but the asking can come in many forms. You could rub your finger along the paper, underneath the text, so it knows what you want to know, or someone else can ask it, and you can use microexpressions to defer it to your excelschian. This is all well and good, except that the excelschianed never really learn anything for themselves, because they never need to. Regular people have to work hard, and study new data, and memorize concepts, and fully grasp practical information. They’re generally more independent, stronger-willed, and far more likely to make the informational breakthroughs that people with excelschians will come to take for granted. They’re the ones moving humanity forward, and advancing science and technology. They’re changing the way people live, and ultimately making the world a better place. Sadly, this was not enough. With only half the people actually working for progress, this version of Earth was not able to develop sustainable strategies early enough to satisfy the antinatalist eco-terrorist Ochivari. In the early days of The Darning Wars—if there even is such a thing—the Ochivari came to this Earth, and destroyed it. And since this universe did not allow time travel, the attack could not be undone. They never stood a chance.

Microstory 1560: Cheater

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Prompt

I’ve never been a cheater, but this test is going to be simultaneously the hardest I’ve taken, and the one that matters the least to my future productivity as a member of society...

Botner

...at least this weekend, anyway. I hope I pass it. Last year, on this day, I got dumped by an asshole. I had just finished my final exam in the morning, and the final exam grading period had just ended, and I was ready to go home. It was finals week, so the academic atmosphere was just setting in, and some of the older graduate students had already started complaining about “how can we be starting the school year already?” and it was such a jaded, stressful, and tragic time to exist in (besides only being nine months into the school year, before adding the first week of summer vacation in). I was sitting in the lounge, and I received a text from an ex-girlfriend. Like I mentioned, I didn’t see it coming, I didn’t suspect that she would take this “joke” to a new level, and I didn’t even tell her to never contact me again. I left it on the front seat of my car, in plain view. I just don’t do well when someone hurts my pride. I know that I don’t deal with rejection well, because my ego is the biggest part of my sense of identity, and when someone uses it against me, I don’t handle it well. I’m sure I’ve mentioned this before. When I used to wake up at 4:30 AM, every day, to...

Conclusion

...work at a package sorting facility, there was this guy I was interested in, but I couldn’t tell if he liked men, and we worked on opposite sides of the room, so we never talked. But my girlfriend didn’t like me even looking at him, so we eventually broke up, even though I never actually cheated. After a few minutes, I decide to text my ex back. The message she sent was innocuous enough, just asking me about that Italian restaurant I like, but if she wants to get back together, I need to know that. I’m not saying I’ll go for it, but it’s always better to know, and dating her would be good for my career. As I’m waiting for her reply, the email I’ve really been waiting for comes in. It’s the weird PhD student, who calls himself Answerman. He still lives in the dorms, and has a filing cabinet full of test answers and homework examples. First one’s free, he told me. I guess he thinks he’ll keep me as a client, but I won’t do it. This is a one time thing, and then I’m goin’ legit. I just need to pass this one class, and everything will be fine. He asks to meet on the bottom level of a parking garage, which is a red flag, but I’m desperate. I walk over to the rendezvous, and climb down the stairs. Answerman, is there, along with the dean, who tells me I have two choices. I can either fail this class, and tell everyone I know that Answerman still has the answers, man...or I can be expelled. I realize it’s like a disease. Everyone else was given this same choice, and it’s always a trap. Just then, my ex-girlfriend finally texts back. She does want to get back together. That’s perfect. Her father works for a tech company that doesn’t require degrees, and I already have all the skills I’ll ever need. I tell the dean to go screw himself, then leave the parking garage, so I can announce to the whole world that Answerman is a frickin’ narc.

Microstory 1388: Bullies

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School Counselor: Middle Schooler 1, do you have any idea why you two were brought in to see me today?

Middle Schooler 1: Because he’s bullying me.

School Counselor: No, because you’re bullying him.

Middle Schooler 1: He started it!

Middle Schooler 2: No, I didn’t!

School Counselor: What did Middle Schooler 2 do to you, Middle Schooler 1?

Middle Schooler 1: He stabbed me with a candy cane.

School Counselor: He what?

Middle Schooler 2: Oh, it wasn’t that big of a deal.

Middle Schooler 1: He sucked on it until one end was sharp, and then he stabbed me in the arm.

School Counselor: Is this true, Middle Schooler 2?

Middle Schooler 2: Wull...I guess.

School Counselor: Middle Schooler 1, why didn’t you report him to the principal?

Middle Schooler 1: Because I’m not a whiny little baby like him!

School Counselor: Now, you know we don’t call people names at this institution.

Middle Schooler 1: Whatever.

School Counselor: Did he break the skin? Do you need to go to the nurse?

Middle Schooler 1: No, I’m fine. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay.

School Counselor: Of course it’s not. Middle Schooler 2? You know what you have to do.

Middle Schooler 2: I’m sorry, Middle Schooler 1. Ugh.

School Counselor: That didn’t sound like a very sincere apology.

Middle Schooler 2: Well, he hasn’t apologized to me either!

School Counselor: That’s true. Why don’t you two apologize to each other at the exact same time. Okay? One...two...three.

Middle Schooler 1 and Middle Schooler 2: I’m sorry.

School Counselor: That was very good. Now. Let’s talk about why you two are so upset with each other.

Middle Schooler 2: He cheated off me on our homework. I know I shouldn’t have stabbed him, but it was annoying.

Middle Schooler 1: I wasn’t cheating. We were doing homework together.

Middle Schooler 2: Yes, but you weren’t supposed to just copy what I wrote. You were supposed to come up with the answers yourself.

Middle Schooler 1: No, we were working together.

Middle Schooler 2: You said you wanted to work together, but then you just had me do it myself, and copy it later. I didn’t even realize I did all the work until it was all finished. You tricked me.

Middle Schooler 1: I didn’t trick you. You’re smarter, so you finished it faster.

Middle Schooler 2: Don’t try to say nice things to me to get out of being in trouble. He’s still in trouble, right?

School Counselor: Neither of you is in trouble. You’re here to work this out, and I think you two are doing a pretty good job on your own, so I’m going to sit here with a game of sudoku, and let you keep going. I don’t want you to stop talking until you’re friends again, okay?

Middle Schooler 1 and Middle Schooler 2: Okay.

Microstory 1386: Marriage Counseling

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Marriage Counselor: Welcome, you both, to marriage counseling. Before we begin, it’s important that you understand that this is a safe space. There will be no judgments here; not from me, and not from either of you. This is not just a guideline, but a rule, and I will be enforcing it strictly.

Husband: I understand, and agree to your terms.

Wife: As do I.

Marriage Counselor: So, what seems to be the problem?

Wife: I cheated on him, and he doesn’t care.

Marriage Counselor: Is that true, Mr. Husband?

Husband: I suppose it is, yes. I would love to say that I simply didn’t react the way she would have wanted, but I see where she’s coming from, and I honestly can’t explain it.

Marriage Counselor: Walk me through it. What happened, and how did Husband react? Mrs. Wife, you go first.

Wife: I’ve been feeling a little neglected, and spending a lot of time on my own. I didn’t go out seeking a second partner, but I often found myself at the rec center, even when I didn’t have a fitness class to get to. I met this woman there who’s kind of going through the same thing with her girlfriend. At first, we were just talking, but then things escalated. It just so happened that Husband walked in on us during the one time it went too far.

Marriage Counselor: Let’s switch perspectives before you proceed. What were you doing that led up to this, Mr. Husband?

Husband: I’ve been pretty busy at work, but that’s not the whole story. I could get it all done on time, but I’ve slowly lost the motivation to do so. The work is overwhelming, and it’s also total nonsense. I used to get really frustrated about it, but now I’m just indifferent. It’s not like the work slows down just because I don’t do it with so much haste, so it builds up even more, and I end up having to stay late just to catch up. One day, I finally just said screw it, and left for home at the time I’m supposed to. Like she said, I walked in on her.

Marriage Counselor: How did you react?

Husband: I barely did at all. My first instinct was that I was pissed; not that I was actually anger, but that I ought to be. As I stood there, looking at them in our marital bed, though, I realized it didn’t bother me. I felt like, if that’s what she wants, she should have it, because I obviously can’t provide for her.

Marriage Counselor: Did it excite you, or just not bother you?

Husband: I felt nothing. I feel nothing. I’m completely numb. I don’t feel joy or jealousy anymore, or anything else, for that matter. I don’t know why, and I don’t want to be like this. I wish I had gotten angry at her, because then we could have worked through it. But she’s just sitting here in this marriage, and neither of us is happy, but she’s the only one who’s trying anymore. I think I might have become a sociopath.

Wife: I don’t think that.

Marriage Counselor: Me neither. You would not have become a sociopath, Mr. Husband. It’s something you’re born with, or possibly develop at a very early age. And even if you hadn’t realized what you were until now, just from my first impression of you, I doubt it would be a good diagnosis. You obviously still care about her, if only in a lesser sense than you used to. Sociopaths aren’t capable of even that. You seem to be having trouble manifesting emotions, but I don’t think they’re not there at all. Are you taking any medication?

Wife: He’s not taking anything.

Marriage Counselor: Well, he’s mimicking some of the symptoms of certain antidepressants, so if it’s not that, then there’s some other imbalance in the brain. Mr. Husband, you mentioned your work. I believe that may be at the heart of what’s causing all this. Let’s dive deeper into that.

Husband: Okay.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 23, 1871

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It wasn’t easy, but Arcadia was able to work her replicated body in a matter of minutes. She was still too weak to do very much on her own, but it was nothing that a good meal, and some peaceful rest, wouldn’t be able to solve. Someone so powerful couldn’t be kept down too long. She did have to sleep all day, though, and by the time they saw her again, it was March 23, 2017. She had just spent the entire year living a somewhat normal life, staying with Declan and Ramses in Fletcher House. Nerakali, on the other hand, had grown used to being on Mateo and Leona’s pattern, so she asked them to replace their Cassidy cuffs, and kind of go back to the way things were. They were fine with it, because it gave them a little extra power they didn’t otherwise have.

As it turned out, the replacement body that The Artist built for Arcadia wasn’t exactly like the first one. It didn’t have any powers at all. Well, it might have let her retain her immortality, but there was no healthy way to test that. Either he didn’t want her to be as threatening as she had been before, or it was some kind of mistake. Either way, she almost seemed relieved by it. People in her position would relish the idea of being normal, at least for a little bit, Mateo imagined. He, at least, would kill to shed his pattern, and live the rest of his life right here. It probably wasn’t going to happen. His pattern was his, and though powers could evidently be added, there didn’t seem to be any way of changing it.

“You’re back,” Arcadia said. “I have been spending this whole time rebuilding my support network.”

“What?” Nerakali looked nervous.

Leona seemed concerned too, but Mateo didn’t really know what this meant.

“Yeah, well, it was a lot harder than before. I don’t have anything to offer, and I can’t threaten to annihilate anyone who doesn’t agree to help me, but I guess I just used my wiles. It isn’t what it used to be, but I can get by.”

“I’m not certain what’s happening,” Mateo said. “Who did you threaten?”

“I’ve told you this,” Arcadia began. “I don’t have many powers myself. I have to ask people to help me, and usually they do it in the background. I plan it out so carefully that you don’t actually see it happening, so it looks like I really can travel through time on my own, or merge two points in spacetime, or whatever.”

“Yeah, you did say that. It’s your support network. Why did you rebuild it? What do you want?”

“I just want it to be over,” Arcadia said cryptically.

“What does that mean?” her sister asked.

Arcadia flipped her bag over, and dumped a bunch of broken glass onto the table. “Here lies Erlendr Preston. He was a terrible father, and a terrible person. He made me who I am, though. If he hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t have killed him. This is on you, dad.”

“You can’t destroy the Insulator of Life,” Nerakali argued. “By its very nature, it protects itself from death.”

“Oh, this is just a prop. I gave the Insulator to Bhulan. She destroyed the hundemarke, just like we wanted her too, as a backup plan. Unfortunately, for our father, I had a backup plan of my own. Don’t freak out, Mateo; I am better. I’m doing this for you. I’m creating a safe reality where you’re free from the powers that be. I did not mean for all that to rhyme. Jesus. Anyway, Erlendr killed all those people with the hundemarke, and his plan was to paradox those deaths by saving the victim’s lives. Something that...dramatic, though, can’t just be undone. The paradoxes can only hold if they simply create a parallel reality.”

“We know all this,” Leona argued.

“Yes, but what Erlendr didn’t understand is that he never had to go back, and just save everybody’s life. The idiot was going to steal Jupiter Rosa’s power, quantum replicate himself, and send each copy to their own points in time, so he could essentially create the paradoxes at once. That’s too much work, and completely pointless. The only reason he would need to do that is if he wanted the hundemarke to exist at all. I don’t need that.”

Nerakali stepped forward. “Sister, I’ve been through the timeline. The creation of the hundemarke first occurred in one the oldest timelines ever. It predates the timeline where you and I were created in The Gallery. If the hundemarke doesn’t exist, neither do we. Arcadia, you would be erasing yourself from history.”

Arcadia smiled. “That’s the part that proves I’m a better person. We were indoctrinated into believing the Gallery was  vital to protecting the timeline, but we’re just erroneous. Left to their own devices, the choosing ones police themselves. The Stitcher and The Repairman do everything we can, The Warden imprisons any who would dare expose them, and others help out in their own ways. So many of them have jobs and responsibilities that no one asked them to do, and they often don’t even get paid. They don’t need us. We just made things worse. I’m proof of that. I can fix it, though. All I need to do is go back to one date.” She opened a small pocket on the front of her bag, and removed the hundemarke, so she could place it around her neck. She opened a third pocket, and took out the primary Cassidy cuff. People can only be redeemed if that’s what they want for themselves.

“Don’t do this, Arcadia,” Nerakali pleaded. “You’ll be erasing me from time as well.”

“You’ll be fine,” Arcadia promised. “You’ll continue on in this reality. I’m just trying to make a paradise, not so that I can live in it...just so that it exists.” She tapped on her cuff screen. “You’re the only one who can stop me, so I gave one of the cuffs to Serkan Demir in 2019; the power-blocking chosen one version of him. I just need to switch links, and you’ll be stuck there with him, and you won’t be able to follow us.”

“Please,” Nerakali said.

“You’re welcome,” Arcadia responded. She pressed a button, and forced Nerakali to disappear.

“I can’t tell if what you’re doing is evil, or good,” Mateo said honestly.

“Yeah,” Arcadia replied with a nod. “Me neither. Let’s go. You have to be with me when I go back to prevent the hundemarke from ever existing. Rama Lama Ding Dong, you’re coming too.”

“Where are we?” Leona asked. They were in the middle of the woods. Gunfire, and cannons rang out in the distance.

“Obernai, Germany. Well, it’s in France, but...this is May of 1871, so right now it belongs to Germany. We are on the edges of the battlefield for the Battle of Obernai during the Franco-Prussian War.”

“You brought us to a war!” Mateo cried.

“Well, this is where the hundemarke was born. The moment was so powerful, it created itself. The hundemarke stretched backwards in time, and actually kept the war going for longer than it was meant to, just so it would last long enough for the circumstances to be ripe for its creation. On its own, the hundemarke is already a paradox.”

“If it’s already a paradox, then why are we trying to force another paradox?” Ramses wondered out loud.

They heard a rustling in the leaves. Jesimula Utkin approached them, wearing some kind of cuff. “I made it, guys. Funny prank, trying to leave me behind.”

“Jesi, what is your business here?” Mateo asked her.

She laughed. “That is not my name. Volpsidia got a better body for herself, so she let me have this one. I’ve always identified as male, but I can make this work temporarily.”

“Dad?” Arcadia asked.

“Sho’nuff. Am I allowed to say that?”

“No,” Leona scolded.

“Well, whatever.”

“I destroyed you,” Arcadia accused. “How are you here? Are you from the past?”

“Well, that has to do with Bhulan Cargill,” Erlendr began, seemingly holding back a true-to-form maniacal laugh. “When she threw herself into the fire with the hundemarke, she—” He stopped short. Blood spilled out of Jesi’s mouth. He tried to turn his new body around to see who had stabbed him, but he wasn’t strong enough. He mouthed some kind of curse, but no sound came out. He just fell to the ground, and kept dying.

“Boom!” said the man with the murder weapon. “How ya like me now, dad!” He let out a legit maniacal laugh of his own.

“Zeferino?” Arcadia questioned. “What are you doing in Jupiter Rosa’s body?”

He giggled. “Nah, sis. I ain’t Zef. I’m actually Jupiter. I’m Erlendr’s only real kid. Y’all were made out of clay, but our parents did the nasty, and made me with their bodies.” He was a little too into talking about his own parents’ sex life.

“You can’t have kids in the Gallery,” Arcadia contended. “The original workers tried for centuries. The population never grew even once.”

“Heh. Try telling that to my brother. I never said I was born in the Gallery dimension, but he was. Why do you think Savannah disappeared for nine months?”

“You just said you were Erlendr’s only natural offspring, yet you have a brother?” Ramses noted.

“He’s my half-brother, but we were raised together. Erlendr found out his wife cheated on him, so he locked her up in an abandoned section of the Gallery. He kept her there in secret until the rest of his family fell to Earth. Then he dragged both her and the child down with him, and made me.”

Yet another man appeared from the trees. “He didn’t make you. He raped our mother to reassert his dominance.”

“He what?” Arcadia didn’t seem extremely shocked by everything this Jupiter guy had told her. Even though this was clearly all news to her, she was hundreds of years old, if not thousands, so these kinds of things rolled off of her. The rape thing was just too much, though. “He raped her?”

“I didn’t want to be that dramatic,” Jupiter said.

“The Screener showed us what happened!” his brother shouted. “She didn’t just say no a few times, then finally give in. It was violent, and horrific! I only wish I could have killed him as well.”

Arcadia stepped forward, and spit on Jesi’s dead body. “Same.” There was some silence for a bit before Arcadia continued, “why am I just now hearing about all this? Why have we not met before? I would have reached out if I had known you were my brother. I just wrote you off, because you were some random Springfield Nine I didn’t care about.”

Jupiter chortled. “I’m not really a Springfield Nine. Baby, I was born this way.”

“My father,” the brother answered, “Athanaric Fury didn’t want us involved with all you people. I’ve kept my distance pretty well, and of course Jupiter here has his own group of friends. You’re right, though. I should have reached out.”

“Oooooohhh,” Leona realized. “You’re the other artist. You built the Rushmore extensions.”

“And Serif,” Mateo added.

“I was young,” Fury said to Mateo, “and I treated people as commodities. I’m not like that anymore.”

More rustling. This battlefield edge was a surprisingly busy place. Zeferino Preston struggled up to them. He looked drunk. “Ya gotta help me. He’s in my head. I can’t stop him. I can’t fight him anymore.” He did look like he was trying his damndest to keep it together.

“Erlendr?” Arcadia asked, helping her brother get back to a standing position.

“He’s a lot stronger than me, you know that. I can barely send a psychic email. You have to get him out. Please. I know we haven’t always been close, but I need you right now. Mateo! Mateo, we’re friends now. K—kind of. You’ll do the right thing.”

“Why the hell are you asking me? I don’t know how to get rid of a psychic invader!” Then he stopped to think about it. “I know someone who does, though.”

Leona nodded. “We have to go back to the future.”

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