Microstory 2451: Mud World: World of Mud

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Here we have another overly descriptive name, like Mountain Mountain or Substrate Development Dome. If you’re lookin’ for mud, they have it here. We got obstacle courses, wrestling, bogging. We got all sorts of sports. If it’s typically paid on the ground, you’ll be playing it on—see if you can guess—a muddy ground. Did you guess right? There are some places in Mud World that isn’t mud, and that’s because it’s SWAMPS! There are no boats, so you have to wade, or even swim, across in order to get from one sector of mud to another sector of mud. MUD! There is already a dome that’s dedicated exclusively to swamp and wetlands, but this one has both. That’s okay, there’s room for all of us. If you come here, you’re gonna get muddy. I know, big surprise. Like, there are only a bunch scattered points of respite from all the mud called King Hills where you can play King of the Hill. A few people can probably stand on the top of it, but there’s only supposed to be one. If you manage to secure it, you better not rest on your laurels, because I guarantee that someone else is gonna come challenge you within the next three seconds. It’s not that everyone is trying to get out of the mud, it’s just fun to push people around, and get pushed around...back down into the mud. If you don’t like mud, you’re not gonna have a good time. You walk through the doors, check in, and then walk down some stairs to the area. Once you get down to the bottom (and in the mud that I was talking about earlier), the stairs collapse, and the nearest other stairs could be miles away for the next group of visitors. You could try to get to one of those quickly, but why would you do that? You’re walking through mud! And mud is great! I don’t know how else to explain that this is a Mud World: World of Mud. I’m not just calling it that for fun, by the way; it’s the official name, which I’m guessing you know because you’re here, and if you’re here, then you must be interested in mud. Which is a good thing, because we got plenty of mud here. MUD! Okay, that’s enough—it’s enough mud! ENOUGH MUD! I’m done with the mud! It’s over! If you’re done with mud, walk over to the nearest exit, and step into a shower. Ah, that feels good. Nice to get all this mud off my body. The water is warm, the jets go every which way. You can stay in the shower as long as you want, they got loads of them; as far as the eye can see. I mean, you can’t see the other showers, they have partitions. Well, they do have group showers. If you wanna wash off in full view of others, that’s your business, and theirs. It’s not 2025, where everyone is sexually unhealthy, and self-conscious. When you’re done with the shower, they have hot tubs too. After you’re done tubbin’, please get back in the shower, because hot tubs are gross. I’ll take a pool of mud over a hot tub any day. HOT TUBS! And-or you can dry off, and leave the dome. You can leave the dome for good, or come back another time. Or hell, you can turn around right that instant, and get back into some muddy shenanigans in the mud. One last thought before I go: MUD!

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 19, 2501

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that even a thing?” Romana asked.

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

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

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

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

“Well, I thought it was interesting.”

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

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

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

“There’s a school too.”

“No, it closed down.”

“Since when?”

Romana lifted her phone again. “Today.”

“Oh.”

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

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

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

“Fine,” Leona lamented.

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

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

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

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

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

“Stay here,” Leona ordered her daughter.

“You’re not going after her.”

“Of course I’m going after her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Clearly not,” Romana argued.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

“I don’t wanna get dysentery.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Microstory 2349: Earth, May 8, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Yeah, there was an idea fairly early on, after the gases settled over the surface, to build massive aerostats. Their reasoning was that, if the atmosphere was going to be toxic, we might as well take advantage of the density that we didn’t have before. I’m pretty sure I heard that they have a couple of them on Venus, because the atmosphere is already really dense, and I believe they’re building more. So we know how to make them. The idea to make them here was ultimately abandoned because too many people felt like it was giving in. The air shouldn’t be toxic, and we shouldn’t be satisfied with it staying that way. We’re supposed to be fixing it, and if we start treating the bug as a feature, we’ll either not work hard on cleaning it up, or we will, and people will have to leave the aerostats before too long anyway. Neither plan seemed reasonable or rational. Now on to the party discussion. The time you propose is totally fine with us. We both requested the entire day off, and the way the department is designed, there should be no problem. A lot of people would have to call in sick, or have some other emergency, before we would be called back in. They take work-life balance very seriously these days. I was telling you that we settled into a stable society a few years back, and that was part of it. If all we’re worried about is survival, then we’re not really living, and if that’s the case, is there really any point in working so hard to continue? People don’t seem to think so, and as terrible as it is that the atmosphere has been poisoned, at least it happened in our time period, instead of a couple hundred years ago. Most of the grunt work is automated, so it’s not like things will fall apart if people stop working. A lot of scholars believe that we’re only not living in a post-scarcity society right now because of the bad air. The domes have forced us to do more work than we should really have to worry about. So yeah, that was another big tangent just to say that we’ll start our party at 20:00 on the day of our birthday. I wanted to ask, and should have asked before, are you really going to have to be there alone? There’s no one else you could invite? By the time we receive your response, the day will have already passed, but you will receive my letter by then, so I hope you think about whether there’s anyone else, now that your mom is gone.

Really hoping you don’t have to be alone,

Condor

Microstory 2177: Dark About a Lot

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Wow. Just. Wow. These are some nice offices in the jail administrative section. We’re on the top floor of the building, and have a great view of the skyline, as well as some greenery. I prefer the latter, but some prefer the former, so it’s the best of both worlds. They’re giving us an entire conference room, which is big enough to accommodate our eighteen person team. I have my own office that comes right off of that room, and the facilities department has set aside four other workspaces for us. Each subdepartment will be able to separate themselves from the group, and focus on their own stuff. At the moment, the only thing that’s ready is the conference room, since it’s pretty much already configured the right way. It’s lined with bookshelves, so I’m thinking that it used to be a library, which they eventually started using for meetings, but I don’t know what has happened with all that since. It was reportedly pretty dusty in here. I said that I wanted to physically work on a lot of this myself, but I am not bummed out that they did all the cleaning for me. I’m more of a designer and arranger than a cleaner. I have really bad allergies, and I just don’t care for it. I’m weird that way. I’m truly grateful for everything that everyone has done in preparation for this new project, and I’m excited to get started. I spent all day yesterday slowly moving things around in my office, and the other four shared spaces. We need a few things that the jail doesn’t already have on hand for us, like computers, and other various things. I drew up a list so facilities and IT will be working on procuring new equipment and supplies this week. I still had plenty to do on that front today.

Tomorrow, I’m probably going to work exclusively on building out the staff. Back when I was looking for a job—or rather, when employers were looking for me—I was able to tell you about them, to some vague degree. I didn’t think that it was a problem to say this and that about a hypothetical position that I was probably not going to end up taking, as long as I didn’t specify which company was offering. Even if the name of the company ended up being publicized, it probably would have been all right. Now I’m on the other side of that, preparing to interview individual innocent people for my team. So I won’t be telling you anything about the candidates during this process. I won’t even say anything about the ones that I hire, unless they unambiguously tell me it’s okay, and probably not even then. They have a right to their privacy, and they shouldn’t feel uncomfortable applying because something may come out about them. Even if it’s good, it’s not my place to divulge it, whatever it may be. They have the ability to set up their own social media accounts, and build their own websites, should they choose to. Of course, confidentiality being a thing, there’s a lot more about my new job that I won’t be able to say. The jail is now my client, and while they’re fully aware of who I am, and what I do online, they’ve not given me permission to say absolutely anything and everything about what we’re doing here. So be prepared to be left in the dark about a lot. I’ll keep you up to date as much as I can, but my posts could get shorter if everything that I start to deal with is strictly privileged information. They could, therefore, get boring if all I can talk about is my private life. The work I’m getting ready to do here, I believe, is in the interest of the public good, so I’m all right letting my site suffer in service to that. Anyway, I’m tired, so I better grab some dinner, and call it a night.

Microstory 2158: No Such Thing as Extra

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I did more volunteer work today. After the storm, a bunch of people came together to help with the cleanup effort. This isn’t any sort of official organization. There’s a special social media app that they’re all on, where people can stay connected to each other based on proximity, rather than other reasons, like mutual interests. I only heard about it from my next door neighbor, because I’m not on the app, so I wasn’t a part of it from the beginning. They’ve done this sort of thing before, when there have been other issues. I picked up and broke down a lot of fallen limbs, which was not fun, but I did feel like I was getting a lot of important work done for people who were unable to do it for themselves. Working from home makes it a lot easier for me to just do stuff like this, and not everyone’s life is like that. Like I said, it wasn’t a real charitable organization, so I didn’t think that anyone could sign my community service log. So I just wasn’t going to bother, because I only did it for the one day, and I figured that it was just more of a rounding error. Apparently, that doesn’t matter for people in my position. When you’ve been sentenced to CS, there is no such thing as “extra” until that sentence has been completed, and then you’re free to choose whatever service work you choose, just like you can as a normal person. Don’t worry, though. I didn’t get in any trouble, or anything, but my parole officer is certain that he told me this before, and he’s probably right. That’s the thing about me. If someone claims that I should have known something, or that something happened in the past, I often kind of just have to believe them, because I can’t trust my own memory. Anyway, it’s fine; no harm done. I could never understand the legal ramifications, but essentially, I’m required to record it every time I volunteer my time or effort for anything more than holding the door open for someone. That’s okay. A thousand hours is the minimum, not the maximum. I think that this is all meant to get people used to the practice of giving back to the community, not just to punish them. But far be it for me to explain the judge’s intentions. That’s why they sit in that raised chair, and I’m over here. Ugh, I’m getting too philosophical. All I’m trying to tell you is that you don’t have to have a reason to help other people. You don’t have to be a convicted criminal, or a juvenile delinquent. This world is better for all of us when we all try to be better for it. That’s all I have for you today. Stay frosty, and keep shakin’ that bush.

Microstory 2127: Too Tired to Relax

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I accepted one of the jobs, and respectfully declined the others. I’ll be working from home, which is something that I always wanted to do before all this time travel and universe-hopping. It saves on gas, and other transportation, and it allows me to work for anyone in the world. I thought I was going to be able to tell you what I’ll be doing, but my employer doesn’t want me to divulge such information. They may allow me to say certain, carefully crafted things at a later date, but for now, I should just treat it as privileged information. They didn’t make me sign an NDA, but I’m obviously going to respect their decision. All I can say is that I’m allowed to work whenever I want unless I’m scheduled for a meeting or a call, and it’s by the week, rather than the day. So if I get all of my work done at the beginning of the week, I can take a couple of days off, and still get paid the same, because I covered my hours, and was sufficiently productive. We’ll see how it goes. Before I left my original universe, people were pushing for a four-day workweek, but I’ve always believed that it would be better to work shorter hours across more days than to get entire days off. I would rather take minimal breaks in between than work my butt off non-stop until I crash on the weekend. I’m too tired to relax at that point, ya know? I know that sounds dumb, but if you’ve ever been there, you understand what I mean. Anyway, most of my last several posts have been on the longer side, so I think I’ll just do a little of that relaxing that I was talking about. I’ll have more to say tomorrow, because my new job isn’t the only thing I have going on. I’m this close to selecting an apartment. I found a nice complex with fully furnished units, but new, so I don’t have to worry about others having gotten their grubby little hands on the furniture—or worse—smoking around it. I’ll still clean everything. I’ll also need to tell you what my therapy was like, because I’m writing this prior to my evening session. I think I’ve already told you that, as a patient, I’m none too worried about the confidentiality of psychological and medical treatment. I expect my provider to respect my privacy, but I’ll say whatever I want about myself, so you’ll be hearing about my progress in the next coming months.

Microstory 2107: Freedom at Risk

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As it turns out, the people who helped me with my new identity in this mystery city are a married couple, and they have a daughter. According to them, she’s very irresponsible and hard to deal with. That’s not what I experienced when I met her, and I didn’t get the feeling that she was just manipulating me. My first thought was that the parents haven’t been giving her much attention, because they’re so busy making IDs. As a result, she doesn’t do the chores, because where they live is more her house than theirs, and she doesn’t personally care about that stuff. They basically want to come home to everything being done after spending a string of days in the city away from her. They hired forced me to supervise her, which I did, even though I really didn’t want to. I made sure that she mowed the lawn, completed the laundry cycle, vacuumed the carpet, mopped the hard floors, and made dinner. The daughter didn’t even push back. She just rolled her eyes, and completed the tasks. I helped her out, because I felt like it was too much for one person, and it felt really weird just standing there, barking orders at her. A lot of it involved things that I do for my real job, and I get enough of that stuff there, so I wasn’t ecstatic about the extra work. Here’s the first issue, and it pales in comparison to the real problem, but I’ll get to that in a minute. The first thing is that they were so pleased with my work that they now want it to be a regular thing. So after my eight-hour shift as a janitor, I have to drive out to the outskirts to this new second job? I’m going to be exhausted every day, and annoyed about the whole thing. But I could deal with that. When I was waiting for Cricket and Claire to find me in Moderaverse, I spent twenty years without much of anything to do. So I’ve had it pretty good, working a little harder now isn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. No, the real problem is that this girl isn’t even their daughter.

The first clients that they had in this business were reportedly themselves. They’re cagey about how they got started, which is understandable, but my guess is that they used to work for the DMV, or social security, or something else along those lines. You don’t just jump into this kind of thing without having any frame of reference for what people might be looking for. I don’t think they lived around here for their original lives. After they came this way, their second client was a couple who were trying to escape the law for whatever reason. They needed IDs for themselves, and their very young daughter. At some point, the ID makers came to find out that she wasn’t their daughter either. They had kidnapped her, and instead of contacting the authorities, the ID makers just essentially kidnapped her for themselves. For years, the girl didn’t know where she originally came from, and she still doesn’t have any details. After years of school counseling, and mostly introspection, she figured a few things out, and made some memories resurface. All she knows now is that the parents who she has been living with aren’t her real parents, and nor were the people they took her from. She has not yet tried to get out of this situation, or find out where she came from, but it’s made her less interested in doing these chores, or anything for these people, really. Now I’m in a real pickle. I obviously have to save her, but doing so puts my own freedom at risk. I suppose I’ve already decided to intervene, no matter what ends up happening to me. The two of them have never expressed interest in reading my blog before, but they definitely know about it, so there’s a chance that they’ll read this after it automatically posts later tonight. I’ll have to figure out what to do by then, and put a plan into action. I’ll let you know how that goes, unless I die, like I said before. But just know, whatever the supposed cause of death, it was murder.

Microstory 2106: Die, Or Get Caught

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I’m giving in. I have to do what they tell me. These people set me up with my new identity, a place to live, and a way to protect myself from being found by authorities. Either I pay them back with whatever they want me to do, or they expose my whereabouts. They didn’t specifically say that that’s what they were going to do, but they’ve frequently reminded me what they did for me, so I can read between the lines. I never had any illusions that this relationship wasn’t transactional, but I was under the impression that they were going to let me get on a little payment plan. With my job and simple lifestyle, it would not have taken long to finish paying it off. They never said that the favor they’re asking of me replaces the money, though, so I’m pretty sure that they’re still expecting the cash anyway. I still don’t know what I’m going to have to do for them, but I have a when and a where. I was hired to work second shift for my regular job, which goes from 8:00 to 16:00 now that we only have three janitors on the team. As soon as I get off work, I have to make my way downtown using public transportation. They don’t even want me to stop and grab something to eat, but they say that I will want to be fed. I ate a big breakfast this morning, and I’m going to have an early dinner before my shift ends. We’re allowed to take a thirty-minute lunch now, and it can be at any time, as long as there isn’t something time-sensitive that needs to be cleaned. I think I can hold out until the very last minute. My alternate self back in my home universe fasts for fifteen hours every day. It shouldn’t be too hard for me. Hopefully, whatever the secret job is won’t take too long, and I’ll have time to eat something before bed. I’ll let you know how it went in my post tomorrow. Unless I die, or get caught, then you may never hear from me again. My new “bosses” never actually said that I would be involved in something illegal, but we met when they did something illegal for me, so I guess I’ve been assuming that this whole time. Maybe I’ll get lucky, and they just want me to mow someone’s lawn, or babysit their kid for a few hours.

Microstory 2105: Maybe I Should Leave

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It’s been one of those days. I told you in the last post how the scheduling works at my new job. When they first explained it to me, my first question was the obvious one, which is what happens when two people have to be gone at the same time? The answer was that this never happens, so they didn’t have a protocol for that. But of course, this being my life, it happened immediately. I’m not even finished with my training, but we’re already down to three people. One of the other janitors had a family emergency, which necessitated him driving halfway across the country at a moment’s notice. He reportedly didn’t even have time to pack anything. The old man, meanwhile, has fallen ill. He’s awake and alert, but he’s in no condition to be moving around, and doing this kind of work. The bosses are actually making him stay in a special room for treatment. I guess this place has its own little health clinic? They didn’t tell me anything about it, so I don’t think it’s for just anyone to use when they need it. So now it’s just me and the girls. Their initial plan when this happened was to have one of us take a double shift, and maybe someone else takes it the next day? That’s too much math. The reason four of us work on one day is because 24 divided by 6 equals 4. But 24 can also be divided into 8, and that makes 3. To cover the time, we’re each just going to take longer shifts, but we each get a 30 minute lunch break now. This is the way things often work in other universes, and even in other places on this world, so it’s not like I’m reinventing the wheel here.

I’m glad that they’ve taken my advice, because I feel super responsible for all of this. It may sound ridiculous, but hear me out. I’m starting to really worry that I’m the cause of all these issues. Things have been changing since I showed up on the scene, everyone thinks so, even if they’re not making the connection to me. Issues are arising that were not a problem before. It’s not always obvious, like when I first came to this world, and kept getting sick. Someone went missing after I started working at the nursery, and now this? I know, it sounds self-aggrandizing to think that everything is all about me, but come on. I understand that I felt like this before, and there actually weren’t any other missing people, but I’m not making everything up. I dunno. Maybe I should leave this town, and move to another to see if something weird happens there too. Of course, I can’t just run off right away. These people are counting on me. We have to find at least one more person to fill out the roster, and maybe another person after that, and if I go, then they’ll have to look for a third. I’m in such an awkward position. I better get some sleep, and see if I come up with any better ideas in the morning. The people who set me up with my new life are asking me to work for them too, which complicates things even further. I have a feeling that my situation is about to get a lot more difficult.

Microstory 2104: People Are Animals

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My job is going well so far, but I’ve only been doing it for one day, so we’ll just have to see. This place is open 24/7, which equates to a crew of five janitors. Each of us works six hours straight with no breaks, except to use the restroom. When one leaves for the day, the next one comes in. A fifth person sleeps on location, and can fill in if someone is sick. We don’t get paid to take time off, though we can if we need to, but we have to coordinate with each other, and the fifth guy will substitute during that time too. In the meantime, he gets paid for the entire day, whether he has anything to do or not. He’s the one who trained me, because he’s been there forever. The job is simple and tedious. You start at the top floor, and work your way down. Different janitors have different methods to get the work done. Some use the carpet sweeper all the way through, and then go back up to mob the bathrooms, and other tile areas, and then go back up again to collect the trash. Others prefer to focus on one floor, and complete all of the necessary work at once before moving on to the next one. They may not do it the same way every time, and our employer doesn’t care. They want it to be as clean as possible as much as possible. The work that the regular workers do here requires concentration, which means that they require us to be quiet and out of the way, which is why we don’t use vacuum cleaners. Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of collaboration, at least not in person, so we’re not constantly tripping over the staff, making it easier to stay invisible.

For one hour at 11:00, they are all having lunch together upstairs. We are not allowed to go upstairs. I’ve not even seen their cafeteria yet, because we’re expected to eat on our own time, but the other janitors have caught glimpses of it over the years, so they know that that’s where everyone is going. Apparently, a sixth person handles that entire area alone, and isn’t part of my team. I suspect that, in addition to eating, they’re having some kind of building-wide meeting. I still don’t really know what exactly they do there, but it must be pretty sensitive stuff. They lock everything up in their special desks, even when they’re only leaving for the restroom. I’ve yet to see a single piece of paper that isn’t still blank. The regular workers are usually really focused on their work, and don’t pay me any mind, not in a sort of disrespectful don’t fraternize with the help sort of way, but more like they’re trying to stay out of my way just as much. I think they’re aware that I’m on a schedule of my own, and they appreciate not having to worry about the mess. And when I say mess, I don’t mean that these people are animals. Honestly, I don’t think we need to clean up as often as we do. They don’t eat at their desks, or do anything else that would make my job harder. I barely have to empty the carpet sweeper, but that’s what’s in the job description, so I’m going to keep doing it until they ask me to do something else. I was under the impression that I was going to get a lot dirtier, but the really gross places, like the boiler room, are handled by a different team too. All in all, I think I’m going to be okay here. I know what I’m supposed to do, and how I’m supposed to do it. They even let us listen to headphones at a low enough volume to hear the environment. I don’t really report to a boss. My coworkers are treating me as one more person in the collective. The woman I’m replacing worked here for 48 years before she retired with six-figure savings. I’ve never dreamed of having that much money. I’ll let you know if anything changes, but I think I’m just going to stick around for now.

Microstory 2103: My New Dirty Job

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I’ve been looking for work. Unlike when I was in Kansas City, and in my past life, I no longer have standards. I used to have certain limitations, which stopped short of cleaning, food preparation or distribution, and interacting with people too much. I think I’m going to still shy away from that last one, since I don’t need to be exposing my wanted face to a whole bunch of people every day. I’m also not good at smiling, whether it’s real or fake. I can grimace. If you need someone to grimace awkwardly, and make everyone in the room feel incredibly uncomfortable, I am your man. What I don’t like about the other two things is that my health and sanitation standards are higher than anyone else’s. That sort of stuff is hard to be around, because it will never be good enough for me, and people find that rather annoying, if you can believe it. But ya know, you don’t know how to wear gloves. You seem to think that makes you impervious to cross-contamination, but that’s not how it works. If you pick up a big piece of poop, throw it in the toilet, and then go back to fixing my sandwich, you’ve just put poop in that sandwich. I don’t really care that it didn’t get on your hands, do I? That was never my concern. Of course, this is an exaggeration, but it’s plausible, since most people seem to think that clothing is some magical barrier that prevents bacteria and viruses from being transmitted, but I’m here to tell you that it’s not. Trust me. I know pathogens. I suppose that all has more to do with food, which is why cleaning doesn’t bother me as much. I mean, it really bothers me, but I can immerse myself in it, and then come out clean on the other side. This temporary place where I’m staying has a perfect system for me, especially with my new dirty job. I’m a janitor, which is kind of always where I thought I would end up. Now all I need is to become an unarmed security guard, and I will be able to check everything off my list of jobs I either wanted, or thought I would have to take. This isn’t so bad. I can clean myself off at the end of the day in the group showers, and then step right into the tub shower. That way, I don’t have to dirty up the tub. I know that sounds like overkill to you, but I prefer it. The washer and dryer combo unit are right there too, which allows me to clean my uniform every night before I have to use it again the next day. It’s not glamorous, but it will get me by...for now.

Microstory 2079: Struggling and Stammering

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I’m working first shift tomorrow, so I’ve set up a few appointments to go look at apartments, maybe somewhere that’s right next to the nursery, or at least closer. I won’t be signing any contracts quite yet, but I imagine that it’s going to take me a little bit of time to find the right place. This has nothing to do with how the world works. I have very specific requirements. It doesn’t have to be big, and it certainly doesn’t have to be luxurious, but it needs to be clean, and/or I need to be able to clean it without breaking my back. So in that regard, it would be better small, especially since it’s just me. I like things to be efficient and quick. Procedural memory is key. I want there to be a place for everything, with everything in its place. One benefit to coming to a new world is that this is a fresh start. I’m not burdened by all these hand-me-downs that don’t fit my needs perfectly, or regretful purchases that I made in my youth. I get to start from scratch, and buy only what I require, conceived by my more mature, experienced brain. It may still seem too early to do all this, since I’ve not even received my first paycheck yet, but I believe that they’re going to be lenient on me when it comes to when the first rent payment is due, due to my financial situation. It’s more important to them that I give them reason to believe that I can reliably pay on a consistent basis, not necessarily pay right away. I can prove that I am gainfully employed, and that I have decent job security. I’m still in touch with my social worker, who is reaching out to the necessary people to facilitate the future move. They’ve certainly dealt with harder cases than me, including people who can’t conduct business deals for themselves. I could never run a Fortune 500 company, but I’m capable of understanding the basics of a rental agreement. It’s nice to have someone in my corner who can explain what’s going on with me. I’m pretty awkward in social situations. If we’re only there to talk business, that’s fine, but if you start asking me about myself, you’ll find me struggling and stammering. Buhbye.

Microstory 2076: About My Weaknesses

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Obviously, since it’s winter, most of the work we do at the nursery has been in the greenhouses, but that’s not all we can do. Apparently, since there are fewer customers, we’ll be spending a lot of time cleaning, and doing inventory. When I first started, the weather was unseasonably warm, so I was able to get a taste of what it’s like in the spring, but now that the temperature is dropping again, things have started to slow down, at least in terms of customer service. Like I said, there’s plenty to do, but it’s not as stressful, because there’s not as much of a timing issue. Soon enough, our busiest time of year will begin, and I’m getting anxious about it. They do a lot of workshops here, to teach the public about how to care for plants, and which ones to choose for their needs or wants. I can learn all I want about the industry, but I’ll never be good at teaching others about it. I come from a family of teachers, including my paternal grandparents, my aunt, my father, and my sister. I was not born with that gene. I just don’t explain things well, and I have such a shoddy memory that I forget whether I’ve said something already. More often than not, though, that doesn’t result in me repeating myself. I end up skipping crucial information instead because I think I’ve already said it. Then the whole thing just doesn’t make any sense. I was clear with the boss about my weaknesses, though, so I think they’re just going to keep me away from the students. At least I hope that I was clear. Maybe I skipped over crucial information. And anyway, we don’t have to worry about that quite yet. We’re still in the winter slowdown. Peace out!

Microstory 2071: Wake Up Clean

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I just reread my post from last week, and realized that I didn’t really tell you anything about myself, since I started going on and on about how the cosmos really works. So let’s do that now, but you still don’t have to read it. I was born in central Kansas, and moved around a lot in my youth. I suppose I moved around a lot as an adult too. I was a quiet kid, and people hated that about me. Have you ever had to deal with someone yelling in your ear incessantly? It’s like that, except I don’t make any noise, and I guess some people perceive that as just as irritating? My incessant silence: it doesn’t hurt your ears, but it hurts your heart, because you have an incessant need for attention, and if you’re around someone who doesn’t give it to you, it feels like dying. I spent many years pretending to be a regular person, and many years afterwards unraveling most of that so that I could become my true self. Then I started to develop my idea of what my best self would be, and tried to work towards that.

Here are a few random facts about me. I’m left-handed. I once knew a guy who was legit mad at me for wearing my watch on my right wrist. I may be left-handed because I was born with an extra finger on my right hand, which jacked up the joints. All of my fingers are crooked, and my hands hurt literally all the time, especially when I use them, which is why it’s so great that I’m a writer, because it doesn’t require the use of hands. I like baby rhinos, and hate pandas. On principle—but not in practical terms—I don’t believe in war, national borders, money, poverty, the inherent value of work, or religion. I think sex work should be legal, and recreational drugs should be illegal. I would rather lose a competition than win it, because it will always be more important to other people, and I don’t want them to feel bad.

Here are a few random facts about you: if you’re a smoker, you’re an idiot, and a bad person. It doesn’t matter what you’ve accomplished, or what your IQ is. Only a total moron would poison themselves on purpose, and only an asshole would do it in a way that potentially causes harm to others. No matter how you die, as long as it’s not an accident or something, the smoke will either cause your death, or exacerbate it. It will never help you, nor remain neutral. There’s no logical reason for it. Some people like you, and some don’t. No one is hated by all. The human body is beautiful, and you shouldn’t be afraid of it. The toilet paper goes over the top, ‘cause gravity. Some of your food contains bug parts. It’s fine.

Here’s some random advice. Find your strength in school, and focus on that. Work half as hard at the things you struggle with. You’re never gonna be as good at them as you are with your best subject, and normal people don’t need to be good at everything to succeed. If you struggle with a subject for years on end, while doing fine in others, that’s your worst subject, and it’s never going to change. Smart people don’t suddenly become that way in adulthood after being unintelligent before. Some jobs require you to be committed and driven. Most of them, however, come with bosses that aren’t paying enough attention to you to reward good behavior. Your number one job in life is to find happiness, not build profit for your company. Never forget that every company needs you more than you need it. You could survive naked in the woods with nothing but your wits. Without labor and customers, a company doesn’t exist. Life is all that matters.

Shower before bed, so your bed is clean, and you wake up clean. Wash your hands. Clean everything else too. Let your children get dirty to build up their immune system.

Microstory 2052: Day Two

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I have to write this one really quickly, because I’m running out of money, and I know that I really shouldn’t be spending it on the internet, when what I really need is food and shelter, but I figure that I can get those things for free if I’m smart, or just later. First, while my immortality is gone, I’m still running on the energy that I got back when a window to the bulk briefly opened up. I probably won’t have to eat for at least for another week, maybe two. The weather is surprisingly mild here. They say it’s January in Kansas City, but it doesn’t feel like that. I don’t think the temperature—or the weather in general, for that matter—has changed once since I arrived here yesterday. Either your calendar is a lot different than the ones in other universes, or geography is. Maybe the continents drifted differently? Could this version of North America be closer to where the equator would be—wait, no, that doesn’t make any sense. I would have noticed that just by looking at a globe. The equator is the equator, regardless, and we’re about as distant from it as I recall. This is just super weird. Anyway, where was I? Oh, I had a little money in my pocket from Havenverse, and luckily, they use the same kind of bills here. I think that’s kind of how it works, though. Westfall is a special section of a universe-traveling machine called The Crossover. Westfall is seemingly random, and doesn’t send you clear across to a distant brane that’s unlike your own. The whole point is that you usually don’t even realize it’s happened. A lot of things are gonna be the same, like currency, and history, but apparently not weather. Still need to find a job, and a place to live, though. If anyone has any leads, hit me up in the comments. At this point, I’ll do pretty much anything. But I don’t deal with food or cleaning. Or waste or sewage. Or animals, because I’m allergic. And I really don’t like to work with my hands, or lift really heavy objects. I don’t want the environment to be too dirty or cold. I’m also not very skilled, so it needs to be entry level, but still pay extremely well. Other than that, I’m up for anything. Let me know, I’m gonna go take another nap in the park.

Microstory 2013: Maine

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I’ve been telling you stories about my papa going all over the country, but that’s not all he did. He also went to other countries. After he graduated from high school, he and his parents didn’t think that he was ready for college. He wasn’t stupid or too young. They just thought that he should do something else first. A lot of people do something called a gap year, which is when you wait to go to college. This often means traveling to other places. What my papa decided to do was to go on a big ship all the way from the United States to Europe. Specifically, he went from Maine to Portugal. Portugal is a country in Europe where they may sound like they speak Spanish, but it’s actually its own special language called Portuguese. They speak it in Brazil too. Papa did a lot of driving, but he flew in planes sometimes too. This time, he flew to Maine, and stayed for a couple of nights before the ship left. It left from a city called Portland. You’ve probably heard of the Portland in Oregon, but there’s also one in Maine. The ship was this really big thing called a freighter. They carry a whole bunch of cargo across the ocean. Even though it was really big, there weren’t that many people on it. Papa didn’t work for the ship company, but they let him ride for very little money as long as he helped clean. It took three weeks. When he got to Portugal, which the capital of is Lisbon, he spent another couple of nights there, and then he started to backpack all over Europe. The whole trip took him about four months. Dad thinks that papa went through a storm in the middle of the ocean, but he’s not sure, and he obviously made it home safe and sound.

Microstory 1958: No Offense

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Myka Tennison: You’re Navin, right? That’s how you pronounce it?

Navin Misra: Navin Misra, sir.

Myka: You don’t have to call me sir.

Navin: You’re my boss, right?

Myka: Yes, but I prefer Myka.

Navin: I’m afraid I can’t do that, sir. I’m sorry, it’s just the way that I grew up.

Myka: Okay, I can accept that. So, I just wanted to talk to you. The brass didn’t tell me what experience you have. You’re an expert in maintenance, is it? Or was it cleaning?

Navin: Maintenance and repair, yes. I used to work in an office building. It wasn’t just offices. They had a pool, and a gym, and even a dance studio. To be honest, I never understood what they did. Well, there were multiple companies, but I think they were kind of related. Anyway, I picked up a lot of skills there. I’ve had no formal training. One time a dancer accidentally kicked a hole in the drywall, so I had to figure out how to fix it. That was back before VidChapp, so trial and error was the name of the game. As for cleaning, that’s what I did in prison. So yeah, I suppose you could call me an expert in that too, but it’s really not that hard.

Myka: Okay, great. I’ll really be leaning on your for that, because I don’t have much experience fixing things. Don’t get me wrong, I’m no stranger to manual labor, but always after someone teaches me how to do it. If you’re good at learning on the job, and improvising, that could really help us around here.

Navin: You’ve done labor? No offense, but how, as a volunteer?

Myka: I’ve held down a few jobs in my day. I didn’t make all my money from stealing. In fact, I never did it enough to pay for much. No bank heists for me.

Navin: Wait, stealing? You’re a thief?

Myka: I was. I’m reformed. I’ve gone legit.

Navin: Why would the government hire someone with a—no offense—checkered past?

Myka: *shrugs* Why did they hire you?

Navin: Because I found out about aliens, and they figured that the best way to keep me quiet was to pay me.

Myka: Yeah, same here.

Navin: I thought you were the boss.

Myka: The boss? No. A boss—your boss, yeah. But I don’t intend to abuse my power. We’ll work together; I won’t just tell you to do everything while I sit in my office all day.

Navin: No, I mean...they put an ex-con in charge of an entire department? No offense.

Myka: This whole place is a department. We’re in Facilities, which is known as its own section. There’s also a field agent section, and a finance section...

Navin: I understand that, I’m just surprised. Does anyone who already worked for the government work here?

Myka: Reese was a Fugitive agent, and Leonard was a parole officer in another life. Other than that, no. The majority of us have what you would call checkered pasts.

Navin: This place is wild. I think I’m gonna need a nap to wrap my head around it.

Myka: Cool. I’ll show you the Chambre de Sieste that I made behind the break room.

The Edge: The Enclave (Part V)

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Winona checked her watch. It was time to start, but it was like she was waiting for something. Leona didn’t know what. As far as she could tell, everyone on The Shortlist was here, excepting Ramses. While she was looking to her left and right to confirm as much, Winona was scanning the crowd, and leaning back in her seat to look sidestage. Hokusai checked her watch too, and then gently placed a hand on Winona’s. That’s when Winona stood up to address the audience. “People of the main sequence, and visitors from the other—now-defunct—parallel realities, we are here to discuss the fate of our universe as it pertains to the advanced spacetime-bending technology, created by—and until further notice, regulated by—this group of eleven scientists, researchers, and engineers. You have already met them, so we shall begin soon, but first, there are some rules to go over. In order to remain in this auditorium, you must agree to all of these, or you will be gently removed. Number one, you are in the audience, and this is not an audience participation presentation. The Shortlist is here to discuss, I am here to mediate, and you are here to witness. That is all. Number two, whatever decisions the Shortlist makes are final. They are not to be questioned, argued against, or modified.

“Number three, furthermore, the decisions are meant to be taken as inherent law, and followed ad infinitum, or until a hypothetical time when they are modified by the Shortlist themselves, or control is relinquished by them, for whatever reason. As a side note, death is meaningless for the twelve members of the group. Any attempt to alter the outcome, or reverse it, will be a waste of time. They are masters of time, and they will prove it if you force them to. Number four, everything discussed here today is confidential beyond confidential, and you all signed binding nondisclosure agreements in order to protect the proceedings. Any attempt to transfer, copy, whisper, or otherwise reveal information generated or uncovered from the meeting, or auxiliary developments, to outside actors will be stopped using the full force of temporal law and might. Number five, if you cannot abide by the rules above, we ask that you depart now, however, you are still bound by the rules in relation to everything you have heard or seen thus far, and will be at risk of judgment and punishment when discovered. Notice that I said when, and not if, and also remember that this is a group of time travelers, so even the when part is not as obvious to those of you used to linear time. And finally, rule number six, members of the Shortlist themselves are not limited by these rules, and can go against them in any way, however they wish. They can also alter the rules at their whim, and you will be required to continue to follow. Is all of this clear?”

A man in one of the middle rows, in a seat right at the end, by the wall, stood up. He performed the Picard maneuver with his shirt, then walked out. Winona looked to Hokusai for guidance, who closed her eyes and nodded, clearly unperturbed by the one person who has chosen to forgo his involvement in this event. “Very well,” Winona went on. She looked sidestage again, where a figure was now standing in shadow. It appeared to be feminine in form, but it was impossible to tell for sure. “Then we’ll begin.” She sat back down, and opened the kickstand for her tablet.

Down the line, Leona saw all the girls start to hold each other’s hands under the table. It was like a rehearsed dance move that she missed. This was true, as she was not around for much of the events leading up to this whole thing. Still, she thought she could figure it out, so she accepted Sharice’s hand on her right, and took Aldona’s on her left. Aldona, in turn, took Holly Blue’s, and the chain was complete.

“Give us one moment, please,” Winona said to the audience, trying hard to sit as still as possible, and staring at her tablet without doing anything with it. Leona couldn’t see what was on it.

Suddenly, the door in the back opened so hard that they fell off their hinges. A blinding light shot into the room like a bullet. The audience looked back, shocked by the intrusion, and maybe a little afraid. Sharice tightened her grip, so Leona instinctively did the same to Aldona. It was then that she realized that the audience was no longer moving. They were completely frozen. Either they were in a bubble that slowed time, or the Shortlist was in one that sped it up. She was inclined to assume the latter. Sharice let go of Leona’s hand finally, and patted her on the knee. The other girls did the same with each other. The shadowy figure stepped into the light, revealing herself to be a young woman that she didn’t recognize. If they were in a time bubble, she would expect Missy Atterberry to be the responsible party, so who was this person?

“Thank you, Miss Thorpe,” Hokusai said. She stood up, and shook her hand. “Everyone, this is the one I was telling you about. Her name is Greer Thorpe. She ate the yellow fruit of power, and now has Missy Atterberry’s ability to create time bubbles.”

“Some people in the audience can still see us,” Greer said. “I don’t know that there’s anything I can do about that.”

“We planned for this,” Hokusai explained. “Mr. Thompson? Are you here?”

Thor stepped in from the other side of the stage. “Thorpe and Thor, teaming up for the first time ever.”

Hokusai smiled. “Please go handle the eyelids.”

“Right away, sir.” Thor hopped off the stage, and started to lower the eyelids of anyone who hadn’t become distracted enough by the commotion in the back, and would be able to notice something weird about the people on stage. By the time the bubble is taken down, only a second or two will have passed for everyone else, but that would be enough to raise suspicion for anyone seeing hours pass in the literal blink of an eye.

“For those of us who weren’t exactly...around for the last few days, would someone be able to explain what’s happening?” Leona requests.

“Subterfuge,” Hogarth began. “We would have read you into the secret plan, but you ever since you arrived, you’ve been...”

“Unreliable?” Leona finished for her. “Unruly? Uncooperative? Yeah, sorry about that. I’m just very protective of my people.”

“We all are,” Weaver agreed. “So we understand where you were coming from, and we don’t blame you. We hope that you can understand why we’re doing this the way we’re doing it.”

“Maybe if I knew a little bit more about why,” Leona requested.

“We don’t want to be tyrannical,” Hokusai answered, “but after talking about all of this stuff, and the then-upcoming meeting, with the individual groups you see in the audience, we started to realize that they were never going to appreciate the gravity of the situation.”

“They don’t see how dangerous it is,” Kestral added. “They just want the technology, and since they’ve done so well with the tech they created themselves, they will never admit that there are some things that man should just not have access to.”

“There are inventions that even I won’t use,” Weaver continued, “because I trust myself to be restrained. We can’t say the same for anyone else. That’s why the Shortlist was created, and our mandate has not changed, even though we’re finally on The Edge.”

“So we’re not gonna give them anything?” Leona asked. “What’s the point of this elaborate ruse at all?”

“The ruse is because we didn’t want to erase everyone’s memories,” Pribadium told her, “especially since your interactions with the people of Teagarden are vital to the safety of the future. Undoing it would have caused more damage. There are other variables forcing the meeting to be inevitable. The path to this moment has already been paved. All we can do now is try to mitigate the results.”

“We’re not going to give them nothing,” Hokusai said. “We’re still having the meeting, but it won’t be witnessed by these people. When we’re done figuring out what we’re going to do, we’ll rehearse the fake but visible meeting, then pop the bubble, and put on a little show.”

Leona wasn’t sure what to think. She was looking towards the door.

“Ethical issues?” Brooke asked her.

Not really. “Who is that?” Leona asked. The face of the individual who just literally burst the doors open was obscured, overwhelmed by the wall of light coming from behind him, which was still shining into the room, though the photons were traveling slowly, relative to their perspective.

“Why don’t you go and look?” Ishida suggested.

Leona looked over to their resident bubble-maker, who nodded. “It’s fine. I can fine tune it to wrap around anyone who was in it when it was created. Go wherever you like. Just stay in this wing of the building.”

Leona hopped off the stage where Thor had, though more carefully than him. He was still making his way through the audience, making sure that no one would see enough of the creation of the bubble to think that something was wrong. She walked up the aisle, and approached the mysterious figure. Even up this close, she couldn’t make out who it was, but it looked like a man. Oh, the watch that Mario gave her had a tiny flashlight feature on it. She activated it, and held it up. “Rambo.” She looked back at the Shortlist. “Did you know he would be here?”

“Not when he stepped through the portal!” Pribadium shouted to her. “Thor was meant to be the distraction! We asked him to do it instead when he came back!”

“So he’s okay,” Leona said, though too quietly for any of them to hear. “Can we pull him into the bubble?” she asked.

“He has to stay the distraction!” Hokusai informed her. “He signed up for it! You can talk to him when the meeting is over!”

Leona sighed, and dropped her gaze. Everyone outside of the bubble was moving at an incredibly slow pace. They couldn’t be totally frozen in time, or the universe may be destroyed, but at this differential, their movements were imperceptible to a normal human’s eyes. Ramses, on the other hand, seemed a little different. Then she saw it. His fist squeezed tighter around the metal beads that he was holding onto. She looked back up to his face to see him wink at her. When she turned back to look at the Shortlist, she found them talking amongst themselves, preparing to start the real meeting. None of them had seen the wink, and probably couldn’t have detected it at this distance anyway. She smiled, and popped up to her tippy-toes to give him a kiss on the cheek. “I love you.”

He didn’t respond. However he was combatting the time bubble, vocalizing his thoughts was just asking too much. That was okay. This will be over by the end of the day, and then the both of them will be able to return to their team.

“Leona!” Sharice called up to her. “Are you ready?”

“Yeah, on my way!” She jogged back down the aisle, and climbed on stage.

The meeting began. Over the course of it, the one thing they settled on pretty quickly was that the general public would be provided with plans for the reframe engine, which would allow them to traverse the galaxy in a matter of centuries. This was akin to traveling at warp factor seven in the Star Trek canon. This little trick had been proven safe by a number of vessels since Hokusai invented it back in the mid-23rd century. To make things fair, these plans would be accessible by anyone, so the technology could not be hoarded, and provide a certain party a dangerous advantage. Teagarden was probably not going to like that, and not because they wanted to have all the power, but because it would be harder to manage the colonies if travelers could jump between them in a matter of days, instead of years. In the end, though, it will make it easier to maintain a cohesive galactic civilization, rather than a smattering of isolated, deviating worlds.

Other technologies required a lot more discussion, debate, and in some cases, outright arguments. Teleportation was a big one. It would make it easier for people to jump from orbit to the surface of a planet, or between ships, or even from different habitats around the world. Another thing it would do was allow anyone to trespass on anyone else’s private property. Though no one these days owned anything anymore, people were entitled to privacy, and safe spaces to be alone, or only with those they trusted. Time travelers had access to technology that could prevent unauthorized access, even through teleportation, but such protections would take a lot of time and effort to implement for everyone else. Every single room in every single building would have to be retrofitted with such spatial locks. They would have to do it before a single new individual was allowed to teleport even once. How would they coordinate such a monumental effort, and how long would it be before someone discovered a loophole. Certain teleporters existed who could circumvent timelocks, but that was generally okay, because this only endangered a small population. The rest of the galaxy was also in danger from regular teleporters, and that remained a difficult problem to solve. Perhaps they shouldn’t give that power out freely.

Sharice conceived of a workaround for that in the form of a point-to-point teleportation network. One could not jump from wherever they wanted, to wherever they wanted. They would have to first make their way to a designated machine, which would dispatch them to another machine, and only if the destination accepted their arrival. The appropriate members of the Shortlist would hold their own meetings to work out the design for this new device, including all of the safeguards that would need to be put in place.

They continued to go down the list, generated in random order, of temporal technologies. Some were more dangerous than others. Some were completely banned, while others were so super banned that they weren’t even going to hint at the possibility of their existence. They planned to agree to provide the public with the means to reproduce the Shortlist’s list of approved inventions, but in a few cases, they were just going to say that such a thing was possible, and it would be up to researchers to figure it out for themselves. Obviously, standard backwards time travel was a no-go, as was anything specifically designed as a weapon, or weapon-like, such as temporal guns. They were there for two days, sleeping in their respective quarters in between, the rest of the universe having not moved an inch. Once they were ready, they popped the bubble, and started back up again. The fake meeting was more formal. Some were better actors than others, but they seemed to pull it off.

Everyone in the auditorium left disappointed. Such was the nature of negotiation, but this was even worse for the people on the other side of the table. The Shortlist dictated their terms, and the beneficiaries just had to accept what was given to them. This was the easy part. It was just the beginning. The had come to The Edge, and had now fallen off. From this day forward, according to linear time, it will be up to the Shortlist to police the developments of the vonearthans until the twelve of them feel that they’re ready to stand on their own, or they have no choice. That was not Leona’s problem right now, though. She was never really one of these people. She had her own family who needed her. It was time for her to make her way back home.

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