The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 26, 2508

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Romana was sitting on the floor, hovering over her father, when he woke up. He turned over to the side, and started to cough. The others were waking up at the same time, recovering in their own ways. Fortunately, no one was dead, not even Octavia. A robot was lifting her up, though, and carrying her away. “She’ll be all right,” Romana assured him. “There’s a medpod in that room.”

“You’ve been alone all year again?” Mateo asked her.

“I did it on purpose,” Romana explained. “Why would we waste time looking for this man one year at a time, when I could spend days and days on the search?”

“Did it work?” Mateo asked.

“It did,” she answered with a sigh. “He doesn’t wanna leave, so I’m hoping you’ll talk some sense into him. But...I don’t wanna lie to you. Something happened. I’m not especially proud of it, but even though I was pretending to be a sixteen-year-old in Underberg, I’m actually much older than that. I don’t know why Pacey aged me down, but you need to understand that I’m an adult, and I make my own choices.”

“You slept with him...” Mateo guessed. “With Buddy.”

“He’s very kind to me.”

“I bet he is.”

“That’s not fair. I just told you, I’m an adult. He didn’t trick me. Don’t take away my agency.”

“I’m not, but Romana, he’s not a good guy. Being nice to you doesn’t absolve him of his past sins.”

“And what sins are these?” Romana questioned. “How many people has he killed?”

“That’s not the point.”

How many have you killed?”

Mateo didn’t respond to this.

Romana went on, “you two don’t see eye to eye, and I know he hasn’t been particularly pleasant to be around, but if you add up all the bad things he’s done, they’re really not all that bad. In the end, you two are enemies because you don’t get along. I’m sure before you became a time traveler, you interacted with plenty of people like that, and it didn’t make you believe that they didn’t deserve love.”

“Is that true?” Mateo sat up. “Are you in love?”

“No, of course not. I’m just saying...”

“That you’re acting like a rebellious teen,” Mateo interrupted as if that was what she was gonna say. “Are you sure you’re older than sixteen?”

“You are not my father. You didn’t raise me. Silenus did.”

“That’s comforting.”

She ignored that rude comment. “You don’t get to tell me what to do with my life. You never have. I know it’s not your fault that you weren’t around, but you can’t honestly expect me to listen to everything you say as if you have some kind of control over my choices. I’m being honest with you, because I don’t want to lie to someone I respect and care about. But don’t you sit there and belittle me as if I’m nothing more than an extension of your own personality. I will take you to Boyd, but you are not to harm him. You are not even allowed to yell at him. I am insisting on that, and I will keep us on this rock forever if you defy me in this regard.”

“That’s enough!” Leona interjected. “You don’t talk to your father like that. I don’t care how old you are, or who raised you. Boyd probably has ten years on you, and that’s assuming he hasn’t used time magicks to reyoungify himself, or he could be much older.”

“You were fifteen when you met your now-husband!” Romana shouted back.

“And he didn’t have any feelings for me until much later. Don’t turn this around on us. Boyd—if that’s what we’re calling him—is not good for you, full stop. When we first encountered him, he insisted that we call him Buddha. That’s incredibly offensive, and tells you everything you need to know about him. Just because he may not be as bad as some of the other antagonists we’ve met, like Zeferino, Arcadia, or even Pacey, doesn’t mean you made the right choice.”

“You’re friends with Arcadia now. You made friends with nearly everyone you’ve gone up against. What are we even talking about here? All I’m asking is that you give him a chance to improve himself, and prove himself; not just give up on him outright. Forgiveness doesn’t have a quota!”

“All right!” Olimpia interjects this time. “Mateo, Leona, you’re not going to attack Boyd when we find him. Romana, you may be older than you look, but you have a long ways to go. This situation is incredibly weird, what with our experiences in Underberg, and other domes. We can’t trust our own memories. Some of them are entirely fake, and their associated feelings may be a little less genuine than they seem. So I think we all need to take a beat, and focus on what matters. We are not living in a soap opera. We’re dealing with real problems here, trying to escape some weird, alternate universe. We can’t do that until we get what we came here for. The interpersonal relationship drama can wait.”

Mateo, Leona, and Romana quietly conceded. Ramses, Angela, and Marie silently agreed, having successfully stayed out of the fight.

“Okay,” Olimpia continued, proud of herself, and relieved that her argument worked. “It won’t take long for Octavia to recover. In the meantime, where is Boyd? Did he get hurt in the explosion?”

“He’s fine, he wasn’t even here,” Romana answered. “He’s in the Fostean sector at this point, living on a simulated jarl world.”

“I don’t know what that is,” Mateo said.

“Single-occupancy planet,” Leona explained. “A one-percenter in that culture will have so much money that they can afford to own an entire celestial body. They will live there alone, or with their family, supported by a small army of slaves called Arkeizen. These supposed subhumans will be known as thralls so long as they are in service to the elite. It’s not a heartwarming story.”

“Why would he be there?”

“To be clear, the thralls aren’t real slaves,” Romana said. “As I said, which you obviously already know, it’s a simulation, so they’re just robots.”

“It’s still gross,” Olimpia said to her. “I gotta admit, that’s a point against him.”

Romana smirked. “Just wait until you see it, okay?”

“Fine,” Leona decided. “Let’s take a vactrain this time. I don’t want this happening again, so we’ll stay out of canon as much as possible.”

“It’s not gonna happen again,” Romana contended. “Like the flooding of Atlantis, the destruction of this planet was canonical. It happened during the Sixth Shell.”

“Either way, let’s keep it real.” Leona led the way down the corridor.

Octavia was stepping out of the medical bay. She had missed a lot, and didn’t know where they were going, but she followed them anyway.

They got on the train, and had it deliver them to Jarldome. There were 200 levels here, most of which were 200 meters high, but with the holographic skies above each one, they felt endless. Boyd was on the topmost level, with a bunch of slaves. The team expected to find him lounging on a mountain of pillows, being fawned over and doted upon by these Arkeizen. It didn’t seem to be that way. The robots made to look like a hominid cousin were milling about an impressive little town. When they walked through, the Arkeizen smiled and waved. They didn’t look oppressed or abused. They were working, however, so no valid conclusion. On the far end of the main street, they finally found Boyd. A group of people were evidently in the middle of building a house, and he was helping. He was physically helping carry a wooden beam, and set it in place.

“Oh! I didn’t see you there. How long have you been watching us?”

“We just arrived,” Romana answered him.

“Well, welcome to Citrus City!” Boyd said. “Would you like the tour?”

“We’d like to get out of here,” Mateo responded.

Boyd frowned. “There’s so much work to do.”

“None of this is real,” Ramses told him. “It’s a simulation. You know that, right?”

“Of course I am,” Boyd said dismissively. “You think it’s that easy to erase my memories?”

“Either you’re delusional,” Mateo began. Romana gave him the stink eye, so he switched tactics. “I mean, if that’s true, then were you aware of our true histories while you were living in Underberg?”

“I guess not. But I broke out of it. I’m fine. I’m happy, living here, teaching these people how to fend for themselves.”

“They’re robots,” Ramses added.

“Shh!” Boyd whispered loudly. “They don’t know that.”

Mateo sighed angrily, and looked over at his daughter. “You did this. You told him to put on this show to make it look like he was freeing a whole peoples. You think that’s gonna work? You think I’m gonna start liking him now?”

“Sir,” Boyd jumped in. “Romana came to me two weeks ago. I’ve been working on this town for months. This isn’t just for show. I know that I have made mistakes in the past, but I don’t agree with slavery. Jesus. That’s the point of this dome, you know? It’s a test; will a visitor let their thralls do what they’ve been indoctrinated to do, or make changes that go against the history of the Fostean culture from the fictional stories? That’s the question, will you play into it, or do the right thing, even when it doesn’t matter? Because like you said, they’re robots.”

Mateo crossed his arms disapprovingly, but didn’t have anything more to say.

Leona pulled the magical technicolored crystal from her bag, and presented it to Boyd. She jerked it away when he reached for it. “This will place you on our pattern. Truthfully, Pacey did not reveal whether it was permanent or not. I believe that you will have less of a chance to get into trouble if you only exist for one day out of the year, though, so I’m hoping that you take the risk. I don’t know how long it’s gonna take for us to get back to where we belong, but I don’t want you running around on your own anymore.” She glanced over at Romana. “I certainly don’t want you to be doing that with my daughter. Frolicking on the jarl worlds, freeing slaves together.” She grimaced, and looked over at the Walton twins. She wasn’t trying to say that freeing slaves was bad. “You know what I mean.” She went on, “touching this crystal will go a long way to earning our trust, but it’s not a cure-all. And either way, it has to be your choice.”

Without hesitation, Boyd took hold of the crystal. The colors swirled around inside, presumably transferring Leona’s pattern into his qualium realm. “Thank you for the opportunity. I won’t let you down.”

Suddenly, they heard a noise in the sky. A flying craft of some kind was headed right for them, so far up in the air that it couldn’t be real. The holographic image grew larger and larger though until it was as large as it would be if it were right above the invisible ceiling. Something changed as the hologram gave way to a tangible object, presumably having been dropped down through a recess. This real, physical shuttle continued to fly towards them until it landed right in the street. A bunch of humans with guns filed out of it.

The leader of the newcomers looked around at the Arkeizen. It was unclear whether he could tell that they were free, and no longer enslaved thralls. He zeroed in on Boyd. “Sir, are you okay? Our sensors picked up unauthorized entry to your planet.”

“They’re friends,” Boyd said. “We need no help here.”

The leader stepped closer so he could lower his voice. “Listen, if you need help, you don’t have to be afraid of them anymore.”

“I’m not being coerced,” Boyd tried to say. “Everything’s fine. You can go.”

The leader nodded. He walked past Boyd, and as he was adjusting his pants, got a better look at the community. He turned back around to address Boyd again. “How are your thralls doin’? You’ve been here a while. Do you need a top-up?” A top-up of slaves?

“No. My numbers are steady.”

The guy was surprised. “Not one death?”

Boyd shook his head.

“Interesting. “Very interesting. Say, you wouldn’t be...treating them like people, would you?”

“And if I were, is that against the law?”

The man shrugged. “No, of course not. They’re your thralls, you can do whatever you want to them. It’s just a little unusual. I’d hate to think that they were influencing your behavior in some way. You know, we get a bad batch sometimes. One of them is sick in the head—starts thinkin’ that he’s special, or valuable—and that can infect the whole group. And sometimes...their owner gets infected too.”

“I’ve had enough of this,” Marie said. “Suits on!”

Mateo took Octavia in a hug again, and commanded his nanites to wrap themselves around her. Angela and Marie, meanwhile, started taking out their anger for their father out on these robo-slavers. They stole their guns from them, and shot each in the head. The slavers shot back, careful not to hit Boyd, but not caring about anyone else’s life. The Arkeizen ran and hid behind various structures while Leona, Ramses, Olimpia, and Romana protected the stragglers. It was over quickly. All of the bad robots were dead and on the ground.

“What happens when we leave?” Leona asked after the dust had settled, and the suits were no longer necessary. “Is another shuttle gonna be triggered later to come down and try to put a stop to all this antislavery wokeness?”

Boyd chuckled. “This isn’t my first single-occupancy planet. They always show up as a sort of final test, to see how you’ll react. I’ve always just talked my way out of it, but I guess this works too.”

“Great,” Leona decided. “Then pack up your shit. It’s time to go.”

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Microstory 2419: Underbelly

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Not to be confused with Underburg. Believe me, you don’t want to mix them up. Nothing could be further from the idyllic, beautiful, pleasant hellscape of suburban America. I don’t understand why anyone would want to live there. I grew up in a town like that, back before the arcologies. It might look nice in old movies and TV shows, but I was miserable. Ravensgate is a real city. It’s full of violence, crime, and the champions that serve as the only protection against these terrible forces. Choose your own adventure. Are you a hero, or a villain? I know this sounds like an ad, and it is. This is the entire reason I came to this planet. My friend casted first, and wrote back with tales of his exploits. He knew that I would like the Underbelly dome. I read all the comic books, and saw all the adaptations. I know what makes for a good superhero story, and I’ve always wanted to be a part of that. It’s funny, back in the day, all these superpowers were fictional. They seemed impossible. The strength of ten men, the speed of a train; normal humans could only dream of such fantastical abilities. And then, as technology progressed, we actually started being able to make them a reality. Nanotechnology alone gives us shapeshifting, invisibility, onboard weaponry, and more. Some things are still off limits, and if you want to have those gifts, you’re gonna need to log in to a virtual world. Flight is impossible. Well, it’s not impossible, but the Superman or Homelander kind is totally off limits. It breaks the laws of physics. A lot of comics have magic, and you can’t do that stuff either. You can’t just turn someone into a frog, or something. Street level heroing is what they call it. You fight bad guys, and help the innocent. Most of them are androids, but they’re as lifelike as any, so it’s easy to forget that, and feel genuine anger towards the former, and empathy for the latter. But I should probably go back to the beginning, because you’re not assigned the powers you end up with. You choose them yourself. But you don’t get to just select from a menu, and upload into your new substrate. No, you gotta design it yourself. You choose the physical attributes of the body. Are you visibly muscular, or are you secretly superhumanly strong? What hair color, eye color, nose shape? You choose it all, and you have to work through the design program to make it look how you want. They don’t give you any ideas about what kind of powers to include either. That’s all you too. You’re only limited to the technology available in the 26th century. You also design your own backstory, which might be decades in the past, or more recent. Maybe you’re a kid who’s just discovered his powers after reaching puberty, or you fell in a vat of acid during a university science experiment. Or you don’t have powers at all, and your character had to invent everything themselves. It’s up to you, but the more complex and complicated the scenario, the longer it’s going to take before you can get out there. I could write a book on this, but you really just have to come try it. You don’t even have to be a hero or villain. You can just be a regular person, trying to survive in the metropolis. Again, this is all you. Right now, it’s just Northwest Ravensgate and Southeast Ravensgate, separated by a river, but they’ve left the nearby domes unused in case this gets to be so popular that it has to expand into new cities. There’s a reason the dome and city aren’t named the same thing. We could really build something here. It may not be real, per se, but if you open your mind, it can be just as exciting as anything else in base reality. This only gets better with more visitors. We can’t do it without ya.

Microstory 2418: Paleodome

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This is a fascinating historical dome, but I think it can be better. I think they can make it more realistic, and more immersive. What’s the premise here? Well, it’s the paleolithic age, which is part of the stone age. Cavemen are working with stone tools, trying to figure out how to build societies, and engaging in the first (loose) definitions of war. I mean, it depends on how you define war. Were these organized, formal conflicts fought on distinct battlefields? No. But they were more than just two guys swinging clubs at each other during a disagreement. Their language was minimal, but they did make plans, and they did go out to fight together, so I would say that qualifies. The androids have been programmed with very low intelligence, but heightened curiosity, leading them to try all sorts of experiments, many of which don’t go too well. For now, these androids aren’t aware that you’re there. They’re literally programmed to ignore you while you watch from up close. I think they can do more with this. I think they can adjust the visitor’s intelligence as well. I know they do this with that zombie dome, where you can actually be transformed into a zombie. They seem to understand how people can bring themselves back to normal once they’re done with that. I don’t see any reason why the same principles can’t be applied here. It’s cool to watch the cavemen, but I want to be an active participant. I want to feel what it would have been like back then. In this regard, it’s an excellent reenactment. I don’t know exactly what year it’s supposed to be, but it moves in real time. I watched a guy learn how to cut a rudimentary axe-sort of thing out of stone, and that was a unique experience. That android will never do that again. He will never need to learn it again. Fifty years from now, if I go back, he will be “dead”. I’m sure his grandchildren will be starting to conduct their own tests, and learn their own lessons. That’s so cool to me, that we’re watching history unfold—albeit as a best guess based on archaeological evidence alone—and if you miss something, you miss it. There’s no going back to see what someone else saw before you. I think that’s really special. So if you’re interested in getting a glimpse of what Earth was like millions of years ago, you better come now, because it never stops changing.

Microstory 2369: Earth, September 6, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I was trying to decide how to send this to you. I didn’t want it getting mixed up with the open letter I wrote to the whole base. I really should have sent this first, and the open letter the next day. So, sorry for the delay, and I’m sorry you’re feeling bad. I’m really hoping that you feel better by the time you get this. Actually, I’m hoping you felt better by the time I got your letter about it. I might know of a way to help. When I was still young—so young that I can’t entirely trust my memories of those days. The poisons had not yet destroyed the environment, but things were pretty bad already. I guess I’ve never really gotten into it, but the gases were kind of a breaking point for preexisting struggles all over the world. They were nowhere near the beginning of conflict. That was a hard time for us, but I was oblivious, because I was too young to understand. I was a little hungry some of the time, but not starving, and definitely not neglected. Dad did the best he could to provide for us during a difficult period in history, and that often meant spending time away from me to make money. Since he had to be away so much, a babysitter cared for me. We couldn’t afford much of course, but she must have been willing to do a lot for not very much money. She was so kind to me, I always thought she just enjoyed my company since I was a pretty cute kid. Thinking on it now, though, maybe there was something between them. Maybe she was never a babysitter at all, but a girlfriend. They didn’t tell me her last name, so I can’t look her up, and I’m afraid to ask. I have never otherwise known him to date. I don’t know why I’m telling you this. It’s just that, I was having my own troubles during all that where I was getting sick kind of regularly, and in different ways. Man, maybe I really should ask dad about that to see what was going on. Was I terribly ill, with something concrete and diagnosable? No matter what was wrong, one thing that my caretaker did for me every single time was make me chicken noodle soup. Also looking back at that, I doubt it was even real chicken. However, I still have the recipe, and I’ve attached it here in case you have the right ingredients to supplement what isn’t available. Maybe you have nothing that works. Or maybe you have chicken noodle soup all the time, and I sound like a patronizing doofus. Just...I hope you’re feeling better, and that things are going okay with you, okay? How’s Bray? How was my letter received by your friends? When are you coming down to Earth for a visit?

Take care of yourself,

Condor

Microstory 2197: What Needs to Change

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My new Data Analyst started today. One could argue that his is the most important job of all. Of course, this will be a group effort, and everyone’s contribution will be valued and vital, but they are all already working in their respective fields. The lawyers have been lawyering, and the counselors have been counseling. The Data Analyst has worked a few jobs in his industry, but never anything like this before. The whole point of this project is to figure out how to organize the jail guests according to a set of psychological and social variables which we have yet to figure out. Without him, this would be nothing. The lawyers would still be working with their clients to provide them with the best defense possible, while the therapists would be helping them work through their psychoemotional issues. In order to make change, we have to do something that no one else is doing, at least not at scale. We don’t want there to be a fight between two cellmates, for instance, and have the warden be forced to separate them after the fact. We want to prevent the fight from occurring in the first place, and the Analyst will be coming to the conclusions for how we could make that happen, using the parameters that the collective comes up with over the course of our work. As the others did yesterday, the Analyst went on a tour of the facility, but I ran it this time, because I now know enough about this place to do it, for my people anyway. He met some of the guests too, and it turned out that he already knew one of them from way back, which was a funny coincidence. He was anxious to get to work, and I decided to let him. He obviously thrives on data, so in order for him to understand what needs to change, he first needs to see how things are right now. There are plenty of files for him to scour in these early days. I’m excited to hear his initial thoughts, which he promises to have by the end of the week. No rush, though. The rest of our team won’t be starting for another couple of weeks anyway. This is a long-term endeavor, not a race.

Microstory 2196: Countless Calls

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

Microstory 2162: Don’t Say No to a Warden

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I finished my work hours a little early, so my parole officer could pick me up, and drive me back to jail, but I wasn’t staying there as a guest. I had a meeting with the warden, which was agitating the butterflies in my stomach. I put it like that, because I always keep butterflies in there, they just don’t always move around this much. As it turns out, it wasn’t bad, but I’m not so sure that it was good either. He read my story, as he apparently does every evening, and he thought that I had some good ideas. I hadn’t even realized that I had presented any ideas, but this was in regards to the disharmony that sometimes arises when guests that don’t get along well with each other are forced to live together in an enclosed space. To me, that’s kind of the definition of jail and prison, but he wants to find a way to put an end to it anyway. That sounds like a lovely sentiment, but I’m not sure that it can be done. Perhaps with a sufficiently advanced artificial intelligence, you could figure out how to accurately profile and categorize everyone in need of being housed in the system with as many labels as necessary, and organize them to prevent gang conflicts, or other major disagreements. But here’s the thing, you wouldn’t just want to stop two gangs from going to war with each other, you would want the gang to stop from forming in the first place, or they’ll just translate all that into the outside world once their sentences were up. That’s why you can’t just sit down with everyone’s psych profile, and sort them like you’re simply planning the seating arrangements for a wedding reception.

If you think that I’m being dismissive of how difficult it is to plan a wedding, you’re mistaken. Wedding receptions are hard. This would be virtually impossible. First thoughts, you’re gonna need a team of behavioral psychologists, and sociologists, and who knows what else, maybe a logistician? See, I couldn’t even tell you how to form the team. While it might have kind of been my idea, I can’t be a part of it. But that’s what he wants. He wants me to start a taskforce of sorts to figure out how to schedule the guests at the jail. But you would have to account for people’s job situations, the judges’ particular rulings on each person’s specific sentence. Again, I think you need an AI to do all this for you. Even a team probably wouldn’t be able to figure it out. I didn’t say no to the request, because you don’t say no to a warden, but I’ve not agreed to it either. I would need to discuss it with my lawyers, and my current employer... It would eat into the time I need for my site and socials. It would also seem weird to me if I were both a staff member of the jail, and a guest who had no choice but to be there for 48 hours a week straight. I know that prisons have work programs, but this is not the same thing as shelving books in the library, or renovating the CO break room. Those are references that, fortunately, none of you gets. Anyway, I guess this is more a long-term shift in strategies. The warden says that if this hypothetical pilot program works, they could theoretically institute it at other facilities. I suppose nothing would really start until after I completed my sentence, assuming any of this gets off the ground, and that there’s a place for me in it at all, which sounds ridiculous right now. Until then (or until never) I’ll just go back to doing my thang, and not worry much about it. The stress would not get me anywhere. My butterflies move around enough as it is.

Microstory 1989: Senior Moment

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IC Commissioner: Investigator Blass. Welcome to my office. Have a seat.

Blass: Thank you for having me. I have always respected and admired your work.

IC Commissioner: Yes, yes, very good, thank you. I called you in today to fill you in on what’s been going on with our investigation into the...traitors and spies that you discovered in our midst regarding these um, O—Ocho, uhh...

Blass: You can just call them aliens, sir.

IC Commissioner: Aliens, right. Obviously I don’t know much about them, but I’ve been briefed; emphasis on the brief. It would seem that we’re in the middle of a secret cold civil war. Can you believe it? We have departments undermining other departments, elected officials making hush-hush deals. The corruption is rampant, and I’m about to get fired because I’m not doing my job.

Blass: I don’t agree with that, sir.

IC Commissioner: Well, I think I do. I let it go this far somehow without realizing it, and the only way the Internal Compliance Commission survives to fight another day may be for me to step down. But that’s neither here nor there. I think it’s somewhere in the middle. Anyway, ‘nough jokes. You have continued to work with DExA, correct?

Blass: Yes, I’m still stationed there, even though everyone knows that I’m an internal investigator. Don’t worry, they’ve been very nice and accepting.

IC Commissioner: Good. I hope you understand, we couldn’t have you involved in the interviews we did with this Sergeant Sachs asshole, because of your slight conflict of interest. Such is the price of being embedded. Now normally, you would not be entitled to further details—you still aren’t—but I, and the rest of the team involved, feel that someone on that side of things ought to know what’s going on.

Blass: Okay.

IC Commissioner: Sachs does not consider himself to be a traitor. In fact, he keeps calling the interviewers traitors instead. We have finally figured out who he has been taking his orders from, and it could spell doom for our country.

Blass: I don’t know that I should hear this; it sounds far above my paygrade.

IC Commissioner: Not anymore. *hands him a document* You’ve been promoted. Congratulations Senior Internal Investigator Blass.

Blass: Oh. Thank you, sir. This is so unexpected. *pauses* In that case, who is it?

IC Commissioner: It’s Congressman Colonel Piers Jamison.

Blass: Holy Crap. The man prides himself in rooting out corruption.

IC Commissioner: I know.

Blass: He came up through the ICC.

IC Commissioner: I know.

Blass: No matter what, the ICC loses. We look bad whether we go after him or not.

IC Commissioner: That’s right.

Blass:*face sinks* That’s why I’m being promoted.

IC Commissioner: You’re being promoted because you’re smart enough to know why you’re being promoted; because only a Senior Investigator can go overt. Congratulations again, you’re our new spokesman. Your first press conference is tomorrow morning.

Microstory 1965: Aggression

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Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image AI software

Leonard: Hey. This is a nice jet. How did you swing this? To be honest, I don’t know where our department gets any of its money, full stop.

Reese: The government didn’t have a black budget in your version of the U.S.?

Leonard: Yeah, I guess it did; I just didn’t give it any thought, because I didn’t work for any entity that would use it. So the public doesn’t know how much we spend?

Reese: They don’t know how much we spend, but they know the current pot for the entirety of the black budget, which is eight hundred billion dollars this year.

Leonard: Jesus, that’s a lot.

Reese: Yeah, so that pretty much makes the cost of this jet a rounding error. You don’t ever need to worry about our funding. National Command takes the largest portion, and we’re a part of that. The Office of Special Investigations enjoys both a transparent, and a black budget, because the Director reports directly to the National Commander.

Leonard: I see. Well, anyway, that’s not why I came over here. I wanted to learn about Mississippi before we landed. Everybody groaned when you told them that that’s where the mission would be. Where I’m from, the state suffers from a lot of racism, but it’s certainly not universally despised, like it seems to be here.

Reese: Did your version of the country have legal slavery until the eighteenth century?

Leonard: It actually lasted through the nineteenth century. About halfway through.

Reese: Oh. Well, it didn’t take us quite that long to end it, and preserve the union, though we did not come out of it unscathed. I am no historian, but what I do know is that it came at a cost, and that cost was the state of Mississippi. Even after the U.S. Internal Conflict of the 1790s was declared over, the southern National Commander would not let go. He chose Memphis as his capital, because it was at the border of the three most steadfast secessionists during the war, and the years leading up to it. Because of this, Tennessee, Arkansas, and Mississippi refused to accept that the south had lost. They continued to enslave people, and fight against anyone who attempted to put a stop to them. They lost eventually, but the post-war is considered by some to be bloodier than the main conflict. Arkansas and Tennessee finally admitted defeat, and started getting with the program. The southern NatCo and Mississippi did not. They held all of Memphis hostage, and—long story short—the union ultimately gave up and gave in. The city, and some surrounding lands, were absorbed into the half-state, half-independent nation. Again, long story short, it currently exists more as a territory than a state, and did later abolish slavery. You noticed that we crossed over into Colorado and Wyoming on our first mission without issue. Mississippi’s borders have only recently opened up. Until a few years ago, it was no one in, no one out. Now we can move back and forth, but we have to register. This team is technically on a diplomatic mission, which means that only the jet and the pilot registered—they don’t know that you and I specifically are on it—but we’ll have to be careful while there. If anyone we run into finds out that we’re not Mississippians, they may have some feels about it. It’s not illegal, but...

Leonard: Wow. This is a strange world. We had slavery for longer, but we kept the union intact. Though racism has lasted for the better part of two centuries after that.

Reese: I wouldn’t say we have all that much racism. It’s all a matter of perspective.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 17, 2398

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It has now been well over three days, and they have yet to see any sign of their captors, besides the fact that someone had to break into their condo, knock them out, and transport them to this fishbowl cell. Marie, Heath, and Kivi occasionally exchange looks. The fourth prisoner may not be a prisoner at all, but be here to observe them in some way. She doesn’t ask questions, or do anything else to complicate matters. She’s been answering simple questions simply, and generally gives off a vibe of trustworthiness. But perhaps that’s just what she wants them to think. Maybe it’s all a grand act.

The food is running out. Soon, they will have nothing to ration, and will have to subsist on water alone, but eventually, even that won’t be enough. They’ll waste away and die in this box, just as Heath predicted. Marie is regretting some of the choices she made, and she’s about to fess up to them when they hear a noise. It came and went so quickly, none of them is sure it ever happened at all. Based on each other’s faces, something had to have happened, though. It couldn’t just have been in their heads. Another sound; a pop, really. More pops, some closer than others. They’re gunshots, mostly handguns and a few automatic weapons. They can hear screams and maybe war cries too. They’re muffled and still distant, but they’re definitely human voices.

“This is it,” Andile says in a defeatist tone. “They’re coming for us.”

“No, they can’t be,” Kivi contends. “They wouldn’t be shooting if they were just gonna come and kill us. This is a rescue.”

“Is it Leona, maybe with all of our other friends?” Heath hopes.

“No.” It can’t be their friends. After all of her experiences in war simulations, Marie can tell that at least two opposing sides are shooting at each other, and that’s not something that Leona would tolerate. She would come in surgically and rather quietly. It’s not an execution either. What is it? “This is something else.”

The firefight grows either louder, or closer, or both. They hear a pounding on a wall or door that must be just a few meters away in the darkness. Another pounding is followed by a heavy click, and then a second click, which is immediately followed by blinding lights. The rest of the room is illuminated, besides just their cell. A man in black is holding a gun. He is covered in blood, and grimacing at them. He looks around until he finds what he’s searching for. On the other side of the door is another one of those huge power levers, but this one has a cage around it so it can’t be pulled. He shoots the lock off, and opens it. He doesn’t pull the lever down, though. Instead, he pops the panel open, and presses a blue button. They start to hear rushing water, and quickly realize that it’s coming from under the sink. The room is flooding.

“What about the air holes?” Heath questions, assuming that the guy is trying to drown them.

“Get on top of the cots,” Marie orders.

The other prisoner, Andile follows the suggestion.

“No, he’s right,” Kivi says. “The water will drain before it reaches our waists.”

As the man is pivoting over to the other side of the box on the wall, Marie repeats herself, but more earnestly this time, “get on top of the cots!”

Kivi and Heath finally do as they’re told, but the man just chuckles. He knows that the water is going to get high enough to electrocute them anyway. Marie desperately looks around for something to grab onto, or maybe something to hang the sheets over like a hammock. There’s nothing. If they don’t find a way out of here, this guy is going to get his way. The water keeps rising and rising, until it does spill over the cots, and kisses their feet. Marie tries to balance on the frame, which is just a tiny bit higher, but the water gets high enough to cover that too. The man reaches up and takes hold of the lever. He’s about to pull it down when they hear one more gunshot. His head jerks over to the side, and he falls down to his face.

Winona Honeycutt walks all the way through the door, and presses the green button on the panel. The water begins to drain away. She shoots their attacker in the head one more time for good measure. She too is covered in blood.

“Thanks for saving us,” Heath tells Winona as she approaches the glass. “Could you open the door now?

She examines the cell, particularly in one spot, which must sport a keypad that the prisoners can’t see. “I don’t have the code.”

“Of anyone, I would think you would be entrusted with the code,” Marie muses.

Winona winces. She looks back at the dead guy on the floor. “Wait, do you think we’re the ones who locked you up?”

“Who else would?” Kivi asks.

“There are things that you do not know,” Winona begins. “We have been searching for you for the past three days. Once we realized that you freed the wrong Amir Hussain—which, by the way, my father and I don’t care about; he wasn’t our objective—we thought you may be in danger. We knew that the people who actually wanted the right Amir would not be happy about it. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get to you in time, and it’s taken us this long to figure out the location of this black site.”

“Who? Who did this to us?” Heath demands to know.

Winona puts her watch up to her lips. “Bring me the highest clearance you can find.” She returns her attention to the prisoners. “You’re not allowed to know that. You’ll have to commit to us to be read in.”

“Commit to who?” Heath asks impolitely.

She smiles, then looks behind her as they’re dragging a bloodied man up to them. “Senator Morton? What luck that you just so happened to be on site during our siege.”

“Go screw yourself, Honeybutt,” he spits. Then he spits some blood at her.

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” Winona spits back. “Give me the code, or your daughter and I are gonna have a playdate, like we did in the old days. Except the guns won’t be imaginary this time.”

Scowling, Senator Morton recites, “Zero-nine-one-one.”

“Her birthday?” Winona asks rhetorically. “How typical of your generation.” She punches in the code, and lets the prisoners out.

Morton looks up at Marie as she’s stepping out. “I finally remember how I knew you. Did you ever get your dress fixed, Madam Milf—” He can’t finish his sentence when Winona shoots him in the head, like she did with the other guy.

“Daddy’s not gonna like that, but secretly...he will.”

The other three are horrified, but Marie is grateful. She thinks that she can explain away what he managed to say before his death, but she wouldn’t have been able to if he had been allowed to keep talking. She signs thank you to Winona as she’s backing away, hoping that no one else notices.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 16, 2398

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Finland. That’s where they want to go. Mateo doesn’t remember a whole lot from school, but he does recall a classmate of his once getting into an argument with their math teacher. The teacher claimed that the shortest distance between two points is a line, and she illustrated this using a geographical map. The student argued that it didn’t matter if the line was the shortest, because it wasn’t the fastest. Going that direction meant trudging through thick brush, and over a lake or two. It meant crossing straight through streets, and climbing over buildings. The fastest route was to get on the freeway, pass the destination just a little until the next exit, and cut through the city. The teacher insisted that this wasn’t what she was trying to teach, and he contended that she should be. Mateo recalls one quote quite clearly when his classmate said, “if what you teach us can’t be applied to the real world, then why are you trying to teach us anything at all?” He failed the assignment, and came this close to flunking out of the class.

To get back home, their shortest route would take them pretty much directly southward until hitting mainland Norway. There they could resupply, repair The Olimpia to its former glory, and contact their friends back in Kansas City with reliable cell service. They can’t do that, though, because in addition to it being the most direct route for them, it simultaneously creates the shortest distance between the island of Svalbard and the United States government, who they know they can’t trust. To protect Amir, and all the locals of Vertegen, they have to take the scenic route. Fortunately, they have a way to create a distraction in the form of Russia.

The Republican Federation of Russia bears an even more tumultuous history here than its counterpart in the main sequence. It has been on the sidelines of nearly every major world war since the first one. Funny enough, it doesn’t seem to experience much direct conflict with other states. It’s just been known to wait until the hostilities between two or more parties begin, and then choose a side. Some xenophobes might chalk this up to them making their choice randomly. A number of political cartoons, comedy sketches, and modern memes feature a blindfolded Russian leader throwing darts towards a map, or some variation therein. The reality is that Russia always chooses to back the belligerents whose victory would spell some kind of success for Russia. Russia chooses Russia is a slogan from a certain social awareness organization that is always trying to help people understand this.

The Russian government holds no convictions, and has no strong feelings about any specific faction. They are probably the least religious nation in the world—or maybe just when accounting for its sheer mass. The presidents have run their nation like a business, accepting benefits to their economy wherever they can find it, be it with a neighbor, a former enemy, or even a terrorist sect. At the moment, the United States is its biggest competitor, because while citizens of the U.S. would deny, deny, deny, their social practices are not without their similarities. They would never work with terrorists, but freedom fighters are just fine, and the difference between the two can often be found only in the nuance of personal perspective. So while Mateo labeled Russia the enemy, they are in fact more like a rival, and the Olimpia’s presence within their territory is no more dangerous than meeting an industry colleague for coffee in the cafeteria on the first floor of their office building.

Still, as stated, this is a distraction. If the team is spotted making their way through the White Sea, this will be all that Senator Honeycutt—and anyone else involved in all this—will focus on. They won’t even consider the possibility that they were once on Svalbard, or make any attempts to retrace their steps at all. It’s been a long journey, but thanks to Mateo’s new knife, not as long as it could have been. They’ve not had to stay on the surface of the water for the whole trip. Short bursts. They can stay in the air for a limited amount of time, which is what has allowed them to cross the distance as fast as they have so far, but they’re running out of power, and they need a new tactic. Leona may have come with the solution. “Well, if you have this thing, why can’t you just replace the solar panels altogether?” Solar power has been providing them enough energy to fly for a little bit, but they use that energy faster than it can come in, which is why they always have to drop back down to the water.

“I don’t know how to work this knife,” Mateo explains. I can’t get it to replace the entire panel. I can either replace part of the framing, or an individual...what did you call them?”

“Tiles,” Ramses helps. “Each time he stabs a panel, it only destroys that specific tile, and spits out a new one. I can’t figure out why efficiency is so low. It could be one or more of the tiles, but which ones?”

Leona takes the knife from Mateo, and examines it. Before anyone can stop her, she downs the rest of her water, sets the cub back on the counter, and tries to stab it. Nothing happens. “What did I do wrong?”

“You accidentally aren’t your husband, Mateo,” Angela says.

“What?”

“Only he can use it. We’ve both tried.”

“Well, I suppose I had to try too, given our connection, and the fact that some of that Existence water is still swimming through my veins.”

“Well, that was my favorite cup,” Angela laments.

“Then you shouldn’t have let me use it.”

Mateo chuckles once. He takes the knife back, and stabs the mangled cup himself, which generates a pristine replacement.

“That doesn’t make any sense!” Leona shouts. “Okay, it makes a new one; it’s quantum duplication, whatever. But why does it make an unbroken one? It goes back in time to before it was damaged? How far back in time? How much damage does it correct? What if there was a dent in it that had been there for twenty years?”

“These are all questions that none of us can answer,” Ramses tells her.

“Did you try asking the Rakripa where they got it, and what they thought of it?”

“Yes,” Angela says, looking suddenly tired. “I asked them a lot of questions. Communication was difficult, and I eventually learned that it wasn’t only because our languages aren’t mutually intelligible. They were cagey. They were nice...but they didn’t want us to stick around. So we didn’t.”

Leona sighs. “Where is that lantern thing you were talking about?”

Ramses goes back down to engineering to retrieve it. “I’ve been all over this thing. I don’t think anything else needs to be replaced. What we need is power.”

“And I’m going to get it for you,” Leona says. She sets the lantern on the counter, and arranges her husband in front of it. She adjusts his arms and hands like a sexy golf instructor, or a pottery ghost. “Okay. Go for it.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 15, 2398

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Finding out where Heath and Marie live would be a trivial task for the authorities of the Kansas City Police Department. The rest of the team can’t go back there, and if they manage to break Heath and Angela out of the holding cells—or even if they fail in the attempt—they never will again. Fortunately, while Marie never had any intention of breaking the law before, she devised ways of protecting her assets. The two of them are basically survivalists, and they own a small patch of land on the outskirts of town where they buried a secret bunker. Once the other four reunited at the rendezvous point, they traveled there together to discuss recent events, and formulate a plan. Marie asked Mateo not to mention anything about feeling the pull of their pattern until they could solve this first problem, and he agreed to that with no controversy.

The laws in this reality are very different. It’s been a long and deadly road that got civilization to this point, and they’re paranoid about going backwards. Many separate religions have similar ideas. In fact, a cursory glance at each one might lead an outsider to believe that they all originated from the same few ancient events, and branched out from there. This may be true, but it’s caused hostility either way. One might think that these cross-denominational similarities would help people find common ground, but historically, they’ve only stirred up resentment. It would be unthinkable and impossible to combine their faiths into one, so the fact that they all think they’re right, and they’re right about the same thing, just means that this town ain’t big enough for the both of us. Because one of the major things they have in common is that a select few elite should be in charge of all others, and the crux of the competing religions is that everyone thinks they’re that elite.

While Heath works in information technology, religious studies is a passion of his on the side, and he dedicates his free time to finding a way out of these conflicts. WWVII is perpetually around the corner. Each peacetime is met with another war, and a lot of people want to put a stop to it. Even significant instigators of war don’t really want to do it anymore, they always just feel compelled to compete against the others, who they think aren’t as enlightened and peaceful as them. Scholars came up with a term to describe it, which is Radical Defensivism, noting that it leads to some form of offensivism if left unchecked. But don’t let anyone hear you say that, because suggesting to an individual or group that they’re morally wrong for wanting to protect themselves is considered, on its own, an act of offensive aggression, and will only give them the excuse they were looking for to retaliate.

According to current religious laws, freedom of religious pursuits is protected above all else, but there are limits. Religious practice cannot involve speaking ill of someone else’s beliefs, nor overly promoting one’s own beliefs. That’s what Heath did that has got him in so much trouble. And because he is known in certain circles as someone who attempts to solve the antagonism from a practical and academic standpoint, it’s going to be so much worse for him. And it could put his scholarly peaceful movement in danger, so if his colleagues don’t denounce him and his actions as ironic, they risk destroying their own reputation. They can’t allow one of their own to be labeled a hypocrite, so they have to excise him from all association. Whether he is freed or not, his dream of being a meaningful force for good in this way is over. But there is some hope, because there’s a way to get him out, and it has to do with that first class of religious laws.

By arresting him in the first place, the authorities also risk their reputation. They are not meant to be above the laws, so if they deliberately antagonize someone for their beliefs, they enter a gray area. In fact, the entire thing is a gray area. It might be one’s belief that they ought to be able to demean and argue against other people’s beliefs. There is no way to satisfy some kind of moral imperative when it comes to something like this. The concept itself is self-contradictory. You can’t be intolerant of religiously intolerant people that claim their intolerance is a tenet of their religion. The team could make the case that the cops were being the hypocrites. Heath was shouting his intolerance in the middle of the night in an industrial area where no one else was around. Only the authorities heard his words, so they would have to testify against him in a personal capacity in order to make the arrest stick. If they choose not to—which would be in their best political interests—he should be free to go. He’ll still have to be shunned by his community, but he’ll be able to go home. Angela should be able to go home too, as long as she can successfully convince them that she’s actually Marie.

“So, we’re not breaking them out?” Leona asks.

“We should do this the right way,” Marie replies.

“There’s a problem,” Ramses points out. “None of us has an identity. That’s why Angela took your place, instead of claiming to be herself. You can’t argue on behalf of either of them, because one of you isn’t supposed to exist.”

Marie nods, “that’s why I’m not going to be the one going down there to argue on their behalf. We’re going to need outside help, from someone I hope we can trust.”

“Hope?” Mateo questions.

“Nothing in life is certain, Mateo, not even death or taxes. We should have all learned that by now. I will say that this guy is our best chance, and he has a...”

“A what?” Leona presses.

“He and Heath have history.”

“What kind of history?”

Marie takes a breath. “They were married before us. He believes that I stole Heath from him, and he’s been trying to steal him back ever since. He won’t want to help me, but he’ll want to help Heath. I just hope that side of him overpowers the other.”

“Great,” Leona declares, “let’s go now.”

“He travels during the week for work,” Marie explains. “I don’t usually know where, but I know he won’t be back until Friday.”

“What happens to our friends in the meantime?”

“The holding cells are actually rather comfortable; it’s a religious thing, so they’re not being tortured in there, or anything. This reality does not guarantee speedy due process. I doubt the pigs will do anything with them until next week. You take the good with the bad.”

“One day it will all be the good,” Mateo muses. He didn’t mean to say it, it just came out, and no one has the heart to dispute it. Though many strange things have happened over the years. It could happen again.

Sic Transit...Lar Familiaris (Part II)

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Treasure had never traveled the bulk on purpose before. In fact, she had no recollection of ever having done it. She didn’t even have proof growing up that she was capable of such a thing. Perhaps the time she transported her family to this world, and the time she accidentally transported to some random dangerous world by herself, were all lies her parents made up. Why would they do this? Why would they force her to wear a collar, and claim it was so she didn’t end up getting lost in the multiverse? What could possibly be weirder—or worse— than that? Nothing, apparently, because as she was proving now, it was all true. Her scream really could resonate at the right frequency to break a temporary hole in the membrane of the universe, and allow her to jump to other worlds. Unfortunately, her father had promised to teach her how to use her powers once she turned eighteen. They were planning a family vacation on that day to celebrate. Since she was leaving early, she didn’t know what she was doing, or where she was going. She could figure it out eventually, though, as long as she survived long enough. Once she did, she would be able to return home at the very same moment she left, and unless she said something, her parents would never know exactly how long the trip was from her perspective. But again, she had to survive.

Alarms were blaring, and she could hear gunfire outside the door. It took her a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low lighting. This room appeared to be an advanced futuristic laboratory, but what did she know? If this really was a different universe, their history could be unlike anything she had ever studied before in Miss Collins’ class. There were an infinite number of branes in the bulk, and this could be pretty much any one of them. The furniture and instruments looked somewhat familiar, though, so it probably wasn’t the version of Earth where dinosaurs evolved planet-dominating intelligence instead of humans. She wanted to escape, fearing for her life, but she couldn’t just leave without doing something. One time, when she was younger, she took a train to visit Chicago. It stopped to pick up a few more passengers in Iowa, so she took that opportunity to step off the train, just so she could say she once went to Iowa. But she hadn’t really. She was out there for all of thirty seconds, and had never returned for real. This could not be a repeat of that. She needed to explore, to make some mark—however small—so someone could corroborate her claim that she was here.

She stepped over to the door, and cracked it open carefully. The gunfire was farther away now, so she hoped the hallway would be empty. It wasn’t. Someone pulled the door open all the way, and forced himself in, nearly knocking Treasure down to the floor. He shut the door behind him, and pressed his ear against it. Treasure straightened up her clothes, and cleared her throat. “What’s going on?” Treasure whispered.

The man hissed at her in a language she didn’t know.

“I’m whispering,” she explained, even quieter this time.

He hissed at her again, and tightened the suction of his ear on the metal. They waited for a good five minutes. Once he was convinced they were safe for now, he breathed a sigh of relief, and started trying to talk to her. Language was the weirdest thing about the bulkverse, according to her studies. All these different worlds, some not even just alternate versions of Earth, but unrelated planets. And they all pretty much spoke English. It was the dominant language everywhere. Of course, other languages existed, but Miss Collins spoke of only a few planets that developed completely without it. The evolved dinosaur one was an example. This was a human, and she didn’t know what language he was speaking. It didn’t sound like anything she had ever heard before, except maybe...Ancient Egyptian?

They continued to try to communicate with each other, using hand gestures and facial expressions. He pretended to hold a gun, presumably asking whether she was armed. When she shook her head, he got really offended, and tried to frisk her, which she promptly put an end to. He put up his hands, somewhat apologetically, but not sincerely, and started pantomiming again. He held up an invisible gun, pointed to the door, and turned his fingers into legs. He opened a hypothetical door, and entered what he seemed to think was a glorious room. Something was lining the walls. Paintings? No. More finger guns. All different kinds. He threw a grenade. An armory. He wanted them to go search for an armory. Treasure wanted to shake her head again, but she didn’t know what to do. Was this guy a terrorist who deserved to be caught by the authorities? Was he an innocent accountant for this place who was just trying to escape? There was no way to know which side of this conflict she had stumbled upon. The only way she was going to understand it is if somebody here happened to speak English, French, Arabic, Mandarin, Hindi, Japanese, or Maramon.

Treasure relented, and followed the man out the door. They crept down the dim hallways, sticking to the walls as much as possible. They could still hear gunfire, but it was even fainter now. That certainly suggested an attack, rather than an authoritative raid. She would think cops would leave agents scattered throughout, instead of just moving through the whole thing together. But maybe not. There was no telling how large this facility was. She didn’t know what they did here, or why there was both a lab and an armory. They kept going until they could no longer hear the bullets. They were replaced with humming. It didn’t sound ominous or evil, but pleasant and comfortable. She almost sounded...bored. The man wanted to get away from it, but Treasure insisted they go check it out. If she was another survivor, they had to know, and if she wasn’t, Treasure could always scream.

They slipped through the door, and into what looked like a hock. The woman was alone, locked up, and didn’t stop humming when she saw them. Her arm was lying on the floor, which looked quite uncomfortable. She appeared to be stuck there. The two of them started speaking to each other in their language, so Treasure just stood there patiently. The conversation became heated, though, and he grew angry. It almost looked like he was blaming her for something. Finally, he took Treasure by the shoulder, and tried to pull her out. “No,” she responded, pushing his hand off of her. “What’s going on?”

“I couldn’t give him the answers he was looking for, so he’s abandoning me here,” the woman explained.

“Wait, you speak English?” Treasure questioned.

“I do, yes. I’m from Ansutah.” That was one of the bad universes. Miss Collins would never use such a word, because she was a kind and understanding person, but all the students got the idea. It was populated by monsters, who broke off of the universe that Treasure’s mother was from. They caused a lot of problems all over the bulk. They weren’t as bad as the Ochivari, but it was dangerous to trust them.

“You’re one of the human refugees,” Treasure guessed.

The man started complaining again, forcing the prisoner to get back into the argument. She dismissed him, and he finally gave up, deciding to leave Treasure behind, and go look for his precious armory.

“Sorry about that. I’m half human, half Maramon. They call us hybrids. My name is Azura, and I was sent to this universe to neutralize one Missy Atterberry as a threat.”

“So you are bad?” Treasure said.

Azura scoffed and laughed at the same time. “No, I never had any intention of doing that. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. Missy won’t show up here for another several billion years. I purposely screwed with the algorithm, so my creator would send me to the wrong time period.”

“Oh. My name is Treasure. I’m from voldisilaverse,” she felt compelled to reveal.

“I see. You don’t seem like a pretentious asshole.”

“I wouldn’t call them that. They’re just...proud of themselves.”

“What did I say?” she joked.

“Umm. Are you, like, bolted to the floor?”

“Kinda, yeah. These people hacked into our medical implants, and pushed the gravity up to eleven. I only survived because of my Maramon side. It won’t last forever, though. If you could kindly hand me that cuff right there, I would be eternally grateful.”

Treasure looked over at the object on the table. “What does it do?”

“It will disable my chip, putting my gravity back to normal. You don’t have to unlock the gate, I just don’t want to die on the floor.”

Miss Collins taught them about the adventures of The Newtonian Expats, and The Hybrids. The latter were sent to remove the time powers of the former. Each ended up in a different universe when The Crossover exploded, and started impacting history from there. Most of the hybrids switched sides, and became friends with the Expats, but not all of them, and this Azura person was never mentioned. Still, if Treasure was going to make her own difference, she had to start by giving Azura the benefit of the doubt. That was what Miss Collins would do. Treasure grabbed the implant disabling device, and slipped it through the bars. Azura pushed the buttons on the screen, which were displaying what looked like hieroglyphs. She wrapped the cuff around her arm as well as she could, and activated it. Then she was able to stand back up after however long. She stretched, and massaged the implant site.

“Why are you in here?” Treasure asked.

“I built this device,” Azura said, holding up the cuff. “The implant tracks every single member of the Astral Military Force. I really just wanted to be able to go off-world without my superiors knowing about it. I didn’t know it could have saved lives. As it stands, other than me, it only saved two.”

“Where are the other two?”

“Off fighting against the invasion, I imagine, surely presuming me dead. I did pass out for a while. Anyway, thank you for your help—”

“I’ll let you out,” Treasure assured her. “You don’t have to be weird about it.”

“Okay, thanks, because...I don’t belong in here. As punishment, they would have made me clean the restrooms for a few weeks at worst.” She guided Treasure towards the keycard, which unlocked the hock gate. She repeated herself, “Thank you for your help, but we should get you to safety. This is no place for a youngling. Where is the door to the Crossover?”

“I didn’t come in the Crossover.”

“Hm. The Prototype?”

Treasure shook her head. “It’s just this thing I can do.”

“Hmm. You weren’t on the list.”

“The list of what?” Treasure questioned, worried.

“The list of people who can travel the bulkverse,” Azura clarified. “You’re not on that list. With a name like that, I would have remembered.”

“I’ll use that to my advantage.”

“That would be wise. Though...because of time travel, once the secret gets out, it was always out.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Two questions, did that guy know where the armory is, and do you?”

“Not really, and yes. He was just a visitor who wishes he had come yesterday instead. The armory is just next door.”

“That seems stupid.”

Azura smiled. “This hock is meant for insubordinate soldiers who they don’t plan on kicking out of the military. If I were a traitor, or deserter, or something, they would have put me somewhere much more secure. This is mostly my commanding officer’s office. What does it matter, though, aren’t you just going home?”

“I have to help you. It’s why I’m here. Let me get you to wherever it is you need to be.”

The two of them stepped out of the hock office, and down to the next door. Treasure kept watch while Azura punched in the code. They walked in, and started gathering supplies. Azura took weapons and tactical gear, but Treasure just fitted herself with a bullet proof vest, and a helmet. Her father taught her how to defend herself, but no one trained her on weapons, and she grew up in a fairly peaceful world. All she wanted to do was protect herself, not hurt anybody. Azura, meanwhile, was carefully removing a grenade from a lockbox, placing it into a smaller box, and lowering it into her bag.

“You really need a grenade?” she asked.

“This is not a grenade,” Azura answered. “Are you ready to go?”

“Where are we going?”

“The Condensed Command Center. There will be very few survivors, and they will all convene there.”

“Okay.”

They opened the door, and tried to leave the room, but were immediately spotted by the enemy. Before she could react, Treasure heard a shot, and felt a choking pain on her neck. Something wet rolled down her chest, and she fell to her back. Azura returned fire only briefly, before dragging Treasure back into the armory, and locking it.

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