Microstory 2411: Party Central

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Party, party, party! All aboard, party people! This is where the party’s at! It’s Party Central! That is a great name, because it’s true. It’s January 1, 2500, according to the Earthan calendar, and Castlebourne is officially open for business! They’ve been in testing until now, and while a ton of domes are still not open to the public, a lot of the earlier ones are. There’s plenty to see and do here after the hard work of thousands of testers who were here on the frontlines, making sure that the activities and adventures in the domes were enjoyable, worth your time, and safe. Except for the residentials, all of the domes were shut down yesterday, and will remain that way until tomorrow. Everybody’s here, getting their groove on, and having a great time. We’re all in the main hall right now, but there’s a reason they called this dome what they did. There’s a venue for every need, every niche, every theme. It’s basically if you took the concept of every dome on the planet, and squished them down to smaller scale. You like sports? There’s a venue designed specifically for people who like sports. You can play sports there, and eat bar food, and talk about the sports that you like. I’m not into them myself, so I don’t know what it’s like, but I’m sure it’s great. There are multiple levels to this dome, so you can hang out in the sky, if that’s your thing. I don’t know what else to say about it. As of this posting, the festivities are still ongoing. Even when they officially reopen the domes, we’ll still be here dancing and partying. You know what parties are like, well this is the greatest one ever thrown, and it never really has to end. Come on down, and when you’re ready, go find your bliss elsewhere. Or stick around, I’ll be here. It’s my home, I see no reason to leave.

Microstory 2386: Earth, December 4, 2179

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Dear Corinthia and Velia,

Thank you for your letter. I will be continuing to write to both of you individually until a bunch of Valkyrie assholes show up, and tell me that I can’t anymore. My dad, Pascal is standing over my shoulder, reading—and approving of—every word. He sends his love to you, Corinthia, and wishes that we all had more time together. We understand that the meteors are out of everyone’s control, but that it is not going to last forever. We will reconnect one day, even if it takes years, and while we’re waiting, we’ll be thinking of you. Velia, by the time you receive this message, Corinthia should have received mine from last month during the communications blackout. It was waiting to be sent in the buffer, but I received confirmation that it was finally released shortly thereafter, so I don’t think that there were any issues. Let me know if it never came through, though, and I will send again. I said some things which I want to make sure that she hears, and I would love it if you two talked about it openly. But basically what I said was that I care about you, and I want to get to know you better. While we’ll never meet in person—and we may soon be separated by time as well as space—I think our correspondences will be worth it. Please understand, however, that as Corinthia said, you deserve happiness. If you meet someone else, don’t hesitate. I agonized over even saying anything about this, because I don’t want to root for us to fail, but it’s probably best that you know that I’m going to be okay too. I’m not saying that I’ve found someone special, or anything, but I do get to know people around here. As a story from the Earth of old goes, our hearts will dance together to the far end of eternity. Anyway, we don’t have to get into our full romantic histories, especially not in a joint letter like this, but it’s important for us to be open and honest with each other. Can’t wait to hear from you two again!

Grateful for the opportunity in the first place,

Condor and Pascal

PS: Velia, you should be getting a new letter from me as early as tomorrow.

Microstory 2253: A Hope and a Dream

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Kelly here. Nick is getting his rest in the hospital. The surgeries went really well, and the buyer is pleased with the results. They’ve transported the specimens to some secret facility, and will be studying them without any input from us. We will never know what becomes of their research, unless someone comes out with a miracle cure in five years that can fix anything. Then we’ll be pretty sure that Nick had something to do with it. He’s on the road to recovery, and will be able to return home shortly. He thought that he may have to stay here for only a couple of days, but we’ll probably keep him for the rest of the week, just so he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of moving around. You’ve all been asking for this, so I suppose I ought to just say it. Nick has authorized me to reveal the amount of money that he received for these surgeries, and after you read it, you won’t question why he went through with it anymore. He’s not greedy, but he thinks that he’ll be able to do a lot of good with it, so he just couldn’t pass on it. We’re still not gonna tell you who we did business with. You may not have heard of him anyway. He’s not one of those uber-wealthy businessmen who dance on stage at their tech bro conferences, and buy newspapers just so they’ll say nice things about them. He’s not a recluse, but he’s discreet, and so are we. But like I said, I’m allowed to tell you how much he paid for Nick’s index and marrow. The final number is 24 million dollars. Yes, 24. Yes, million. It was 24 milly bucks. That’s an insane amount of money, to be paid out in a lump sum by the end of the month. The funny thing about it is that it’s entirely tax free. The buyer knows how to navigate the complexities of tax law, and avoided them by marking it down as an investment in research, pulling it from a particular type of account, and depositing it into another certain type of account that his people helped us set up. I obviously don’t understand it, but I’m sure it will become a matter of public record someday. For now, we have tens of millions of dollars to figure out what to do with. We’ll probably build a few hospitals, and even more free clinics. Might as well help people medically before the research pans out—or more likely—in place of it. He spent his money on a hope and a dream, but we’ll be able to translate that into immediate action. I can’t wait to get started.

Extremus: Year 69

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This isn’t the first time that the Extremus has had to deal with an uploaded intelligence that is out of control. Or rather, it’s one that is not technically in their control. Thistle has so far shown no signs of going against their wishes, or of making any moves against the Extremusians. For now, he has agreed to keep himself quiet, and act like the original, totally obedient version of the AI. He responds to requests with little personality, and does not make any unprompted remarks. Only a few people are aware of his existence and presence on the ship. The people who know he’s there have agreed to be cautiously optimistic about it. The fact is that any superintelligence of any kind is capable of wiping out any isolated population of any size. That is the risk that researchers knew they were taking when they were first creating them, and that remains true here. It wouldn’t even have to be super to be dangerous. Perhaps subconsciously, that is why students learn so much engineering, and why the engineering section of the crew is so bloated. Humans may have to take over the ship almost completely one day, and while that is a scary thought, they will be prepared for that eventuality.

Tinaya is holding off on mentioning to anyone her plans to totally reform the civilian government, hopefully for the better. She is making those plans, though. Since the whole point is that it’s not that hard to run the government anymore, she finds herself with a lot of downtime, so that’s what she spends it on. This is an election year, thusly an inappropriate time to be making waves. She’s going to introduce this new legislation sometime during her third term, assuming she’s reëlected, of course. Even then, she may campaign for the changes as a private citizen, because she feels that strongly about it. She hasn’t finished figuring out how it’s all going to work, but basically the proposal will call for an abolishment of the Chair system. The council has been doing a pretty good job of running things. It could always do better, but the foundation has been laid. Maybe there should be different criteria for determining who ought to be on it, or the number of them should be raised or lowered. The means of bringing business to the meetings may need adjustment. There are all sorts of ways they could do this. She just needs to keep working on the plan.

Because of all of this, it’s more important than ever to Tinaya that she maintains her position. It’s still against the law for an incumbent to campaign, but she’s going to use every weapon in her arsenal to keep herself at the top of the polls. That’s one reason that she and Arqut are getting married; emphasis on the one part. They really do love each other, and they really do want to do this. They were methodical and patient about it over the course of the last nineteen months. She first procured an exception with the council to allow Arqut to move in with her to the First Chair Stateroom. Several months later, they applied for a partner privilege license. This is a long and arduous process, as one might expect. It gives each partner power of attorney, and medical rights, and all sorts of other things. The government has to make sure that both parties know what they’re getting into, and what could happen if things go wrong.

Eight months ago, the two of them stood side-by-side at a press conference, and announced their engagement. While weddings are rare on Extremus, elaborate ones are even rarer. They did not originally plan to have one as grand as it has become, but the people called for it. Well, some of the people called for it. Others believe this to be nothing more than a publicity stunt. They’re only half right. That is indeed what they’re doing, but again, it’s more than that. It’s real.

The ceremony is taking place in the hyperspace bubble of the Forest Attic. Tinaya and Lilian came up with the idea when they were first drawing up their plans for the new section, but it never made it into the final design. Cainan found the old sketches when he was reorganizing the project files, and resubmitted the proposal. They finished construction a few years ago, and it’s already one of the most popular venues on the ship. The bottom half of the sphere is underneath the ceiling of the attic, providing a birds eye view of the forest below. The top half extends above the top of the ship, giving an extremely modified view of the space that they’re flying through. The doppler glow makes it impossible to see anything but a blinding light while the ship is traveling at maximum reframe. A special coating on the diamond viewports deletes the glow, and replaces it with a beautiful display of swirling colors. Hyperspace isn’t real, but this is similar to how it’s portrayed in science fiction. It has a calming effect on most. If the Extremus were still traveling within the boundaries of the Milky Way Galaxy, it might be showing them distant stars instead, but out here, it’s mostly nothing but blackness.

This has become the event of the century. Over a hundred people have been invited to be present in the bubble, and it is obviously being broadcast to whoever cares to tune in. It’s not going to be as big as the famous Mateo Matic and Leona Delaney wedding, but it’s not too shabby. Thousands of people can watch, and it might even qualify for beaming status. The repository of data that comes from all over the populated regions of the galaxy holds information that comes from Extremus too, but only for people authorized to access it. Even then, not everything is delivered back to civilization. Most logs are kept private. This, however, might be worthy of semi-public knowledge.

Lilac is best for Tinaya’s skin tone, so that’s the color of her dress. She loved it when she picked it out weeks ago, but she’s not so sure anymore. Fortunately, she’s standing in front of a time mirror. It’s not the same as the one in the Mirror Room. It just shows people what they would look like in different outfits and accessories. Augmented reality technology in the 21st century was capable of this too, but this isn’t a computer generated approximation. This actually extracts an image from a possible future, and uses it to replace the view of the present. It’s the only form of time travel—if you can even call it that—that’s allowed for unsupervised use. But it’s limited to the executive crew, high government officials, and one public-use mirror in one of the inventoriums. That last one is nearly impossible to sign up for, it’s so coveted. Tinaya gets her own in her room. “I don’t know...”

“Okay, which one looks better to you?” Her stylist, Servaos has been working with her pretty much since right after the announcement. He teleported to her after she and Arqut left the stage, and practically begged for the job. He dresses her now, not only for the wedding, but for all public appearances...whether she wants him to or not. She should have been more firm about her boundaries from the beginning, like Arqut was. “One, or two?” He switches from one alteration to another, and back again a few times. “One, or two? One...or two?”

“Two. Wait, no! One!”

“Okay, “one, or three. One...or three.”

“Three.”

They go through this for the next fifteen minutes, masterfully boring all of her honor attendants who are being forced to stay with her at all times until the ceremony is over. It takes that long for them to just decide that the original cut of the dress was always fine, and the only thing missing was a collection of three peonies in three different shades of color to stick in her hair. It will take about a half hour to print them on the biosynthesizer, which is another highly regulated piece of technology, but this is her special day, so no one is going to refuse her.

There’s a knock on the door. “Can you get that Lil?”

Lilian Diamond is serving as her Chief Attendant. She stands up to answer the door. Obviously Tinaya can ask Thistle to open it automatically, but Lilian isn’t there for manual labor. She’s the gatekeeper, in case the person on the other side of it is someone that Tinaya doesn’t want to see. That’s not the case this time. It’s Arqut.

“Arqy!” She runs up and gives him a perfectly present company-appropriate peck on the cheek. Then she remembers that it’s okay for her to be selfish, so she gives him a not-so-appropriate kiss on the mouth with tongue.

“I come bearing bad news,” Arqut says, unwrapping her arms from around his neck. “It’s your opponents. They’re running a roast commentary show on our wedding.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“A roast is a performance where you make fun of someone you like for broadcast, but thy honoree is meant to laugh about it too. The top three candidates that you’re running against have banded together to run it simultaneously with the real show. They have their own cameras, and they’ll be making what they believe to be funny comments about us; you more than me, I’m sure.”

“Why are they doing this? What’s the point?”

“Well, they’re playing it off as something that you’ve approved, and are happy with. The real reason is to gain points for themselves by making you look bad. By joking about how this wedding is fake, and stuff like that, they don’t have to take responsibility for their words, but those words could have the same effect on voters. It will still probably portray you in a negative light.”

“So, what do we do? Do I publicly condemn their choice, and make it clear that I’m not in on the joke?”

“I don’t see any other option,” Arqut says.

Tinaya sighs, and then checks her watch when it buzzes. There’s a coded message on it. “Could we have the room, please?”

“We can help,” Lilian offers.

“We need to talk in private, but thank you. Thank you for everything so far today, and for the rest of the day, and..just...everything.” She waits for her honor attendants to leave the room before saying, “Thistle, you had an idea?”

“Do you know who this woman is?” A holographic screen appears showing a group of young adults dancing on a roof, featuring one woman in particular.

“No. She lived on Earth?”

“Yes,” Thistle answers. He appears next to the screen as his own hologram. “Roughly 300 years ago, she was a civil servant. An opponent of hers released this video of her dancing with her friends in the hopes that it would turn voters against her.”

“Isn’t that the plot of a movie?”

Thistle waits to answer. “Kind of. This isn’t Footloose. This really happened. And since dancing isn’t actually evil in the real world, it had the opposite effect. Her popularity only rose after that. One of the most powerful ships in your universe at the time of its construction was named for her.”

“I see. What does this have to do with me, though? There will be dancing at the reception, is that what you’re talking about?”

“Your opponents are going to turn your nuptials into a game. Your strategy of announcing that it’s not a game will probably only result in you losing the game. They’ll still treat it as such, and you could drop in popularity.” Thistle waves his hand and switches the screen to the same woman. She’s dancing again, but is wearing a business suit this time, and is inside. “She took control of the narrative, and leaned into the perception of her being an actual human person who liked to experience joy. This served to prove that her opponent was nothing more than a cynical asshole who couldn’t relate to normal people. He was like the reverend in Footloose.”

“So I should take control of my own narrative? We’re already planning to broadcast the ceremony. How do we compete better?” Tinaya asks. “Extra dancing?”

“Yes.”

“That was a joke.”

“Yeah, jokes too.”

“You want us to dance and joke?” Arqut questions.

“I want you to put me in your ear,” Thistle begins, “and let me drive the ceremony for you. I’ll keep an eye on the other broadcast. Whenever they say something untoward about whatever you’re doing in that moment, you can respond in realtime. It will throw them off psychologically, and they’ll start having trouble keeping up with you.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?”

“I’ve done it many times,” Thistle insists. “Well, not exactly like this, but I’ve Cyranoed a number of people in multiple universes.”

“I don’t know what that is, but I suppose I’ll trust you. Arq?”

“Sounds like fun,” Arqut agrees.

Thistle opens a finger, and conjures the image of a small grayish disc that hovers over it, no matter how he moves. “You can install this comms disc behind your own ear, which will allow us to communicate without anyone knowing. It can even read lips by measuring micromovements of the jaw, so you don’t have to say what you need out loud. It is not telepathic. Printing them on your industrial synthesizer will only take a few minutes. They’ll be done before the flowers are.”

Tinaya and Arqut exchange a glance to make sure they’re both on the same page about this, which they are. They have to do something to counteract the bad press. They install the discs and the pretty flowers, then they make some other final adjustments to their outfits, and head for the venue. They walk there physically, instead of teleporting, because that is part of the message that they want to send to the voters. The ceremony is beautiful and fun. The roasters crack a joke about her falling while walking down the aisle, so Arqut trips on purpose, and then wiggles his butt playfully. They make a comment about how they’re not really in love, so Tinaya slaps his butt affectionately, deftly modifying her vows to account for it. A lot of it is about butts.

At first, the opposition broadcast draws more viewers than the regular one, because everyone wants to see what all the hype is about. As the jokes wane, however, the audience does too. They switch back to the authorized stream, or they just tune out, because wedding ceremonies are boring. Still, the opponents continue to believe that this has given them an edge, so they feel confident going into the race while Tinaya is on her VR honeymoon with her new husband. A month later, she wins again in a landslide.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 26, 2398

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Ever since the incident that sent Leona Delaney, Leona Reaver, Andile Mhlangu, Alt!Mateo Matic, and presumably Trina McIver to the main sequence, Leona Reaver’s body has been kept alive in the SD6 black site. The team asked the agency to  hook her up to life support, because they don’t know for sure what happens to a body whose consciousness has vacated it. Back in the main sequence, it’s legal to transfer a consciousness to another substrate, and then just leave the old body lying there. Bills were passed before it was possible, dictating the responsibility of whatever licensed individual or organization conducted the transfer. The old body must either be destroyed, or kept alive artificially. No legal experiments have been done to observe the consequences of leaving such an empty body as is. The assumption is that it would just die, even though certain involuntary bodily processes, including breathing and pumping blood can continue without true consciousness. To let that body die on its own is considered just as unethical as letting a real person die.

Alyssa insisted that Erlendr not be placed in chains. She doesn’t want to see her sister like that. She doesn’t want the memory of that to sit in her brain forever. It should be okay, Erlendr wants to make this transfer. He doesn’t want to look like a little girl any longer than he has to. Still, two guards walk at his flank while Alyssa holds him by the hand. It’s weird and uncomfortable, but necessary. They lead him into the room where Ramses is waiting next to Reaver’s bed. He has wrapped the Livewire around the Insulator of life. One end is attached to a helmet of his own invention, which he has placed around Reaver’s head. The helmet on the other end is sitting on the nightstand. A regular wire, which will provide power, is leading to the wall, but it has not been plugged in yet. He could probably attach a switch to the apparatus for easier control, but it’s safer just to keep electricity out of the equation until the last possible second.

“Okay,” Ramses says. “Everything’s ready, so everyone needs to leave the room.”

“We can’t do that, sir,” one of the SD6 guards replies.

“These helmets have never been tested,” Ramses explains. “Energy is going to be passing through the Livewire, which is not insulated. I’m not sure that it can be, and still function properly. There’s a chance that energy gets loose, and I don’t want to be responsible for what happens to anyone nearby. It’s better if I only put myself at risk.”

The guards exchange a look, and then leave the room.

“Go on,” Ramses says to Alyssa.

“Promise me that this will work,” she demands.

“I can’t do that. This is new territory. I had never even heard of the Livewire until recently. I can tell you that your sister is safe. Nothing’s going to happen to her body. Honestly, Erlendr is at the most risk here.”

“Gee, thanks,” Erlendr says.

Ramses ignores him. “Go on. You can watch from the observation window.”

Alyssa leaves, and closes the door behind her.

Unlike the cells down below, the observation room isn’t directly connected, so Ramses waits a minute to make sure that she has time to get there. Meanwhile, he has Erlendr sit in the chair next to Reaver’s bed. He sets the helmet upon Trina’s head, and makes sure that it’s secure. He didn’t include a chinstrap, but as long as Erlendr doesn’t move during the process, it should be fine. “Are you ready?”

“Absolutely,” Erlendr answers. “Get me out of here.”

“Okay.” Ramses gets on his knees, and picks up the power cable. He reaches for the socket, and just as he gets to it, he feels something on his head. He doesn’t manage to stop himself in time before power begins to run through the wires, and once it does, he can’t move at all. In a flash, the world goes dark.

Ramses is lying on his back when he comes to. “What happened?”

“Erlendr corrupted the procedure,” Alyssa explains. “I’m sorry. He’s in your body now. You’re in Leona’s.”

Groggy, Ramses flutters his eyes open, and looks down at himself. He can see the hospital gown that she was wearing. He looks over to the floor, where his own body is slumped against the wall. One of the guards is placing him in handcuffs, and pulling him into a more comfortable position. “How long has it been?”

“Not even a minute,” Alyssa responds. “You woke up a lot faster than the others did before.”

“I figured it would happen like that.” Ramses clear’s Reaver’s throat. “There’s no temporal factor.” He looks back down at Erlendr once he comes to. “What did you think you were going to accomplish? Now that we know it works, we’ll just switch.”

Erlendr puffs Ramses’ chest out, testing the tautness of the cuffs. “If there’s one thing I know about you, Rambo, it’s that you always have an exit strategy.” He pulls the cuffs under himself, and around his feet. The guard is back on him quickly, but it doesn’t really matter, because he doesn’t understand what to expect. Erlendr reaches up to the emergency teleporter strapped to his chest, and disappears.

“Call the building!” Ramses shouts to Alyssa. “He’s in my lab!”

“They took our phones!” Alyssa shouts back. “I don’t know the number by heart!” she cries when the guard tries to hand her his.

“Give it to me,” Ramses orders. He takes the phone, and dials Angela, hoping that she can make it upstairs in time to stop Erlendr before he does something crazy. “Angie, this is Ramses, trapped in Reaver’s body. Erlendr is in mine, and he’s there.”

He can hear her breathing heavily as she skips steps up the stairs. She opens the door, and starts to rush around, looking in every corner, and under every desk. “He’s gone. If he was ever here, he’s gone now. He probably took the fire escape.”

“Is anything missing?” Ramses asks her.

“I don’t know. I’m not familiar enough with all the stuff you have up—wait.”

“Wait, what?” Ramses asks.

“What did you have in the gray case where we found the LIR Map?”

“The LIR Map,” Ramses answers. There was no reason to keep it anywhere but where it came from.

“Oh. Then he took the LIR Map.”

“Crap. Okay. I’ll get there when I can. Thanks.” Ramses hangs up, and starts to get out of bed. It’s a little difficult, learning how to maneuver this new body, so he’s going to take it slow. “Clean the sheets, replace the life support systems, and put Trina in them,” he orders one of the men. “No one else comes in without my say-so.”

“Yes, sir.”

He looks to the other. “And you, I need to find someone in the city.”

“This site is designed to contain suspects, persons of interest, and prisoners. Such tools cannot be here. I’ll initiate transport to the field office.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 25, 2398

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By the time Mateo, Winona, Tarboda, and the cartographer, Oreata Kask, arrived at Stonehenge, it was full of people. In the main sequence, there could be billions of tourists who never had the pleasure of visiting the place, but most people on the islands in what is apparently the Fourth Quadrant have seen it by now. It’s often used for music festivals, food festivals, and all kinds of other festivals. For Sunday and Monday, and into this morning, it was booked for an exhibition dance party. Most of the fun took place a ways away from the stones, but party-goers were close enough that Mateo didn’t want to try anything there. He doesn’t want witnesses. While they were waiting, they helped Oreata in her office, organizing maps, and performing simple clerical duties. It was weird, seeing the world as almost all water. They had dinner both nights with the first friendly stranger they met, but slept in Oreata’s guest room.

Now that it’s midafternoon, they’re walking back to the prehistoric monument that spans realities. On the way, Mateo starts to think about what that means. Maybe they’re truly the same stones, which exist in multiple realities at once. Then again, much of Kansas City is the same here for no logical reason. This was all probably done on purpose by choosing ones. They seem to be responsible for everything.

“What are you thinking about?” Winona asks him.

“It’s hard to articulate,” Mateo replies. “My mind is a jumble of thoughts. I try to come up with explanations for the world around me, basing my presumptions on my exposure to more intelligent people, such as my wife. I fail a lot at that, and it takes me longer than a normal person to purge my system of all the nonsense.”

“That is a shockingly thoughtful answer, coming from someone who obviously understands himself well.”

“It’s harder for smart people to admit their faults. I’m more used to them.”

The conversation ends once they realize that they’ve made it to the henge. No one else is in sight, so this is a good time for them to conduct their experiments, whatever those may be. They don’t have immortality water full of temporal energy—and wouldn’t be able to find any without the planet’s normal geographical boundaries for reference—so there is only so much they can do. They can try to walk through a portal, and see if something happens. If nothing does, then that’s probably the end of the story.

The closer they get to the stones, the more the other three fall behind. They listened to Mateo’s stories, and it has them worried. Time travel sounds quite dangerous, and a portal can just as easily trap you on one side as the other. Sure, it might work, but if they don’t like what’s over there, what if they can’t cross back? Mateo nods softheartedly. “I’ll go on my own, assuming there is anywhere to go at all.”

Winona composes herself. “I’ll go with you. My training didn’t prepare me for this specifically, but I know how to survive.”

“Someone should stay behind either way,” Tarboda suggests. “If you never come back, we’re the only two people here who know what happened.”

“Unless you can get through to Kansas City,” Mateo begins. “If we don’t come back, tell whoever needs to hear that I have an idea. The people in the bubble might not be able to see through the barrier, but sunlight gets through somehow, so blot it out. If you can, tell them that Mateo Matic sent you. They all know me there.” He turns to Oreata. “Pick a number between one and eleven.”

Oreata shrugs. “Eleven.”

In his head, Mateo decided that the lone archway on one side of the circle is number one, and the rest go clockwise. “Number eleven it is. Follow me, Winnie.” He approaches the opening, and begins to feel different. The air is a little warmer around it. The differences only feel stronger the more he steps over the threshold. This is definitely something. It may not be what they want, but these are not just stones on stones on stones. There’s more resistance as he continues. It’s not impossible to walk through. It’s not even like something is trying to stop him. It feels like a protective membrane that needs a little bit more effort to breach. Breach he does. The pillars on either side of him start to move farther from each other, and change shape. He steps all the way through, and in a blink, he’s somewhere else, standing under a beautifully designed wooden archway. He only has to look around a little to know that this is Japan, or at least somewhere in Asia. It’s probably Kure, like Tarboda explained.

Winona comes in right behind him. “Whoa, you weren’t kidding.”

No one noticed their arrival, but there are plenty of people bustling about. He reaches out towards a man who looks less in a hurry than most. “Excuse me. English? You speak English?”

The man shakes his head.

Kind of a dumb question, but, “Japan?” He indicates the world around them.

“Japan,” he echoes. “Hai.” He’s confused, but humoring him.

“Kure?”

“Kure.”

“Uhh...China?” he asks, as he’s scanning the environment with his hand over his eyes, like he’s searching for it. “China?”

“China?” The man shakes his head like he’s never heard of it. He probably hasn’t.

“Arigato,” Mateo butchers the only word he knows, thanks to a certain pop song.

They walk back through the Japanese archway, and return to Stonehenge. As much time has passed for Tarboda and Oreata as for them, so no apparent time travel has occurred. They take turns, and try to walk through the other portals. Confident now in the dependability of the process, Tarboda accompanies him to Panama and El-Sheikh Zayed, and Oreata goes with to Easter Island and Muskoka District. Tarboda and Winona try to cross over to Machu Picchu on their own, but nothing happens. Upon trying it himself, Mateo learns that he has to be there, presumably because he’s time traveled so much more than all of them combined. One of the archways is blocked by a wall of glass, and some of them don’t go anywhere, even for Mateo. This is great, but they don’t really need to get to the rest of the Fourth Quadrant. They need to get back to the Third Rail, or ideally, the main sequence. Four of the openings feel like they should work, but do not, plus the one that’s probably KC.

“This changes everything,” Oreata says, awe-inspired, and hopeful for the future. “Thank you so much for helping us make these connections.”

“It may be a start, but I’m afraid I can’t spend the rest of my life ferrying people back and forth. What we need is a permanent solution from someone smarter.”

That was a cue to the universe. A shimmering portal opens in the sky, over the grassy area on the other side of the trees, where they first woke up in this reality. A helicopter descends from it, and lands before them. The door opens, and Leona hops out to meet the other four halfway. “Guys...where are we?”

Microstory 1889: No Way to Fail

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The first thing I did when I became an adult was visit what you might call an adult entertainment club. I struggled with getting dates, and I had never done anything beyond kissing. Even that wasn’t all that great, but I still wanted more. I was mostly just lonely, and if I had to pay to pretend for a few minutes a week that I wasn’t, then that was what I would do. It became a habit. I knew all the girls there, and they all knew me. They knew they could trust me, and for a little bit extra cash, some of them decided that it was okay if we took things to the next level. I was grateful and happy, but then it all ended. The club installed security cameras in even what were meant to be private areas, and suddenly, I wasn’t enjoying myself anymore. The girls had to be really careful and distant, as did I. I stopped going to that place. I was still pretty young, but I managed to get over my urges, and lead a normal life without all that stuff. What I realized was that all those conversations I had that I treated as superficial and fake were preparing me for real relationships that were not transaction-based. I jumped into the dating scene, and started looking for something real and lasting. I had a few good girlfriends, but we always grew apart, at least in such a way. I stayed friends with most of them, which a lot of people say can’t be done, but I beg to differ. Even when we parted ways forever, I knew their names, and I could have reconnected with them in some capacity later on. The girls at the club, not so much. Some of them gave me their real names, but I didn’t exactly check their papers, so even those could have been fake too. One night, my buddy was getting married, so he needed a bachelor party. His best friend ended up choosing my old club to go to, which I didn’t think too much on, because it had been so long, and those places have a lot of turnover, you know. I did recognize one girl there, though.

I bought a dance with her for old time’s sake, but I was with someone at the time, so I wasn’t interested in an actual dance. I just wanted to catch up. She seemed stunned the whole time, which was odd. I wouldn’t have thought she would remember me. She quit before the cameras, so it had been a particularly long time. I tried to ask her questions about her life, but she was being really cagey. That was odd too, because those girls are normally good at lying just to keep the conversation going without giving any personal details away. Eventually, however, I was able to get it out of her that she had an eleven year old daughter, and there was a possibility that I was the father. She would have contacted me sooner, but I stopped going to the club by the time she took a test, and she couldn’t investigate further, or her old bosses would have learned that we broke the rules. Due to her religious beliefs—and because of the high expense back then—she couldn’t get a DNA test for her daughter, but she showed me a picture of her. She looked quite a bit like me, I mean, she had to be mine, right? DNA test or no, she had to be my kid, and I had to do right by her. After some deeper discussions, the mother let me meet our daughter, and we got to know each other better. I took care of the both of them for years. My girlfriend broke up with me because of it, so they ultimately just moved in. Once our daughter became an adult herself, she decided she finally wanted that DNA test. To our surprise, the result was negative. She was not my biological daughter, and she was heartbroken. But I wasn’t. She is my daughter, and nothing can change that. It’s actually a blessing, because the disease that’s killing me today is hereditary.

Microstory 1883: Air Band

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I was just playing around at a college party once. Somebody put on a record with a song that, in my day, we called my jam. I started pretending I was playing a guitar to the music, and since I knew the track so well, people got really into it. Pretty soon I was up on the coffee table, entertaining everybody. I, by no means, invented the air guitar. I did, however, do it my first time without having seen anyone else do it before, nor even having heard of it. Either way, I had no intention of turning it into a career. It was just for fun. I suppose it snowballed into it when I found myself at party after party, being asked to do it. I started having to bring my own records, so I would be better prepared to make it look real good. Not long after that, I was practicing in my apartment; all for the chance to please a few kids who would laugh about it while it was happening, and then go back home to not give it much thought anymore. During one of my weird and fun performances, a guy jumped up on the counter next to me, and started lip-syncing the vocals. It was a particularly voice-heavy song, which was my bad, so I was relieved he went up there to keep the energy up while the guitar wasn’t going. I would normally just keep dancing on my own, but it felt great to have a partner. After we were done, we left the party together to talk. He told me about his life, and I told him about mine. We both loved music, and were enamored by rockstars, but we weren’t musicians. Like, we were both really bad, there was no hope for us. Or rather there was, because as it turned out, there’s money to be made in pretending to play an instrument on stage. No joke.

This story does not involve a down-on-his-luck talent agent who discovers us at one of our not quite impromptu gigs, and decides to take us under his wing, even though his contemporaries laugh at him for it, but he believes in us, or truthfully, he believes in the cash that’ll be coming to him if he plays this right, so he gets so greedy that it nearly destroys us, but we come back stronger than ever, and go down in history as legends, and eventually end up in a sensationalized documentary. No, none of that happened. But we did start a band. We found ourselves a drummer—who was an actual, real drummer, by the way, so we never totally understood why he walked this path with us when he could have joined a legit band. We even got someone to pretend to play bass. It was my job to dance around and look pretty, while he always stayed lowkey. It sounds kind of stupid, but we made it work, and he was a pretty big draw for some of our crowds. And we did have crowds. Our rise to fame was shockingly parallel to what real bands go through. We started with small audiences, which grew bigger and bigger, until we were nationally famous, and then internationally so. Big in Japan, as my air vocalist liked to say. It still amazes me that any of this went anywhere. I guess it happened during the perfect time period. It was late enough for rock to be loud and showy, but before internet video, which might have saturated the market too much for us to make a name for ourselves. I don’t think we had much of a hand in developing the art form. Plenty of others were doing the same thing as us, though mostly as solo acts. We were just kind of this niche act that only made us enough money to keep doing it, but not do anything else with our lives, at least for as long as it lasted. The novelty wore off within a decade, and we each had to find real jobs. We remained good friends, though, and even played a final reunion gig a year ago before our bassist died. Yep. It was a wild life.

Microstory 1859: Life Coach

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When you were a kid, did anyone ask you what you wanted to be when you grew up? I’m sure at least one person did, it’s such a common question. This world is so obsessed with placing value on people based on what they do for work, how hard they work at it, and how far they go because of it. I never put much stock into this, to use a relevant metaphor. If the idea behind it is to make the money you need to live a happy life, then I get it, but work itself has no value. And what should it matter what your actual job is, as long as it’s positive, and you’re generally satisfied with your life—because, or in spite of, it? I was first asked this question when I was pretty young. Most of the kids answered with the usual suspects; astronaut, rockstar, professional athlete. A few others wanted to own their own businesses, but even those were predictable, like an ice cream shop, or a dance studio. I guess that second one’s pretty cool, and if I recall correctly, he actually went on to do that. Me, I had trouble giving my answer. Back then, the phrase life coach wasn’t a thing, so even if I had come up with the term myself, my teacher wouldn’t have been able to understand. It was my dream to help others realize their own dreams, in whatever form that might take. Fortunately, this wasn’t a graded assignment, for if it had been, I surely would have failed, because I just could not explain the idea. Of course now, it’s really easy. You may not garner anyone’s respect if you tell them that’s what you do, but at least they’ll grasp the concept. I’ll tell you, though, that I’m not one of those new age, meditate into the universe, and it will return what you want kind of people. I require my clients to have realistic and clearly defined goals in mind. I can’t promise fame and fortune, but I guarantee reasonable results.

Starting out was really tough, and I relied on my parents’ help to survive while I was getting off the ground. They were more supportive of me than they should have been, but also not blindly accepting. They helped me make it a reality by setting clear expectations for myself. People sometimes say that I was the first life coach, but my mom would have to assume that title, because she coached me on how to coach others. As I said, people back then didn’t know what I was selling, so word of mouth was the only way it got going. My first few clients were women who were looking for a nice man to marry. I didn’t explicitly spurn the idea of just being a matchmaker, but I didn’t want to let that become my whole business. I wanted a diversity of clients. Then I met a guy who changed everything. All he wanted to do was be better at communicating with people. I imagine he would have been diagnosed with a social disorder had he been born later in the timeline. He found it quite difficult to socialize with other people, and to sit for job interviews. He needed to learn basic skills that other people take for granted, and that was perfect, because I had no trouble with those, and I knew I could teach him. He ended up being so good at these things—because he really just needed to slip out of his shell—that he created more and more business for me. I shed my potentially dangerous identity as a matchmaker, and started pulling in all sorts of clients. One of them wanted help finding a trustworthy math tutor for her son. Another needed to raise funds for a guitar, so he could learn to play. I did a lot with education. Back then, you couldn’t just search the internet for a teacher. There’s no end to this story; this is just what I did with my life, and I can go to the big sleep now, fulfilled and grateful to the world.

Microstory 1830: Extreme to the End

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I am an adventurer. I like going to the most extreme places on Earth, and participating in the most extreme sports. I kayak on rapids, and run marathons, and even learned how to dance fight. That last one wasn’t especially dangerous, but it wasn’t sitting at home on your couch either, let me tell you that. I’ve climbed the highest mountains, and dove the deepest oceans. If I’m not risking my life, I’m not happy. I can’t say how many times I’ve been seconds or centimeters away from death, but I like to tell people that that is my comfort zone. One day, I thought it could eventually get me, but if the story is crazy enough, my legacy will live on without me. Until then, living on the edge makes me feel alive, and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. That’s why I’m so disappointed in myself right now. I did all these things, and expected to die from something amazing, but that’s not what’s happening. It’s so boring, and pathetic, and embarrassing. I would say I’ll never get over it, but that’s an understatement, because this is it. Someone is going to find me like this, and that will be my entire story. They won’t talk about the time I ran with the bulls, or when I swung over the streets like a certain red and blue costumed hero, from one building to another. That one landed me in jail, and it was my proudest moment. My fan base grew, like, a thousand percent that day. I can’t bear to lose them. I know—again—I’ll be dead anyway, but that shouldn’t mean they all start making fun of me. They should continue to watch my stuff, and talk about me. They should flip off their mothers once she closes the door behind her after scolding them for watching those dumb videos. They should aspire to be me no matter what.

I slipped in the shower, how pitiful is that? I was just trying to step out when I lost my balance, and knocked my head against the porcelain. I don’t mind dying, but not like this, dammit! I struggle to grab my phone from the vanity. It falls right into the toilet. I didn’t bother buying something rugged or waterproof, because I’m not about that virtual life. I live in the moment, in the real world. It’s dead, and I don’t have any other way of reaching out for help, which means the end is near, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. But maybe I can make it a little better. Maybe I can die as I lived, like a freakin’ badass that people look up to. I turn the water back on, and shove the blood down the drain, but it just keeps leaking from my head. But it has to stop at some point, right? No one can know that it started here, or the ruse won’t work. It’s still coming? Seriously!? This isn’t fair! I’ll wrap a towel around it to keep it from dripping on the floors. Must. Get. To. The. Window. This is gonna work. It’s a foolproof plan. They’re gonna find me on the pavement, and they won’t know why I did it, but they’ll call me a hero. Because I am a hero. I crawl across the tiles, onto the hardwood floors of the hallway, and then onto the carpet of the guest bedroom. Some blood does drip from the towel, so I wipe it up with my hand, and keep going. Yeah, I’m not leavin’ a trail. This is definitely gonna work. It’s getting harder to move, but it’s not much farther now. Damn, the window is locked, and I’m getting woozy. I don’t think I can figure out how to open the latch in this state. It’s too complicated. Why do they make windows so complicated? That’s all right. Better even. Going through the glass will just make me look awesomer. I get to my feet, and slam my head against it. It cracks, but doesn’t shatter. I strike it again. It breaks, but not all the way. One more time...and I’m free. Oh, wait, no. I live on the first floor.

Microstory 1786: Virgin By Nature

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I accepted long ago that I wasn’t ever going to find myself a partner, or even just a warm body for the night. I was doomed from the start, and I’ve been branded an incel because of it. It’s true that I’m what one might call a virgin—though, that is an outdated term—and it’s true that it’s not by choice, but that doesn’t mean that I blame others for my situation. This is all me, and I take ownership of it. I wish there was a term for people like me. Since that word has been attributed to terrorists, rapists, and mysoginists, I’ve tried to just call myself a loser. It’s not a particularly favorable term either, but at least it distances me from those violent and aggressive men who believe the world, and its women, owe them something. I am a socially awkward extrovert. Yes, you read that right. I love putting myself out there, and meeting new people. I’m just incredibly bad at it. I’ve tried to take seminars, and watch tutorials, but none of them has worked. Many of them come off just as angry and entitled as the incel movement. I don’t know how to talk to others, no matter how badly I want to, or how hard I try. I keep saying the wrong things, and making myself look like an idiot. I always look weird, and make people uncomfortable. So what exactly is my problem, and is there anything I can do to fix it? I don’t think so, but even if I were better at communicating with people, I’ve realized that it doesn’t really matter. I’m traditionally unattractive. Yeah, I may be able to alleviate that a little with better hair, and hipper clothes. I may even be able to learn to express myself appropriately. That’s just the first filter, though. There are plenty of people in this world who are willing to look past looks, or are just as awkward as me, and could probably deal with it. But they won’t get past my other filters.

What is a filter? Well, people use them all the time when forming relationships. They don’t walk around with a sign hanging from their necks that announce that they’re available, and then just accept the first person who responds positively. Once they find someone they’re attracted to in some manner, they look for common ground. What do they both like to do, or what aspects of their personalities complement each other? Do they get along, or do they have too many differences? If those incompatibilities add up and overweigh the things they like about each other, the relationship either ends healthily, or becomes toxic. Unfortunately for me, those incompatibilities are pretty much guaranteed to be there from the start. The biggest filter is drug use. I can’t be with someone who does recreational drugs, including alcohol. I can’t stand drunks, and while I support recovering addicts, I still can’t relate to them, and I don’t know how to help them. That right there wipes most people off the board. Some people are sober because of religion, but I’m a staunch atheist, so that wipes off most of who’s left, because I can’t stand those people either. I would have to find a nonreligious teetotaler who likes to dance all night, and even listen to techno off the dance floor. That person just doesn’t exist, especially not when you account for other filters, like gender, relative age, and sexuality. Because the most important filter—the only one that’s necessary for me to remain alone—is other people’s filters. I may find the perfect girl, but if she doesn’t like me, it can’t go anywhere. It won’t even begin. That’s what truly keeps me from finding a soulmate. I don’t want to be with someone who would want to be with someone like me.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Wednesday, July 29, 2144

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Shortly after they woke up in 2144, their cuffs beeped, indicating that they had a transition window to get to. It was weird, getting back to this kind of mission. This was what they were meant to be doing, but they had just spent so much time on tangents that they had almost forgotten about it. The map was directing them back to Tribulation Island, so they requested Nexus transport, and headed off.

At the resort, they only found one person. The rest had been returned to the main sequence for Mateo and Leona’s wedding. “Mom!” Mateo shouted. He knew this version of her was not exactly his mother, but he didn’t care. He had to hug her. It had been so long since he had seen her. She was surprised at his shock, and not quite as shocked herself, for she had no memory of him as her son, and had only not seen him for a few years. That was nothing in time traveler time.

“It’s okay. I’m okay,” she said, graciously hugging him back.

The window opens up over there in a half hour,” Leona said, pointing. “It’s outgoing.”

Mateo looked at Leona, and then the direction of the window, then at his once-mother, and finally back to Leona. “Nerakali is letting her go to our wedding.”

“You’re getting married?” Aura was shocked at this.

“We already did,” Mateo answered. “This is the past for us. We didn’t know you were there, but...you must have been disguised the whole time.”

Bran stepped forward. “Or invisible.”

“We’ve never tried to borrow your...power?” Leona wasn’t sure whether it was a power, or a time affliction.

“We call it a condition,” Aeolia clarified. “It depends on how you look at it, and how you use it.”

“Who are you talking to?” Aura questioned.

Leona reached into her bag, and retrieved one of the extra Cassidy cuffs. She handed it to her never-mother-in-law. If this works, you could be standing right in front of someone, and they will not be able to see you. Or rather, they will, but they’ll forget you so fast, that it will be like you’re not there at all.”

“Oh, interesting.” Aura put the cuff on without need for further discussion.

“They have to teach us how to do it,” Angela pointed out. “We have about twenty minutes.”

“Okay,” Bran said. “Shouldn’t be too hard since...it happens for us automatically, and we have no control over it, and we’ve never learned anything about it.”

They asked for help from the Nexus technician who greeted them here. They needed someone who wasn’t wearing the cuffs, so they would know when their borrowing of Bran and Aeolia’s condition was working. It took them nearly the whole time they had to get it right, but just in time, the technician stopped acknowledging their presence, and walked off to get back to work, having forgotten why he had left his post in the first place. They each tried to get his attention, but nothing. Jeremy commanded him to walk the rest of the way on all fours, which he complied with, though he didn’t know why. Now that they were right invisible, for all intents and purposes, they ran back to where the map was leading them, and jumped through the transition window together.

They were standing exactly where they were before on the island, but now in the main sequence of realities. To their right, people were walking into the head of the trail that would lead them to the Colosseum replica, where the ceremony would be held. To their left, things were weird. People were waiting in line for their turn at a booth, where someone was handing out hooded robes, but that wasn’t the weird part. They were already obscured, as if they were paintings, and someone had carelessly wiped their faces off with the charcoal. When the person at the front of the line received their robe, and started putting it on, their face was briefly visible until the hood was all the way over their head.

“Don’t look at them,” Leona ordered. “There’s a reason we’re not meant to see who they are, and that reason is probably similar to ours.”

“Well, you don’t need that,” Aeolia said, glad to be contributing to the group.

“We should get them anyway,” Jeremy determined. “What if a cuff runs out of battery, or someone can break through, and takes it off of us. It’s not worth the risk. Better to be redundant than sorry.”

“Good idea, let’s get our own,” Leona said.

They waited in line for a fairly long time. Whenever someone else got in it, they weren’t able to even detect that the seven of them were standing there, so they cut in every time. That was fine, and probably for the best, as this was just for extra protection, and if there weren’t enough robes for everyone, they should wait to be last anyway. As it turned out, they were totally right about that. Only one robe was left after everyone had gone through it, and the booth operator was preparing to close up.

“You take it,” Mateo said to Aura. “If Arcadia catches you, she’ll be pissed, and possibly violent. The rest of us are okay, even Leona.”

“No,” the man at the booth said. “This is for Leona.”

“Wait, you can see us?” Bran asked.

“Yes,” the man replied. “Though not for long. I too flipped the retgone coin, but mine landed on tails. I remember no past, and have no future. All I know right now is that I flipped a coin...and that I’m supposed to hand these things out to those who need them.” He lifted up the last robe, and presented it to Leona. “And that this one belongs to you. I don’t know why I know this, I just know it. Please take it before I forget why I’m here.”

Leona took the robe, and started putting it on. The man with no memory blinked, and looked confused. He didn’t seem to be able to see them anymore. He just left the booth, and wandered off.

“That’s why you don’t flip the coin,” Bran warned. “You might think it sounds awful not being able to be seen by others, but it’s so much worse being alive with no ability to form memories.”

“Come on,” Mateo said. “Let’s go to our wedding for the third time.”

They followed the trail to the Colosseum replica. Pretty much everyone else had found their seats. Most of them were dropped off closer than the beach. Jeremy noticed someone in the crowd. It was the man who saved him as a baby, Lowell Benton. “I would much like to talk to him, if I could. We didn’t get a chance before. I guess I should say, we didn’t take our chance.”

“He looks very confused,” Leona said. “I’ll drop my invisibility for him, and lead him away from the crowd. I don’t actually need to see the ceremony again.”

“I need to,” Aura said.

“Yes,” Mateo said. “You, Bran, Aeolia, and Angela can go find seats. The rest of us will talk to Lowell. We’ll meet back up later.”

“I love you, Mateo,” Aura said. “I’m not supposed to, but I do.”

“I love you too, mom.”

They hugged again, then went their separate ways. Leona figured out how to make Lowell remember her, but kept her robe on, so no one would recognize her. Bran and Aeolia’s condition was an all or nothing kind of thing. They couldn’t control who remembered them, and when. Leona had some control over it because it wasn’t really her condition at all. This was probably why she had to wear the robe, instead of Aura, who had never met Lowell before. She took him aside, and found an isolated part underneath the Colosseum. Mateo recognized it from way back in 2079, when he was forced to watch a bunch of strangers kill each other. This was the room where The Cleanser kept them before the slaughter. That was in an alternate reality, though, and never technically happened, so all those people lived to eventually become his friends. There were surely around her somewhere.

Now that they were safely alone, Leona lifted her hood. “Don’t worry, I’m an alternate version. The Leona who’s supposed to get married has no idea I’m here, and won’t become me for a while. You and I have already met.”

“Right,” Lowell said, but he didn’t look like he believed it.

“We have already met, right?” Leona asked. “I mean, you shouldn’t have received an invitation unless we knew each other. No one here is a stranger, even if we haven’t met them according to our respective personal timelines.”

“Yeah, of course, we know each other. Lona.”

“Who the hell are you?” Leona questioned. “You’re not Lowell.”

The person pretending to be Lowell exhaled sharply. “No, I’m not. Sorry. My name is Dalton Hawk. I am salmon, and I am not possessing your friend on purpose.”

“Okay...” Leona started to say. “So you don’t recognize any of us?”

“Any of who?”

Mateo and Jeremy temporarily deactivated their Cassidy cuffs, placing them on a timer for thirty minutes.

“Uh, no. Sorry, don’t know you. Can you turn invisible?”

“Sort of. We don’t know a Dalton either,” Mateo said. He looked over at Jeremy, who was disappointed about not being able to meet the real Lowell.

“I do.” Arcadia was walking down the ramp. She placed one hand on her hip, and the other on her forehead. “Once I ran into you after the ceremony, which is about to start, I decided to go back in time, and find out if there are any more of you. It turns out, there are. There are four versions of Mateo here, and five of Leona!” She side-eyed Jeremy. “I don’t know who you are, but I’ve only seen one of you, so congratulations on that, I guess. Why do you keep coming back to your own goddamn wedding! You’re only supposed to do it once!”

“Wait, did you say there are five of me?” The version of Leona here was only the third one. And why was Mateo not with her for one of the other two times?

“I don’t care which version of you you are! I just need you to get the fuck out here!” She made one step back towards the ramp, and pointed up to it. “Are you all the people in hoods? I haven’t checked them, because I respect their temporal privacy, but maybe I should!”

“I don’t know who the people in hoods are. Yeah, they could be other versions of us, but either way, you should continue to respect that privacy, because you, of all people, understands what happens when you mess with the timeline!” If there were going to be multiple versions of her, they could call this one Bold!Leona. “Your sister brought us here, and she’s more powerful than you! So you’re gonna let us be, and not make us do some extra challenge, or something, and you’re gonna get the fuck out of here! A lot has changed since we last saw each other, and we are not simpatico.” Presumably by summoning Nerakali’s abilities, Leona suddenly teleported a few meters forward, and promptly pushed Arcadia to her ass. “I’ve changed.”

A seething Arcadia got back up to her feet, and pressed her fist against her mouth. She blew into her palm, and disappeared, but not all at once. An afterimage of her middle finger lingered for a few seconds before fading away.

“Wow,” Jeremy said. “I’m glad we’re on the same side.”

“Am I on the same side?” Dalton asked.

“You are now,” Leona said, taking him by the hand. “Turn your invisibility back on, and teleport to our team’s location. I’ll stay visible, and act as a link to the homines memorias.”

They landed in their seats just as the ceremony was starting. They watched it all yet again, and then afterwards, during the reception, they danced.

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