Microstory 2471: Hubdome

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It may be boring, but someone’s gotta do it. Centuries ago, mail was all the rage. You could send someone a letter a thousand kilometers away, and it might only take a month to get there, or never! Doesn’t that sound neat? Over time, of course, speed picked up as infrastructure was developed, and efficient methods were discovered—or rediscovered, as in the case of relay stations. In the late 20th century, they invented electronic mail, which may lead you to believe that regular physical post was all but eradicated, but not so fast my friend. Adoption was slow, and...people are dumb. They still sent letters. Plus, the population was booming, so even if any given individual wasn’t sending as much, the volume was still increasing overall. It did eventually die down, but one thing that didn’t go away was package delivery. Instead of just the written word, real, useful items had to be transported from one place to another. There was no way to send that electronically. Or was there? Of course there is! It’s called additive manufacturing, and it’s been improving too. Not everyone has their own industrial synthesizer, and there are some things that standard feedstocks can’t handle. If there are too many different types of materials in one item, you can’t expect every end user to maintain each type in their private space. And even if you did, the feedstock itself has to be delivered, right? That’s where this dome comes in. It’s a hub for all your shipping and delivering needs. It doesn’t take weeks to get to its destination, though, unless whatever you asked for hasn’t been built yet. I say, if something you ordered takes more than a few hours to reach you, there’s probably something wrong. Shipping was one of the easiest industries to transition to automation back when human employment was something necessary in order to maintain a stable economy. You pick this thing up, put it in this box, seal it up, and move it to its destination. The programming couldn’t be simpler. Only one human works here. He walks up and down, making sure that things are okay. Obviously, the robots do this too, but they like to put  a human touch in everything, and that’s true of pretty much every planet, except maybe Glisnia. Come here for a tour if you have a few hours to kill, but you could also probably just read the more detailed literature on the prospectus, and get just as much out of it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 30, 2399

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Vearden is sitting next to Arcadia, as he does all day every day. He doesn’t even go to bed anymore. He just reclines the chair, and stays there, only getting up to get food, or get rid of it. In this reality, the vital sign monitor keeps track of all the usual suspects, like heart rate and oxygen levels, but it also logs the weight. The doctors didn’t explain why, but it’s apparently what first alerted them to the fact that the baby was gone. Now it seems to be back. Arcadia’s weight has just suddenly gone up by eight pounds, seven ounces, which Vearden noticed, because they programmed the system to alert them to any further changes in weight. Just as he’s calling for help, she starts to tremble, then shake, then scream. She’s awake.

“Arcadia, Arcadia, Arcadia. Shhhh. Shh, my darling, it’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay. You’re back, everything is gonna be fine.” 

She pulls the oxygen tube out of her nose. “I’m back? Where did I go? Where was I? Tell me! Tell me what happened! Did I jump through time!”

He keeps trying to reply, but she’s not really letting him. She’s hyperventilating. A nurse steps into the room. “Put the oxygen back on, please,” he asks of her.

“No!” Arcadia cries. She starts ripping out the other medical things attached to her. That’s when she seems to first notice her belly. “Wha—what the hell happened? She looks up to her love, tears in her eyes. “Vearden? How long have I been away?”

“You haven’t been away, dear. You’ve been in a coma. At least that’s the best diagnosis that the government doctors could provide.”

“How. Long.”

He frowns at her. “Two and a half months.”

“The baby? How’s Kendra?”

“She’s perfect. She’ll be coming soon, Dr. Best thinks.” No need to mention the part where the baby disappeared for a week.

Arcadia nods. “What happened to Mateo? Where is he? He’s dangerous. There is something wrong with his mind.”

“That’s all been dealt with,” Vearden assures her. “You don’t have to worry about anything except taking care of yourself, and our little girl.”

She nods again. “Hey, Vearden.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s happening.”

“What’s happening?”

“The baby. She’s coming.”

“Now?”

“Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaargh, right now!”

Vearden reaches up and pushes the big mauve button, which indicates an emergency, and sounds an alarm to wake everybody up. More nurses flood into the room. “She’s going into labor!”

They all move to their stations, and start getting things ready. One of them checks under Arcadia’s gown. Another handles the IV bag and monitor. A third leaves again to retrieve the doctor. It takes a really long time for him to return. When he does, Dr. Best is not the one following him. It’s a doctor that they’ve never met.

“Where is Dr. Best?” Arcadia demands to know.

“I’m afraid Dr. Best is trapped in an elevator, and won’t be able to help you. It’s my first day at this facility, but I’ve been a gyniatrician for eighteen years, I have full clearance, and I’ve been fully briefed on your situation.”

“Someone needs to teleport to Dr. Best,” Arcadia begs Vearden.

“That’s not possible,” Vearden replies apologetically. “Not these days.” He looks back up at the new doctor. “What’s your name? It’s important.”

“I’m Dr. Suggitt. Dr. Cheyenne Suggitt.”

Vearden and Arcadia share a look. “You see?” he begins. “This was always meant to happen. Our child has a future, and while we know her life won’t be easy, we also know that she survives at least into her thirties, and becomes a beautiful, powerful woman. “We have nothing to worry about.”

Arcadia has been listening, but she’s also clearly in an incredible amount of pain. It takes everything she has to nod her head at him between contractions.

Dr. Suggitt takes her stethoscope out of her ears. “Okay, this is happening, and it’s happening now. I’ve never seen someone in labor for such a short period of time. Sorry, no time for drugs. Dad, if you want to stay here, I’m going to need you to clean yourself up, and put on that set of scrubs.” She jerks her head towards one of the nurses.

The nurse shakes the scrubs to show that he’s ready to help Vearden put them on.

Vearden leaves for a moment to wash his hands and arms. By the time he gets back, little Cheyenne is already crowning. Arcadia no longer seems to be in any pain. She’s resting her head against the pillow, and appears to only be experiencing a little bit of pressure while the head slips out. In under a minute, their baby girl is out and in the world. She’s cooing, and not crying. At first, she looks pretty normal, but then she begins to glow. The nurses exchange nervous looks. They obviously know that there’s something special about the girl, but they weren’t warned about this. Probably because no one else was aware that it was going to happen.

The glow intensifies, and spreads beyond her tiny body. As it grows like a bubble, the light fades, but a strange visual distortion remains, like the heat shimmer from a flame. Once it passes through Vearden’s body, he begins to feel a calmness, and a strong sense of relief. It reminds him of what it feels like to teleport or travel through time. No, it feels like it does once the pinch from doing so is over, and he’s reached his destination. He watches through the window as the bubble accelerates, and starts to roll over the lands, so far into the distance that it disappears over the horizon. 

The nurse in charge of tracking Arcadia’s vitals disappears, but only her. Her clothes remain, suspended in the air for a split second before collapsing to the floor. They hear a crash outside. Two cars have collided with each other in the parking lot. One of them starts to slip over the edge of a dark hole that appeared out of nowhere. People are screaming down the hallway. It starts to snow over a small area down the street.

Vearden looks down at his precious girls. Back in the main sequence, when he was resisting finding a partner to settle down with, people would tell him that a baby changes everything, as if telling him a scary story would somehow convince him to go for it. They had no idea how right they were. “This is her. This is Cheyenne’s doing.”

“No.” It’s his supposed future son-in-law, Curtis Duvall. “People are getting hurt, and that’s sad, but this is not your fault, and it’s certainly not Cheyenne’s. It’s Danica’s. She didn’t stop time powers from existing, she just pent them up, and now they’re coming out all at once. Chickens. Roosting.” He pauses for effect. “Temporary.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 13, 2399

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The first thing that Leona did after Mateo, Ramses, and Alyssa departed for their mission was to look into the requirements for becoming a certified facilitatrix. She found a training program with good reviews, gathered all of the necessary literature, and spoke with a few professionals about starting the process. Leona is a very intelligent, experienced individual, who will have no problem completing the coursework, but in the midst of all this, she realized that even the limited training may be a waste of time. Can a Berarian mother name her child after a facilitatrix? This kind of information is not freely available online, so she has finally set up an appointment with a faith consultant.

Nearly every religion in this reality has them. They are usually members of the religion themselves, but not always. They do not serve as leaders within their respectives faiths, because it is only their responsibility to guide prospective converts. It’s part of the law that anyone wishing to convert should have all the facts they need to make an informed decision. A special subset of these faith experts specialize in children who have just reached the age of choice, and it is one of these that was the only one available at such short notice. They’ve met at a park, next to a lone bench. “Hello, I’m Rostam Gibson. You are Leona Delaney.”

“Umm...yes, I am.” She didn’t give a name when she called to set an appointment.

“Don’t worry, I heard about the bounty, but I have no interest in it. It’s not high lawful. And to let you know, everything we talk about here is completely confidential.”

“I appreciate that. What is high lawful?”

“High law refers to the moral and ethical standards to which we must all adhere, whether any given state, organization, or individual ascribes to them. Berarians believe that there is a right, and a wrong. We don’t think we know what that moral code is, or that anyone knows, but we’re certain that a just lifestyle exists, and is possible to attain in the future. That is what we are working towards.”

“I see.”

“You’re not a hopeful convert,” he deduces, “yet you came here for answers. Berar is one of the least complex faiths. We don’t ask weird things of our believers, like praying to a ghost once a week. A lot of what I do is helping people write school papers about us, but something tells me that you’re here for a different reason.”

“When you say this is confidential, does that extend to anything I tell you about someone else?”

“It doesn’t matter what, or who, you talk about, I can’t repeat it. It wouldn’t be high lawful.”

She smiles. “I have a friend. She’s pregnant.”

“I see where this is going. She doesn’t like her doctor’s name.”

“You’ve seen this before.”

He nods. “Yes. Some are...more devout than others. I told you that we don’t ask weird things of our believers, but the naming thing is kind of the one exception. I’m the only Rostam Gibson in the world, and it’s only because I’m Berarian, and my deliverer was from Iran. People ask me whether there is some kind of database, where they can search for a doctor with the name that they’re looking for. However, this goes against the spirit of the practice. You’re not supposed to choose the name. Fate is.”

“What does that have to do with high law?” Leona questions.

“It doesn’t, really. Our founder’s mother was on a sinking ship when she went into labor. She ended up on a lifeboat that was literally broken in half, and barely able to stay on the surface, with one man, and two coats. The water was freezing, and so was the air. He gave his own coat up to protect the baby that he had just delivered into this world. He died, and she named her son after him. This honor was just something that was important to our founder, so when he came up with his new religion, he chose to deliberately put it into the rules. It’s not entirely random and pointless, though. No, there is nothing immoral about not naming your child after its deliverer. What it does is serve as a small reminder that...some laws are immutable; the high laws. And some of them we just decide we’re going to follow, and that’s what makes a healthy society. Because the fact is, no law—high, or otherwise—matters if we don’t agree.”

“That’s...fascinating.”

“That’s why so many students write papers on us,” he begins. “They’re looking for answers, and not to speak ill of other faiths, but...our answers are better, because they make sense.”

“I bet they do. Even the baby naming one has a logic to it.”

He smiles mildly, and nods.

Leona takes a little bit of time to go back over the lie she made up to explain why Arcadia would feel compelled to name her baby Delaney. “We’re triplets; Arcadia, Nerakali, and me. We were separated at birth, and didn’t find each other until less than a year ago. I was raised by our birth parents, but Nerakali was raised by a now estranged uncle, and Arcadia by a family friend. That’s why she has a different last name. Our third sister died recently, and Arcadia wanted to honor her by naming her child Nerakali. Unfortunately, it’s a unique name, so when Arcadia learned that she had to give this honor to her baby’s deliverer—”

“Wait, when she found out?” Rostman echoes, confused. “Why would she not already know that?”

“I can’t explain why Berar is her religion of record, though not technically her religion.”

He’s suspicious, but it looks like he’s going to respect the confidentiality claim.

“When she found out this part, we made a plan to technically name the baby after my unmarried name, which is the same as Nerakali’s, but really be named after Nerakali herself. I was going to learn to become a facilitatrix, but...”

Now he’s smiling sadly.

“But that’s not going to work, is it? It doesn’t matter if I’m the one who facilitates the birth, it will always be a bad faith move.”

“Yes,” he says compassionately.

This sucks. Arcadia is going to be heartbroken, but she’ll be able to get through it. Trina McIver told them, Leona Delaney is alive. Or she was, anyway. Naming their child after her would have been a very nice gesture, but it’s not meant to be, and that’s okay. “Welp, just to be clear, if a masculine name has a feminine form, it’s okay to choose that one instead, right?”

“That’s all right, it doesn’t have to be exact,” he confirms. “If someone were to ask, she would just have to be able to explain that it’s a close linguistic variant.”

“I appreciate your guidance,” Leona says, standing up, “and your discretion.”

“Call me anytime.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 5, 2399

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Neither Arcadia nor Vearden has any family in this reality. The closest thing to it is Team Matic, and they’ve been so great and supportive this whole time. It only seems right that they announce the latest news on the baby to them, and that they make a whole thing about it. So they’ve invited everyone to their home, including Kivi, to a nice brunch. They’re having it catered, because they don’t know how to cook themselves. Normally, to the best of their knowledge, one person or couple will show up a little early, and then others will trickle in. One will inevitably arrive forty minutes late, and blame it on something that no one believes, and when he does join them, they’ll remember why they just about didn’t invite him in the first place. For this group, they all come at the same time, because they all live together in the retrofitted disease research lab. Kivi called, and she can’t make it, so everyone is here.

“Thank you for coming,” Vearden says, holding a glass of orange juice. “If you’ll give our caterers another few minutes, they’ll leave, and we’ll be able to talk freely.”

Most of the caterers keep their poker faces on, but a couple of them are confused and curious about what they’re not allowed to hear. They knew it would be like this from the start, though. They won’t be serving the food. They’ve been asked to leave it, and come back for their stuff later. They remove the last of the foil, and start to leave. While they’re still within earshot, Arcadia decides to make a joke. “Great, now the human sacrifice can begin!” The caterers get out quick.

“Joking!” Vearden tries to shout at them, but they may not have heard. “Thanks for that, now we’re going to be on a list.”

“That’s okay,” Arcadia declares, “we work for the government!”

“It’s more like they work for us, but we’ll talk about that later. Go on, and dig in,” Vearden encourages.

Near the end of the meal, they tell the crowd the good news, and the strange news. They reveal that they had to switch to the government hospital, that the baby is a girl, and that she’s going to be born early, but not premature. She’s developing faster than normal, and while that is certainly cause for concern, they’re both time travelers—plus Arcadia was originally made out of clay, and is only borrowing this body—so it’s not the weirdest thing they’ve seen. “We’re going to keep an eye on little Delaney,” she continues. “All we care about is that she’s born healthy.”

“Delaney?” Leona questions.

“Named after her womb and egg mother,” Arcadia says with a nod.

Leona smiles. “That’s very sweet of you.”

“You can’t name her that,” Alyssa says bluntly as she takes another bite.

“What? Why not?” Vearden questions.

Alyssa talks with her mouth full. “You’re Berarians, right?”

“Well, not really. We were just expected to put something on the form, and that seemed like the least annoying one to choose.”

Still casually, Alyssa takes another bite of her potatoes. “Doesn’t matter. It’s your religion of record, and if you try to choose your child’s name, they’re gonna get mad. It’s not illegal, per se, but I don’t think you want that heat on ya. Can you pass the butter, please?”

“Alyssa, what are you talking about?” Mateo asks.

“Oh, you don’t know? It’s customary for a Berarian to name their child after the doctor who delivered it,” Alyssa explains.

“Really?”

“Well, I mean, I guess it doesn’t have to be a doctor. You would also name it after your neighbor if you were stuck in an elevator with him when you went into labor, and couldn’t get out.”

“I’m not naming my baby Cenric,” Arcadia says. “It’s perfectly fine for a forty-year-old government doctor, but not for a little girl.”

“Well, what’s his last name?” Alyssa asks. “That’s okay too.”

“Best,” Vearden replies. “Cenric Best.”

They grimace. Best Haywood.

“You could try finding out his middle name,” Alyssa suggests

“Says here that the feminine form of Cenric is Kendra,” Ramses interjects, looking at his handheld device.

Arcadia waffles. “I don’t hate that. Part of it is that I don’t like the idea of leaving my fate up to someone else. I was a god in another life, I’m not used to this. I suppose I should have read the fine print before I chose Berar.”

“Every faith has both advantages and downsides,” Alyssa muses, “like character traits for a roleplaying game. The way I understand it, Berarians respect their caretakers, and since the person who delivers you isn’t usually involved in your upbringing, that’s the best way they could think of to honor that person’s contribution.”

Arcadia looks over at Leona. “Maybe you could deliver her? I mean, Dr. Best could still be there if something goes wrong, but we’ll call you our midwife.” She turns back to Alyssa. “That would work, right? Her unmarried name is Delaney”

“I don’t see why not, but you would want to speak to a real Berarian about it.”

“I can think of why not,” Leona counters. “I’m not a midwife, nor a doctor, nor anything of the sort. Besides, I’m not really myself right now.” She indicates the Leona Reaver body that she’s wearing. “My life is in too much danger for me to be making plans for April. I’m sorry.”

Arcadia nods, and starts clearing the table. Others try to stand up to help, but Vearden shakes his head at them. She’s on autopilot right now, and any sudden move will throw her off. At the moment, she’s the only person in the room, and everyone else is just a statue that she has to work around. She takes Alyssa’s plate too, even though she’s obviously not yet done.

Leona frowns as she watches poor Arcadia try to work through this issue in her head. She doesn’t want her to backslide into the person she was before. “I don’t have time to become a nurse or midwife...but what about a doula? Do you have those here?”

“I don’t recognize the word,” Alyssa says, “but if you’re talking about a minimally educated birthing specialist, perhaps you’re thinking of a facilitatrix.”

“There, that sounds perfect,” Leona determines. “Would she be able to name her child Delaney if I do that?”

“I think so, yeah,” Alyssa responds.

“Really?” Arcadia asks, hope in her eyes. “You would do that for me?”

“Yeah, what the hell. You’re me, ain’t ya?”

Arcadia smiles, thankful for the offer, and grateful for their improved relationship. She’s closer with these people than she ever was with her birth family.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 4, 2399

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They’re at it again. Arcadia and Vearden are at the doctor’s office. Every four weeks, like clockwork, they schedule an appointment, with a few extra appointments sprinkled in between. Today, they’re here for a special reason, as they have decided to preemptively find out the sex of the baby. They have been thinking of her as a girl pretty much the whole time, but they obviously don’t know that for sure. A doctor that they don’t recognize comes in looking at the chart as Arcadia is dangling her legs off the edge of the table. “All right, Mrs. Haywood.”

“Uh, Preston,” Arcadia corrects. “Haywood is his name.”

“I see. And why are you not yet married?”

Arcadia winces. “I thought we had an understanding at this establishment. Where is Dr. Garver?”

He sighs. “Dr. Garver had to be let go, I’m afraid. She was being too lenient with her patients. You know how women are,” he says to Vearden as if Arcadia weren’t even there. “You have to be firm, or people will lead unhealthy lives.”

“Being unmarried is unhealthy?” Arcadia questions.

“No, it’s a perfectly legitimate life choice...if your religion says that you can—”

“It does,” Arcadia interrupts.

“Right.” He’s really having trouble communicating with his patient, instead wanting to focus on the man, since Vearden is automatically treated as a well-adjusted, non-hormonal, reasonable human being who is allowed to make decisions. “Now, we’re here for an echouterogram, correct?” Yeah, he’s looking at Vearden again.

Arcadia snaps in his face. “Hey, yeah, it’s me. I’m the patient. Look at me, please.”

“I’m sorry, I’m just used to dealing with male patients.”

“Aren’t you an OB/GYN?”

“A what?”

Different words for things here. “A gyniatrician.”

“I am, yes.” No elaboration.

Arcadia has half a mind to leave, but she doesn’t want to make a scene. “Yes, I would like an echouterogram. We would like to know the sex at birth.”

“What do you mean, at birth?”

Yeah, she keeps forgetting about stuff like that. She doesn’t really want to raise her child in a world that has flying cars, but no openly transgender people. Assuming it’s even in the cards, though, when will it be safe to travel to any other reality? This place is awful, and this guy is awful. That’s it. They can’t escape to the main sequence, but they don’t have to stay here. Vearden doesn’t even need her to say it. As the hack doctor is turned around to wash his hands—which they’re surprised he even bothers to do since Arcadia isn’t a real person, and can’t get sick—Vearden stands up to grab their coats.

“What were we thinking, normal convex or endovaginal? Now, most ladies prefer me to just stay on the outside, but I like to really get in there, and take a good look around. Wadya say?”

“I say, go screw yourself,” Arcadia spits. She’s wearing her coat over her gown, which she doesn’t intend to return to the facility.

“That’s just the hormones talking.”

“Can I?” Vearden requests of his girlfriend?

“Doesn’t make you any less of a feminist in my eyes.” Arcadia decides.

Vearden holds the door open for her, and then punches the doctor in the stomach as he’s stepping out himself. “That’s..not gonna leave a mark,” he snipes.

They both climb into the car, but don’t leave yet. “We’re going to the government,” she declares.

“I thought you didn’t want to involve them in this.”

“I don’t,” Arcadia confirms. “But to be fair, I said that months ago, back before Team Matic and Kivi had strengthened their relationship with them. I think maybe they can be trusted...or trusted enough anyhow.”

They drive straight to the government hospital to check in. They don’t even have to say anything; Arcadia looks exactly like Agent Matic, and at least some people are already aware of Arcadia’s current medical condition. A hopefully real doctor comes into the room after she only has enough time to undress.

“Miss Preston, how are we feeling today?” That is the right way to start a visit.

“I’m feeling all right. I feel bigger than I feel like I should,” Arcadia replies.

“Well, everyone develops differently. It’s not the size that matters, it’s the strength of the labor pain medication, I always say. We’ll have a look, though. Firstly, my name is Dr. Cenric Best, and I can be with you every step of the way until delivery. It is government policy for gyniatricians to take vacation either one day at a time, or after forty-two weeks. I should ask, are you comfortable with a male physician?”

“Yes, as long as you don’t criticize me for being married.”

He winces. “I’m not married.”

“We had a bad experience with our last so-called doctor,” Vearden explains.

“Well, we don’t like those here; bad experiences. I’m going to do everything I can to make this a safe environment, and a painless procedure. When you look back on these days, I hope you remember them fondly. It will make it easier on your relationship with your child.”

“That makes sense,” Arcadia says.

After a few more questions so that Dr. Best could get to know Arcadia and Vearden better, he begins the ultrasound procedure. He uses the external wand, as opposed to the endocavity one, since it should be good enough for their needs. As it turns out, they were right, they’re going to have a little girl. And when she’s old enough, she’ll decide if she wants to keep being a girl, or be something else, and they’re not going to let anyone in this reality tell her otherwise. Once it’s over, Dr. Best starts looking over the results, as well as Arcadia’s past visits, which the other facility sent over.

Arcadia is concerned “Is something wrong, Doctor?”

“Hmm? Oh, no. It’s just...what’s the earliest you could have gotten pregnant?”

“Very early September; it’s impossible for it to have been any earlier.”

“I was briefed...briefly regarding your origins. Forgive me, but how long is a member of your species usually pregnant for?”

“Forty weeks. It should be the same as you. We’re all human.”

“Of course, yes. It’s just...”

“It’s just what?”

“Well...” Dr. Best wavers. “She’s gestating rather quickly, and...it’s accelerating. If she keeps this up, and I did the math right, you may give birth in April—not June.”

Microstory 1824: Red Meat Cute

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

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

Microstory 1813: Niche Market

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I don’t know why my parents chose to live in a neighborhood with so many old people, but it inspired a business opportunity that taught me the skills that I would need later in life. We were rich, so that wasn’t a problem, but I wanted to make my own money without their help, and I didn’t want to do that just by flipping burgers at a fast food restaurant. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but growing up with my lifestyle, it would have looked like I was just trying to rebel. I also needed to do something interesting, so I could put it on my college application. When I said we were rich, I didn’t mean that we were one of the families that ruled the world. My dad couldn’t just write a check to an Ivy League school, and get me into any program. I still had to prove myself, and my academic record was average to slightly above average. One day, I was watering the flowers in my mother’s front garden when I noticed the old lady next door receiving a pizza delivery for the third time this week. She didn’t seem like the type to like that kind of food; not that much anyway. I hadn’t seen any teenagers come and go, so it just looked really weird. I thought about asking her about it, but that could be embarrassing for her, so I just tried to put it out of my mind. A few days later, the delivery boy was back, so I decided to confront him about it. He told me that he didn’t really know, but she made it sound like she couldn’t get her own food because of her mobility issues. When she was having trouble with her hips, she just ordered in, and since she didn’t like Chinese food, pizza was the only choice. The only choice? That was a travesty. Someone ought to do something about that, I figured. I was technically someone.

I had just turned sixteen, and had my own car. I could have easily been a delivery boy, but working for one store would not have solved the problem that this woman was facing. So instead of going to the restaurants, I went straight to the people in the community. With help, I compiled a list of the oldest and least mobile people in my neighborhood. Then I just knocked on their doors, and pitched them my business plan. It was simple. When they needed food—and they didn’t want pizza or Chinese—they could call me with their order. I would drive to the restaurant myself, and bring it back to them. I charged them fifty cents for the service, which was a lot more than the pizza joints were charging for it in 1964, but I was providing them an unprecedented convenience. I could travel to any place in a twenty-mile radius that had a pick-up option. I even later expanded my partner list by convincing sitdown restaurants to make an exception for me. I mostly worked by myself, but my older sister helped me out when her school was on break. If any of this sounds familiar, that’s because this sort of thing happens all the time now. There are a handful of companies that provide the same thing with an application on your phone. It’s so common now, it’s hard to believe that it ever wasn’t. I laugh when people ask me whether I think all those companies stole my idea. No, I wouldn’t say so. I was in such a niche market, and before all that technology. You can’t really say they were much alike. I never would have thought to grow that large. It was just about making a little cash, and giving me an edge for college applications. I shuttered my small business when that actually came to fruition, but that experience gave me insight that my business school classmates didn’t have. I did well, and learned everything I needed to know to start my nationwide flower delivery service.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 31, 1838

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Leona checked her watch when they woke up in a completely different room the morning after the doctor mission. It was now May 31, 1838; the largest jump yet. Their cuffs weren’t giving them directions. In fact, they weren’t on at all. Until now, they weren’t even aware they could be turned off. Either they were completely dead, or Anatol figured out how to use them, and decided they weren’t necessary this time. “I actually don’t know how they’re powered,” Leona admitted. “I’ve never been allowed to open them up and examine them. Yes, they could be dead.”

“Well, no one here has powers, except for Olimpia sort of,” Mateo pointed out. “We don’t need them anymore regardless. We just have to do what The Warrior asks of us.”

“What is it he’ll be asking of us?” Jeremy asked. He was a little down, even though they still had no proof that the cuffs weren’t coming back.

Just then, they heard a scream in the other room. It didn’t sound like someone was being attacked, or that they had just bumped into the coffee table. It was more like they were in mourning, or something. The six of them rushed through the door to find a woman on a bed, crying out in pain. She was very pregnant, and almost certainly in labor.”

“Does anybody know how to deliver a baby?” Mateo asked.

The woman shouted at them in a foreign language. Or rather, the native language.

“Does anybody speak German?” Olimpia asked.

Angela stepped forward. “Wir sind hier um zu helfen.”

“Ich bin allein,” the mother replied.

“Nicht länger,” Angela said. She turned to the group. “Jeremy, find clean towels. Olimpia, give me that bottle of hand sanitizer from your bag. We need all of it. Siria, find me some liquor, in case all of it isn’t enough. Leona, fresh water. Mateo, how strong is your arm?”

“You need me to lift something?” Mateo questioned.

Angela took his arm, and placed it in the mother’s grip. “Halte ihn fest.”

Mateo winced as the mother beared down. “I’m okay, I’m okay. Okay.” He placed his other hand upon hers, both to comfort her more, but also hoping she didn’t feel the need to break his radius.

“Ich muss jetzt deinen Bauch berühren.”

The mother just nodded, so Angela reached under her outfit, and started feeling around. Then she started to press harder. “It’s breeched.”

“What are you going to do about that?” Mateo asked, still trying to figure out how to survive this death grip.

“Turn it.” She looked up at Jeremy when he returned with the towels. “Hold all eight fingers right here,” she ordered. “No. Harder. Harder! You’re not going to puncture her stomach with your fingernails. Hold until I say otherwise.” Angela got to work, pressing on the mother’s belly as Jeremy held in place. It looked like she was giving a deep tissue massage, and she was feeling it more than she was looking at it. Before too long, she shook her head. “It’s not working.”

“What else can we do?” Jeremy asked.

“Let go. Give me your knife.”

“Are you serious?” he questioned

“Give me your goddamn knife right now!” She faced the mother. “Es ist okay. Du bist okay. Okay?”

“Okay,” the mother confirmed.

Siria returned. “I found some alcohol.”

“Give it to her,” Angela ordered. “Trink es. Trinken Sie alles.”

The mother was too scared.

“Trinken.”

Still scared, the mother took the bottle, and downed it pretty much in one gulp.

Once the bottle was empty, Angela took the fairly large pocket knife from Jeremy. She drenched it in the hand sanitizer, then rubbed some on mother’s belly. “Ich muss das tun.”

The mother nodded, understanding what had to be done.

Angela cut into the belly, less carefully than Mateo would have thought. She didn’t need it to look pretty, or leave a clean scar, or maybe she just didn’t have enough training. She had Jeremy pull the flesh away as she continued to cut. There were a lot of layers to get through before she reached all the way into the uterus. Mateo could see a head peeking through. By this point, Leona was back. She sat by the mother’s head, and rubbed her hair affectionately. Olimpia and Siria stood by, ready to receive. Angela reached in and pulled the baby out, again less gracefully than Mateo would assume. She just got it out of its mother, and placed it into the towel in Siria’s arms.

While Siria and Olimpia were washing the newborn off, and making sure it was crying and breathing, Angela reached in and retrieved the placenta. Leona had apparently considered there might be a c-section, so she was ready with a needle and thread. Angela sewed the mother up like a seasoned surgeon. The baby’s cries filled the room. It had all apparently gone well. They spent the next few hours caring for the two of them, retrieving whatever she needed; water, food, more towels. Mother was able to hold baby most of the time, and even managed to nurse him a little.

“Now, no one had babies in the afterlife simulation, right?” Mateo asked.

“Never. It wasn’t part of the programming. Any baby born inside the sim would be artificial intelligence, and difficult for many to accept as real. There were plenty of medical training programs, though. I wouldn’t be able to perform open heart surgery, but I can do some basic things like this.”

“No one would call that basic,” Leona contended. “It’s a good thing you were here. I learn something new about you every day.”

“I’m sure the Warrior knows my history and education.”

“I’m not certain he does,” Leona said. “We haven’t come across many people who know about the afterlife sim. I think it’s a pretty good secret, and anyway, it would be difficult for him to gather information about things that actually happened to people in there. Or, I suppose, will happen.”

On the other side of the room, Siria was trying to communicate with the mother. “The name. What will you name him?” She pointed to her own chest. “Siria. Siria Webb.” She pointed to Olimpia with her whole palm. “Olimpia Sangster.” Now she pointed to the baby.

“Oh,” it sounded like the mother said. “Anatol.”

The room stopped what they were doing, and turned towards her. “What was that?”

“Anatol,” she repeated. “Es ist sein Großvater.”

“He’s named after his grandfather,” Angela translated.

“Anatol Klugman?” Jeremy asked.

“Ja.”

The grown up Anatol came into the room and regarded his mother, and his Past!Self. Now it all made sense. The Warrior brought them here to assist with his own birth. But obviously it went fine in his own reality, or he wouldn’t exist to ask them for help at all. This didn’t feel like a predestined time loop. So that was what made it actually not make sense at all. It made no sense when considering time travel rules. This version of Anatol existed. And no matter what they did, this version of him would continue to exist. Any other version in any other timeline would have to be assimilated either way, so who cares? Was it just his mother? Did he just want his mom to have the baby, regardless of what that meant about his own identity? “It’s time to go, you six,” he said. “Now,” he added when they didn’t move. “She’ll be fine.”

They stood, and started to leave. “Warten,” the mother said. “Herzlichen Dank!”

“Gern geschehen,” Angela said for the group.

“Let’s go,” Adult!Anatol said. Baby!Anatol, on the other hand, said nothing.

Once they were in the other room, and out of sight, he transported them all to the middle of the woods. “What?” he asked defensively.

“We didn’t say anything,” Leona promised.

“I’m not just being self-serving!”

“You don’t have to explain to us,” Mateo said honestly.

“You’re right, I don’t, so shut the hell up! And if you ever tell anyone about this, you’re literally dead. And I mean, like, real dead. All I would have to do is take you to dinosaur times, before Pryce’s computer program exists.”

“Anatol, it’s fine,” Mateo tried to assure him. “I don’t know if you’re just too used to dealing with bad people, but we’re decent. We’re not going to put your Baby!Self in danger. Do you really think that’s the kind of thing any of us would do?”

Anatol sighed. “I suppose not. But you’re also a little unpredictable, especially when dealing with someone who you would consider an antagonist.”

“No one here is gonna hurt a baby,” Mateo continued. “The Superintendent once sent me out to kill a bunch of Adolf Hitlers from other universes. They were all at different ages, and one time, he was an infant in 1890. I refused, and I’ve always kind of thought it was a test. Anyway, I still think there’s good in you, and I’m not giving up on finding it.”

“You’re right, there is good in me, and I use it every day, because what I do is good, and it is just, and I don’t regret a choice.”

“Well...that’s what I’m trying to change. Good people have regrets. If you don’t, you’re not doing it right. You either can’t recognize your mistakes, or you’re not taking any risks. I know you take plenty of risks, so...”

“I’m done with this conversation,” Anatol began, “and I’m ready to move you on to another mission. After five years of fighting in all of the Prussian wars, I tried  to return home, but ended up on a detour. I need you to take care of my business for me, so my Past!Self can go home.”

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Microstory 1586: Leave For Dead

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Prompt

I was supposed to be watering my neighbor’s plants while she was out of town, but I completely forgot all week. When I finally get inside, all of her plants are dead...and so is my neighbor.

Botner

I’m not the only person who failed to water her plants. Over the past few months she’s had an extreme decline in her health. As her health deteriorated, she just kind of faded away. She became a shadow of her former self. I had a conversation with her one night that was the last I spoke with her. She said that she didn’t know how much longer she’d last. I think I’ll go visit her again tomorrow to say my goodbyes. I’d be okay with the fact that I don’t remember the woman’s face, but I do remember her voice. She used to sound kind of annoying...but now she sounds like an angel. I’ll call you tomorrow. Hopefully I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Bailey. Goodbye. RIP Ms. Bailey. I haven’t been writing much lately because I’ve been so busy. Every day I leave work and have to rush home and eat dinner, then rush right back to work until I go to bed. I feel like I’m doing nothing with my life. I wish I could be a professional shopper or a sex addict. I’ve been considering joining a couple of...

Conclusion

...support groups, but I’m too afraid to tell my story. I mean, am I responsible for her death? How long did it take? Was she lying there in pain for an hour? An entire day? Had I gone over there to water her plants like I promised I would, might she still be alive? No one knows what I did; how I neglected her, and I just want to put the whole thing behind me, but the guilt is eating me up. On my way to the funeral, I debate whether I should tell her family what I did, but I’m leaning towards keeping my mouth shut. It won’t help them, and will only serve to assuage my own remorse, and even that probably won’t help anyway. It does no one any good. I check my watch, and the obituary three times, but realize that I’m not early, or in the wrong place. It’s just that I and one other guy are the only ones who have showed up. I ask him how he knew Ms. Bailey, and he tells me that he sold her a lot of indoor plants over the years. “That woman was a serial killer,” he says with a laugh. “She just kept needing to replace them over and over again.” He also says he always enjoyed delivering them to her, even though it wasn’t a service that they provided, because they had such great conversation. He explains that she was agoraphobic, and never left the house, so it is unlikely she ever intended to leave town. It dawns on me that the whole thing was a ruse, and Ms. Bailey just wanted a second person to talk to. I failed her more than I knew.