The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 28, 2398

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Kivi has been looking out at the scenery as the car drives down the highway, going the conventional speed, instead of as fast as possible, like Heath likes to drive. Her eyes are wandering now, occasionally looking over at Marie for a split second. Marie notices. “If you have something to say, go ahead,” she says, not aggressively.

“This trip has gotten pretty long,” Kivi points out.

“I can turn up the music, or change it.”

“I’m not bored.”

“There’s a rest stop soon, we can take a break.”

“We’re just...going a lot farther...than you implied when you asked me to accompany you.”

“Oh. We’re going to Springfield.”

Kivi winces. “Now, I don’t know everything that my alternate selves would know, but I know Springfield, and it’s the one that just disappeared one day, and ended up on another planet.”

“It wasn’t one day,” Marie corrects. “It happened over the course of decades, getting smaller and smaller all the time.”

“Oh.”

“And that’s Springfield, Kansas. We’re going to Springfield, Missouri.”

“Why?”

Marie takes a beat. “It’s where I grew up.”

“Oh,” Kivi repeats. “I thought you were a Kansas City girl.”

“I went to a fake finishing school in Kansas City, but my family owned a farm outside of Springfield. That’s where the slaves worked.”

Kivi doesn’t really wanna talk about the fact that Angela-slash-Marie grew up owning human beings. Fortunately, she has a different line of questioning to go down. “What is a fake finishing school?”

“Do you know what a finishing school is?”

“No, I guess I don’t know what that is either.”

“It’s where young ladies would go to learn how to be proper women. Ya know, cleaning, finding a good husband, doing whatever the hell he tells you.”

“What made yours fake?”

“It was a real school,” Marie explains. “They taught us math, science, history; everything the boys were learning. In fact, once historians realized what had really been going on there, they also discovered that it was actually better than most traditional educational institutions in the area at the time.”

“Fascinating.”

“My father sent me there on purpose. He was one of the few men who knew it to be fake, and he wanted me to have an education. Of course, there were ways for me to do that. It’s not like there were no women in regular schools. He needed to maintain the family reputation, though, so this was perfect, since it had to be kept secret.”

Kivi nods, and stays silent for the next minute or so. “Are we going to the farm to see if you can teleport in the area?”

“Oh, God no. It’s not special at all. In fact, maps were different back then, and it was in a different reality, but I do believe that the location of our farm is now the nearest airport.”

“I see. This is just for nostalgia.”

“I don’t know what this is for,” Marie answers honestly. “I just felt compelled to get in the car, and go this direction.”

“And I’m here, because...”

“Because if I go alone, the others are gonna freak out, and try to come save me.”

“You want to be alone, so I’m the next best thing?”

Marie throws the car into autolaning mode. It’s not full autonomy, but it can stay between two lane markings, and not run into the car ahead. If it does notice itself approaching another car too quickly, it will come off the gas, and beep at the driver. Now she can look directly at Kivi without drifting into the ditch. “Not at all. I brought you, because I trust you. You know what it’s like to suddenly come into existence, and learn that you’re a copy of someone else.”

“No one knows who the original Kivi is.”

“Your father wasn’t born to the Third Rail. Do you think you’re the original?”

“No, of course not.” That was a little mean, but Kivi’s fine. “I can see the connection between us.”

“Like I said, I don’t know why I decided to go this way. I just woke up today, and felt like it was the most logical next step. I asked you to come, because I didn’t want to be alone. I just didn’t want to have to explain myself to the others. I think you’re better at understanding that I can’t quite explain it.”

“That’s probably true. My whole life is a question mark.”

“I’m glad you’re here. I don’t know what we’ll to find, or how close we’ll be able to get without plane tickets, but either way, it’s an experience that will always be just between the too of us.”

“I like that.”

Marie returns to the steering wheel. She could let the car drive itself until it’s time to exit, but right now she feels the need to exercise control over everything possible.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 9, 2398

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Mateo is just driving a regular car, rather than the flying carboat—a form factor which definitely needs a new name, or at least that particular vehicle needs its own designation. This car he’s using today is not even Heath’s at all. Ramses and Leona pooled the money they made from their first paychecks at their three jobs, and put a down payment on a second one for the team. It’s an SUV that can fit all six of them, and then some. It just makes practical sense to have two standard forms of transport, even if two members will soon embark on a long-term mission with that third vehicle. Mateo didn’t tell anyone that he was leaving. Well, he leaves every day, usually to go to therapy, or the library, so the real problem is that he didn’t tell them where he was going this time. About halfway into the trip, Ramses evidently experiences a psychic vision, and decides to call him up on the video screen, which is overlaid on the windshield.

“You don’t need to know that,” Mateo replies when asked for his whereabouts.

“Something is wrong, I can feel it.”

“I thought we weren’t empaths anymore,” Mateo says.

“We shouldn’t be, but maybe our powers are slowly coming back. Or you’re drawing nearer to a location of great power, and that’s helping? Where are you?”

“You tell me.”

“If I had to guess? Lebanon.”

“Close. Manhattan.”

“What’s in Manhattan?”

“It’s...on the way to Lebanon.”

“So I’m right. You’re hoping to get into the Constant.”

“I am, yes. It will be harder since it’s not the center of the country in this reality, so they won’t advertise the location, but the Constant was built billions of years ago. There is no reason to believe there’s not a version of it here, and if there is, it’s an hour from my current location.”

“We don’t know where the point of divergence was,” Ramses reasons. “Angela is still researching history. The Constant is a secret place, which could have been moved without anyone knowing.”

“Why would they do that?”

“That, sir, is an unknown unknown.”

“I’m gonna check anyway.”

“What are you looking for, the church above?”

“Why don’t these cars have autopilot?”

“I don’t know,” Ramses says.

They do have some advanced cruise control features, which allows Mateo to participate in a video call, and also reach behind his seat to struggle to lift a box up with one hand. “Can you..can you see that?”

“I see a box. What is it?”

“Ground-penetrating radar.”

“You’re just going to go to where you think the church would be in the main sequence, and search for signs of an access shaft?”

“Bingo was his name-o,” Mateo confirms.

“Why are you doing this? Why aren’t you just waiting until Heath, Marie, and Angela can get their affairs in order? Are you really this anxious for answers?”

He’s not doing it for himself, or even to get his people back home. It’s for Marie. The Constant was designed with all sorts of advanced technology, including medical equipment. They don’t need to trust an outsider if he can make contact with Danica. “If I can find my cousin, she can help us complete Marie’s procedure, and she can do it in such a way that it doesn’t leave evidence, and we know that she won’t rat us out. It’s a far better alternative than Croatia.”

“Why didn’t you tell us, or ask one of us to come with you? Do you even know how to use GPR?”

“I don’t know how to use GPR. It comes with instructions. I didn’t tell anyone, because I don’t want to spook her. She trusts me more than anyone, and I’m more likely to be invited if I’m alone.”

“That’s a stretch,” Ramses contends. “We’ve all been down there too.”

“And you will again one day,” Mateo promises. “Just not today. I’m not going anywhere. I’m just looking for help.”

“Fine. Just be careful, and stay in touch.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

Having spent a relatively small amount of time in the Lebanon area in the past, Mateo doesn’t know exactly where he’s going. He sort of has to take for granted the likelihood that the roads at least are the same. He starts in the town proper, then makes his way North, backtracking a little until he figures he has reached the correct crossroads. In the main sequence, the actual center of the U.S. is located in a rough triangle, rather than a four-way intersection, which makes it even harder to guess, but this must be it. It’s just about two miles from town, yeah, it has to be.

He removes the various parts of the radar thing from the box, and begins to assemble it. It takes him a few hours to get through it, at which point he finds himself too hungry to go on with the mission, so he stops to eat some lunch. Then he spends the rest of the sunlit hours scanning the ground, hoping to find any evidence that there’s something below his feet besides more dirt and rocks. He looks for landmarks on the surface too; perhaps an interesting tree, or a boulder. They don’t really have that second thing in Kansas, so it would be very out of place. He’s assuming that this version of Danica opted out of an entrance for normal people, and just teleports herself whenever she needs to, but there might be an emergency exit somewhere too.

The machine isn’t designed to just beep when it finds some kind of anomaly. It sends waves into the ground, which detect impediments along the way. This is how the machine measures density, and estimates composition. A picture of the soil below does begin to form on the data screen, but it’s incomplete until the entire data can be synthesized into a full image. He pretty much has to scan the whole area strip by strip before he can find out whether it’s found anything of note. He’s done with a good chunk of land when the sun sets, so he stuffs the thing back in the back, crawls into the passenger seat, and goes to sleep so the computer can continue its work. He’ll check it in the morning.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 29, 2398

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Mateo had to learn a few things about what it’s like to be on the road on this world. Most of it is the same. Cars look about the same as he remembered, though more advanced. Buttons and levers are in different places, but that can be true of variable models. While there are a great deal of driverless vehicles on the road, there are still plenty of human-driven ones left. If a cop has to pull you over, they would be a little surprised to learn that you were in control of it yourself, but not immensely so. There isn’t much that’s going to get Mateo pulled over, though. Part of what he had to learn was the fact that there is no such thing as a speed limit. They used to have them, just as they were in the main sequence, but eventually phased them out once they understood that most accidents were being caused by distracted driving, and not speeding. In fact, in many cases, drivers found themselves more focused when traveling at higher speeds, and more likely to let their eyes wander at slower speeds.

Mateo is allowed to go as fast as he wants. Which just so happens to be about as fast as Heath’s car can handle. Mapping software accounts for it. Since he’s only recently set up a new account, and his habits haven’t been measured yet, he has to tell the system about how fast he’ll go, and it will use that to calculate travel time. A trip that might take most people an hour is only half that for him. To his surprise, he finds his destination to be identical to the way it was back home. He hasn’t been here in a long time. He hasn’t even seen Topeka. They sort of moved their base of operations to Kansas City, and started calling that their home, but he’s feeling nostalgic, and wants to see it all again. He was especially missing his secret little graveyard.

He didn’t invite anyone to come along with him. Leona, Heath, and Marie are at work anyway. Ramses has a day off, and wanted to join, but Mateo just wants to do it solo. There have been other times when he’s gone off alone, but those have mostly been attempts to protect his family. Today, he only wants to clear his mind, and not worry about anything for a little while. The last time he tried that, it didn't work out. It wasn’t a bad thing; it was the day he met his Aunt Daria, but it did sort of defeat the purpose. Hopefully he can just sit here now, and remain uninterrupted by drama. He’s successful for about an hour.

As he’s meditating with his eyes closed, he here’s the crackling of leaves a few meters away. A fairly old woman steps up to a gravestone, and places a bouquet of flowers against it. She stares at it reverently, possibly praying over the body below. But it’s not a body. Mateo can’t remember exactly which grave that is, but the most recent burial was in 1974. She never could have met anyone here, or probably even heard stories. If his mental math is even remotely close to the truth, there’s a dozen and a half generations between her and the dead person, and that’s assuming she’s mourning the outlier. No matter what, all that’s left are bones. Most of these people died in the late 19th century, and early 20th. He decides to leave it alone, and not bug her, though. After all, that’s why he came here alone. It probably has to do with her religion. It would not be unreasonable to assume that at least one faith doesn’t worship a deity, but ancestors instead.

She completes her hushed ritual, and then walks over to him. “Who do you know here?”

“Nobody,” he answers. “I just like the quiet.”

She’s taken aback by this, but regains her composure. That’s not a crazy answer.

“Do you know someone here?”

She looks back at the grave out of the corner of her eye, over her shoulder. “Of course not. He died 480 years ago.”

Now he remembers. Brantley D’Amore; September 4, 1875 to April 29, 1918. He’s not one for great memory, but he remembers gravestones. “Then why do you bring him flowers?”

“Everyone deserves to be remembered, even by those who never knew them. I come on the respective anniversaries of everyone here. The only personal connection I have is to that one over there.”

“Rossella Crocetti; April 6, 1888 to April 6, 1899.”

“Did you memorize all of their names and dates?” she asks.

“She was a child who died on her birthday. That one’s easy to recall.”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Ty—” she stammers, like she decides midword that she doesn’t want to give out her real name, which is fine. “Tallulah. I’m Tallulah.”

He, on the other hand, doesn’t feel compelled to lie. “Mateo,” he says in kind.

“It’s nice to meet you. I’ll let you get back to your meditation.” She turns to leave.

“Wait.” He has a dumb idea. “Quincy Halifax.”

“Is that a band, errr...?”

He studies her face to see if he can detect a reaction. She does react. She recognizes the name, but she doesn’t want to talk about it, so he decides not to press it. “He’s just another guy I’ve met in this graveyard. I thought you might have encountered him too.”

“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

“Right. Bye, Tallulah.”

“Bye, Mr. Matic.” Wow, she’s not very good at this. He never told her his last name. Before realizing this, Mateo turns his head away, and by the time he turns it back, she’s gone. But he’ll see her again. All he needs to do is write down the death anniversary of everyone here.

Microstory 994: Research and Planning

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I once estimated that, using my own personal style, writing requires 83% research and planning, 11% actual writing, and 6% marketing. These numbers were chosen mostly because of their symbolic value, but the general ratio holds up. When I know where a story is going, typing it up doesn’t take all that long, and until I started this website, I didn’t do all that much of it. I also didn’t market my work before, so those last two numbers should have probably been even lower. As I’ve mentioned before, I’ve spent years working on my canon, sometimes to an outrageous extent. Before I started writing the third major arc for this year’s volume of The Advancement of Leona Matic, I used an architecture program to design the basic layout of the arcology they would be spending a lot of their time in. The other day, several weeks after the arc ended, I came up with what I believe to be a superior design, and reworked the whole thing. Will my characters ever return to one of these structures, and if they do, does it matter exactly how far the 3D printer would be placed from the door? The answers are maybe, and not at all. My attention to detail has benefited my stories greatly. You could ask me what a miacid is, and I would be able to explain it to you, even though I only mentioned the animal two or three times, and mostly only in passing. I know all the names of the fictional uninhabited planets that share the solar system with the habitable ones my characters live on, and at some point, I’ll probably number and name the moons. The idea is that, if I can spout random trivia about the worlds in my stories, then you can better suspend your disbelief that this is real. Hopefully it will feel less like a made up tale, and more of an account of actual events. I think it makes it easier to empathize with my characters when you can imagine them actually existing.

Of course, all this work comes at cost. The target date for what was originally meant to be my first book was Christmas of 2004. As the years passed me by, I altered the storyline accordingly, working in time jumps to 2008, and later another one to 2012. I would be doing the book a disservice if I wrote longer or more time jumps now that we’re coming up on 2019, so if I ever manage to get it published, you’re just going to be reading it without an understanding why I wrote it as a period piece. The truth is that the main character’s parents have their own stories to tell, which take place in a fixed time period, as does stories that come after. So I can’t just find and replace every date reference to bring them closer to present day. Just think how absurdly old Tony Stark’s father would had to have been when he conceived him in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, but his and Steve Rogers’ stories are inextricably linked to the Second Great War, so the timeline can’t ever work out as perfectly as it did when the comic books were first being written. I don’t like jacking with narrative timelines, so that story ends with an epilogue in 2013, and the hint of a follow-up, and readers will just have to be okay with that. It’s not the only one like that either. All of my researching and planning has also contributed to a profound lack of progress, which again, was only recently alleviated by this website. I’m basically my own worst enemy when it comes to producing content that’s both good, and timely. I would like to think that this all works out for me, and the entertainment chapter of my life will end on a high note in the late 21st century, like I had always intended, but I can’t say that for sure. I’m only now recognizing how dumb some of my stories will seem if I wait too long to release them. Self-driving cars were a futuristic concept when I first came up with Detectives of Science, but I can’t treat them as a new technological development if it doesn’t come out for another twenty years, can I?

Microstory 957: Driverless Vehicles

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Humans suck. We’re terrible at nearly everything we do, and the only reason most people don’t think that’s true is because, historically, we’ve not had a lot of competition. Now a new lifeform is slowly being created. Automated systems are beginning to outperform people in an array of skills. They construct better buildings, they win every game, and they even drive cars. Driverless vehicles have been a staple of speculative fiction for decades. Even before understanding how they could possibly work, my predecessors predicted that they one day would. Most of them got their dates wrong, but that’s true of most fantastical predictions. While these stories have done their part in stimulating our imagination, they’ve usually been more of a footnote than a sign of one of the greatest developments in our history. The driverless car will not just change the way we get to places. They will completely transform how we live. A lot of people have given up their busy lives to travel the country in recreational vehicles, and I genuinely believe a lot more would do the same, if given the opportunity. It takes a lot of privilege to uproot your life like that, but if you were able to take your life with you, that would be a different story. Imagine finding the most perfect location for a new job without worrying about what you’ll be losing from wherever you live now. When your home is mobile, capable of drawing energy from the sun during the day, and the wind while at rest, you no longer have to be tied down. Shorter working hours will allow you time to return to friends and family on a whim, no matter where they live, as long as it’s on the same continent. (We could build a vactrain network to make that even faster, by the way, but that’s a different story.) Hell, you could even work on the go, because you won’t have to worry about keeping your eyes on the road. When you can sleep on the way, you won’t have to maximize your time in bed—like I’m doing right now by rushing this story so I can shut down by 23:15—which means no more erratic drivers who should have left earlier. Experts predict that automated cars will save thousands of lives, and that number will only increase the more people who use them. Even a single one of these on any stretch of road will make a statistically evident impact on road safety. A lot of people are deeply concerned about a robot uprising, and you know what, that doesn’t make them crazy. It’s entirely possible that our version of Hal, Skynet, or whatsherface from I, Robot will decide that humans just have to go. But that’s not inevitable. Think about how many humans there are who hate their parents, or who have become estranged from them, because they no longer feel the need for help. Do those people commit parenticide? Yeah, some of them, but most don’t. People like Elon Musk want to put leashes on artificial intelligence, to keep our inorganic descendants from taking us over, but that can’t possibly end well. It may take decades, or even centuries, but those safeguards will wear down, or become otherwise obsolete. The only hope of protecting our species while dawning a new one lies in raising our digital offspring the same way we do our children now...through love and logic, and by example. No one has ever been killed by someone who truly respected them. Driverless cars are part of something immensely powerful, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

Microstory 810: Driverless

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I woke up in a bed, but it wasn’t my bed. I thought I was in the middle of an earthquake, but when I tried to sit up and take a look, the whole room turned. No, quakes don’t move like that, so something else was going on. I rubbed my eyes and got a better look around. It wasn’t a room at all, but a van, completely hollowed out, and filled to the edges with this van shaped mattress. Despite having no apparent driver, it was rolling down the highway. I looked out the deeply tinted windows, where it was either early morning, or late evening. Other cars were around, but none of them was towing this van, so it was probably being operated remotely. Why anyone would kidnap me would be a hard enough question to resolve, but trying to figure out what their reasoning behind putting me in this thing was beyond unanswerable. Of course, I tried opening the doors, but the handles were removed, and they wouldn’t budge without them. I took off my shirt and used it to protect my fist as I pounded on the glass, but that wasn’t doing any good. I might have tried a shoe, but they had taken those as well. I crawled up to the front to at least see where I was going. As soon as I drew close enough, a blue light lit up the windshield, and a soothing voice alerted me to the fact that autopilot had been disengaged. The van immediately started swerving, so I reflexively willed it to straighten back out, which it eventually did. We were coming up on one of the busiest stretches of the highway, so I wished the van would exit to the side streets, and as if the vehicle could read my mind, it exited. Or maybe that was exactly what it was doing; reading my mind.

I continued to think about where I wanted to go, and the van would comply. When it was necessary to stop for a light, or stop sign, or slow traffic, it didn’t seem to be planning on reacting properly, unless I deliberately thought that it should. Yes, it was quite clear after several tests that the van was responding to my instructions telepathically. The most pressing question now was where was I even going? I realized I could make these minor adjustments to my route, but ultimately, I was heading in one direction. The van was still working somewhat autonomously, and was apparently programmed to take me somewhere specific, whether I wanted it to or not. I kept trying to get it to just take me back home, but nothing was working. After hours of this, I was getting bored, having resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t really in any control, even though I still had to keep my eyes on the road. Finally, it pulled into an abandoned drive-in movie theatre. There were dozens of other vans already there, and a few more coming in behind me. Once everyone was apparently there, all of our doors opened at the same time, revealing that no one else knew what was going on either. The movie screen turned blue, and radiated different shades as the voice on the speakers spoke. “Welcome to your new home. Everything you need can be found in your gloveboxes. No one may enter your van without your permission. But have no fear, there are no criminals in this new world. The only rule...is that you must remain here forever. To leave means death.” Then everything outside of the parking lot disappeared, as if the world had fallen out of orbit, leaving only us standing.

Frenzy: But They Don’t Fall Down (Part X)

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K-Boy is this mysteriously perplexing enigma that no one can explain. Seriously, as Slipstream tells it, he just showed up one day and started running with them. He didn’t say a word then, and still hasn’t. They only let him stay because he’s the absolute best. I mean the things he can do are physically illegal. No human can accomplish such amazing feats. Slipstream contacted the Singularities to see if he was one of their transhumanists, but like, from the future. They said no, and he even cut himself on the arm, presumably to prove that he bleeds and heals just like everybody else. All these are just stories to me, though. I’ve only ever personally seen him at a distance while I was eating his dust. What I really wanna know is how they know what his name is if he’s never said it.

One thing is for sure, he’s incredibly strong, just as I would expect. I try to break free from his grip, but there’s nothing I can do. In fact, he holds me tighter to his body and zips away. Next thing I know, I’m standing in the middle of a parking lot, but not just any parking lot. This is right around my final destination at the amusement park. I can see rides in the midground of my vision. I also look back and realize that I witnessed all the space in between the church and here. So we didn’t teleport, we ran. We ran fast. “Whoa. How the hell did you do that?”

“That is not your concern at this time,” Lincoln Rutherford, Esquire says, revealing himself to have been standing there the whole time. He starts walking towards the two of them then nods to K-Boy. “Good job. Best get to your next checkpoint.”

K-Boy carefully hands Crispin back to me then speeds off in the blink of an eye. This is not my first experience with time manipulation, but now I know that I wasn’t dreaming before in the police station. This is real. This is my life now. Some people can mess with time, and I don’t know what they’re going to do with me now that they know that I know.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to not sound like I’m accusing him of anything, but failing.

“I work very hard to remain a neutral party. You’ve no idea how difficult it is for me to act like a normal person...to be a lawyer, of all things.”

“What are you if not that? A time traveler?”

I don’t travel through time, but I can see it.”

“So can everyone else.”

He smiles. “Yes, you’re right about that, aren’t you?” He paces, but just a little. “I see every possible outcome of every possible choice, and I see the entirety of the past, and I see every alternate reality that once was.”

“Fascinating,” I say, feeling like it’s time for him to get to the point. Even though it really is interesting, I don’t actually understand what he’s talking about.

“But I can’t see you. You are a variable that exists...let’s say, outside of my jurisdiction.” He nods at his own accomplishment of finding the right analogy.

“Is this because I stepped into the police station?”

“When was this?”

“Earlier today.”

“No, whatever you mean by that, it was before that. You’ve always clouded my vision. I like being around you because it makes my life interesting for a change.”

“How did this happen to you?”

“It didn’t happen to me. It happened to an alternate version of me, and that has had repercussions across all timelines.”

“I see. That doesn’t explain what I have to do with anything, or what I’m doing here.”

“I told you, because—”

I cut him off, “yes, I’m special. You can’t see my future. Something, something, something, chosen one, something, something, dark side.”

He twitches at this. “What made you decide to use that term?”

“What? Dark side? I dunno, ‘cuz bad guys?”

“No. Chosen one. Did you hear that somewhere?”

I shrug. “It’s a common trope in fiction. They’re all just Jesus, though.”

He paces again, but adds some jitters. “No, that’s not right. There are choosing ones, but no chosen ones. Unless...”

“Unless what? I mean, who’s choosing what?”

He starts backing away, like he’s afraid of me. “Umm...”

“Rutherford, what just happened? All I said was chosen one.”

This makes him twitch again. “You’re something different. You’re new. I have to consult the timestream. I can’t be here right now.”

Black sports utility clichés screech into the parking lot from the other side and start driving towards us menacingly.

“I brought you here so that you could technically finish the race, but you should go. I’m sorry, I have to go too, I can’t help you.” He crawls into his car and drives off.

“Wait! What am I supposed to do now!”

He doesn’t answer, of course, so I just stand there and watch as he passes the SUVs who don’t give him the time of day. I could try to run, but we’re in flat Missouri. There’s nowhere to hide, and they would eventually catch up to us. I look down at Crispin who’s been as quiet as ever. But then he does that adorable squeak again, giving me the signal. “You’re right. We have no choice but to fight.” As the vehicles draw closer, I summon the electrokinetic power from Crispin and send a lightning bolt towards the lead car. It overloads the battery and sends it exploding out of the hood. The others swerve around it and keep coming. I can see an unassuming sedan coming at me from another direction, but I ignore it and send another bolt towards the major threat, which shoots right through the windshield and presumably fries the humans on the other side. Still more SUVs race towards us, and they’re almost here. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’ve one more trick,” I say, then I face my palm towards the ground. Energy passes out of Crispin, through me, and then into the air around us. An electromagnetic pulse halts all electronic equipment in the area, sending all vehicles in the lot into a frenzy as the drivers attempt to regain control.

After the dust has settled, men in dark suits and sunglasses step out of the SUVs and point their firearms at me. They don’t want to shoot, though, because they obviously want Crispin alive. I’m actually starting to get the feeling that they want him back. He didn’t come out of nothing. Somebody made him, and he must have escaped some off-the-books facility they built underneath a lake, or on the side of a steep cliff. The men carefully walk towards me. None of them is wearing the kind of suit that Noobo was, though, so I think I can take them. As luck would have it, I don’t have to. Ace suddenly runs up to me from the side and starts firing his own weapon at them. They fire back, but miss, of course.

The leader guy screams, “hold your fire! Hold your fire!”

They all stop but duck behind their cars because Ace doesn’t stop, until he has to. His gun only holds so many bullets.

The leader guy runs up and engages in fisticuffs with Ace, who holds his ground beautifully. Redshirts run up as well. A couple try to help their leader, despite Ace’s ability to hold them all off at once. The rest strategically attempt to steal Crispin from me. I zap a few of them, but minimally, because we don’t have much charge left. I swing both my legs and one of my arms at them, landing a few good hits, but in the end, I’m overtaken. I fall to my ass and try to shield Crispin from their grimy little hands.

Ace pulls their attention away just in time, though, having successfully put down the others. Before too long, they’re all on the ground, nursing their wounds, or just plain unconscious. He reaches his hand down to me. The sun produces a brilliant halo over his head. If that’s not apropos symbolism then I don’t know what is. Maybe he’s the real chosen one. I sure as shit can’t imagine it’s me.

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

“I can’t explain that since we have to, ya know, GTFO.”

“Why does everyone I know have something to do with it?”

“With what?”

“With it, IT! What’s happening right now. This whole thing. The rabbit dog, the SUVs, Lincoln Rutherford, you! You all know something I don’t, and I want answers!”

“I can give you answers, but just not right now, okay? It’s time to go. That was our ride you destroyed.” He gestures to his sedan.

I let out a sigh of impatience. “Fine. I can run, can you?”

“Well enough.”

Then we jog away.

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Frenzy: The Spoon is Not There (Part IX)

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All gangs in the metro have their own territories, but they’re a little more complex than simple geography. First of all, it’s important to realize that when I’m talking about gangs, I’m not referring to the violent or criminal elements that plagued earlier times. To be sure, those kind of gangs still exist, but advances in police surveillance—and more importantly, changes to legislation—have tampered those down considerably. The gangs of now are more like clubs; groups of like-minded individuals who reject mainstream conformity. They don’t belong to national organizations, they don’t have websites, and initiation can still be somewhat dangerous.

The Taggers, for instance, are dedicated to taking part in illegal artwork. Part of the newer legislation has been used to redirect police work to more serious crimes. Drug manufacturing and dealing are prosecuted so much more severely than drug usage, but still not as much as rape. Addicts are treated less as criminals, and more as patients. The key term there is patience. Likewise, as long as the Taggers don’t draw violence, nudity, or other unseemingly pieces, they’re generally left alone. There is also a sort of treaty designed to allow members of the Tagger gang to come back and clean up their paint jobs once they feel that their message has been effectively delivered.

The Tracers are also not known for being the most upstanding citizens. As but a probationary member, I’m only allowed to run with them in certain designated locations. Full members can run anywhere. Or rather, they do run anywhere, including places that require they be trespassing. Some of the best places to run are abandoned buildings and construction sites. If you’re caught, you’re in trouble, but they have to actually catch you. Just like in baseball, they can’t just see you, or even capture your crime on a recording. Cops have to catch up to you and take you into custody within a certain period of witnessing your crime, which is something most aren’t willing to do, because what’s the point?

The Beasts are an entirely different story. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding them, much of it fueled by its multiple semi-interrelated factions. The most innocuous of these are hippy-dippy tree hugging vegetarians. The most dangerous, however, are self-righteous vegan eco-terrorists. What began as a single gang gradually cleaved into these factions due to inconsistencies in their ideologies. No one wanted to give up the name, though, so like Christians, the rest of us just sort of lump them into one group, and we don’t really care how they feel about that.

There are other gangs; the Ballers, the Hardcore Gamers, the Codas, the Singularities, the Gunbenders, and several more. But the Taggers, Tracers, and Beasts are the main three that rule the proverbial playground. Like I said, they all have territories, but it’s not like they’re not allowed to cross at all. They form treaties and other agreements with each other. Taggers are allowed to cross borders to make statements, but only in the inner city, and only under certain circumstances. These either have to be cleared with that territory’s leader ahead of time, or during an initiation. Newbies are required to prove themselves worthy by an endeavor known as “flagging”. Flagging entails painting either over preexisting work, within another gang’s territory without permission, or at high-risk areas like police stations or museums. Freeley managed to become gang leader by painting the entire front edifice of a mayor’s home in Mission Hills. This had to happen much later, however, because he was caught and served real time in prison for it.

This is important information because the Tagger apartment building headquarters is located at a confluence of three counties. The Beasts generally run Johnson, the Tracers handle Jackson, and the Taggers have Wyandotte. If you looked at a map of territories, they wouldn’t follow county lines so perfectly, and there would even be some overlap, but there is a general order to it. By running even a few blocks, Krakken enters Tracer territory without permission. It’s true that he’s not doing it with the intention of tagging, but still, it’s common courtesy to let ‘em know. Unfortunately this is simply not possible. The infiltrator has taken Crispin towards downtown, so that’s where we have to go. Luckily Krakken has me, so I should be able to halt any disagreements. I might even be able to recruit some help. Freeley had the impression that Crispin’s kidnapper worked for a company of some kind, and if there’s one thing all gangs can agree on, it’s screw the man.

I can’t think of any other name for him, so we’re just gonna keep calling him Noobo, the one who stole Crispin from my arms. We’ve nearly caught up to him. Krakken is doing surprisingly well. Noobo’s weird outfit is within centimeters of my fingers when he makes a lateral move to his right that I did not expect. I can’t stop and zag fast enough to get back on track before he’s turned on his vehicle and taken off. Now he’s not operating a car, motorcycle, or anything that normal people drive. No, this is a hoverplat. It’s a niche product that never really caught on because it looks like a balcony that can’t go more than a foot off the ground. They were also never very popular because the consumed energy to speed ratio is far too great. But this one is different. It’s still not as fast as a car, but faster than a golf cart. And this means that it’s faster than a human.

He’s getting farther and farther away, and there’s no way we could ever overtake him. Not like this. He’s chosen his vehicle, and we can use that against him. I have one trick up my sleeve that he would not expect. “Do you have a phone?”

“Of course,” Krakken says. “Don’t you?”

“Give it to me,” I order. “Frenzy racers aren’t allowed to carry tech.”

“Oh, right.” He takes out his phone and hands it to me. I dial one of the few numbers I have memorized, which connects me to one of the few gang members outside of the Tracers that I know. J-Cuken isn’t the leader of the Grammer gang, but he’s pretty high up there. And he owes me a favor. “J,” I say into the phone. “I need you to turn the device I’m calling you on into a master.” He gives me a little crap, but I tell him that it’s time sensitive and he immediately complies. “I’m also going to need a proximity ICC eavesdrop for the car I access with this.” He gives me that as well.

“What are we doing?” Krakken asks as we’re walking towards the car I’ve chosen.

“We’re takin’ this car,” I answer.

“We are?”

“I wouldn’t think a Tagger would be afraid of a little GTA.”

“I’m not, it’s just...”

“Get in or not.” I wave the phone in front of the door and it opens for us. “Vehicle, head North by Northeast. Search for any hoverplat in the area traveling more than thirty miles per hour.”

“You can do that?” Krakken asks as the car automatically drives off.

“All driverless cars on the road are connected to each other. They communicate traffic conditions, route changes, and upcoming hazards. Humans can’t usually read or write this information, but an eavesdropping protocol makes it possible.” It’s the modern-day equivalent of stepping into a New York taxi and instructing the driver to follow that cab.

“Wow,” is all that Krakken can say.

“We’re gonna catch up to this guy,” I say to him, “but I don’t know what happens after that.”

He shakes his head. “Taggers aren’t known for our caution.”

I nod. “I hear ya.”

“Requested hoverplat found,” the artificial intelligent system in the car we’ve just stolen says through the aether.

I’m about to order the car to catch all the way up to it and knock it off the road or something, but Krakken cuts me off. “Follow at a distance of two car lengths.”

“What exactly are we waiting for?”

“For an opening. Unless you want to barrel through this like a typical tracer. I can’t ensure Raggy’s safety if we try that. Can you?”

“Point taken,” I respond. We wait patiently, hoping Noobo never realizes that we’re right behind him. After a few minutes, I start looking around. This is weird. “Vehicle, what is the hoverplat’s destination?”

“I do not have that information.”

“Predict its destination based on pattern of travel.”

“Present course could lead to a number of destinations. Areas of interest include Linwood Strip Mall, Union Cemetery, Crown Center, University of Missouri Kansas—”

I interrupt the voice, “end list.”

“Do you know where he’s going?”

“He’s on my route.”

“You mean...?” Krakken started to ask.

“He’s heading towards my finish line. Where exactly he’s going, I can’t know, but it’s quite odd.”

“Indeed,” Krakken agrees.

I make a steeple with my hands and rest my mouth on it. I don’t know where he’s going, but I know where he is. Whoever he works for has no good plans for Crispin. They could show up at any moment, and it is then that I lose my advantage. I have to act now. “Do you know how to drive?”

“What?”

“Please stop questioning me. You agreed to come along, so just answer me.”

“I don’t drive. I ride the bus or walk. But I can technically drive. Though, I don’t know why I ever would.”

“You would if I need the instincts of a human instead of the precision of a car’s artificial intelligence. I need you to do bad things with this vehicle. Could you manage that?”

He lifts his chin to get a look at the controls. “You’re lucky this even has manual option.”

“I take that as a yes.” I do a few stretches then place my hand on the door handle. “I trust that you understand what I’m going for here?”

“I understand, and I’ll do everything in my power to get you there, but I cannot recommend this course of action, Captain.”

“Noted.”

I pull the door open and brace myself on the roof as Krakken takes over the controls and speeds up. So far, Noobo has still not noticed us, so that’s something. It does little to alleviate the stress of holding onto the top of a car as it speeds down the road, though. “Closer!” I yell through the windshield, fully aware that Noobo might be able to hear me. He does and tries to kick the hoverplat into high gear, but that’s not a thing. He was always going at maximum speed. Krakken gets me about as close as he’s able to without endangering Crispin’s life. Like an action movie star I may be destined to become, I jump off the hood of the car and head for the hoverplat. I land right behind Noobo and steal Crispin back from his arms.

“This is our property!” he yells to me, but only because we can’t really hear each other very well at these speeds.

“He’s not property, he’s a life.”

Noobo takes a gun out of his pocket and points it at my head, careful to keep it away from Crispin. He needs the rabbit dog alive.

Crispin transfers some power to me and I instinctively shoot a bolt of lightning out of my hand.

The electricity just surges all around Noobo’s body, affecting him only by giving me a huge smile. “Why do you think I’m wearing all this?”

That must be some kind of grounding material, or a Faraday Cage, or whatever it is that allows electricity to pass over him safely. What can I do with that?

Someone sneaks up from the side of me and takes Crispin for himself. He uses the same power of electricity to disrupt the operation of the hoverplat itself. He then takes me by the shoulders and casually steps us backwards off the machine. We land safely on the ground, magically ignoring the properties of momentum. We then watch as the hoverplat explodes. In the attempt to avoid a collision, Krakken swerves and ends up smashing into a giant Catholic church.

The masked man keeps holding onto me, and won’t let me try to help. He’s an infamous member of the Tracer gang who literally never speaks. “K-Boy.”

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