Microstory 2472: Anadome

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Let’s talk about the Amish and the Mennonite communities. First, actually, let’s discuss what they’re not. They are not people who simply reject all forms of technology. After all, the plow is technology. It’s millennia old, but its novelty was never the concern. The only concern that these Anabaptists have is whether something supports their community, or harms it. Does it please God, or does it pull you away from Him? Vehicles, for instance, are not the issue. It’s whether that vehicle will be used to take a driver away from their family and community. If it’s being used to transport their wares to buyers, they’ve never had a problem with it, but that is why they held onto the horse and buggy for so long, because it would have been an impractical form of escape. Their way of life has changed over time, but their goals and principles have not. Work within the community, serve God. It’s a pretty simple concept. While religion has all but died out in the galaxy, the Anabaptists have persisted, and that’s because their beliefs inform their practices to a degree that other religions and sects could never have hoped to replicate. Sure, if you were Catholic, you went to service once or twice a week, and you performed your rituals. And maybe every night you prayed over your bed. That’s all well and good, but you didn’t live Catholicism. You just did things here and there, and while your convictions could inform your behavior in general, they couldn’t necessarily survive across the generations, because children come up with their own relationship to God. That was usually encouraged, but it was also the source of religion’s ultimate fading from the world, because people focused less and less on it, and it became less vital to how they lived their lives, and the choices that they made.

Anabaptists were always different, because God lives at the core of their ideals, and their daily patterns. In the past, the Anabaptists were able to maintain their practices by having a symbiotic relationship with society in general. They sold us their goods, and used our payment to support their communities. Centuries ago, however, currency disappeared from modern society, as we transitioned to a post-scarcity economy. A new relationship was developed to prevent the Anabaptists from going extinct. Instead of selling what they make to us, they barter it. In return, we give them whatever they require to survive, be it medicine, protection, transportation, etc. We don’t ask for a certain amount of goods in order for them to get a certain amount of return. It’s not simply symbolic—their customers benefit from the human touch and the craftsmanship, which is hard to find these days—but it’s not perfectly ratioed either. We take care of them regardless of the price. If one community gives us ten chairs one month, but can only make five chairs the next, we still give them whatever they need. That’s not us being generous. That’s how we operate internally anyway. We don’t ask a whole lot out of our citizens, so why would we ask anything out of these fine folk? Over a century ago, some of the Anabaptists decided that they wanted to found a new community on Castlebourne. They wanted to start from scratch. Till new lands. So Castlebourne made room for them. You can’t visit Anadome, and gawk at them. I’m here as an anthropologist, to educate you on what this community is all about. Click below for my full report.

Microstory 2468: Internal Security Dome

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I can’t say too much about this dome. It wouldn’t be secure. But I can assure you that security personnel have ears and eyes everywhere while still managing to protect your privacy. Internal institutional domes like this one don’t typically have a review section for obvious reasons, but my boss asked me to write something up after my audit in order to maintain at least some connection to the public. I don’t work in ISD, but in Castledome. An unattached intelligence will periodically be sent to any given dome at any given time to assess productivity and general soundness of the facilities in question. Of course, each dome handles its own internal audits, but it’s always good to have a second opinion. It’s not that we don’t trust our various branches and divisions. We’re not trying to catch them in any mistakes, but you know, things break down, and procedures start to drift. Or they can, rather. The system overall on this planet is quite robust, full of non-wasteful redundancies, and resource-efficient protocols. The security is good. I only suggested minor improvements, but that is to be expected. There are more people on this planet today than there were yesterday, and there will be more tomorrow. The number of people who visit far outweigh the number of people who leave. We have a very low turnover rate in general, and that makes security an ever-changing beast. It is not easy to keep up with it, but our security team manages to do it with flying colors. I kind of wish that I could keep auditing it myself, but as I’ve explained, that would defeat the purpose of it being impartial, and having fresh eyes. It’s the only one that gets these evaluations on a very strict basis, but now I have to move on to something else, and let one of my colleagues handle the next one here. I’m sure they’ll pass the test just as well next time. I have full faith in these intelligences.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 15, 2399

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Imani didn’t say much more about her religious faith, and how much she thinks it does, or doesn’t, have to do with time travelers. By the sound of it, some of the Word of Dalton is drawn from real life, and some of it is ripped straight out of pop culture from the main sequence. For instance, he tells a story that Leona recalls from an episode of Star Trek: The Next Generation, as if it were real. Similarly, this reality never had a version of Adolf Hitler, so Dalton apparently felt totally comfortable using hitler as an adjective to describe someone evil, or literal daemons from the bad place. Yes, he stole IP from The Good Place too. They probably should have read over the prooftext months ago, since it could have clues. Leona would do that now, but she’s busy.

Imani wanted a tour of the Superscraper, but didn’t have enough time for it, and still doesn’t today, which is good, because Leona scheduled an unrelated meeting. If she wants to turn the building into a refugee sanctuary, then she needs to get help from people who already work with refugees, and actually know what the hell they’re doing. They seemed amenable to the possibility of collaborating on the phone, but it was audio only, and they could have just been being polite. Been being? She needs to make sure she doesn’t talk like that during the meeting. She’s entering their offices now. Game face, Leona. Wait, stop! She didn’t mean that literally, but her ability interpreted it that way. That’s not her game face. That is Chief’s tight end and four-time Super Bowl champion, Travis Kelce. Leona face, Leona. There we go. Okay, now open the door, and if anyone saw,  pretend that it was just an optical illusion.

“Hello. Welcome to Homes for Humankind. Do you have an appointment, or would you like to volunteer?”

“I have a meeting scheduled with Yulian Văduva.” She checks her watch. “I’m about ten minutes early.

The receptionist blinks. “Hold on, I know who you are.”

“Yes.” Leona ran into a celebrity once, and she’s not talking about Juan Ponce de Leon, or the time she was on a fake cooking show with James Van Der Beek. In the reality where she didn’t meet Mateo until later in life, she found herself in front of comedian and actor, Heidi Gardner in line at Richard and Allen’s restaurant in the Plaza. There was no one else there at the time, and that was before that version of her found out that it was a hangout spot for time travelers. Heidi shook her hand politely and said hello, but Leona didn’t ask for a selfie, or anything like that, and Heidi didn’t offer. She seemed to want to be left alone, and Leona respected that. She was very nice to Richard when he took her order, and ate quickly, surely because she had to return to her busy life. Leona didn’t think that she would ever have to deal with anything like that. She’s famous in certain circles, like the planet of Dardius, but she’s never felt every eye in the world on her; not when the people whose eyes they belong to don’t know about time travel. This is so surreal. She’s being bashful about it.

“And you’re meeting with the big kahuna. Lucky you. A word of advice, don’t say anything about the Daltomist who visited your country yesterday. He’s not a fan of organized religion.”

“Don’t worry,” Leona said. “Neither am I.”

He nods. “I’ll let him know that you’ve arrived. You can have a seat over there.”

Leona barely has time to sit down before Mr. Yulian comes down from on high. “Mrs. Matic? It’s nice to meet you. Right this way, we’re in the big conference room today.”

“Okay,” Leona said. She follows him to the room, which she expects to be entirely empty. She thought it had something to do with the other rooms being booked, but nope, it’s completely full of people. They all look up at her when she stops in the doorway, some having to spin their chairs around to see. “Hi. Forgive me, I wasn’t prepared for this. It seems that our wires were crossed. I was under the impression that it would just be us, and maybe one associate of yours.”

“Wires were crossed,” he echoes. “Heh, I like that. I’m gonna steal it from you. Why don’t you have a seat? Yeah, right there at the head. Go on. Are you thirsty? We have water or tea.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She sits down awkwardly in the incredibly comfortable chair. A conference room chair has no business being this soft. This is a place of business.

Yulian walks to the other side of the room, and flips on the TV. “Before we get to the pitch, I would like to show you something.” He presses a button that reveals the feed from the front door security camera.

Leona’s heart sinks. She really needs to get a handle on her new illusion power.

“Before every meeting with a potential partner or donor, we like to have a little internal pre-meeting. We leave the feed up to play in the background so we know when someone shows up. We never expected to see this.” He prepares to press another button.

“You don’t have to show it. I know what you saw.”

“Okay,” Yulian says with a smile. “Then I’ll show you this archive footage instead.” He changes the screen to a different camera. It’s high up on the roof, and showing the New York City skyline. “Wait for it...wait for it...” The Superscraper appears out of nowhere. “I assume what you did at the front door has something to do with what made this thing suddenly spring into existence?”

“It’s...maybe.”

“So there are others who can do the same thing?”

“...maybe,” she repeats.

He widens his smile. “We’re prepared to defect to your nation, and maybe even expand its borders. Did you know that you could do that? The original owner once owned a modest apartment complex in that spot where he provided a different kind of sanctuary; one that was designed to protect the worst criminals the U.S. has ever seen. He bought more land so he could spread his bullshit message to the masses, and now that it’s yours, you could do it again. But you could do it for the right reasons.”

“I can’t build another building like that,” Leona says. “I didn’t build this one.” She paused, and bobbed her head indecisively. “Or I did.”

“What does that mean? Do you have memory issues?”

“Actually, I think I’ll take that water now.”

The woman next to her slides her own glass over. “It’s clean. I didn’t take a sip of it yet.”

Leona took the glass, and downed it.

“Are you okay now?”

She clears her throat. “I don’t have memory problems. I’m a time traveler, and it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Future!Me constructed that building.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 14, 2399

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Imani Pettis is a Compliance Enforcer in the Church of Daltomism. Unlike most Daltomists at her level, she began in a starter house where she could have easily been lost in the crowd. People who have risen up the ranks to be where she is today have done so after being born into more elite status. There’s a downside to this, because while it’s impossible to begin in the uppermost levels, those who start at the upper levels just under those are not always considered worthy by the general Daltomistic population. Imani garners a lot of respect, because she started at nothing, and earned her place. She belongs to what is called a Singularity Church, which basically means that she operates autonomously, and at the behest of the Primary Church. The paradox is complicated, but even though there are thousands of members of the Primary Church, they each technically belong to their own church. That is what gives them the highest elite status.

Imani attends services all over her region, which encompasses the majority of Northeast United States. She is there to ensure that the local chapters are following the Word of Dalton faithfully, and that no one in the congregation strays from the path too significantly. The point of starter houses is to determine who is worthy to move up to smaller meeting houses, which means that technically, people here don’t have to do anything The Word says. But she will still instruct the local leadership on how to guide the wandering flock towards the Mountain of Truth. It’s unclear why she has requested a meeting with Leona Matic, but Heath wanted to impress her because of what she can do for their mission, so he set it up right away.

“Madam Pettis,” Leona says with her hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She shakes her hand. “You may call me Imani.”

“Thank you, Imani. How can I help you today?”

Imani looks around, and walks forward a little. “What is the purpose of this building?”

“We hope to turn it into a refugee sanctuary. It’s not quite ready. We need to inspect all of the rooms, and there are many.”

Imani nods. “How did you come to create it? Or did someone create it for you?”

Leona looks to Heath for guidance, but he isn’t giving anything away. Okay, so a building appeared out of nowhere in the middle of downtown, which threw out the whole secrecy thing. For now, Leona has been able to remain quiet about how she’s not stunned that this happened, but it may be time to change that. If she were freaking out, she would probably be telling people, and asking the public how the hell it happened. She doesn’t know how it happened, but she knows that they can’t help her. “Someone appears to have created it for us. I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, and this building fits those parameters. I’ve taken it as a gift from an anonymous donor.”

Imani laughs. “An anonymous donor builds an invisible building for you, and then just suddenly makes it visible? I would like to meet the person with such power.”

She probably doesn’t need to know about the Omega Gyroscope. Whoever built it may not have known that it would be activated, and was intending to keep the Superscraper hidden for longer. Unless that person was Dalton himself, which is a plausible theory. “There are things in this world that most would not understand.”

“Yet you understand it?” Imani prods.

“Some things I know, some things I don’t,” Leona quotes a TV show.

“Quite,” Imani replies. She looks around some more, and steps a bit deeper in. “A Dark Citadel will fall from the heavens, and make its mark in the Center of World Power. The Watchers who come out of it will change the world forever, and the people shall know the Life of God.”

“Ma’am?” Heath asks vaguely.

“Word of Dalton, Book Two, Chapter Thirty-One.” She grins at him. “Yes, dear, there is a second Word of Dalton book. You have not learned enough to know it.” Pretty impressive, keeping the existence of a whole prooftext out of public knowledge, especially in this advanced informational age. She goes on, “tell me, do either of you recall the date that this building appeared?”

“March 1,” Heath replied.

“March 1, 2399.” She holds up a tablet, and navigates to the chapter in question. “Chapter 31...month three, day one. Page two,” she says as she swipes to the second page. “Paragraph three, words 99 through 137. March 1, 2399,” she repeats. Numerology: the fool’s excuse for being late.

“Interesting,” Leona says, trying not to scoff at the absurdity, knowing in the back of her mind that it’s possible that the book is telling the truth, and this has all been orchestrated to turn out exactly as Dalton wished.

“Tell me,” she repeats herself, “would you consider New York City to be the Center of World Power?”

“One could argue that,” Heath says.

“One could also argue that it’s Kansas. Perhaps the whole country is the world power, and Kansas is literally in the middle of it.”

Imani points at her. “Exactly, my child. Because that’s how Dalton’s words often go. He frequently means something literally that most would take metaphorically, or culturally. And while Daltomism began in Africa, many competing religions were started somewhere in the land which would become North America. Some believe that Kansas holds a plethora of sacred secrets. Besides, look around...would you consider this place to be a dark citadel? Why, it’s so white, I was nearly blinded by the façade when I pulled up.” She’s right. Normal arcological megastructures are painted a gray base, which can alter its tint automagically to reflect or absorb sunlight, depending on the regional climate, and current weather where it’s built. The Superscraper is shockingly white, making it stand out even more amongst all the puny little skyscrapers below, and it doesn’t appear to change colors at all. Plus, it shouldn’t really be described as a citadel.

“So this is not the structure as foretold in your...little book,” Leona says, knowing that it’s a pretty disrespectful way to word it, especially considering it may all be real.

“That was why I wanted to come here, and why I appreciate your accommodation, despite the line of others ahead of me.” It’s true, the number of people who have asked to cross the border has grown exponentially, and that is showing no signs of slowing down. Most of them likely don’t have any particular reason they want to come. They’re curious more than anything, but as soon as they find out that she was invited without any sort of waiting list, or whatever, others might start to feel a little ticked off. Hopefully Imani does not intend to ask for more than just a few answers.

“So we’re agreed that this is not the Dark Citadel?” Leona presses.

“It’s not, but that does not mean that it is not something else. Mr. Walton, tell me what you know of the False Watchers of the Other Worlds.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 13, 2399

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Leona was still hesitant to let Heath go undercover in the Church of Daltomism alone, but he’s finally doing it today. Daltomists meet every day of the week, but Fridays are the biggest. At first, he thought that that would be the best day to go, but if he’s trying to establish himself in the community, Saturday may be the better choice. He may be able to stand out more here, which is what he really needs. Of course, this is such a large congregation that a smaller service is still pretty big, but he has other ways of getting noticed. They practiced strategies yesterday.

He’s not going to start right away. He has to get his bearings first, and find out who here has the power to help him infiltrate. In Daltomism, just because someone is up on stage, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone in the audience who is more important than them. He’s looking for someone who all of the other congregants are avoiding, but not like they smell, because they respect and fear them. They’re more than likely too high ranked to be worshiping here as a normal person, and are here to make sure that this particular location is following the teachings of Dalton, and not straying from The Word. This person won’t know that Dalton is alive, but they may know someone who knows someone, who knows someone, ad infinitum.

There. That’s her. She’s holding herself with a strong sense of entitlement and superiority. She’s disgusted by the size of this place. In other faiths, the larger group of followers you have in one place, the more clout you have amongst the other chapters. Daltomism is different. The smaller the meeting house, the more elite you are, which is why this place is so gargantuan. It’s a starter house, and doesn’t require an invitation. He doesn’t really have time to prove himself, though. He has to move up the ranks fast...or else. That’s why he needs to get in the good graces of whoever this woman is, because she’s his ticket into something greater.

He won’t approach her right away. In fact, he’ll probably never try to speak with her at all. He’ll have to find some way to get himself noticed. He doesn’t want her to know that he’s targeting her, after all. God, he sounds like such a creep. This is important, though. Knowing that Dalton is just a man with access to special powers makes him seem a lot less mystical. Heath was never a huge believer, especially since he was taught to believe that he would never amount to much, but the truth has pushed him over the edge. He doesn’t feel bad about doing this, and doesn’t consider these his people anymore. Let’s see, he needs to get himself on stage. He doesn’t have to be the center of attention, but they sometimes bring people up to sing. They usually pick from the front, and he didn’t get here early enough for a good seat, but maybe he can swing it.

While he’s thinking about that, the woman he was eying suddenly approaches. “I know who you are,” she says to him, almost accusatorily.

“You do?” he questions. He’s not famous, in any circles. She shouldn’t recognize him in the least, especially not since they’re a thousand miles from Kansas City.

“I saw you on the news. You weren’t featured, but you were there, being led into that woman’s crime hole.”

“Oh. It’s not a crime hole. She’s trying to change all that.”

“Yeah, I don’t need to hear the pitch. I just need you to get me in the building.”

“That I can do,” he says with a smile. “Hi, I’m Heath Walton.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 11, 2399

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A thing that Leona and Mateo found out is that they can’t really go to the Daltomism church. Well, it’s not called a church, but a Forum, where ideas are shared, and issues are resolved. You don’t have to have dark skin to join or attend services, but lighter skinned people are a minority, and they stand out, which would make it more difficult for them to gather information to find the real Dalton, and maybe Alyssa. A couple of newbies showing up and asking a lot of questions is not the best way to complete this mission.

“I’ll do it,” Heath volunteers.

“No, we can’t ask you to do that.” The Matics knew that he would offer as soon as he started explaining the situation to them. They didn’t have to discuss with each other for both to know that they were going to decline. It’s not that they don't trust him to handle it, but not too long ago, he was trying to get out. He had his problems with Marie, yes, but he seemed tired of the whole time traveler thing in general. He never really died, so what has changed since then? Why is he so interested in helping with this?

“No, I want to, and I’m the only person you know with any hope of getting anywhere with this investigation.”

“That’s not...entirely true,” Leona points out.

“What do you mean?” Mateo asks. They’re not automatically on the same page for whatever this part is, though.

“I could...create an illusion of being someone who fits in there better.”

Mateo takes a beat before responding. “You wanna go in black face?”

“That’s—no, Mateo! Jesus, that’s not how I would put it!”

“Lee-Lee, just because you use fancy powers to do it, doesn’t mean that’s not what you’re doing. It’s in very poor taste.”

“Well, we can’t let him do it. He is not trained, he is not experienced, and this isn’t his fight.”

“Yes, it is,” Heath argues. “I care about you, and Marie, and all of your friends. Besides, if this threatens my whole world, then I say it is my fight regardless. You can always just leave. I have family and friends here.”

Leona sighs, and thinks about it. He’s right, he’s their only option. Dalton has never shown up on any of their satellite scans, which aren’t working right now anyway. This is probably a dumb idea. If this were a decent route to finding him, someone else in the faith probably would have by now. Or maybe members have, and everytime they do, they get recruited or killed to silence them. Either way, it’s dangerous. “Okay, but you’re not going in tomorrow. We need to prep you, and you need to tell us everything you know about it first.”

“There’s a forum meeting tomorrow,” Heath says. “I should establish myself in the community. I haven’t been to a meeting in a long time, and no one in New York knows me. I promise, I won’t sneak around the Meeting House, or ask a bunch of questions. I’ll just get people used to seeing me around.”

“All right, but I do wanna strategize before you make any decisions. If this mission doesn’t get dangerous, it probably also doesn’t get us anywhere.”

“Great,” Mateo decides. “I assume there’s a dress code? Let’s go shopping.”

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: Year 142,398

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Cheyenne was frustrated and confused. She didn’t want to be allowed to stay, she wanted someone to help her get home. Danica refused to do anything of the sort, so now no one is happy. Morale is incredibly low, and the place is getting crowded. She gets tired of the arguing, and ends up ordering everyone into their stasis pods, with the promise to revive everyone in the next hundred thousand years, or so. Mateo does not find that acceptable, so instead of waiting for the door to open, he just teleports out after a second. Asier is waiting with a gun. “Do you know how to use that thing?”

“I was a cop...in another life,” Asier explains.

“It’s gonna take more than that to stop me,” Mateo explains right back. “I was a regular human...in a regular life. Now I’m something more.”

Asier winces, but doesn’t falter. He doesn’t know what that means. “What?”

“Y’all knew about my teleportation ability, but not my biological enhancements? Either your daughter didn’t tell you about them, or she herself doesn’t know.”

“She tells me everything.”

“Well, go ahead and shoot me. I can’t get hurt as long as I’m in the Constant.” That’s an exaggeration. “Barring that, I’m going to go wake up Abigail and Cheyenne, and help them return to their time periods.”

“How do you reckon you’ll do that?” Asier questions. He hasn’t lowered his gun.

“I know where the time machine is.”

“You knew where it was,” Asier clarifies. “It’s been moved. I don’t know how far you can teleport, but I doubt you could make the jump, even if you knew where we put it. Even if you found it, you wouldn’t be able to put it back together, and even if you did, you wouldn’t know how to operate it.”

“I would argue that if I could figure out how to reassemble it, I could figure out how to make it work.”

“Probably.”

Mateo takes a half step.

“Don’t wake them up. Bhulan has consulted the Omega Gyroscope. They’re both meant to stay in there, and you’re meant to go back.”

“How convenient that no one else can consult the gyroscope,” Mateo mocks with airquotes. “You could make any decision you want, and then just claim that it’s part of destiny. That’s what religious leaders do to control the masses. I prayed on it, and God told me that we should all marry multiple sixteen-year-old girls each, and have lots of babies for each other to marry sixteen years from now.”

Asier shakes his head. “Mormonism is not going to exist in this reality.”

Mateo chuckles. “No, you’ll replace it with a hundred new ideologies that are just as bad.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind.” Warning him about the future will only make things worse.

“We built a new section. You’ll never find Cheyenne and Abigail either.”

“I really thought that Danica and I were getting better.”

“I’ve been there,” he admits. “You should have known her when she was a teenager. Now get back in your pod. Please. Before she sees you.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 30, 2398

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Vearden pulls up to the house, and turtles his head to look through the windshield. Arcadia fell asleep, even on this short drive. The internet says that it’s not necessarily a symptom of pregnancy, especially not this early. She’s probably just stressed, which is a symptom of pregnancy. “We’re here,” he whispers.

Arcadia opens her eyes. “Did I miss it?”

“No,” he laughs. “I think the agent is just pulling up behind us.”

As the SUV is parking behind them, Vearden gets out, and opens the door for his...his whatever—they’ve not come up with a word for it yet. “Hello, you must be Radha.” He offers his hand.

Radha shakes it. “And you’re...Varden?”

“Vearden,” he corrects.

“Nice to meet you. And you...Leona Matic?”

“I’m not Leona,” Arcadia says. “I’m her twin sister, Arcadia.”

“Forgive me,” Radha says politely.

“I need a new body,” Arcadia says to Vearden out of the corner of her mouth as they’re heading for the doorway.”

“I don’t see how the baby would transfer,” Vearden replies in the same way.

Radha unlocks the door. “Four bedrooms, two and a half baths. The master suite has a jacuzzi, and a walk-in closet, plus this cute little reading nook that I think you’re going to adore. The kitchen has recently been remodeled, as the previous owners were both professional caterers. They’re moving because their business got too big for it, but it should be perfect for a growing family. I assume you’re not far along.”

“Do I already have a bump?” Arcadia questions.

“Oh, heavens, no,” Radha says apologetically. “Your husband asked me to look for a good school district.”

“Oh, we’re not married.”

“Forgive me,” she repeats. “I was under the impression that you were Kalialists.” That must be a religion that doesn’t allow extramarital sex, or maybe just not pregnancy.

Arcadia has already looked into this. “We are Berarians.” As far as she can tell, it’s the least involved religion of them all. It’s not atheism, but they don’t really care about the nature of the almighty, or what the meaning of life is. It respects the rule of law more than some faiths. It recommends its members try not to bother others.

“I see. Well, here’s the open concept living room, breakfast dining area, and the kitchen that I was telling you about. That door in the corner by the bookcases leads to what I believe the original owners intended to use as a panic room. But then they moved, and the caterers came in, who never had it finished either. You can use it as a storage space, I suppose.”

Or they could use it as a panic room. “Oh, I would like to see that,” Vearden says.

Radha continues to show them through the house. It’s a nice place. On the outside, it doesn’t really look like something they would want, but that panic room almost sounds like fate. They’re trying to stay out of trouble, but it seems to find them, and that would be a nice thing to fall back on since Arcadia doesn’t have any powers, and because of the baby. They’ll consider making an offer.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 30, 2398

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Alyssa adds more shirts to the suitcase as Carlin stands there, watching her. He’s old enough to pack for himself, but he doesn’t want to go, so this is his way of being defiant. If she’s the one who wants this, then she’s going to be the one to make it happen, and he doesn’t have to help her with that. Young Moray has just finished packing his own bag, because while he doesn’t want to leave either, making people do things for him is not his style. Alyssa smiles sadly over at him. “Thank you, Mor.”

“Why do we have to go?” Carlin questions.

“Because it’s not safe here anymore.”

“It’s never really been safe,” he argues. “These people’s lives are dangerous, that’s what makes them so interesting.”

“It’s become more dangerous since we arrived,” Alyssa clarifies.

“Then why aren’t you coming with us?” Moray asks her.

She stops trying to close Carlin’s bag, and goes over to Moray. She gets on her knees, and holds him by the arms. “You understand that they’re time travelers, right?”

“Yeah,” Moray confirms, holding back tears.

“Well, they know things about the future. They know things about my future. I’m destined to work with them, they’ve already seen it.”

“What happens to us in the future?”

Alyssa looks at Carlin over her shoulder, and then back to Moray. “You’re safe, and it’s because today, you go to Palmeria.”

“You’re lying,” Carlin believes.

“I’m not,” Alyssa lies. “That is where you belong.” She stands back up. “And this...is where I belong. We’ll see each other again, I promise. Mateo can teleport me there whenever I need to. In the meantime, we’ll holo-chat, and text, okay?”

“Okay.” Moray is still holding back those tears, and doing a pretty good job of it.

“Okay,” she echoes. She leans over to kiss him on the forehead, then turns to face Carlin. “I need you to take care of him, because I’m not in a position to do it anymore.”

Carlin seethes just a little, but then grows determined. He punches the top of his suitcase, and holds his fist in place while his other hand zips it up. “I assume they have internet. I’m not done with the religion research.”

Relieved, Alyssa nods. “They do; Mateo confirmed. In fact, they don’t have dogma filters, so you won’t be limited to any given religion’s biased interpretation of competing faiths. You’ll have a better understanding of the history and culture for your thesis.”

“What’s a thesis?” Carlin asks.

“It’s kind of when you come to a conclusion before your research, and then you do the research to find out if it’s actually true.”

“Do they even need this anymore? I mean, if I’m leaving...”

“Part of the reason you’re leaving is so that you can continue safely, and without worrying about anything else,” Alyssa explains. “It’s still vitally important data; more so now, probably. We’re not just tryna get rid of ya, I promise.”

“I’m helping with it,” Moray interjects.

“I know,” Alyssa says to him proudly. “Now, come on. “We’re going to have one last group meal together before the big move.”

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.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 20, 2398

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Mateo Matic is not a very smart man. He hasn’t had a lot of education, and what he did manage to get through, he didn’t pay much attention, nor retain it. That’s why he became a driver. That’s not to say all drivers are stupid, but it he excelled at it, and he wasn’t great at anything else, so it made the most sense at the time. Even since all this, he’s had opportunities to enrich himself with knowledge, but he hasn’t really taken them. That’s fine, that’s why he has people like Ramses, Leona, and the Angelas. It’s also one reason he misses Olimpia so dearly, because she’s more like him. Despite all this, he’s still been around for quite awhile, and in that time, he’s grown wiser.

Jessie did not appear to be a threat, but he didn’t want to take a chance. After listening to her stories, he escorted her to her car parked by the side of the road, and then reentered the woods. He did not return to the bunker, though he was certain he knew what direction it was, which he was proud of himself for. Instead, he pulled out his bivy sack. It’s very small, but useful in situations such as these, and he’s grateful that it survived the destruction of his bag’s pocket dimension. It’s kind of weird, really, that all the essentials survived. His e-reader, and extra clothes are gone now, but he has a sleeping bag, pocket knife, and he had extra water, until he drank it all to turn it over to a fresh cycle. When Ramses got ahold of him through the radio, Mateo relayed that he needed to sleep outside tonight. He didn’t say why for fear of being eavesdropped on, but his team accepted it, and didn’t try to lure him back. If Jessie, an associate of hers, or some other nefarious party wanted to find out where Mateo’s friends were hiding, they were going to have to wait ‘til morning. That seemed unlikely.

Unprompted, Fairpoint called Marie the next late morning to inform her that he was finally on his way to the police station to find out where Heath and Angela were. She reminded him of what was at stake here, and what the authorities were allowed to know. Apparently, atheists are conventionally that way when it comes to religion, but so-called agnostic in terms of anything else. They don’t care about police brutality. They don’t care about racism. They don’t care about war. They think all these things are bad, to be sure, but they’re generally comfortable in their superiority, and find that trying to alleviate suffering can lead only to frustrating inefficacy. Religious people are the passionate ones. Some are on the wrong side of any given issue, but atheists don’t usually get involved at all, so someone like him needs to be directly encouraged to go out of his way to do the right thing. It should be okay. He sounds like he understands the concern, and is going to do everything he can.

“So we still have to wait,” Mateo presumes.

“It could take hours,” Marie replies. “They may make him wait, or not agree right away to let him advocate. There’s no telling how they’ll handle this. It all depends on the religious makeup of that station.”

“God, why does religion always have to mess things up?” Leona questions.

Marie twitches at this. Mateo was Catholic once, and he knows this academically, but The Superintendent stripped him of all his faith just before he tore him out of the timestream for half a century. Leona was born enlightened, and Ramses at a time after superstition had faded significantly from culture. Out of all of them, Marie and Angela could recall belief the best. Back when they were only a she, she did lose her faith over time. It was reportedly common for dead people to stop following the lies that their particular prooftexts claimed once they learned the truth. It wasn’t a given, though. There were those who continued to believe. Pryce’s afterlife simulation, after all, was just that; a simulation. It could never explain what happens after one dies. It only demonstrated that it was possible to technologically stave it off indefinitely. Some of the more intelligent religious people recognized this reality, and continued to believe in some kind of actual divine power that was still out of reach. Though to be fair, if they were so smart, they probably rejected mysticism anyway.

Here, religion has taken over society, but unlike most fictional depictions of such a world, there isn’t one governing body that lords over the innocent people. It’s not a cult of belief. It’s a cult of belief in belief. That is a lesson that the main sequence began to gradually learn for themselves in the latter days. It’s not really any specific denomination that ultimately proves itself no longer worthy of devotion. It’s the very idea of devotion to the unscientific. Young generations realized that simply believing in something that isn’t real is detrimental to healthy and ethical personal and sociological advancement. It doesn’t matter that a certain sect donates money to the poor, or accepts gay people past their doors. The act alone of trying to convince someone of a lie—even if you are genuinely convinced of it yourself—is immoral at the highest level. The only sane and virtuous path is the one towards observable truth. If what you think can only stand on its own potential to be true, then it is not true, and ought to be ultimately rejected. This is something that Mateo doubts the people of this planet will ever come to accept.

The phone rings. Everyone holds their breath as Marie listens. She then says, “okay,” and hangs up. “We’ll see them tomorrow. It’s over.”

No, Mateo thinks to himself, this has just begun.

Microstory 1878: Devoted to Self

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I dedicated my life to the attainment of absolute goodness and purity. I believe in evil. I believe in the Devil. And of course, I believe in God. I was born into a family of hedonistic atheists, who cared for nothing but earthly pursuits. They did not study the bible, and they had no faith. For the ones who died before me, I know that they are now in hell. They have to be, for they did not heed the word of our Lord and Savior. I heed it, and it’s all thanks to an amazing little girl I met on the school bus. She went real dark for our first discussion, talking about God’s wrath, and the punishment man has faced due to his sins. I was so scared, I went straight to church immediately after school, and had to walk all the way back home afterwards. My parents were so upset and worried, but they should have been worried for themselves. For I had just begun the long walk on a road of righteousness, and they were filled to the brim with sin. It was not easy, learning everything I needed to be a good Christian, but I never gave up, and I never compromised. Here’s what I believe. I believe that a woman has the right to choose what to do with her own body...unless that choice affects the life of another. I can’t understand how it could be any other way. Yes, you have personal autonomy, but so does the child. You cannot take that away from it. I mean, it’s not okay to kill people after they’re born, is it? I mean, I guess you have to if you’re in a war. And I suppose some criminals need to be dealt with to a level of irreversibility. This world must be cleansed from sin, and sometimes death is the only way to achieve that goal. But that baby is not evil, is it? I mean, I guess it is, because of original sin. But still, leave it alone!

The point is that there is only one path to Heaven, and I’ve finally reached the end of it, so my reward is near. All those people, dedicating their time to worthless endeavors, like the accumulation of wealth. I earned my money the right way, by raising and slaughtering cattle to nourish the world by my man’s side. I do not value material possessions. I constructed a large house to shelter my family, because God says to be fruitful and multiply. I own a nice car, so I don’t have to buy a new one every year. I make it last at least five years, or it gets too old, it’s not worth it anymore. I shop at boutique shops, because they always have the best stuff. And of course, I eat gourmet food, because that is the healthiest kind. But other than that, my entire self is devoted to God, and his teachings. Everything I do is to serve him, and his will. I haven’t even counted the number of people that I’ve converted to the side of light using The Good Word. Though I’m sure they number in the thousands; maybe even tens of thousands. But you don’t hear me bragging about that, because pride is a deadly sin. I am a sinful woman, just like anyone, but I make up for it, unlike all those other people who insist on spitting in the face of truth. I can’t wait to see what the eternal paradise looks like. Oh, it will be so grand. Every need will be provided for me, and I shall sit under the throne of our Creator. This is it; it’s everything that I’ve been working for. All those backbreaking hours at the charity galas and church bake sales will finally be worth it. I hope they serve rosé. Oh, tee-hee-hee, I’m just kidding, but really, I’m not. Because I deserve it. I’m a good person. No, I’m a great person. Nay, I’m the best. Feel free to take me now, Jesus. I’m ready.