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.”

Microstory 1786: Virgin By Nature

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 It’s true that I’m what one might call a virgin—though, that is an outdated term—and it’s true that it’s not by choice, but that doesn’t mean that I blame others for my situation.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

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

Microstory 1770: Net Loss

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I’ve always been a terrible person, who treats others poorly, and only looks out for himself. I don’t like that about myself, but no one understands how hard it is to change. I keep trying to do better, but when I think of something nice to say, it gets stuck inside my head, while a bunch of malice comes out instead. One of my therapists and I worked out the metaphor. There’s a golden net on the top of my throat. It catches all the pretty things that people want to hear, and what I wish I could say to them. These pleasantries are larger, as they should be, but it means that they can’t escape. The smaller, meaner, bits of darkness can slip out easily. After deciding to look at it this way, we began to work on ways to make me easier to work with. Before I respond to someone about something, I’m meant to force myself to smile. This apparently should stretch out the golden net so much that it breaks, and lets out all the goodness I supposedly have inside me. Well, I’ve never been able to break it, but the stretching helps a little. It opens up the holes just a little more, allowing some of the smaller pretty words to get out sometimes. It’s not enough for the Catholic church to canonize me as a saint, but I guess I would call it a start. Sadly, that’s not my only problem anyway. My biggest issue is how I behave, not just what I say to people. Sociopaths and psychopaths say charming things all the time, but if they still act selfishly, or even hurt people, it’s not really good, is it? Altering my instincts to stop just taking what I want without regard to others is going to be the biggest thing I’ve ever tried, and I don’t think I can do it alone. So here I am at this spa, upon the recommendation of one of my therapist’s other patients. They can reportedly turn anyone into a nice person. I feel like I’ve seen this movie before.

I sit on the table in the exam room. The woman who ushered me in here ordered me to remove my clothes. She took them all with her, and never provided a gown. I thought maybe it was an oversight, but when the...I guess, doctor comes in, she’s not fazed, so I guess this is how it goes. She looks me over from the door, quite clinically; not sexually, nor critically. She reaches up, and turns a dial on her glasses, like she’s seeing me through multiple filtered lenses. Once she’s satisfied with her readings, she steps over to a computer terminal on the wall, and begins to input the data. I don’t say a word. She’s the one leading this hoedown, so I wait for her. When she’s finished, she walks back over to the door with a clicker, which she uses to retract the floor. I try not to freak out, but I’m rather confident that the exam table is safe. It stops short of it, like I figured, but I’m stuck up here. It’s a surprisingly large room. There’s no way I would be able to make the jump. The maybe-doctor gives me a choice. I can wait 30 seconds, and walk out of here on the floor with a full refund, or I can take a literal leap of faith, and fix my life. With no context, she leaves. I peer over the edge, and see a beautiful glow emanating from below. My eyes adjust and I realize it’s a net. It’s a golden net. Am I dreaming? Am I just living in the metaphor? This can’t be real, it doesn’t look real. So I jump. I jump belly first. My body lands in the net, and it gives just enough to keep it from hurting. I bounce a little before it returns to equilibrium, and then I’m just lying there. Not for long, though, before I begin to feel skin ooze off my bones. It’s like the net is melting me, except it doesn’t hurt, and I’m not scared. I fall all the way through; not all of me, though; just the best parts, leaving behind only the garbage that once weighed down my soul.

Microstory 1690: Fade Away

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After the Eleven Guardians of Earth managed to help their foster species evolve to the point where they could leave the nest, and do the same for others, the original guardians didn’t know what to do anymore. Five wanted to follow the Sheltren into the bulk, and find a new race to protect. The other five wanted to repeat what they did before, and foster the evolution of life in this universe. Their leader was the deciding vote, but she wanted to do neither. They had been at this for a billion years, and she was ready to retire. The people they created and helped were now off on their own, and trying to do the same thing. Their numbers were great, and they were eager. What more could a measly eleven people hope to accomplish, now that they had to compare their abilities to those of their children? According to her, having raised the Sheltren so well was all they needed to do. Anything beyond that could just as easily result in terrible consequences. They could theoretically turn a race into the next Ochivari, or even something worse. Perhaps they got lucky with the Sheltren, and it would never go so well again. She voted that they find a random world to live out their eternity alone, no longer meddling in the lives of others. She was going to do this regardless, but she wasn’t going to force anyone else to follow her lead, or even work very hard to convince them to agree. She spoke her peace, and then took off. The others, meanwhile, decided to stay in their home universe, and do things exactly as they had before. They went off in search of a really good planet, and found a unicellular organism that had the potential to evolve into more complex life. They watched and protected them for the next few hundred million years, but then grew tired of it. They missed their leader, and this venture wasn’t as rewarding as it was before. So they left. They didn’t do anything to harm the new planet in any way, but they weren’t going to protect them any more. If life wanted to continue to evolve here, it was going to have to do it on its own. It did. They managed to survive, and develop intelligence, passing all of their Great Filters along the way. It was only a matter of time before they too felt compelled to travel the stars, but they did not have the same idea as the Sheltren, or their absentee Guardians. They didn’t even know that their predecessors had existed. As for those eleven, well they just stayed on their lonely paradise planet in the void, and faded away from history.

Microstory 1640: Give Me Shelter

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I’m going to be contradicting myself a little bit, but this is a pretty extreme case, and a significant exception to the general rules. I mentioned Guardian Races once, but didn’t get into what they are. They take on various forms, so it’s just a catch-all term that refers to any species—or even a small group of people—who, in some way, takes care of another species, usually secretly. Since I’ve established that aliens are possible under certain conditions, and with certain caveats, it’s easy to see how one of these alien races can become this for humans. Indeed, even humans can become a Guardian Race for an alien planet, which would have evolved using one of the methods described in the previous story. Or, it can be something radical. The humans on this version of Earth evolved, developed technology, and fell to the Ochivari’s sterility virus. But it didn’t happen all at once. A lucky few conspiracy theorists caught on to what was happening, and made preparations. They protected themselves against the virus in secret underground bunkers that were completely self-sufficient. They had plenty of resources down there, but they did not have a lot of space. So while the rest of the population was slowly dying off, the survivors deliberately kept their population low. Each couple was expected to have two children, and no more than that. The population would increase with each generation, but no single generation would exceed the maximum. They were able to get four generations using this method before the math got to be too annoying. They didn’t want anyone to have any children with anyone that they were related to. Everyone in the fifth generation was an only child, with only one couple deciding to not have kids at all, leaving the final number at eleven. These remaining eleven didn’t want what happened to their people to happen again to someone else, so they hatched a plan. Fortunately, they were in a position to do it.

The bunker wasn’t first filled with scientists and doctors. They had to learn about all that along the way, using an extensive library of knowledge that they had the wisdom to take down there with them. Over the century, the descendants kept progressing, and pushing the boundaries of science ever forward. Their predecessors were close to finding the trailhead to immortality, so all they had to do was finish the work. They figured it out while the last generation’s parents and grandparents were still alive, but they all chose to stay behind, and eventually die. This was when the eleven left the bunker, and ventured back out onto the surface. They didn’t stop there, though. They made great use of their now infinite lives, and continued to advance. They built a ship, and launched it into outer space, where they began to explore the galaxy, predominantly searching for other lifeforms. They didn’t find any other intelligent races, but they did come across a promising world. Using their science, they protected and coaxed a single cellular organism in the primordial waters along, making sure it evolved into multicellular life, and pressed on from there. They didn’t genetically engineer anything, but they helped one evolutionary branch survive everything that would have otherwise prevented it from ultimately evolving intelligence. They helped them pass all of their Great Filters, and become an alien race. The eleven immortals stayed with their children for over a billion years, all the while remaining hidden. They prevented their creations—which called themselves the Sheltren—from making the same mistakes that Earth did, and ensured that the Ochivari would not come for them as well. Once the Sheltren were sufficiently advanced themselves, the eleven revealed the truth, and celebrated their accomplishment. The Sheltren were grateful, and motivated. If they could be half as dedicated as the humans had been with them, the universe could become a wondrous place. The Sheltren did not remain in their universe, however. Inspired by their own Guardians, they found a way to travel the bulkverse, and become a full race of Guardians, so they too could protect other planets from the Ochivari, and other threats.

Microstory 1431: Distante Remoto

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In the year 2058, a woman was sourced with a power that Durus had seen once before. She was a filter portaler, meaning she could transport clumps of molecules, but nothing too large. This really only helped her move water and air from one place to another, because nothing else was small enough to fit through the filter. No one knew why it was that this rogue planet held an atmosphere, or more importantly, where the air was coming from. They did have a pretty good idea of where this air first showed up. Several kilometers North of Hartland was a special location they called Gaspunui. A seer town mage had named it that many years ago, but never said how he thought of the word before he died in 2054. There was nothing particularly special about the land itself. It looked just as the land looked anywhere else. But the oxygen levels here were slightly higher than anywhere else. The atmosphere originated here, and spread everywhere else, but it wasn’t evenly distributed. The air was thinner the farther away one traveled from this spot. All six towns were well within normal range, but if one attempted to spend a significant amount of time on the other side of the world, they would have a harder time breathing. It wasn’t impossible, and certainly people could acclimate to it, just like people on Earth did with higher elevation, but it wasn’t ideal, and there wasn’t much reason to try.

It was too far from Watershed to build irrigation pipes, so why bother? Well, the people in charge of coming up with the seventh town knew why it was worth a try. Being so far from everything included the time monster portal ring. As far as they knew, these monsters never traveled so far, because they sought out life to destroy, and there wasn’t anything out there. Much of the planet was covered in weedy plants they simply called the thicket, but not even that extended this far out, because the seeds that portaled there from Earth couldn’t float that far; and the now native plants had not yet done so themselves. But the filter portaler changed everything. She could give hopeful inhabitants of a distant new town the opportunity to live peacefully, free from the monster attacks. She just needed to be convinced. Filtering worked both ways. She could transport molecules nearby to somewhere far away, or she could summon these molecules from somewhere else, to her location. The latter was a lot easier. Portaling something away took more energy, and more concentration, than bringing it to her. So if she wanted to help the people of the new town, she would pretty much have to be one of them, and that wasn’t something she was naturally interested in. In the end, though, she agreed to leave Springfield, and the rest of the Mad Dog Army, to make sure these people had what they needed. She sacrificed her own happiness for the good of the community. It wasn’t entirely without its advantages, however. She met a good man there, and later married him under the Arch of Endless Water, which she created with two looping portals that stayed open permanently on their own. She was also given the honor of naming the town whatever she wanted. She chose Distante Remoto, which was obviously redundant, but she liked the cadence, and everyone else liked it too. Walking to Distante Remoto became a journey that people trained to be able to do, and was ultimately incorporated into the 2070 Mage Selection Games.