Microstory 2304: Blisteringly Cold

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People have been asking a lot about the Nick and Dutch KC Memorial Forum that’s coming up in the next couple of days, and really, I don’t have that much information about it. There’s a website where you can learn all you need to know. Or it’s a page on the metro website, or something. Please go find out about it from there. I am not organizing it. I compiled a list of everyone Nick and Dutch knew, or rather, everyone I knew that they knew. I left it up to the mayors to have their teams reach out to these people. It’s true that, out of everyone, I was one of the closest to them both, but they each had their relationships outside of this whole thing. Dutch has lived on this planet his whole life, and Nick met a surprisingly high number of people during his short stint. You’ll remember his assistant at the jail, and his parole officer. They knew him in their own way, and while I’m not sure if they’ll be speaking at the Forum, I know that they were at least asked. I will be one of the speakers, and I haven’t updated you on that either, because there’s really nothing to say. You’ll hear it on Saturday along with everyone else. If you live in the area, you may join us on the fairgrounds north of the Missouri River, but we understand if you can’t make it. The weather report says that it’s going to be blisteringly cold. They chose that spot, because it can accommodate a lot of people, but just like the Chicago memorial, you can stream it from the comfort of your home instead. It’s a BYOC (bring your own chair) type of situation, which might deter a few people. Could you imagine if the coordinators had to wrangle up enough chairs for everyone? They don’t even have a headcount. I believe that, all they ask is, if you don’t have a chair—or aren’t willing to sit on the cold ground—to head more towards the back. I don’t think it will be all too long, though. There aren’t a million speakers. Okay, I’ve told you more than I really wanted to take the time to do. Again, if you want details, look it up on the webpage. Thanks.

Microstory 2292: Laws of Life and Death

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I still can’t let my emotions get the best of me. I have to plan Nick’s memorial service. I know it sounds like something that can wait, and maybe it can, but I’ve got it in my head that we have to do something special for him. Weeks ago, I remember him telling me about his stories. He had all sorts of aliens and “supernatural” creatures (who weren’t really supernatural, just higher level science). You know his fascination with immortality, right? Well, the pseudomortals were his very first attempt at that kind of plot device. Or no, it might have been his second, because Gavix may predate them. Anyway, pseudomortals could die, but after four days, they would come back to life in new bodies. The exact mechanics of this would not be apparent when you start reading, but over the pages, you would learn more about why this is. It isn’t random. Evidently, while the pseudomortals were a relatively short-lived subspecies of humans, they sort of opened the world up to the idea of the four day gap. It became a key tenet of multiple fictional religions—which we now know actually weren’t fictional at all, but his Earth believed them to be. The pseudomortals merely tapped into the laws of life and death; they didn’t create them. The basic idea is that after you die, you stay in a parallel dimension for four days before moving on to the true afterlife, and these religions formed rituals and conventions based on this concept. So even though Nick never lived in a world that had these religions, or even had the four day rule, I thought it would be nice to honor him by laying him to rest on the fourth day after his death. The problem is, none of his writings came with him on his multiversal adventures. Everything he was ever able to tell us had to come from his memory. So even if I’m remembering everything he said correctly, he might not have been remembering it exactly how he wrote it years ago. He admitted that he couldn’t recall what the religious rituals were like, but he knew that they were more involved than just having a funeral after four days, and then going home. There’s a part where you’re supposed to enjoy the deceased’s favorite activity? And he thought that the memorial and burial were on different days?

I’m freaking out about this, and I keep forgetting for a fraction of second that he’s gone, so for those brief moments, I think that I can just ask him to try to remember, because he’s the expert, but of course, that won’t work, because the whole reason we’re doing this is because he’s the one who’s gone, and I’ll never see him again, and I’ll never find out if Dimitri Orion ever gets his job back, or how the crew of the Atom Ship escapes the supervoid. And I know none of this means anything to you, but I think my emotions are breaking free, and I don’t know if I’ll ever get them back in the bottle. They’re still searching for Dutch, but I can tell that their hearts aren’t in it anymore. At this point, they’re looking for a body, not a person. So actually, I have two memorials to plan, but I don’t have any clue what Dutch would have wanted. We didn’t talk about this stuff, because we’re all so young, so why would that have come up? Because our lives have been in danger all year, that’s why. We were so naïve. We thought it would be some psycho who wanted to test their immortality or portal opening powers, not just an icy road. The edge of a mountain switchback? After all this, how is that what finally took him out? He would be so disappointed if he were here to find out about his death. Okay, I’m getting too morbid. I gotta go. Talk to you tomorrow. Or not. I promise you nothing.

Microstory 2291: Went Over the Edge

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This is a hard post to write, for obvious reasons. If you read Nick’s blog, then you must already know that he’s dead, and Dutch is missing. To throw you off the trail, and preserve some privacy, he told you that we had gone to Florida, and that we left Thursday evening. In reality, we left mid-afternoon, and went to San Francisco, California to enjoy one of the amusement parks out there. You know the one. We decided to drive all the way there in order to avoid all the airport hustle and bustle, and the fan scrutiny. We never stopped, except to use the facilities, or fill up the vehicles. That’s the benefit of having a security team. They could share the driving responsibilities, and we were able to sleep whenever we needed to. We had a great time on Friday, Saturday, and a little on Sunday morning. I’m grateful that he at least went out on a high note. On our way back, we were driving through the mountains of Colorado when Nick and Dutch’s SUV slipped on some dark ice, and went over the edge. I was in the other car at the time, so I could sprawl out to sleep. I believe that Nick and Dutch were both asleep at the time as well. At approximately 4:00 in the morning today, rescuers discovered Nick Fisherman IV’s body. They were actually working for our security firm, who has an office in Glenwood Springs, which wasn’t too far away. Both drivers were found dead as well, and the search for Dutch continues, but in this freezing cold winter weather, it’s not looking good. You may have noticed that this post is very straightforward, and unemotional. I can’t let my emotions out, or I’ll explode. I just needed to give you the information. I’m sure I’ll be a wreck once the truth really sets in.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 24, 2476

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They broke into two teams, but they weren’t ready to split up just yet. While Leona, Mateo, and Olimpia were preparing a block of the domes for the arrival of anyone from the Goldilocks Corridor who wanted to escape the Exin Empire, Ramses, Angela, and Marie were planning to figure out how to ferry those refugees. Ramses still didn’t know how to properly navigate with the slingdrive. He was starting to worry that it was impossible, which could explain why apparently no one had ever managed to use dark matter for anything before. They couldn’t just go off and run their tests, though, because then they could end up just as lost as they were the first time. There needed to be some way for them to return home, even if that was the only place they could ever go.

Leona was presently examining the Livewire. She wasn’t using any tools or instruments; just looking it over with her eyes. “Hm.”

“Hm, what?” Ramses asked.

“Look at this.” She set the wire on the table, carefully reaching for a particular spot with both her thumbs and index fingers. She slowly pulled them apart while Ramses watched closely from the other side of the table.

“Oh. Huh.”

“What is it?” Mateo asked. “What did I miss?” He wasn’t as close to it as they were.

“It can grow,” Ramses replied.

“Hold on, wait.” Leona reached for two more spots, and did what she did again, but this time in reverse.

“Interesting,” Ramses noted.

“Did you just make it shrink?” Mateo guessed.

Leona nodded. “When Vearden first pulled this thing out of his much smaller necklace, I thought that it was just being stored in a pocket dimension, like a really narrow bag of holding. But this suggests that the wire’s size-shifting ability is an innate property. When we’ve used it, we’ve had to figure out how to make it reach where we need it to, but that’s because we didn’t notice these...expansion points.”

“Will they help do the thing that we need it to do?” Mateo pressed.

Leona sighed. “Probably not. I mean, they’re nice to have. They’ll certainly make it easier to do whatever we end up trying with the six of us, but it doesn’t help us understand what that’s going to be. Did this Arqut fellow say anything else?”

“He just said that this thing can help protect us from Buddy’s summoning power,” Mateo replied. “I don’t know if it can link us to each other, it just seems like a natural secondary use.” The slingdrive testers couldn’t leave until they were sure that they would be able to come back here, or rather back to their friends. That was the point, really, to not be permanently separated from each other. The wire may or may not be that solution. If they could crack the code, the idea was to form multiple spatio-temporal tethers between each other. Basically, the Livewire was meant to serve as a connection between each pair in the group, so that no matter what, they would always be able to get back to each other. “I don’t know how to do it, though. Is it psychic?”

“I’m not sure,” Ramses said. “But it must be, right? When we used it before, we told the wire when and where to transfer the consciousnesses. They didn’t end up way off course, like my slingdrive, or something stupid like that,” he started to mumble.

Leona smiled softly, and patted him on the back.

Mateo nodded. “So we essentially need to quantum replicate the Livewire fourteen times, so each one of us is linked to all of the other five. Or we don’t replicate the wire itself, but the power that it holds.”

The two geniuses gave him a look.

“What? We studied the Handshake Problem in my stupid people’s high school math class. I know some things,” Mateo insisted.

“I think if we just successfully form fifteen total links,” Ramses began, “we’ll have our fix. The issue is that I have no clue how to do it even once. We still don’t know what this thing is, or where it came from. We wouldn’t want us accidentally swapping bodies, or erasing our memories. We have to somehow program it to generate the invisible tethers without doing anything else to us.”

“How do you program a unique temporal object?” Leona asked rhetorically.

Mateo took the wire from Leona, and walked aimlessly around the room while he was holding it up to the light, and covering it in shadow, and thinking. “Rambo, didn’t you figure out how to make your own pair of HG Goggles?”

“Uh, it wasn’t technically me. It was my alternate self who we left on Ex-324.”

“You’ve maintained contact?” Leona questioned. “What does he say? What’s happening there? Is he okay? Are the Welriosians okay?”

“That is a lot of queries,” Ramses said in a robot voice. “Not enough memory to compute.” He went back to his regular voice. “He’s fine, they’re fine. It’s a pretty peaceful planet as far as the Corridor goes. We’re lucky, though, because it’s not all that important to Oaksent’s needs, so he doesn’t pay much attention to them.”

“The goggles?” Mateo reminded him after a moment of awkward silence.

“Right.” Ramses went over to a filing cabinet, and pulled out the goggles. They looked fairly similar to the original pair, though they were distinguishable.

Mateo accepted them from him, and put them over his face. He started to look the wire over again. The whole thing was glowing green, but some bits were shinier and white. He was able to pinch and zoom to get a closer picture.  “Yeah, I can see the expansion points more clearly. They’re not everywhere, so there’s likely a limit to its scope. Hopefully that’s not a problem, or we’ll always have to stay within a few meters of each other.”

“What are you thinking?” Leona asked him.

Mateo looked up at her with the goggles still on. Other objects in the room were glowing as well, different colors, to varying degrees. Ramses and Leona’s comms discs were quite noticeable from here, even though they were embedded under their skins. “Just what I suspected.” He pointed at the two of them, back and forth several times over. Then he handed her the goggles so she could see for herself. “Here,” he said, taking them off, and offering them to Leona.

“She put them on, and looked around as well, particularly at the boys. She nodded with understanding. “We’re already linked through a quantum network.” She tapped at her neck behind her ear.

“Oh,” Ramses exclaimed. “Yeah, I think I can work with that. If I can convert the quantum frequency of our discs into something that the wire can interpret, I might be able to resonate them until they become entangled.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Mateo joked. “I’ll leave you two to do it to it.” He left the room, and closed the door behind them. “Pia, where are you?”

“We’re in the 3D maze!” Olimpia shouted back. It sounded like she was running.

“Hey, gang, stay off comms for the rest of the day, please. I’m messing with them,” Ramses requested.

If the other three were in the dome that was literally a maze, and they could no longer communicate with each other remotely, then there was no way that he was finding them. He was just gonna have to come up with his own way to pass the time. He reached into his pocket, and pulled out his handheld device, where he had downloaded the dome brochure. Since there were people here now, Hrockas had gone through, and highlighted the domes that were actually ready to be tested. That was what he was busy with right now, further developing the unfinished themed domes, so they would be ready for his customers twenty-four years from now. He wasn’t actually going to charge anyone for anything, of course. The bragging rights of being the most popular planet in the galaxy would be payment enough, if he succeeded. Varkas Reflex and Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida would sure give him a run for his money, though he might have an edge with all of this paraterraforming. Almost the entire surface was habitable, giving potential visitors and residents an amount of freedom that none of the other destination worlds could yet match, even with their time and proximity advantages.

Mateo checked the list once, twice, three times. Nothing was speaking to him. Zombedome wasn’t finished yet. Hrockas imagined that it would be one of the most popular, so he was spending a lot of time perfecting it, and didn’t want anyone to see it until he was satisfied with the results. Mateo decided to switch to the map, which showed where each dome was in relation to the others. Something here caught his eye. There were two giant black spots that were on the exact opposite sides as each other. He guessed that these were the poles, and that there were no domes there at all. He was terribly curious about what they looked like, whether they resembled Antarctica and the Arctic on Earth, or if they were wildly different. He laughed out loud. Hrockas expected people to come here, and have to be transported to each dome using Vendelin’s vactrain network, which could easily exclude these poles. But Mateo could jump there in seconds. Nothing was off limits to him.

Boom. Splash. He was in the water, and it was freezing cold. If he weren’t an upgraded posthuman, he would probably be on the brink of death by now, even in this short span of time. Before he left, though, he spun himself around. He could see no land anywhere, nor anything else. The sky wasn’t what he expected, however. He wasn’t just looking at the blackness behind a very thin atmosphere. It resembled what one would find on a fully habitable planet, with clouds, and blue scatter. It was likely a hologram. Was this whole thing just another dome? One last thing, he took his device back out, and concentrated on the edge of the black zone, so he could teleport there, instead of back to Castledome. He made the jump, and landed on a rocky beach. The hologram was still here, but now that he was closer, he could also detect the curve of the dome over his head, and the faint imperfections of the image on the opaque surface. If this entire pole was covered by one giant dome, it would have to be hundreds of kilometers wide.

“Here, take this.” There was actually another person here; a teenage girl. She was holding a large blanket up for him. It was ombre striped, of varying shades, but mostly in the greens. She had evidently built a fire nearby too. Had she been expecting him?

“Thanks.” He took it graciously, and wrapped himself in it, rubbing his shoulders to warm up. “I don’t know how you got here, but it’s nice to meet you. I’m Mateo.”

“I know.” She paused for a good long time. “It’s Romana, your daughter.”

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Microstory 2157: Jail For Everyone

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All right, the power’s back, and we’re okay. I mean, we’re not okay. Three people died in the storm, and another in the aftermath. Did I not tell you that there was a storm? It didn’t seem that bad, but I was in jail at the time, and I don’t have a cell with windows. The wind was apparently really bad. It knocked a bunch of electrical poles over. Contractors from all over drove in to help restore power. I think I heard that some of them were from as far as Arkansas, which is so crazy to me. I could go into more detail about what I experienced during this time, but I think I’ve said just about everything I need to about it. I will tell you that my fridge and freezer did fine. I deliberately didn’t open either of them even once that whole time, to keep as much heat out as possible. I drank directly from the tap, and I had a peanut butter sandwich, since I couldn’t access the jelly. I know a lot of people had it a lot worse than I did. I was able to open some windows in my apartment to keep the air circulating. It was still hot, but not unbearable, and it went back to normal overnight. I was gonna try reading a book to pass the time, but I really only have these so my built-in bookcase doesn’t look empty and pathetic. I don’t actually like to read, and I don’t want to read any of them. I mostly just took naps, and went on a few walks. I took care of my plants and flowers, though, so that took all of ten minutes. There’s a bit of good news, though. For everyone who was in intermittent jail at the time of the power outage, or was scheduled to be while it was still going on, those days were erased from our respective sentences. That means that I don’t have to make up for it later, and push my end date further back than it already is. The way I’m guessing they reason it is that the power outage was basically jail for everyone, though they didn’t actually use that as an explanation. Either way, I’m grateful.

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: October 8, 2398

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Mateo’s phone rings. It’s Moray, which isn’t odd. His brother, Carlin has been calling a lot lately, trying to get him to teleport up to Palmeria. This is probably him, thinking that using a different phone is like a new strategy. “Mr. Matic, are you there?” It actually is Moray, he’s whispering.

“You can just call me Mateo,” he reminds him.

“You need to come right now. I know that we keep saying that, but it really is an emergency.”

“What kind of emergency?” Mateo asks. “Tell me what happened.”

“Heath’s ex-husband is here. He’s really mad. He’s demanding to see him and Marie. He has Carlin and me trapped on the little island. We’ve been helping get the resort ready for the next guest every morning, but the Waltons are still in the main house on the big island. They don’t know anything’s happened yet. What do we do?”

“I’m not sure that I can teleport,” Mateo explains as he’s rushing down the stairs, “but I’m going to do what I can. I’m going to hand Ramses the phone, so you can stay on the line with him.”

“I don’t know how long I can hide in the bathroom,” Moray explains in a lower voice. “He’s going to get suspicious.”

“Don’t make him any angrier,” Mateo tells him. “Hang up if you have to. Someone is coming, I promise.” He’s reached the lab. He covers the mouthpiece with his hand, and relays the info to Ramses. Then he hands over the phone, and teleports away.

He doesn’t know where he is, but it’s nowhere near Palmeria. The small border country is on an island in a lake. This is saltwater. And it’s freezing. And he literally doesn’t know which way is up. Let’s see, what did his brother, Darko say about this? That’s right. Blow bubbles, and head in the same direction. He releases what little air he has left, and follows them up. The sun is bearing straight down on him, but it still feels cold enough for him to die of hypothermia. Sometimes, when he’s tried to teleport in recent days, he has arrived late. Often he doesn’t go anywhere at all. He’s occasionally been a little bit off the mark, but unless this is the Great Salt Lake, he’s a thousand miles from his destination. Even if this were the Salt Lake, that would probably be true, though it might not be so cold.

There is no land in sight, though that may have more to do with the waves blocking his view. There’s no way to know, and without even a vague guess as to where he is, he can’t possibly know which direction to try to swim. Well, it could be worse. He could have ended up at the bottom of the ocean, instead of near the surface. Then again, at least that would have been a quick death. Who knows how long he’ll last if he can’t get his powers working again, if only once more? God, that’s such a bad idea. Teleporting is what got him into this mess, it is not going to get him out. Damn, he doesn’t even have his phone! Why didn’t he just ask Moray to hang up and call Ramses? Oh, because it’s only hindsight that is 20/20.

He has to get out of this water, and warm up. His only choice is to pick a direction, and cross his fingers. What he wouldn’t give to be in a lifeboat with a tiger right now, or even just a man with a tiger’s name. This is all wasteful thinking. There is no boat, no living mobile island. There’s just him and the deep blue sea. Whether he makes it to land or not, swimming will get his blood pumping, and keep him warmer for longer. Perhaps Ramses can track all teleportation around the planet. He’ll realize that Mateo never made it to Palmeria, use tech to get there himself to help, and then maybe send someone else on The Olimpia? How long will that take? A matter of hours? Surely he has hours of life left in him. Not necessarily, or rather, not likely.

He takes a deep breath to prepare himself, and then reaches across the water, pulling it towards him. Then he reaches out with his other arm, and does the same thing. He keeps doing that for about three hundred years before he gets tired, and has to take a break. How far did he get? Well, when he first started the sun was over his head, and the water was under his chin, which is still the case, so presumably, he didn’t go anywhere at all. That’s funny, but could also be one hundred percent true. The waves may have even pushed him farther away, which is probably okay, because he doesn’t know where he’s going anyway. Kolby Morse, also known as Guard Number Two, was a lifeguard, and once told Mateo that he knew how to make a lifejacket out of his own pants by tying the legs together, and swinging them over his head to catch and trap air. He didn’t go over the specifics on how to make it work, but this is a better time to try than never.

It takes Mateo several attempts, usually because he’s not happy with how little air he was able to trap, but finally, he has it. Now he can rest. He’s still lost. He’s freezing. But he’s not treading water anymore. For a time, he just stays like that, floating on his back with his eyes closed, and trying to capture as much sunlight as possible. It’s not enough. He has to get as much of his body out of the water as he can. Is that right? That may not be right, because of the wind. Oh my God, how does anyone survive anything! Half of them didn’t. That’s what happens. One person dies trying something, so the next person learns from their mistakes, and does it better. Unfortunately, it’s looking like Mateo is the first one in that allegory. One day, a teleporter with no control over their power is going to be in the same situation, but they’ll do it better, because they’ll hear the tale of this day. They’ll call it...The Downfall of Mateo Matic. Or maybe The Drowning of Mateo Matic. Or, no, how about—what the hell was that?

Is that a breeze underneath him? He swears, it felt like air tickling the shirt under his back. There it is again. He carefully turns his neck, and looks over his pants lifejacket. There’s the water. It’s under him, sure, but he’s in it anymore. He’s hovering over the surface. He’s completely up in the air. He lets go of his pant legs, and looks at his hands. They’re tingling in a way they never have before. Is this...is this true telekinesis? The god who gave him these powers said that they would just allow him to simulate touching things without technically making contact. But whatever magic he used to give him such a limited form of telekinetic powers must also be theoretically capable of real telekinesis. Perhaps that magic is somewhat sentient, and is aware that Mateo is in trouble.

Mateo closes his eyes again, and drops his hands to his sides. He calls upon the spirit of Tony Stark with his rocket hand things, and pushes himself farther away from the water. There’s a learning curve to this flying thing, but he doesn’t go too far up, so if he falls, he’ll land safely in the ocean. He just keeps working at it, and while he never flies like superman, he does make it to an inhabited island, where—after climbing over some language barriers—he manages to learn is not too far from Antarctica, which explains why it’s so damn cold here. A look at the map shows that he’s even pretty close to the region where the Nexus is. Now he just needs a radio.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 14, 2020

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Now, it was cold back in February of 2013. It was colder than Mateo would have expected for Utah. But there was no precipitation, and no wind. In 2020, on whatever date, there was still no precipitation, but it was much, much colder, and the wind made it unbearable. All this time, Leona had tried to convince Mateo to sleep with his clothes on, because as time travelers, that was the safest way to do it. He attempted this multiple times, but never to any success. He often woke up completely naked without any recollection of removing his clothing sometime in the middle of the night. Other times, he could recall every time he peeled off another layer. It just wasn’t comfortable enough, so in the end, he had to make a conscious decision to not worry about it anymore. He would rather jump to a dangerous situation in the nude than jump there without at least a little rest. At the moment, he was only wearing his underwear, probably because going bare next to the unpredictable Past!Lowell could have been more hazardous to his health than a poor night’s rest.

The tent was gone, as was his pile of clothes. Anatol was nowhere to be seen. The shock of the freeze caused Mateo to just collapse right there on the frosty ground. He cuddled himself, trying to get warm. He struggled there for an indeterminate amount of time before he realized that his only chance of surviving this was to find shelter. Scared, he got himself back to his feet, and desperately looked around. He was in the middle of the woods, and it was still nighttime. “Leona,” he whispered, presumably worried about waking up a bear. Even the appearance of a raccoon would freak him out in his condition. Still, this was going to get him nowhere. “Leona,” he said in a louder voice. “Leona!” he shouted.

Only about ten meters away, Leona woke up to the sound of her husband’s pleas. She scurried out of the tent, immediately realizing that they were not in the same place they were before. “Mateo!”

“Leona!”

They rushed over to each other, and came into a hug, not just because they loved each other, but because it was well below freezing out here. “Come on,” she said. She helped him between the trees, and to the tent.

Jeremy was up by now, and watching them from the entrance. He backwalked deeper in to give them more space. He then turned his sleeping back around so it would open towards Leona’s. They all got into the double bag and created a Mateo sandwich, rubbing his arms to generate some heat. “Hand warmers,” Jeremy suggested. He flipped over and wrestled with his bag. He took out the three packs he still had left. “Shake these, and hold them in your hands. I’ll shake the other, and keep it on the back of your neck. It’s often overlooked.”

They lay there for about an hour. All three of them fell asleep again. They woke up to the sun at 7:15, glad that they were now warm enough to stay alive. As Mateo was putting on an extra set of Jeremy’s clothes, their Cassidy cuffs beeped. The mission was eleven miles away as the crow flies, and they had less than two hours to get there. The three of them left the tent standing, along with much of their supplies, and got on their way. Mateo didn’t even have any decent footwear. He insisted on wearing Jeremy’s water shoes—which had been put in his new pack by the sporting goods store, for whatever reason—because Jeremy’s boots wouldn’t fit him anyway. He wore two pairs of socks, and just suffered a little more than he should have through the hike to civilization. The rest of his body was fine as he was using the sleeping bag as a jacket, but he kind of wished he had saved the hand warmers. His feet needed them more now than his hands ever did.

Less than a mile into their trek, they were stepping onto Hutton Road when they saw a man about to drive out of his neighborhood, probably on his commute to work. He could see that they were in distress, so he pulled up next to them, and offered a ride. He cranked up the heat, and headed towards the city before asking them where they needed to go. They couldn’t quite tell, as the cuffs were still only showing them location and destination. But for now, this was the right direction.

“I live in Kansas, but work in downtown KCMO. I’m the boss, so I can be late, and my boss is beautiful and amazing.  Do you need to go to the hospital, or the police station?”

“Actually,” Mateo said, “the nearest shoe store would be great.”

“That’s probably in Legends,” the driver said as they were getting onto the highway. “Hey Thistle, what’s the nearest shoe store?” The AI assistant listed off a few options, but none of them was open until later. They had to get to the mission before then. “That’s okay. If you just need to get your feet wrapped up better, we can go to the retail store. It opens at 8:00, and I know that because I once accidentally left my coffee on the roof, and had to desperately look for a replacement before a meeting. But again, no meeting today, so I can take you anywhere you need to go, even multiple places. I used to do this for a living; drove for RideSauce.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mateo asked. “Me too.”

“Nice. What do you do now?”

“Search and rescue,” Jeremy answered. It was a lie in that search and rescue was a real job, which people trained for extensively, but also the truth in that they often performed it in its most basic form.

The driver sounded impressed. “Really?”

“Well, we’re training,” Leona amended. She couldn’t backtrack the fib completely, so she decided to make it make sense. “That’s why we’re out here like this. My husband was playing the victim, while the two of us were sent to find him. The last part of the exercise is getting back to base.”

“Oh, am I interfering with that?” he asked as they were pulling into the outlet mall complex.

“Oh, no,” Mateo insisted. “The instructor said to get back by any means necessary. You’re a pretty good means. We really appreciate it. We’ll probably win the competition because of you.”

“I’m honored,” the driver said proudly.

They parked and got out. As they were walking towards the entrance, a woman was going for another door. Mateo did a double take, but it wasn’t necessary. He had seen this woman just yesterday from his perspective. It was almost seven years ago for her, so she wouldn’t recognize them, but he felt compelled to speak up. “Cecelia?”

She turned her head, leaving her hand on the door. “The Matics.”

“You remember us?” Leona questioned.

“You remember me.”

“How could anyone forget you?” Jeremy asked rhetorically, inching closer.

“Weren’t there four of you?” Cecelia asked.

“Don’t worry about it,” Leona said dismissively, not wanting to alert Anatol to their little scheme.

“Do you still work in shoes?” Mateo asked. “I need shoes.”

“Yes, you do.” a confused Cecelia grinned, and looked at his feet. “Unfortunately for you, I’m outta the game. I went back to school, and now I’m a guidance counselor.”

Jeremy smiled at her. “Oh, good for you. That must be so rewarding.” He liked women, but since he grew up only existing during about twenty percent of the year, he had very little experience with them. When he saw someone he liked, he came on strong.

She smiled politely. “I see the packs are holding up quite nicely after all this time.” The driver didn’t say anything, but as nice as he was being, he couldn’t be trusted with their belongings. It looked weird for them to come into the store with them, but probably necessary. “That’s why I remember you; it was an odd request, fully supplied hiking packs. I found out later that the store didn’t really do that sort of thing, and I went above and beyond. I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t get a raise. They said that the rise in expectations from their customers would cost them too much.”

“We didn’t tell anybody,” Leona insisted.

“Whatever, it was Utah.” She paused, but it was clear she had things to do. “Well, it was nice running into you again. I have to go pick up some things before school. I’m already running a bit late.”

“Oh no, sorry,” Jeremy apologized. “It’s fine, we’re late too.”

“Okay, great, bye,” she said, walking in.

Jeremy smiled and crossed his arms. It was then that he seemed to notice his cuff. “The mission. It’s gone. Y’all got dots?”

The other two checked theirs. No dots.

“You mean you don’t have to get back to base?” the driver guessed.

“Yeah, that means we can just go home.” It sounded sad, like they not only lost the competition, but also failed the training exercise. It didn’t matter, though, since it wasn’t the truth. The real sad thing was that they may have just failed their actual mission, even though they weren’t scheduled to be there until 9:00. What had changed while they were here? “Thank you for the ride,” Leona said to the driver. “I think we’re just gonna hang around here, and grab some breakfast. Then we’ll call a RideSauce car.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yeah, you’ve been a great help,” Mateo agreed.

“Before you go,” Jeremy stopped him, “what’s your name?” Oh yeah, they hadn’t bothered asking him that yet. How rude?

He smiled, unfazed by the delay. “Norberto. Norberto Pastore, at your service.” The name sounded familiar, but Mateo left his stuff in the past, including the little notebook where he kept track of all the people he met, or heard of.

They said their goodbyes, and parted ways. The search and rescuers walked into the store, and headed for the fast food restaurant inside. Once they had their food, they sat down at a table. Anatol Klugman walked up with his own food, and Mateo’s regular bag over his shoulders. He dropped it to the floor, and sat down to start eating. He didn’t speak right away, so the other three just began their own meal, and waited for something to change.

“So?” Anatol began. “Did you have fun?”

“It was cold,” Mateo said, mouth full.

“I bet. You didn’t have any clothes on.”

“Thanks for that,” Mateo said sarcastically.

“No problem.” He pretended that this was all genuine and serious.

“What was the point of that exercise, just to remind us that you’re in charge?” Leona asked.

“Absolutely not,” Anatol contended. “You saved someone’s life today?”

“Whose? Norberto’s? Was he about to get in a car accident on his way to work?” Jeremy guessed.

“No, not him,” Anatol disputed. “I mean, he has his role in the future, but I don’t actually care about him. No, there was a man...in the woods. He was very hurt, and as we’ve established, it was very cold. Not long after you left, he found the tent that you left behind, and he crawled inside. Your supplies are presently keeping him alive while he waits for help.”

“Who is he? Another one of your serial killer killers?” Mateo presumed.

“His name is Jabez Carpenter,” Anatol explained. “He’s an associate of Mercury Fletcher’s.”

“Why didn’t you just call emergency services, and tell them where he was? That would have been far easier.”

Anatol laughed. “He’s supposed to be in jail. No cops.” He could have also just left him the tent, but...whatever. Further arguing would have done them no good. “Anyway, I was—shall we say—listening in on your conversation with Cecelia, who has served her role a number of times, and can finally move on with her life. I noticed she mentioned there were four of you at the store seven years ago. What did she mean by that? You didn’t correct her.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Leona lied. She tried to ignore him and focus on her hash browns.

Anatol cleared his throat, and started tapping on the primary cuff. The conversation they had earlier with Cecelia played back to them. They could hear her clearly mention a fourth person.

“Shit,” Leona said. They had been caught. She held her hand in front of her, and moved them around in a very deliberate manner. They were finger tuts, and it was their way of secretly reaching out to someone who had been helping them for a while now.

Tertius Valerius appeared from a portal, holding onto a rope attached to the other side. He would not be able to stick around for long like this.

“Take him,” Leona ordered, gesturing towards Jeremy. “Now.”

“He’s sitting right there,” Tertius pointed out, indicating Anatol.

“I know, just do it.”

“Really,” Jeremy argued. “It’s fine, I can stay.”

“We promised we would get you all out, and we’re gonna get you all out. Now go.”

Tertius took Jeremy by the hand, then he tugged on the rope twice with his other. They were both pulled into the portal. A crowd had formed to witness it, but once the portal evaporated, all of their memories were erased. Only the three remaining time travelers could remember that anything had ever happened.

“I see,” Anatol said, possibly defeated. “This is going to make things surprisingly interesting. I don’t think you’re gonna like what I make you do, now that I know what you’ve been keeping from me.”

“Do your worst,” Mateo demanded. “Our friends are all safe now.”

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Microstory 1551: Color of the Sky

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Prompt

I run outside and find the sky has turned green.

Botner

Not a good sign. I call my mom, who is in town, and she says she’ll come get me. I grab my waders and run for the truck, just as a huge thunderclap sounds and the sky begins pouring rain. My phone dies after two tries. It is super annoying because I am outside with no coverage, but I can’t tell my mom that because she’s not answering her phone. I go to leave the house, and as I open the door, it occurs to me that I do not have a hat. The moment I leave, the sky clears up, and it is a gorgeous day. I spend the day wandering around town, shooting the scenery. In the evening, I camp on one of my favorite places on the lake. I have to walk about a mile to get to my campsite, and I run into a nice guy who is also setting up his tent. We talk for a bit, then he says, “I’ve got a campsite right across the street. Are you hungry?” I get to camp and make my dinner. I’m lying on the ground trying to figure out what to do for my tomorrow when a couple of guys appear out of nowhere. They take me on a two mile hike, then we sit around a campfire and they share their beers with me. It was a pretty sweet experience, even though I couldn't understand a word they were saying. I wake up bright and early, and it is sunny and gorgeous. I have decided that after finishing this section, I will be going home and taking some time off. After a day of riding, I hit the road, and it is amazing. I’ve come a long way in the past week, and I’m feeling strong and confident. My plan is to climb the entire thirteen miles of a paved highway to meet my first Expert level rest stop, and then drop down to town and restock, which will get me a little bit closer to the summit. This is a difficult section, but my body is feeling good and I’m getting plenty of rest. As I ride, I fall into a rhythm. I push a little bit, and then I ease up a bit. I don’t need to save my legs for the big climbs. I know from experience that I can handle anything from the present moment, and it is much less stressful that way. I finish the day and it is amazing. I’ve caught up to Tim, and we ride together through the night, chatting about climbing, life, motorcycles, everything. It feels so good to share this experience with someone else. It helps break up the monotony, but I don’t have to be the one to carry the conversation. We ride together through the night and camp at the second highest rest stop. It is freezing cold. We...

Conclusion

...look up at the sky, and find that it has now turned purple. It is no longer a gorgeous day, and I realize how much I dislike Tim. It’s nice to have someone else around sometimes, when I don’t have anyone else, but as I’m watching the orangish clouds roll overhead, I realize that I can do better than this. Without saying a word, I stand up, take off all of my clothes, and ride out of the campsite. I imagine Tim watching me go with total apathy, but only because he does nothing to stop me from going. It feels amazing, being out here, knowing how close I am to frostbite or death. My life is pretty boring, and you have to find ways to push yourself to your limits, or you’ll never amount to anything. The harder I pedal, the warmer I get, proving to me that I can do just about anything if I ignore the risks, and press on. I’m wrong, though. As the sky falls into a deep red, and the sun melts away, I look down at my blue fingers and toes. I was dying the whole time, but it’s not like I could have stopped it. The sun continues to disappear, taking everyone on the planet with it.

Fervor: Escape from 1972 (Part VI)

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“My God, young lady, you look like a whore!” my mother shouts for all the world to hear.

“I beg your pardon,” the woman who was trying to help interrupts, but she’s still being ignored.

“What are you wearing? Why do you look so old? Where did you go?”

I’m fourteen years old, which is only about a year older than my parents expect me to be, but I guess their memory is of me as a twelve-year-old, which is a fairly big difference in a young lady’s development. I’ve had to grow up pretty fast because of the terrible conditions I started in, and when Serkan and Ace took me out of that life, it wasn’t like I started regressing, or anything. I’m still rather mature for my age, and my time in the 21st century has only made me more independent. These two people here may have conceived and raised me—though, there’s no way of knowing whether we’re related to each other, because I’ve yet to see proof of it—but they don’t control me anymore. I scoff at her, and try to walk away.

There’s got to be a way out of here. Okay, let me think. I seem to have the ability to travel through time and space using photographs. That would be fine if I had a picture of 2025, or 1491, but I lost my phone with tons of options from the former, and camera technology didn’t exist as far back as the latter. Hell, I would take it if something could take me back to sometime in the 2020s, as long as it was before the day that I left. No, I’ll even take a week or to after that. Thinking about it even more, I realize that all I really need is a way to get out of what I see now from a shred of newspaper blowing on the ground that it’s no sooner than October of 1972. I would need to find something more current to get an exact date, but that matches up with what I remember about when the famous Blue Marble photo, which I’ve been using as my phone background, was taken.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” my mother spits. By now the other woman has slipped away, not wanting to interfere too much in other people’s lives. I think in the future, people will be less forgiving, because they’ll never know when they’re being watched by video cameras, designed to record social behavior. For the most part, however, a 1972 mother is free to discipline her child however she sees fit.

“Do you have any pictures?”

“What?”

“Like in your purse,” I press. “Or dad, in your wallet? Do you have any picture of me as a baby? Or of anything?”

She’s noticeably thrown off by this, and interprets it as an attack on her character, which it partly is. I’m just looking for a way out. “Well, no, but...”

“Did you look for me? Did you send out a photo of your missing daughter? Or did you just go back home?”

“We haven’t been back home since you disappeared,” my father finally says. He never hit me, but he stayed quiet when my mother did, and maybe that’s just as bad.

“Oh my God, are you still on your ancestry tour? Christ, I had my blood tested. We’re not part African. That was just what your own father told you to excuse himself for being a racist piece of shit. We are British or Irish, though, so you got lucky with that one.”

“Now, you listen here,” my mother begins.

I scoff again, but much louder, as I’m rolling my eyes, and turning away. She grabs my arm. “Let me go.”

“I am your mother, and you will—”

I don’t let her finish. I just narrow my eyes and take a quarter step towards her, my arm fully within her grasp. “If you don’t let me go right now, you’re gonna find out how good 1970s South African medicine is.”

She’s never been scared of me before, and she’s never been scared of anything more than me right now. She releases me, and lets out a whimper so faint, I can’t be sure I didn’t imagine it.

I take a moment to calm down, and try to be as cold as possible. “I left you in Stonehenge because I was done being treated like two chalkboard erasers. I have gone on to see wonders, to meet wonderful people, and to learn new things.” I realize I can’t say anything about being a time traveler, but as I’m speaking, I’m also realizing no time traveler I’ve met has actually said anything about some Time Patrol. Maybe I can tell them the truth, and no one will care. I don’t think I have to, though. “I left because it was best for me, and for you. You never wanted kids, and only did so because you were indoctrinated into a society that expected it of you. I’m pleased to announce that you have fulfilled your obligation. I may have escaped a few years sooner than you expected me to, but I think we all knew it would come to this. I’m not calling the cops, or seeking a journalist to tell my story about your abuse, but I’m also not going home with you. This is my life now, and that is yours. I need to find a newsstand, or maybe a library, so I can make my way out of this country. If you pursue me, in any capacity, I’ll make Lizzie Borden look like Cindy-Lou Who. Are we on the same page?”

They don’t say anything, and I just walk away, not sure who’s more scared of me; my father, my mother, or myself. I do find a newsstand, and discover that it’s the seventh day of December. The latest paper from the states is from the first of the month in New York. I feel like my best option is to at least get back to the states. I don’t know of any time travelers that lived in this time period, except for Detective Bran, who is still a child at this point, but the U.S. still seems like the safest place to go. I pay for the paper, and choose the first headline I see with a picture: Storm Caused Traffic Mishaps.

Maybe that wasn’t really the best one I could use, because I’m suddenly standing in freezing cold weather in late Fall. Several cars are stopped on the wrong side of the road—that is, as long as I’m not still in South Africa. I hear honking and screaming, and the sirens from a trooper. He gets out of his car, and starts rounding up help from other drivers, to get the cars back where they belong. Even though it’s cold as hell, I still have no idea what I’m going to do, so I might as well help too. I get behind one of the cars, and prepare to push. The big strong men also getting ready to push look at me funny. “Call me Rosie the Riveter,” I say to them. One of the men trying to push another car takes off his heavy coat, and gives it to me, which I don’t see as an affront to my feminism. Together, we all get them up the hill, and out of the way. I try to return the coat to the man as he’s getting ready to leave the scene, but he just winks and says I should keep it. He’s older than me, but I don’t get any creepy vibes.

As strange as it must look for a teenage girl to be wandering the highway alone in the middle of the day in November, nobody else gives me any trouble, or offers to help. There’s no telling how long these people were stuck in traffic, but surely they’re all just in a hurry to get home. It was probably mentioned in the article from the paper, but I didn’t bother reading it that closely, and I couldn’t take it with me, because it was run a day in the future. I start walking down highway 20, headed towards civilization, thinking about what I could have done better, confident that I made all the best choices with the cards I was dealt. Goddamn it’s cold, though. If I’m going to be a time traveler, I need to start thinking about not going anywhere without a bag of essentials. I need to keep things like water and cash with me at all times, but the first order of business would be a coat. I stick my hands in the pockets, and find what feels like a piece of paper. I take it out, hoping whatever it is isn’t important to the guy who gave me the coat. It’s a photograph.

At first everything seems normal to me, but then I realize that photos these days aren’t printed on paper like this. You would need a personal computer to do it, which is impossible. Even if you didn’t, the picture itself doesn’t look like anything that exists today. I don’t even know what it is, but it looks like something out of a science fiction movie. I flip the paper over, where it reads, Giant Magellan Telescope, April 4, 2025. “Holy shit!” I can’t help but exclaim out loud. That’s a few days, off but I'll take it. I look behind me, half-expecting the coat’s owner to have followed me there, but the afternoon rush is over, and I’m alone. Worried a time pigeon might come and snatch the picture from my hand, I concentrate on it until my eyes start burning, and I make the jump to the future. Man, that’s a lot easier that I would have thought. In movies, it takes superheroes days to master their powers, if not longer.

I stand and marvel at the telescope for a good long time before someone realizes I don’t belong there, and escorts me off the premises. I discover that I’m in Chile, so I make my way to the nearest internet café. I tell the woman working the counter that I just need a minute to look up directions, and she gladly activates a computer for me to use, free of charge. I try to run a search of J.U. Mithra Labs, but none exists on the internet, which is strange, because I feel like I’ve seen one before. Maybe it’s a weird timey-wimey thing. No matter. I just need a picture of Independence, Missouri, and I’ll figure the rest out later. The most recent I find is a photo that a Local Guide took of some temple with a crazy spire on top, from the fourth of April. Perfect.

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