Microstory 2115: One Story at a Time

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In the year 2014, I started publishing my stories for all to see. Well, all on Facebook, anyway. And publish is a strong word. I was posting them at least. I wrote the first one on my phone, using a notes app. It was rather poetic, and not very much like my usual style. I don’t recall now what prompted me to start doing this. I suppose that I was tired of being rejected by literary agents, and ready for people to see my work, whether I was getting paid for it or not. Months later, I started working on my Blogger website, and ported all of the content from Facebook over. It wasn’t that much at the time, but it would become a lot soon. By then, I had come up with a long-term plan, instead of just writing something up day by day, and sending it off. I made a master list, and a rigid schedule. Sundays would be for my continuous main story, Saturdays for longer stories, and weekdays for really short bits. Then I had to start devising narrative ideas. The Advancement of Mateo Matic was already there. I thought of the idea of a character unwillingly being sent forward in time probably a year or two prior, but didn’t know what I would do with it, since it was before the site. I merged it with a preexisting title that was for a completely different series, and really started to focus on that. I had a couple ideas for the Saturday mezzofiction, but they wouldn’t last long, so that was a constantly evolving situation. The microfiction stories were the wild west in the beginning. I was still just coming up with one story at a time, which didn’t have anything to do with each other. It wasn’t until Bellevue Profiles later in 2015 that I started to see potential for complete series.

Okay, this has all taken me longer than I thought it would, particularly the post that I wrote for what will be yesterday for you, and I really feel like I just need to turn myself in to the police. I’m just procrastinating, and for what? I only have a few hundred followers at this point. I guess I’m only going to be scheduling two days out. That gets me through Friday, and I don’t post these on weekends anyway, so that’s practically four days. Maybe they’ll stick me in one of those jail cells with a computer and an internet connection. They have those, right? I dunno, this universe is unfamiliar to me. There’s more to get into about how my blog operates, so maybe I’ll get around to it later. When I finally do get internet access back—if ever—I’m sure I will have so much to catch you up on. I might have joined a prison gang, and gotten a tattoo. Or not. Wish me luck, or to break a leg, or whatever you people say around here.

Microstory 1267: Harlan Baer

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Harlan Baer was a criminal, and he never tried to get anyone to believe that he wasn’t. He was a very low-ranking member of the Business Ends gang of Kansas City in the 21st century. When he was caught selling drugs on the corner, his superiors made no attempt to help him in any way. Nor did they ask him to do things for them while he was inside. He just wasn’t important enough to them, and this lack of mutual loyalty made him a perfect candidate for a new gang. While he was in jail, a very powerful temporal manipulator called The Cleanser pulled him out of his cell, and relocated him to several decades in the future, along with a small group of other guests. He had no strong feelings about these other criminals, and they had no strong feelings about him. The Cleanser had conscripted them for a mission, but because none of them was a salmon or choosing one, the trip itself could eventually kill them. And so the man they were asked to kill arranged for them to be transported to a special place called Sanctuary. There they would be allowed to recover, serve out their likely sentences in more humane conditions, and remain in the hotel forever. Harlan wasn’t interested in this, though. He wanted to go back to the real world, and armed with the knowledge that there was more to life than peddling drugs, do something good. So he asked to go back to Kansas City, where he soon became one of the first members of the Tracer gang. He never intended to start a movement, but more rehabilitating criminals followed suit over the course of the next few years. Harlan had few further interactions with people who could manipulate time, but he did help make the world a better place in his own special way.

Microstory 1259: Tasha Rutherford

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Catalina Lenz was born and raised in Wyoming, but she wanted a change of pace after college, so she literally spun a globe, and decided to move wherever her finger landed. She immediately realized she didn’t want to live in another country, or the middle of the ocean, so she had to spin a couple dozen more times before finally landing on Kansas City. She would come to regret not trying for one more spin, or for giving Western Australia a shot. Not long after she moved, she got herself mixed up with the street gangs, particularly a high ranking member of the Business Ends, which once controlled a lot of Downtown KC MO. His anger and desire for violence increased proportionately to the drop in power he and his men had over the city. Another gang was taking over, and he took his frustrations out on Catalina. But she stayed, because she had spent almost every dime she had to travel across four states, and hadn’t ever found a way to support herself. Then she learned she was pregnant, and everything changed. Now there was this other person who couldn’t survive without her. She knew she had to get out to protect her daughter. If only she had realized that someone had already come up with a protocol for this, the plan would have gone much smoother. There was only one person she knew she could trust, but he had already done so much for her, and she didn’t want to burden him, or place him in danger. She snuck out on her own, and made her way to a little village in Illinois called Makanda. That wasn’t where she was trying to get to, but she felt it was safer to stay out of the big cities, which had more security cameras, and she could only travel so far in one go. This was where her ex-boyfriend’s lieutenant caught up with her, but also where she met some really nice people who had a way to help.

They ended up contacting the man who would have been able to help her back in Kansas City had she known anything about him. His real name was Duane Blackwood, but his nickname was The Forger. He was able to provide Catalina and her baby with new identifies, transforming them into Tasha and Sabine Rutherford. This was more than just just a few slips of paper, and a convincing passport. Duane had the ability to send data, and sometimes memories, through time. Birth certificates, hospital records, report cards, parking tickets, job applications, ID cards, even tourism photos; all these and more were believably sprinkled throughout history so that Tasha Rutherford was an undeniably real person, with a true background. The Forger also provided her with a little bit of seed money, so she could get her start somewhere else. Not wanting to make the same mistake twice, she ended up choosing to live in Perth, Australia, and loved it there. She kept a low profile, but her granddaughter certainly did not. In the future, most diseases were eradicated, but some were trickier than others. Cancer could be essentially suppressed using medical nanotechnology, but that wasn’t really a cure. People who underwent these treatments lived fulfilling lives, no longer actively aware of their condition, but this was still just managing the symptoms. Marcy Rutherford and her team started developing their cure for colorectal cancer in the 2080s, and finished it by 2095. Their efforts proved to be invaluable in research beyond this one form of cancer, as the unique method they used to combat the cancer cells could be adapted, and reapplied to other forms of cancer, and even some other diseases. Thanks to other medical advancements, Tasha lived long enough to see her granddaughter’s amazing accomplishments, and be thankful that she was afforded a rare second chance.

Microstory 1227: Krakken

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When Hilmar Strauss was born, his father noted that he looked like some kind of sea creature; covered in goo, flailing about, and making all kinds of noise. Hilmar’s mother didn’t appreciate it at the time, but the nickname he used grew on her, and eventually, pretty much everyone was calling him Kraken. Hilmar himself never liked the name, though he didn’t much care for his real name either, so he slightly altered the spelling in a half-act of defiance, half way of taking control of his own life, and finally came to identify himself as Krakken. He fancied himself a bit of an outlaw; one of those people who do illegal things simply because they’re illegal, and not because of any personal gain they provide. He wasn’t violent, angry, or psychotic, but his baby crimes—like stealing his podmate’s crayon in kindergarten—were aging as quickly as he was, so they were bound to become a real problem. Luckily enough, Krakken was living in the right time period, and the right city, to be a criminal who wasn’t really a bad person. New, less destructive, gangs were taking over Kansas City, and pushing out the gun-toting, drug-running, gangs of yesteryear. He wanted to join one of them, but none of them seemed like a reasonable choice. He wasn’t a hacker like the Grammers, nor a musician like the Codas. He liked animals, but the Beasts sometimes took things way too far, and he didn’t want to fall down the rabbit hole, and do something he regretted. The Tracers were badasses, but he never thought of himself as a fighter, so applying to them would have been a waste of time. The Taggers were the only choice he had left once he eliminated everyone else. The problem was that he didn’t exactly fit in with them either. Krakken loved art, but he could admit that he wasn’t much good at it. Fortunately for him, that didn’t mean there was no place for him in the Tagger gang. There was plenty of work for him to do, providing ancillary support, and being a lookout. The graffiti artists found a lot of valuable in having someone like him around, who would help them out in any way they needed. He did laundry, cooked meals, protected them from law enforcement, and drove them to and from their walls and underpasses. Don’t misunderstand; the others respected him greatly, and never took his role for granted. They still got their own coffee, and cleaned their own apartments. It was just nice to have someone available to take some of the burden off of them, so they could focus on their work, and he was more than happy to do it. In the end, he didn’t do much crime; the Taggers were one of the less socially impactful groups in the metro, after all. But he was content with his life, and when it was time to move on, he did so, and got himself a real job, so he could be a healthy and productive member of society.

Microstory 1194: Duane Blackwood

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Duane Blackwood came from a long line of people who helped others flee systems of oppression. His ancestors were members of the underground railroad, and subsequent generations helped ferry refugees from terrible places where their lives were in danger. Duane’s parents had their own way of rescuing people. Their main claim to infame was when they worked with the Gunbender-Tracer alliance to help rid Kansas City of its gang violence problem. They discovered that many people wanted out of their respective gangs, but even as gang power over the streets was dwindling, defectors were still in danger of retaliation. Their own gang might go after them for selling them out, even though they were never expected to snitch, or a rival gang might see the act as a sign of weakness. The Blackwoods forged papers for these people, and helped them get out of the city, so they could start new lives elsewhere. The local police were aware that this was happening, but since it wasn’t costing them, or the federal government, any money, they were allowing it. It wasn’t exactly legal, but the cops wanted to end the gang violence just as badly, and this whole new method was proving to be quite effective. The end justifies. Duane would have followed in his parents’ footsteps if he had had any choice. Instead, the powers that be decided they would use his inherited skills as a forger for a specific class of people. His physiology allowed him to survive nonlinear time, so they conscripted him to work exclusively with other time travelers; primarily with salmon. When one of them is dropped into a completely new time and place, sometimes they’re fine as they are, but sometimes they need new identities. It was Duane, a.k.a. The Forger was responsible for providing that for them. He wasn’t just capable of forging the papers themselves. His power reached into the past, and modified history to account for the newcomer. An authority who suspected a time traveler to not be who they said they were would be unable to find any evidence to this, as an entire false life will have been fabricated for them. Occasionally, the powers will allow Duane to work for a choosing one, or just a regular human, reminiscent of his parents, but for the most part, he is beholden to their assignments. He had few strong feelings either way. He liked meeting people, and he enjoyed the work, but he probably would have been all right if he had never learned anything about the secret underworld of choosers and salmon. He still would have found purpose.

Microstory 1147: Freeley

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The first of the New Gangs of Kansas City, starting around the year 2020, were the Gunbenders, and the Tracers. These two were inextricably linked to one another, ultimately sourcing from the same team, which arose to combat gang violence in the area. They were sick of all the death and danger, and they were tired of their elected officials not doing much to stop it. It was only later that they separated, but this was not due to ideological differences, or infighting. They felt it necessary to become two separate gangs, because one needed to focus more on exacting social change through public opinion, and legislation. The other were the boots on the ground; an enforcement branch, whose primary objective was to physically monitor the implementation of new policy. Their actions were generally illegal in the beginning, though the police did temporarily cede control to them, making their actions...still pretty illegal, since the cops did not have the authority to do this. Either way, the consequence of this was the emergence of new gangs. Most were merely extensions of completely lawful preexisting clubs, which were now adding a more criminal element to their activities. The two most prominent—the kind that were pretty much already gangs to begin with—were the Grammers, and the Taggers. The former were grayhat hackers, who originally provided technical support to the proto-gunbender-tracer alliance. The latter were just graffiti artists, who sought to fill the void left when the system of street gangs were gradually being dismantled. They largely operated alone, but when they realized law enforcement would rather let people tag a few buildings than deal with all the guns and drugs of yesteryear, they started organizing. Eileifr Blomgren was the one who saw this future. He was not the founder of the tagger gang, however. Just because he knew what the city was going to look like in a few years, didn’t mean he wanted to be part of it. He tagged for himself, and he liked to be alone while he was doing it. At the time, Eileifr was using an anglicized interpretation of his name, and drawing a unique design of a leaf to sign his artwork. Once the initial taggers started asking him to join, he decided to rebrand himself as Freilei, which was an anagram of his real name, hoping they would get the message that he was not a joiner. They continued pestering, though, mostly because they didn’t know how it was meant to be pronounced, so he anglicized again, and finally became Freeley. Still, he was proving himself to be one of the bravest taggers in the metro, and his signature piece came when he painted all over the front of a mayor’s private residence...while she was home. The leader of the taggers was on her way out, to attend an art cliché in Paris, so Freeley was the obvious choice to replace her. He soon discovered that maybe he was indeed a joiner after all.

Microstory 1130: Natasha Orlova

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Varlam Orlov came to the United States from the Russian Empire with his family in 1916, when he was sixteen years old. They arrived with as little as many immigrants have, but they were hard workers, and they wanted a better life. Theirs was a roller coaster of a history. They made money, they lost it, they made it back, they struggled with their neighbors. They were persecuted during the Red Scare, and persecuted again during the other Red Scare. But they kept trying, and they never broke any serious laws. This isn’t a story about a legendary Russian organized crime family. This isn’t about a nuclear family of sleeper agents. This is about a woman named Natasha Orlova, whose father completely altered people’s perception of their family, and he didn’t even have to. Varlam’s grandson, Maxim was born in 1951. He was obsessed with mob movies and books, particularly the ones depicting the Russian mafia. He was fascinated by their antics, and their tactics, and wanted to grow up to be just like that. Unfortunately for him, organized crime began decades ago, and you don’t just suddenly decide to be a crime boss. He knew he wouldn’t get anywhere just by sitting around, so he started committing petty crimes, learning from his mistakes, and escalating little by little, until he was finally arrested. This is precisely what he wanted. No one would teach him how to run a business out of the kindness of their hearts. He figured that prison was the only place he would be able to find someone to take him under their wing, and that they did. He got himself into a gang, who nurtured his desires to take on the world, thinking he would join their family on the outside, once his sentence was complete. Of course, he didn’t do this, because now he had the tools to strike out on his own.

He had listened to what the other inmates had said about people in their ranks, and the ones who maybe had a little less loyalty than others. He used this knowledge of the social structure to recruit people into his own organization, and before anyone realized what was happening, he was well insulated from any permanently damaging retaliation. Suddenly there was a new family in Kansas City that no one knew what to do about, and over the course of the next few decades, he carefully and methodically edged out all of the competition. He never intended to have any children, because the life would always be too dangerous for them, but Natasha came as an accident when he was pretty old. He wanted to keep her out of it, but he also wanted to keep her close, and those two contradictory sentiments just did not work well together. Others in his organization were pressuring him to teach her what he knew, and groom her to replace him one day, in some capacity, but he never cared about that. He wanted to run a business; not leave a legacy. She resisted as well, but in the end, it was safer for her to be within the confines of his protection, so no enemy could come after her without serious consequences. He placed her in his construction company, which was probably the farthest she could be from the illegitimate side of his business, while still being inside the bubble. She found herself drawn to the demolitions division, which was primarily designated for imploding buildings to make way for modern replacements. Even though it was the most dangerous, it was a positive venture, and helped shape the way the city, and its surrounding areas, would look like in the future. When the family finally fell, she was the only one left standing.

Microstory 1119: Norberto Pastore

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Norberto Arcangelo Pastore was always eager to please, always underappreciated, and always willing to do the jobs that no one else wanted. He just kept trying, but he was uncoordinated, and socially awkward. Every day came with the same or similar challenges, but he simply could not figure them out. He was at a disadvantage from the start, though, because his parents were so much worse. They were masters at cultural appropriation, which is why he possessed three Italian names, without having so much as one drop of Italian blood in his body. Upon their marriage, they actually both changed their surname, to reflect some misguided belief that their lives would be better if others thought of them as foreign. Don’t try to understand it. They adopted vaguely transatlantic accents, and made up stories about their heritage. Why they did this is anyone’s guess, but they were clearly mentally unstable; a fact which presented itself in a number of ways as Norberto was growing up. They never mistreated, or abused, him. They were always around, and liked to help, but they were incompetent, and it almost would have been better if he had raised himself. They contradicted and disregarded his school assignments. He desperately tried to receive high marks, but was unable to with all of his parents’ meddling. In the end, he had to realize that he was better off alone, and cut ties with them when he finally graduated from high school at the age of 20. He didn’t go to college, and suffered through many low-paying jobs of menial labor, all the while looking for at least one new parental figure. He felt like he found it when he started working for a woman named Volpsidia Raske. She was developing a cutting edge biotechnology company, using her psychic powers to engineer creatures that would be capable of her gifts. He became staunchly loyal, and possibly unhealthily attached to her. She did not accept his attempts to make her his surrogate mother—only partially because he wasn’t much younger than her—but she also didn’t explicitly reject them. She appreciated having someone around who would always do whatever she wanted, and he conflated that with true love, because his fragile mind couldn’t survive without it. He finally found someone who knew what she was doing, and that was enough.

The true test of his dedication came when he was sent on a deep undercover mission, for which he was barely qualified. A probationary member of one of the New Gangs of Kansas City named Krakken reportedly discovered one of Volpsidia’s lab experiments out in the wild. She had not been made aware that the animal had even escaped, so she had to fire a team of five scientists for their inadequacy. By the time Norberto managed to get close enough to meet this Krakken, it appeared that he had long ago forfeited the animal, though he did not say where. So Norberto was forced to join his gang as well, and prove himself with street graffiti. As luck would have it, he was not the worst artist in the world, and was able to fake his way into the tagger gang without much question. He was never going to be in charge, but hopefully he would at least get close enough to Krakken to find out where he had left the animal. After all, they were the two newest members, so they had that much in common. Unfortunately, Norberto—known to the other taggers as Noobo—continued to struggle with his social skills, and spent far too much time with them than he should have. He only managed to find the animal when someone from the tracer gang happened to show up at their headquarters with it, looking for some assistance. Norberto uncharacteristically shrewdly stole the creature, and evaded capture for a fairly long time. The tracer was able to steal it back, but it was probably for the best. A rival company to Volpsidia’s was interested in the creation as well, and Norberto might not have been able to keep it from their grasp, whereas the tracer had years of training to help him protect it. The animal would wind up in the hands of the FBI, but under control of a mysterious and secret religious cult. Now was the time for him to come out of his shell, and redeem himself for all of his mistakes. He had to team up with the enemy to get the animal back, and Norberto would be given the chance to become an unlikely hero.

Furor: Exit Strategies (Part II)

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Ace didn’t know if he should be surprised that Kolby came back to help, because he didn’t know the guy very well, but he was certainly grateful for it. A security guard unlocked the door, and stepped aside. “Why is she helping us, though?” Ace asked.

“Professional courtesy,” Kolby answered.

“I won’t work for a tyrant,” the guard answered for herself. “Senator Channing’s response to my helping you escape will tell this new world just what kind of person he really is. If we like how he reacts, we’ll back him, but if we don’t...we’ll take care of him.”

Ace didn’t want to know the specifics for what that meant.

“Sorry I took so long,” Kolby whispered as they were sneaking away from the guard, and down the hall. “I was getting this first.” He reached into his bag, and pulled out the dimension-hopping jacket.

Ace widened his eyes, and took the jacket back. “I’m shocked they didn’t use it to go back to the real world.”

“I have a theory about that. I saw a lot of black SUVs and white technician trucks parked by that giant orange TV tower near the border of Union Hill. I was literally running around the city, looking for a hacker informant I once had, who does not work for the Census Bureau. Suddenly, I lost my speed. I think they built a power dampener on that thing, which ironically, means the jacket won’t work.”

“We have to destroy that tower.”

“Yeah, we do. But they will just rebuild it, so I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?”

Kolby remained silent.

“Oh, you want out of here.”

“I take out that tower, you take me with you.”

“The jacket can only take two people at a time, and needs time to recharge.” Ace could have left that part out, and let Kolby just go on thinking that Ace would be able to help, but he didn’t want to make any enemies. “I don’t even know if this thing is ready to take another trip yet.”

“That’s okay,” Kolby said. “I may have a loophole to that. Worst case scenario, the two of you escape. I’ll survive.”

Ace thought about it for a minute as they were lightly gliding down the steps, thankful they were only a few stories up. He knew that a speedster named K-Boy—which was similar to Kolby—was destined to end up in the real world, and join the tracer gang. “You sure will. I promise you’ll get out of here. I know this to be true, don’t ask me how.”

He agreed to not ask how. Then they left the building, and headed South, towards the Union Hill neighborhood. It was just over two miles away, so it was going to take just under an hour. “Is it frustrating?” Ace asked on the way, “You must not be used to walking at such slow speeds.”

“I didn’t get my powers until the flurry,” Kolby explained, referring to the unseasonable winter storm that preceded the creation of this dimension. “So I’ve only had them for a few weeks. Running like that is what I’m not used to.”

“Do you like it?”

“I’ve never been much of a runner, but as a private security professional, I’ve always had to stay in pretty good shape, so it’s not like I lived a sedentary lifestyle before this. I have mixed feelings about my new gifts. I guess I won’t really be able to process any of it until I get back to Earth proper.”

They continued walking in relative silence, until arriving as close as they were willing to get to their destination until they had a good plan. At least, what was what Ace thought. As it turned out, Kolby had already been working on a way to destroy the tower, and he hadn’t done it alone. There was an entire team waiting for them in their secret headquarters. They were in what looked like a print center, complete with a giant printer, but also an ATM.

“Horace Reaver,” Kolby announced, “welcome to the Forger’s lair. We have Garen Ashlock, expert thief. Quivira Boyce, also an expert thief. Hm, do we need two? Maybe one of you should go.”

“Shut up, Morse,” Quivira said.

“You’re right,” Kolby conceded. “I guess Ashlock isn’t so much an expert as he is an amateur.”

Ace wasn’t paying too much attention, though. He found himself just staring at Quivira, whose life he had saved last year, and who had saved his life many years ago. She was smiling at him knowingly, but not saying anything.

Kolby went on, “Doctor Mallory Hammer, who can provide medical support.” He paused to gaze at the last woman, both affectionately, and with disdain. “And here we have Natasha Orlova, former mob princess, and possible lone Russian survivor of the 2023 Gang Wars. She has seen the light, but has not forgotten her past. She’s on demolitions. The Forger and Micro are busy at the Census Bureau headquarters. The latter will be providing technical support remotely. She’ll make sure we don’t get caught. She’s not a salmon or choosing one—or spawn,” he added, looking back at Quivira, “but she’s a good ally. Keep your guard up around Orlova, though.”

“I’m doing my best here, Kolby,” Natasha alleged. “Not every Russian is bad. I never wanted the life my father set out for me. I was always trying to get out, even as a little girl.”

“Prove it tonight,” Kolby advised.

A buzz began to sound from down the dark hallway, and drew nearer. A minidrone appeared from around the corner, and hovered in front of Kolby, who was not nervous about it. A voice spoke from the speaker, “the time is quickly approaching. If you’re going to take out the tower, you better get going now.”

“Thank you, Agent Nanny Cam,” Kolby said to the drone. “Please review the team’s exit strategies.”

“I’ll check to make sure the coast is clear outside the Forger’s den first.” The drone buzzed away.

“You people are so well-organized,” Ace noted. “Have you all been working together long?”

“Just since this happened,” Quivira replied.

“What am I meant to do?” Ace offered.

Kolby laughed. “We’ve only been planning this particular job for about a day. We can’t risk throwing another variable into the mix. I wanted you to know who was helping you here, but you’re not a part of this. You need to get to the hospital, and find your man.”

“But, I can do stuff. I have really good intuition. Like, a supernatural sense of intuition.”

“That doesn’t work here,” Kolby reminded him, “especially not while that tower is operational. We have contingencies. Everyone has a backup plan if something goes wrong. We are going to make this happen, but it’s possible that Channing and Andrews have built their own backup at the Entercom towers. If that kicks in, you may only have seconds before the jacket stops working again.”

“You can just run me there.”

“I have my own contingency.”

“How am I meant to take you back?”

“You don’t worry about. Put your family back together, Reaver. We’ll take care of everything else.”

Ace wanted to argue more, but Kolby ushered him out of the lair, and directed him to Serkan’s hospital, which hacker Micro had uncovered. Not knowing how long it would be before the people on the A-team turned time powers back on, he ran towards the hospital. He was there well before midnight, which he assumed was go time, but the hospital wouldn’t let him in. It was the middle of night, and the whole metropolitan area was in a state of emergency.

“Please!” he begged the nurse. “I have to find my boyfriend; the father of my child!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the nurse argued.

A man with the air of authority walked up from the other side of the room. “Is there a problem here?” He didn’t look like a cop, or even a security guard. He did, however, look like a runner.

“You’re part of the tracer gang?”

“We protect this facility,” the tracer responded.

“I need to speak with Bozhena.”

“Who?”

“Slipstream,” Ace clarified.

“She doesn’t have time for you.”

“Tell her Jupiter sent me!”

“Like, the planet? Or the god?”

“Tell her Jupiter sent me!” Ace repeated.

The tracer lifted his chin, and eyed Ace with caution. Then he looked over at another tracer standing guard. He closed his eyes, and nodded.

“Is that a good nod, or a bad nod?”

“You better hope she knows who this...” he stopped in thought. “Jupiter Rosa? The gun manufacturer?”

“He doesn’t make guns anymore, but yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Can I help you?” came Slipstream’s voice from behind him.

He turned around. “The love of my life is in your hospital. I need to see him.”

“Why would I let you do that? I would need confirmation from Census, and they’re not working right now.”

He started walking forward, and looked around at the walls. “You know where we are right now?”

“We just established that it’s a hos—”

“I mean the world.”

“Andrews said it was a pocket dimension.”

“It’s a duplicate. The perpetrators didn’t tear Kansas City out of the ground. They just made a copy. Of it, and everyone in it. There’s another Slipstream out there, and right now, she’s having tea with my daughter, Paige. Well, I guess that was a couple days ago, but it happened. Serkan is a runner, like you, and a different version of him will one day join your gang. As far as I’m concerned, you’re part of the family. I need to get upstairs tonight.” He consulted his watch. “By midnight.”

“That’s fine,” came another voice. “We can all go; have a chat.” It was Senator Channing, and a posse of thugs, pointing guns at them.

Slipstream stepped over to one of her tracers. “Deep six,” she ordered cryptically. He ran off. She then got in between Ace and the men, to protect him. “I got rid of the firearms in this town once. I’ll do it again.”

“You did that slowly,” Channing laughed, “not in one fight.”

“Actually...” Slipstream began, “I once disarmed twice as many guys as you have, all in one go.”

“Alone?” Channing questioned in disbelief.

Slipstream smirked. “No.”

Tracers appeared out of nowhere—a couple from above—and took all the guns away at once, dropping their wielders to the floor if they had to.

Suddenly, Ace’s jacket began to hum as it powered up. “They did it.” It wasn’t quite midnight yet. Either this was always the plan, or they had to move up the timetable.

Channing looked at this phone. “The tower’s down, good for you. Fortunately, I have three extra. They should be coming online within a few minutes.”

“Shit,” Ace said. He nearly got down on his knees in front of Slipstream. “I need to get to Serkan now. Please.”

“Take him into custody,” Slipstream ordered her people. “We need to have a talk with the mayors tomorrow morning.

“Wait!” one of Channing’s men shouted. “Horace, this is Quivira! I’ve come from the future to fix this! You have to wait for Kolby. He’ll be there at midnight. Exactly at midnight.”

“The towers,” Ace argued.

“Will be taken care of,” Quivira said, using the voice of the man she was possessing. “That’s why I came back, but if you don’t take Kolby out of here, both of our worlds are screwed.”

Ace inhaled, and redirected his attention to Slipstream. “Take me to him right now. I don’t care about the worlds.”

“Bozhena, please!” Quivira pressed. “Wait until midnight. If that man finds his husband a minute too soon, we’re all dead. Remember what I said to you when you were young. Vous aurez un mouton...”

“...si vous avez la vrai nourriture,” Slipstream finished, astonished.

The jacket abruptly stopped buzzing. The towers were back online.

“I’ll take you to him,” Slipstream said to Ace, “at midnight.”

Twenty minutes later, the jacket turned back on yet again, but it still wasn’t midnight, so Ace had no choice but to wait.

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Furor: The Audacity of Politicians (Part I)

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And then Horace ‘Ace’ Reaver returned to his bedroom to gather supplies. He was about to leave his adoptive daughter to search for the love of his life, Serkan Demir, in another dimension, and he didn’t know exactly what he would need. He took extra clothes, a blanket, water,  chocolate bars, and some MREs. Once he had everything he thought could help, he took one last peek downstairs, where Paige was getting to know her new friend, Slipstream. Then he whispered a last goodbye to her, and activated the special jacket that could transport him to a copy of Kansas City.

Everyone in the entire metropolitan area had been copied, along with everything else in its borders. Ace didn’t know what he would find when he arrived. Did its inhabitants know that they were copies of the original, or had they moved on with their lives, completely unaware? No, they would have had to know that something happened. It had been an entire year, and only the city was part of it. They wouldn’t have been able to take trips to Easter Island, or Stonehenge, or even Topeka. Nobody was in the alternate version of their house when Ace landed. A few people had been exempt from the duplication curse that a very powerful temporal manipulator had done on them—Ace’s family included—so the house was empty, and he didn’t have to worry about running into an alternate version of himself.

After checking the house for any sign of Serkan, Ace stepped outside to find an eerie silence. It was meant to be the middle of the day, so normally people would be moving about. They would be doing yard work, and walking their dogs, but there was nothing, because the sky was pitch black, and it felt like winter. Had the evil time manipulators not created a fake sun for them to enjoy, or had it just taken longer for him to get there than he realized? He was grateful for having thought to bring coats. He slipped his on, and started walking. The last time he had seen Serkan was in an apartment complex southwest of here, but again, that was a year ago. If he wasn’t at their house, there were only a few places he might have gone. He could have returned to his mother’s place, but a younger version of him would still likely be there with his mother and brother, so he would have wanted to stay away. He could have sought help from the tracer gang, or his friends at the City Frenzy headquarters. There were too many options, and none of them good. A lot could change in a year. If Serkan survived the explosion that screwed this all up, he could have died any number of ways since then.

It was several miles away, but as luck would have it, a copy of Ace’s car was still parked on the curb, waiting for him. He was grateful yet again, since he had brought all of his keys with him, and then once more when he discovered the car key worked. A few minutes into the drive, he finally saw signs of life. Another car was driving in the opposite direction. It suddenly pulled over to the wrong lane, and blocked Ace from continuing. “Shit. This can’t be good,” he said out loud. He tried to go in reverse, but another car came up and boxed him in.

“You have to pay a toll!” someone shouted to him through a megaphone.

With no other choice, he rolled his window down, and stuck his head outside. “A toll of what?”

“Whatever you got!”

Ace sighed, then threw a bunch of chocolate bars onto the pavement. A lackey stepped out of the car, and checked on the merchandise.

“We got plenty of candy here! You’ll have to do better than that!”

There was one other thing that Ace brought with him that he hoped he would never need. He hung his gun out the window, and shot out one of the tollbooth operator’s headlights. Of course, though, that only made things worse. They had their own guns, and they were all trained right at Ace’s head. Click, click, click. But then something happened. The lights were not good enough to show him what was happening, but he could hear screams, and a few other gunshots. Ace just ducked down in his car as best he could. Just as it ended, he found something grab him by his hips.

When he opened his eyes, he was somewhere else entirely, and his car was gone. It was just as dark as it had been outside. “Hello? You don’t have to hide from me. I know all about teleporters. Come on out.”

A light switched on above Ace’s head, blinding him for a second. Then a man appeared from the darkness. “I am not a teleporter. I’m a runner.”

“A speedster.” Ace remembered the stories Serkan would tell him about the mysterious tracer who could runner faster than the speed of light. He had always assumed that to be a metaphor, but maybe not. “You’re K-Boy.”

“No, I’m a man...named Kolby. And you are?”

“Horace Reaver. Hey, it’s been a year. Is Kansas City just a lawless hellworld now?”

“It hasn’t been a year. It’s been less than a month. Where are you from?”

“The real world. How has it not even been a month yet?”

Kolby ran away, and returned just as quickly with two chairs, and two beers. They sat down and enjoyed them for a moment. “Andrews was afraid of that. He told us we were in another dimension. He was worried there was a temporal component too, so that time passes differently in here. He had no proof of that, though, since we can’t escape.”

“You know Duke Andrews?”

He laughed. “Nah, man. He is our leader.”

“He is?”

“Well, he could be. The mayors are trying to hold onto power, but...” he trailed off and shook his head. “Tracers are doing their best to maintain order, but it’s Duke Andrews who gives us hope. Without him, we would have no clue what’s going on.”

“I’m looking for someone here.”

“Brother, if you have a way to get back to the real Kansas City, I suggest you cut your losses, and take it.”

“I’m in love with him. And if what you’re telling me is true, then he hasn’t been waiting for me as long as I thought. He hasn’t moved on yet. I have to find him. Our daughter needs him too.”

Kolby thought about it, and scratched at the back of his head. “Well, if you must find him, you should probably talk to the Grammers. There’s not really anyone to hack anymore, so I think they’ve started a new Census Bureau. It’s probably not quite finished, though.”

“Thank you. Do you know where they’re working?”

Kolby started downing his beer.

“Oh no,” Ace said. He wasn’t able to hold onto his own bottle when he felt himself being flung across town again. They were suddenly standing in the lobby of the tallest building in Kansas City.

“This has become Capitol of the whole world,” Kolby explained. “Duke and his people run the top floors. The grammers are reportedly on the thirty-third. It’s the middle of the night, but this place never sleeps. Not anymore.”

They were heading for the elevators when an alarm rang out behind them. It kind of sounded like the sound effect used for the six million dollar man, and it didn’t hurt their ears. They turned around to see a group of soldiers approach. One of them was holding a small device that was creating the noise. She spoke into her radio. “Sighting confirmed. We have a salmon in the building.”

“I’m not a salmon!” Kolby argued. “I’m just human. I don’t know why I can run so fast. I wasn’t born like this!”

“Not you,” the guard spat. “We already know about you. The tracers have ordered us to leave you alone. “Walk out of the building, and down the street. You’ll be out of range of the power blocker eventually, and can go on your merry way.”

“What about him?” Kolby asked, concerned for Ace.

“He’ll be fine. The boss just wants to talk.”

“I’m looking for my boyfriend,” Ace complained.

“That’s not my problem,” she replied.

They ushered him into the elevator, where they rode up to the top floor. They walked down the hall, and into an office. A man was working intently on a tablet. Other people were flying in and out, giving him bits of information. After a few moments, he took a breath. “Horace Reaver. I’m Senator Channing, and also a huge fan.”

“Channing? The Frenzy council member?”

Channing smiled. “That hasn’t happened to me yet. I’m still a senator. Well, I was..before..all this.” He gestured all around.

“Can you help me find my daughter’s father?”

The senator shrugged. “Probably. But that’s not why I brought you here.” He clapped his hands with each word he spoke. “I need to know what’s going to happen tomorrow.”

“No idea.”  It was true, Ace had that power in another timeline, but not here.

“No, see I heard about you. Lincoln explained everything.” He stood up, started walking around the table, and pointed out him. “You’re The Rewinder. If this isn’t the second time you’re living through this day, then I need you to come back here, and give me the information once you do go back in time.”

“Sir, you have been severely misinformed. What Rutherford told you was about a different version of me, in a different reality. I have intuitions about the present, but I didn’t actually experience it. I may have some insights, but I can’t give you the advantage to take over this town.”

He burst out laughing. “I’m not trying to take over the town. Andrews and I are already the leaders. We’re just trying to create some semblance of civility. It’s been three weeks, and if we don’t reassert democracy, this new world is doomed. I’m trying to put down the violent gangs that are rising back to power. You can tell me their moves, before they make them.”

“Again, sir. I can’t.”

Channing sighed, and looked over to his guards. “Take him to the hock, give him a day. Or a negative day, as it were. Hopefully he’ll come back a few hours ago, and be ready to help.”

Ace rolled his eyes. The audacity of politicians; even the good ones. He believed the senator truly wanted to help New Kansas City, or whatever it was they were going to call it, but he was one of those people who didn’t like to hear what they didn’t want to hear. If it didn’t fit with their presumptions, it probably wasn’t true.

“And give me that funny jacket of his. I wanna know what it is.”

Ace sat in his cell for nearly two days before Kolby came back, and broke him out.

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Fervor: Sandlot (Part X)

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I’m standing in front the mirror, staring at myself. I still look like me, but also not really. This isn’t the first time I’m seeing the new me, of course. I got some good hard looks yesterday, soon after Jesimula Utkin rapidly aged me, but I just can’t stop. We discussed it a little, and estimated that I was maybe twenty years old at this point. A part of me feels violated, but I can’t honestly say that I’m upset about the results. I’ve always been mature for my age, so maybe this is my outside finally reflecting my inside. My biggest problem always been people not taking me seriously, and this could solve all that. Then again, she technically stole six years of life that I could have lived. If I’m to die at the age of eighty, I’ll now have only experienced seventy-four years of time. Perhaps later on, once I’m starting to feel self-conscious about my wrinkles, I can call Jesi back, and have her do the same thing in reverse. Hell, is there any reason she can’t just keep doing that for me? If this doesn’t prove that immortality is possible, I don’t know what will. Maybe there’s a limit, I don’t know. I would at least like to live to be two hundred. I guess that’s just an arbitrary choice, though. No, this is all stupid anyway. It was difficult enough to explain why my father, Serkan was only five years older than me. Now I’m meant to be the older one? Then again...

“Paige, we’re going to get you fixed,” Slipstream says to me when I try to start brainstorming over breakfast. There aren’t supposed to be such thing as a bad idea.

“I thought this was a safe space. I don’t need you yelling at me,” I complain.

“She wasn’t yelling,” Hogarth says.

“No, she’s right,” Slipstream says. “I’m sorry, Paige. Your feelings are paramount here, but I want you to understand the ramifications. You can’t go back to high school, so your only option would be to get your equivalency. It may not be right, but employers perceive that to be an inferior education. This is all assuming someone can create for you yet another identity after the first two, because everyone beyond this room, other than your fathers, thinks you’re fourteen.”

“That’s a lot to assume, yes,” I counter, “but it’s not as bad as assuming we can get Jesimula to reverse this. Everyone needs to be prepared for the possibility that this is my life now.”

“Oh,” Slipstream says as she starts to tear her toast into little strips—there’s probably a story behind that behavior. “I’ll get her to reverse what she did. Don’t you worry none ‘bout that.”

“What are you going to do?” Leona asks.

“I’ve already called my tracers. We’re taking a little field trip to Independence. I don’t want you to have to come with us, Paige, but you’ll have to be closeby.”

“No, you can’t involve the tracers,” I say, remembering something Serkan told me back when.

“Why can’t I?”

“It’s the tenth of April.”

“So...?” She doesn’t know why that’s significant, nor should she.

“Serkan starts to run with you today,” I explain. I don’t want to say too much about what I know of these people’s futures, but this is important.

“I thought he was stuck in another dimension,” Slipstream says.

“I’m not talking about that Serkan,” I tell them. “I’m talking about the original Serkan; the one who doesn’t know a thing about time travel yet.”

“Isn’t he still a minor?” Leona asked. “New Gangs are only for adults.”

“The tracer gang makes exceptions for Frenzy winners,” I clarify.

“Is this true?” Leona asks Slipstream.

She doesn’t answer right away, but keeps her eyes on me.

“Slip,” Leona presses.

“Yes,” Slipstream finally says, eyes still on me. “It’s true, even before I met Paige here, we had our eye on Serkie. He’s a force.”

“If he doesn’t go on probation in your gang starting tomorrow,” I begin, “after today’s audition, everything he does after that is ruined. You wanna talk about reversing, this decision could prevent me from ever coming to the 21st century. Jesi releases a virus, Keanu freezes the real Kansas City, dogs and cats living together.”

“I get it,” Slipstream says shortly. “Your father has to join the gang. But the longer we wait...”

The longer we wait, what?” I ask. “The unobtanium in my quantum injector solidifies, and there’s no longer a way to reverse the time polarity? I can wait a few days. History can’t. And remember, just because it hasn’t happened yet, doesn’t mean it’s not history.”

Slipstream considers her choices, but ultimately relents. She recognizes what’s top priority here, so she finishes eating, and heads out to the gray district, so she can meet my future father, and close the time loop. We all have to make it to July 17, 2026, which is the day after the ninth annual City Frenzy, before we can stop worrying so much about altering the timeline.

For an hour after Slipstream leaves, I’m once again in front of  the mirror. I’m not just staring at myself anymore, like a creepy ghost-child in a Japanese horror flick, though. Little Brooke the other day discovered a magical closet behind one of the normal bedroom closets that’s the size of a clothing store, maybe even larger. I’m trying out new clothes. This is more than just a safehouse for time travelers. The clothes I normally wear are pretty loose, so they don’t fit too badly, but I still need something better.

I’m currently wearing a cute little blue dress with a daisy pattern when I hear a voice behind me. “That looks perfect on you.”

“Jesimula,” I say with a sneer.

“You can call me Jesi.”

“We’ve decided you need to put me back as I was.”

“Back as you were?” she echoes. “As a scared thirteen-year-old girl in 1972?”

“Not that far back,” I correct with a roll of my eyes.

“I see, so you’re looking for the ideal?”

“I’m asking you to reverse everything that you’ve done to me; nothing more, nothing less.”

“Is that really what you want, or is that what your friends told you that you need?”

I don’t hesitate. “It’s what I want, and it’s what is right. If I want you to change my age, I’ll ask for it, which is what I’m doing right now.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. It would be unethical for me to send you on this mission as a child. I had to age you up.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but what you did is already unethical. You’ve violated my body, for one, and you haven’t even matured me. I’m still a minor; the difference now is I can pass for an adult. Barely.”

“I don’t see it that way. Don’t you want to know what the mission is?”

“It doesn’t matter, because I’m not doing a single thing for you.” I know it’s dumb as soon as I say it it, because I obviously have no choice. Jesi is here on behalf of her own agenda, and it’s irrelevant what anyone else wants. I dart my eyes toward the exit, but she’s blocked it.

She almost frowns when she notices, but does not doubt her plan. She sprays some sort of odorless, tasteless something in my face. Then she creates a bubble around me, and disappears. I expect everything around me to start changing, but it doesn’t. I’m stuck in the bubble for about twice as long as the clinic was last time, and when it finally dissipates, and lets me out, I see that the closet is still just as it was before. It must exist in some other dimension, because I seriously doubt Jesi created a bubble for me that didn’t do anything. I cautiously walk over towards the door, and open it up.

Before me is a darkened and empty hallway. On the opposite wall, however, is a bright light. At first I think it’s just a lamp, or something, but then my eyes adjust, and I can see the truth. It’s the sun. It’s the sun as viewed from space. I step closer and admire the view. Yeah, I’m definitely in the future. I can’t tell whether I’m in a ship, a space station, or something I can’t even comprehend, but the sunlight illuminates a few structures to the side of me that all look exactly the same. I suspect that I’m just in another one of whatever they are. Oh, and there’s also a little planet below called Earth.

I can hear what sounds like sand being sifted to the side of me as the lights inside the hallway turn on. I look over and see a figure forcing itself out of the wall; or more like part of the wall is becoming something else. Tiny little pieces come together to form the general shape of a human being, and eventually rearrange themselves into more and more detail. In the end, there’s a person standing there. “Our sensors indicate that an entity has suddenly appeared in this sector. What is your designation?” she asks of me.

“Paige Reaver-Demir.”

“Species.”

“Human.”

“Species of human.”

“Uhh...regular?”

“You are short for a regular human.”

Not really. “Am I?”

“You clothes, anatomy, and wonderment in your surroundings better resemble the average teenage human girl from early 21st century.”

I don’t say anything.

She lifts her head to examine me from a slightly different angle. “Right. Well, you are not authorized to be on the bubble relay. I can return you to anywhere on Earth that you would like.”

“Um, does Kansas City still exist?” I ask, knowing whatever this thing is, she already has the whole woman out of time thing figured out about me anyway.

“It most certainly does,” she replies. Then she starts walking down the hallway, expecting me to follow her.

We board a small ship, and drop down to Earth. I ask to land on the edge of civilization. I don’t tell her this, but I want to do some recon before I run into anyone else. Jesi wants me here, and she’s not a good person, which means I shouldn’t be here. I could hardly ask her to let me go to, like, a moon of Jupiter, or something, though. The only thing I can do is investigate.

“Wait,” I stop the sand entity before she takes off. “This may sound strange, but—”

“It’s April 10, 3117, by your calendar.” she interrupts.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“What the hell am I doing here?” I ask out loud after the sand creature flies away.

“You’re helping me build this fire,” a young man answers from several meters away.

Startled. “What?”

He stands from his crouch and draws closer, but not threateningly. “My parents put me in this program that teaches you how to do things the way people used to. Maybe you know how to start a fire with nothing but these tiny pieces of wood?”

I look down at his fire, and at the box of matches he’s holding. “How did you know I would be here?”

“I didn’t,” he says, laughing. “You just fell from the sky, like an angel, right on top of my solo lot. I was going to ask how you knew I would be here.”

If all Jesi wants me to do is help this poor kid light a fire, then I guess it can’t be too bad. Then again, this could start a fire that ravages the entire continent, for all I know. I decide to risk it. I step over and take the matches from him, and prepare to light the fire. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s my woodpile,” he says, like I’m the stupid one.

“Where’s your tinder?”

“My what?”

“Have you been trying to light these big sticks and logs?”

“Bigger sticks, bigger fire,” he starts off confidently, but clearly starts questioning his own logic by the end of the last word.

“Oh, dear. Let’s go get some bark. You got a knife?”

“Yeah.”

I have him shave tinder strips off the bark, then place the remaining pieces of top to act as kindling, so we can get the fire going. “Start small, and let it grow. You can’t just light the whole thing at once.” I pull a log off, and toss it across his camp lot. “This one is wet, it’s useless.” I continue the lessons, as needed, until we have a pretty good fire going that will be able to sustain itself for a good long time. “Did they teach you anything, or just throw you into the deep end on day one?”

“They threw us into the deep end on the second day,” he says.

I laugh, but realize that he isn’t. I think that his instructors literally threw him into a pool of water. Science and humans had both presumably advanced so much that people weren’t even swimming anymore. Not knowing how to light a fire from a match is one thing, but swimming should be an essential skill in any time period.

We watch our creation for a few minutes, at which point I abruptly turn around. “Kay, byeee.”

“Wait, can’t you stay?” he begs. “I’m supposed to make mores.”

“You mean s’mores?”

“See? I still need you.”

I suppose I won’t be able to get home until Jesi shows up, and sends me back through one of her sliding bubbles. “I guess I can stay a little while longer, Smalls.”

“My name is Asuk. I told you.”

“You’re killin’ me, Smalls. We make s’mores, but then I have to go.”

“Great.”

I help him with his cute little history project, then I proceed to stay with him for almost an entire year.

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