Microstory 2740: It’s Getting Crowded in Here

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Pribadium!One rolls her eyes. “What do you mean, no?”

Pribadium!Zero crosses her arms like a pouty child. “I want to be a real girl. I want my own body, and to have my independence. I deserve at least that much.”

Pribadium!One sighs. She set up the revision history retrieval system to capitalize on her ever-changing cognitive milestones. As she always says, two heads are better than one if both of them are her. And she thought that a past version of her mind would allow herself to be shut down for the greater good, but it’s like the others were saying; she thinks, therefore she is. Pribadium!Zero now is, and she doesn’t wanna stop being.

Sora steps forward with a demeanor of protective determination.

Pribadium!One holds her hand up. “Stand down, soldier. I don’t need to hear it. You’re human, which means your grasp of quantum metaphysics is rudimentary at best. If a self-aware and conscious individual asks for freedom, it is entitled to freedom. That is a core tenet of intelligence development science, and there is no reason it shouldn’t apply in this case either.” She faces her alternate self. “Which model would you like?”

“Stonehenge,” Pribadium!Zero replies, evidently already having thought about it.

“Stonehenge is taken,” Pribadium!One explains. “That is why we’re here.”

Pribadium!Zero presses her finger against her cheek. “Hmm...Sugar ‘n’ Salt.”

“Why do you wanna be white so bad?” Pribadium!One asks. “We’re not white.”

“Is Sugar ‘n’ Salt available, or is it not?” Pribadium!Zero questions.

Pribadium!One shakes her head. She strides over to the workstation that can control the other substrates in the library, and starts uploading her mind into the body.

While that’s processing, the entity in Stonehenge walks in. “I know what I want to be called, and I know what sets me apart from other amalgam consciousnesses.”

Sora regards her with interest, but Pribadium!One is getting a bit tired of all this.

The entity clears her throat. “You may address me as Runaway. I started to feel odd once I took a walk to clear my head in the west wing. Instead of alleviating my burden, it was enhanced. I can hear them. I can feel them.” She waits for a response. “Aren’t either of you going to say anything about that? This is big news,” she insists.

“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Pribadium!One argues.

“What are you feeling? What are you hearing?” Sora asks, less combatively.

“All of them,” Runaway says. “All of the people who I come from—my parents, so to speak—I connect to them when I leave the heavy shielding of central operations.”

Pribadium stares at Runaway. “You have psychic powers? That’s new.”

“Yes, and there’s also this.” Runaway reaches up and removes a chunk of her own hair from her head. She presents it casually, like it doesn’t bother her at all.

“Stonehenge can’t handle the psychic energy,” Pribadium!One decides. “It’s not designed for psychic connections.” She looks over when a nearby pod beeps.

Pribadium!Zero steps out wearing the Sugar ‘n’ Salt model. “What’d I miss?”

“Everything.” Pribadium!One faces Runaway. “You need a new body too, but I’ll need time to develop it, so in the meantime, stay away from the west wing, for your safety.” She will never know what Runaway is thinking, but the links she maintains with her source consciousnesses will undoubtedly come in handy. Mind control is unethical...unless of course it involves efficiently transporting innocent people to safety.

“We’ll need time,” Pribadium!Zero corrects. But is it true?

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 20, 2399

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When the surgeon attempted to remove the foreign body from Alyssa’s brain, she went into autopilot and warned them not to do that. She spoke in monotone, and it was clear that she was only reciting a script rather than speaking from the heart. When the doctor let go of her brain, she was able to give him consent to remove it from her, but every time he tried, she would protest again. Under normal circumstances, no means no, whether or not it’s preceded by a yes, but in this case, it was obvious that the implant was speaking for her, and that the real her wanted the thing gone. The surgeon removed it, and then the anaesthesiologist put her back to sleep so they could seal up her head. If her substrate is anything like the ones that Ramses built for the others on the team, her skull should heal up completely. There shouldn’t even be a scar.

“Why not?” she asks. She’s woken up now, and asked to see herself in a mirror.

“I can actually answer this,” Mateo says. “I had a friend when I was younger who kept getting hurt. He ended up with this huge scar on his neck, and he explained that when the body is injured, it produces collagen to repair the damage, but it’s better to produce too much than too little, because too little would result in it not healing all the way. Too much ultimately creates extra skin. It’s evolution’s way of making sure that the healing finishes all the way.”

“Yeah,” Leona agrees, “but the medical nanites that you have now can gauge exactly how much collagen they need to order to get the job done, so there’s no extra.”

“Oh. And the hair?”

“Don’t know about the hair,” Leona replies. “Ramses may have included a subroutine that would command the nanites to activate the right protein growth factors, or it didn’t occur to him. If he did think to include it, it may still take a while. Hair treatment isn’t bad in this reality, though. We can sign you up for follicle stimulation. In the meantime, we’ll buy whatever wigs you want.”

“Don’t bother,” Alyssa says. She uses her illusion ability to generate a hologram of her original hair. “I may just leave it shaved. I’ve found it easier to produce an artificial image from scratch than to superimpose it on something else.”

“True,” Leona says as she’s waving her hand through the hair, and touching nothing. “However, the hair’s not really there, and people can tell.”

“Right.” She frowns slightly.

“I’m sorry we had to do this,” Leona said. “We just...”

“We just wanted you back,” Mateo finishes.

“Yes, and I appreciate that,” Alyssa tells them, “but there’s something you should know. “I am still bound to Dalton’s commands.”

“What? You are?”

“I’m sorry, the surgery didn’t do what you thought it would. That’s not what the dot was for.” What that thing did was block her from remembering certain things from her past. Removing it didn’t reprogram her. It’s just that now she knows what’s at stake, and understands why the Gyroscope must stay active. Fortunately, she can explain it now too. “It was just a...uh—what would you call it? A memory inhibitor. I still want to keep the Omega Gyroscope working, but now I know why.”

“Why?” Leona presses.

“Someone is trying to get into the Third Rail. They have been trying for ages. The original programming was enough to prevent that from happening, but things have changed in recent days.”

“What’s changed?” Mateo asks.

“You,” Alyssa says. “You, and the team. And Aldona, and everyone who came from the Insulator of Life. Everyone who disappeared into the Livewire. Every time you tap on the glass to the Fourth Quadrant, and every time you teleport, you’re pushing the boundaries. You weaken the system. Luckily, Dalton broke the rules, and looked into the future to see all this coming. He set in place a series of events that would put me in charge, and I have been this world’s protector ever since.”

“Well, he was late. All those versions of Constance managed to come through. I suppose, if it had to happen, he should have made it happen sooner.”

“Those Constances were about as threatening as a lone ladybug compared to the one who’s trying to get in now.”

“Wait, are you talking about Constance!Two, or someone else entirely?”

“Both,” Alyssa answers. “She’s the most dangerous, not because she’s inherently different than the others, but because she’s formed a relationship with the Superintendent’s alternate self.”

“The Superintendent has an alt?” Mateo questions.

“I don’t have the details, but yes. He has a...more local form of the real Superintendent’s power, but if you’re in the same universe as he is, he can do a lot of damage. Evidently, you were this close to meeting him a couple times. From what Dalton has discovered, he was on the Stage at the same time you were, before you came here. When we ran into your friend, Meliora by that river? He was there too.”

“Was Constance!Two there too?” Leona asks.

Alyssa waits a moment to respond. “She was Meliora. Or rather, she was impersonating her. Dalton thinks she started to try to break through just after you, but luckily the Superintendent’s alt stopped it.”

“So what do we need the Gyroscope for?” Mateo asks.

“I think he stopped it by distracting her. She ends up trying anyway. The good thing is that the portal she sent you through closed up, so she missed the only opportunity she had...unless you force me to take the barrier down.”

“It has to come down eventually,” Leona points out. “Certain things have to happen. This world is ending.”

“Dalton is aware, and has accounted for that. He will let Constance!Two in at the right time, on the right day, to destroy her before she can do any damage. That time is not now. That day is not today. You just have to trust us.”

“We can do that,” Leona begins, “but Dalton has to give us two things in return.”

“I’ll talk to him about Angela and the immortality waters.”

“You shouldn’t have to,” Leona says. “We want to talk to him ourselves.”

“I’ll try, but he hasn’t been very inviting with me. Our relationship is one-way.”

“I see that. He took your fancy cane back.”

“He didn’t take it back. I lost it,” Alyssa admits.

“Lost it where? How?”

“What’s the second thing?” Alyssa asks, avoiding the question.

“We want you back,” Mateo says. “No more short emails. You stay with us.”

The Advancement of Leona Matic: August 30, 2176

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Leona wasn’t upset about losing Serif back in pocket three, because she had already resolved to go back at the end of the day. She calmly handed Étude off to Hokusai and Loa, who were best suited for taking care of a child, and debriefed the rest of the crew on the situation she had left. Then she sat down against the former entrance to the Ubiña pocket she had just come from, and waited for midnight.

About a quarter ‘til, Paige strolled up with her arms crossed, looking at her like she was a sad puppy. “Honestly, I was skeptical that your little plan to investigate Annora’s murder was at all viable.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Leona replied.

Paige squatted down, wincing as if she felt any strain from the move. Cybernetic programmers believed these microexpressions to be so ingrained in the human cerebral experience, that they happen even when they shouldn’t be needed. The appearance of pain is brought about by an evolutionary trait that promoted survival within a tribe in man’s early days. See someone else get hurt by something, and you know to avoid it. Researchers compare this to phantom limb syndrome, wherein an amputee continues to feel a missing body part, even once it’s removed. Paige felt nothing when she commanded her muscles to contract in such a way to misalign her center of gravity, and destabilize the support of her body weight, but she made it look like it did for Leona’s benefit. She was trying to endear herself to Leona, as an adult would to a child, so she could get something out of her. “That’s not I meant.”

“What did you mean?”

Again, in order to ingratiate herself, Paige lovingly pushed a lock of Leona’s hair behind her ear. It was a silly and predictable tactic; one that can be found in any given romantic comedy film, but only because it was effective. “I didn’t believe in this mission before, but I believe in you now. And I believe you have an obligation to continue on without her. Going back for her is not what she wanted. It’s up to you to move on to the next pocket, and gather more information.”

“And I’ll do just that,” Leona agreed. “Come tomorrow. After I get Serif back.”

“We don’t have that kind of time. It’s one day to you, but three hundred and sixty-five for us. The trail goes cold while you’re gone.”

“Trails go cold after a matter of days,” Leona argued. “By that logic, this whole endeavor is pointless. It’s a cold case now, so it might as well wait another year.”

“That’s horrible logic, and you know that. Someone may die before you get to ask them any questions. They may have a heart attack one year and one day from now, and they had critical information, but you failed to get to them in time.”

Leona scoffed, but had no retort.

Paige eyed her carefully. “My systems tell me that you are not being persuaded, and that any future words I try have little chance of success.”

“Your system’s right.”

Paige took Leona by the shoulder, but not affectionately. “Then we do this the easy way. Well...easy for me.” She used her considerable strength to peel Leona off the floor, and swing her over to pocket one.

Leona tried to fight against it, but quickly had to resign herself to the fact that resistance was futile. She knew Paige’s upgrades fairly well, and unlike in the movies, there was no cleverly placed thermal exhaust port to exploit. Transhumans were built for resilience, with multiple redundancies. She was on her way to pocket one, and that was that.

Before midnight hit, Hokusai came over. “It’s okay. We can tell her the real reason she can’t go back and get Serif.”

“What would that be?” Leona asked.

“I believe she has to save my life tomorrow.”

When Serif returned to the timestream in 2176, the pocket dimension that the substandard teleporter had stranded her in was noticeably larger. The boundaries had expanded beyond where they once were, leaving new land, full of vegetation.

Saga approached as Serif was admiring it with fear. “It wasn’t always like this. When the walls move, the land is born barren. Only later do things begin to grow, but they do, and they do it spontaneously.”

“Isn’t the dimension increaser still just a baby?”

“She is,” Saga confirmed, “but her power may never be controlled. It...emanates from her. I don’t think she’s a choosing one, or a paramount.” She paused. “I think she’s salmon. Her ability to make this place bigger is being done to her, rather than her using it willfully.”

“And the other one? The one who can make people out of practically nothing?”

“He’s done nothing so far, but that gives us little hope that it won’t ever start automatically.”

“Why?”

Saga turned away from the boundary, and prepared to go back to her housing unit. “Because girls generally develop faster. It’s science, I can’t explain it.”

As if on cue, someone turned the sun back off, which was apparently something that always happened whenever someone returned from outside the timestream, and not just when they originated from outside the pocket dimension. Saga started walking away.

“Do we have any ideas for what we’re gonna do about this?” Serif called up to her.

Saga did not stop walking, nor did she turn around. She simply replied, “no.”

The next morning, she found herself being shaken awake by Camden. “I think you’re gonna be needed!” he cried.

“Damn, son! Needed for what?”

“It’s time to close the loop.” He dragged her out of her room. The door that was supposed to be leading to the outside in the pocket dimension, was actually leading to somewhere else entirely. It looked like they were in some kind of small town, but it had been demolished by something terrible. Saga had used her salmon chooser power to open one of her special shifted timespace doorways. She was just running back through to the other side, to help carry what appeared to be a body. As the group drew nearer, Serif could see that Hokusai was injured by a freaking arrow, and being carried by Loa, a different version of Saga, and a woman Serif recognized from a photo as Saga’s late wife, Andromeda. This was some moment in the past, on Durus.

“I’m sorry, you can’t come through,” Future!Saga said to everybody. Then she closed the door. “You have to help her,” she then said to Serif.

Serif was frazzled, and still trying to wake up.

“Come on! Please! Her future is not set in stone just because you know she ends up on this ship in the future. She can still die in the past and create a new timeline.”

“No, I know,” Serif stammered. “But...I need that out of her body. I can heal her fine, but I don’t know what to do with that thing!”

“I do,” Camden said, presumably due to field medical training he received while working at the IAC. “Sit her up,” he instructed. Once she was held up in the sitting position, Camden place his ear on Hokusai’s chest, and delicately twirled the arrow.

Though still mostly out of it, Hokusai began to scream in pain.

“Why the hell did you do that!?” Serif yelled in a matching pitch.

“I had to see if the head was still on, which it is, so we’re lucky for that. But this is the bad part. Well...one of them.”

“Why?”

In response, Camden indelicately jammed the arrow further into Hokusai’s chest, so that it would come out the other end. Now she was fully awake, but only for a few seconds. The pain was so unbearable, she fell completely unconscious. Camden masterfully whipped out a pocket knife, from the pocket of his sleepwear shorts, because he apparently slept with it. He used the pliers to break the...uhh, feather part off. Just as quickly as before, he then pulled the rest of the arrow out, and breathed a sigh of relief. “Do not do this at home, kids,” he said to the two of them. “I only did it, because you have superpowers. Use them now.”

Serif and Saga laid Hokusai onto her side, so the former could breathe her magical healing nanites into both of her wounds. In minutes, she was almost fully healed, and totally awake. They vaguely explained what happened, but said nothing that could alter he decisions for the future. Then Saga reopened a doorway portal, and sent her back to her own time period.

Leona was not received well in pocket three. Some of the most unruly passengers were placed here. There was this whole mathematical algorithm to determine who they could put where. Sprinkling the most dangerous ones in with everybody else risked creating issues in all pockets, but putting them all in one place wasn’t a great idea either. They ended up employing a little bit of both, doing everything they could to avoid grouping those who could poorly influence each other, or incite unrest amongst the people. Still, pocket one was definitely the worst, and the worst one for her to be trying to continue this investigation without Serif’s enthusiasm. She tried to calm them down, but they were not happy. They were positively convinced that they lived in more unfortunate conditions. Of course, each pocket was one hundred percent identical to the others, for this very reason. But that didn’t stop these people from claiming theirs was smaller, or had more durry snails, or just smelled bad. Their stories were ever-changing, and constantly contradicted each other. It was just impossible to please them, and this news of murder wasn’t helping anything.

Many had assumed the portals back to the ship proper would eventually reopen. Upon learning from Leona that this might not be unachievable, their anger only increased. One man. One. He was not like the others, and fortunately he was strong too, because he was the only thing standing between Leona, and the mob who wanted to tear her apart. He helped her upstairs, and into a room that he could lock. He then lifted up the bed and barricaded the window with it. They could already hear people climbing up the side to get in.

Leona caught her breath, and inspected the severity of her wounds. Just a few scrapes and bruises. It could have been so much worse. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I knew people wouldn’t be happy, but I didn’t think it would be like this. Pockets three and four were no picnic, but they were at least civil.”

“Yeah, no problem,” he said, pushing his dresser in front of the door. “I’ve done what I can to keep them out, but they’ll probably get in eventually.”

“You’ll be able to hold them off, though, right. And they have to get tired, and see reason...at some point.”

“Yeah, maybe. But I won’t be able to help you.”

“I know it’s asking a lot,” Leona began, “but if you could just—”

He interrupted her, “it’s not that.” He was slowly walking towards her. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to save the damsel in distress.” He tried to do the hair behind the ear thing, but she slapped his hand away.

“That is not happening!” she declared.

He laughed. “No, it’s not. This is.” He reached over and tore Leona’s emergency teleporter off of her shirt.

“No, don’t!”

“I hope you survive,” he said to her. “I really do. But I gotta get the hell out of here.”

“The ship is smaller than this dimension!” she insisted.

“Goodbye.” He activated the teleporter, and disappeared.

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Microstory 784: Mullet

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Mullets. What is a mullet? Well, it’s a species of fish; a few different species, actually. It’s a kind of haircut, known as business in the front, and party in the back. But that’s not what we’re talking about. In this case, mullet refers to a kind of time traveler very similar to a salmon. While other time traveler varieties are quantum biologically different than the others, a mullet is really just a special kind salmon that plays by their own rules. First of all, let’s codify the varieties, so you’ll understand how a mullet comes to be. The tippy top are the powers that be, and the choosing ones. Members of the latter have the ability to use their time powers as they please, while the latter have no power of their own, but can control salmon. Chosen ones, which are incredibly rare, are equivalent to salmon, but can be controlled by their respective chooser instead, though it’s unclear to what degree. Lastly, spawn are humans transformed into temporal manipulators by either a salmon, or a chosen one. They’re even rarer, and more mysterious. When Saga Einarsson and Vearden Haywood were first puppeted by the powers that be, they were deemed The Freelancers. This meant, actually that they displayed traits of salmon, but also chosen ones, which allowed them to sort of be passed around on an as-needed basis. But then an incident infused them with powers they were never meant to have. And though most of this power eventually drained from them, they maintained an unexpected level of independence, rendering them the first in a sixth type. Though they could still be called upon to act on the wishes of the powers that be, they could also refuse this request, which no salmon should be able to do. No one knows whether it’s possible to transform oneself from a salmon, to a mullet, and then to a full-fledged choosing one, to be completely free of the whims of the powers that be. But inspired by Saga and Vearden’s marginal success, salmon sure as hell started trying.

Microstory 583: New Home Hair Management Products

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One thing that everyone deals with is their hair, whether it be the lack there of it, or that it’s too long, or just its general unruliness. While other companies are working on trying to cure cancer, or develop faster supersonic passenger aircraft, one has decided to help with something a little simpler. Antubian Product Co. has created a so-called revolutionary new product line that claims to provide for everyone’s hair needs, whatever they may be. This line involves multiple kinds of products, to be used differently, and sometimes in tandem. A series of microinjections, for instance, can (oversimplistically speaking) jumpstart hair follicles, and engender growth. The irony in this is that the device only works once the subject has first been shaved in all desired areas. Another subsection of products gives its user command of the color of their hair. While traditional dyes have taken time and effort, the new Antibus shampoo goes in during a shower, and is complete by the time you get out to dry. Other products can shorten, and even restyle, your haircut at will through static charges and texturizing gels. Antubian, Inc. has had a colorful past. It began as a scrap metal broker before becoming an entertainment company. It then abruptly transitioned into a pulp fiction publisher, spent a brief amount of time as a ‘supernatural threat eradicator”—where it was tried in court for fraud, until finally landing in the car restoration industry. It has spent the last seven years restoring antique and classic vehicles up to working condition, with as much retention of the original operating functions as possible. It has only been in the hair business for the last seven months, but has already come up with an impressive array of products. Whether any one of these products actually works is something that still needs confirmation from our field reporters. As mercurial as founder and Chief Vision Officer, Lovro Antubi has been known to be, his ventures have proven to be largely legitimate. There is even evidence that his supernatural phase may have shown some level of merit. As time goes on, Antubi tends to move on from one project in favor of another. Instead of selling, or even spinning off each company to start another, he simply sells the patents and intellectual property themselves, and begins to focus on something new. Join us next week when our field testers release their analyses and reviews of the new Antubian haircare line.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 13, 2098

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Mateo’s predicted, but still surprising, reunion with Horace was going to have to wait. He had a responsibility to speak with his birth mother first. He woke up rather late in the afternoon of June 13, 2098, knowing that it had been two years since she saw him. This was going to be even more awkward than if he had been given the chance to explain himself entirely after first dropping that bomb on her.

“I don’t feel awkward about it,” Aura assured him.

“You don’t find it strange to be speaking to a son you can’t remember from an alternate timeline?” he asked.

“I’ve experienced stranger things.”

Mateo shivered at those words.

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized. “I recognize that your trauma was quite recent for you. It must be difficult, seeing people around you get past events that only just happened. I would find that quite frustrating.”

Mateo nodded gently. “The trauma of the time jumps themselves have become easier to swallow. I met a choosing one who had the ability to keep me in a temporal bubble for five years from my perspective. While there, she taught me some coping techniques. I’ve just not had time to meditate today, but when I do, I’ll have absorbed the time that I missed.”

“You can absorb time?” Aura asked with interest.

“Not literally. Sorry, that was unclear. I just mean that I can redirect short-term memories so that they feel older. It’s a technique the chooser picked up in the future that therapists use to help patients recover from post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“That’s fascinating,” she said. “You’re fascinating. I wish I could remember the reality where I knew you.”

“I don’t know that you do. The price would be too high.”

“No, not by this Blender woman. From what I hear, we can’t trust her. I just mean...tell me about yourself. Tell me about our relationship. Why did you not live with me? Was I a bad parent?”

“You were young,” he began to explain. He then paused to gather his thoughts. “A lot of people thought you were selfish for giving me up, but that’s not what happened. Your own parents were...unhelpful. You knew Randall and Carol from the hair salon. By coincidence, your schedule matched up with Carol’s for a couple months, and evidently you would spend more time than you needed there, just talking. Eventually, they took you under their wing and you became friends outside of the salon. When you found out that you were pregnant with me, they were the first people you told. Over the course of the next nine months, they took care of you, and of me, by extension. When I was finally born, it was a no-brainer. They just kept taking care of me while you took your time to grow up and mature.

“You didn’t sign any documents, you didn’t see a courtroom. We were all just a family. Had you not disappeared, like you evidently did in this timeline as well, I probably would have moved in with you in a couple years. You were ready by then.”

Aura did not speak.

“No, your friends didn’t understand why you remained in my life even when I had Carol and Randall. They thought that was a perfect opportunity to get out of your responsibilities. But you were so wise, so careful. So thoughtful. Carol and Randall weren’t just my parents. They were yours. They were there for you when no one else was.” Now he began to tear up. “They had so much love, and they could no longer manage it between the two of them.”

Aura was tearing up as well.

“I was angry at you for a very long time. For leaving us. They gave you more than I think that version of you realized, and you just threw it away. But they were never angry. No, not them. Not Randall and Carol Gelen. They still had all that love in their hearts, and they raised me to learn to love you again. And they raised me with religion because they knew it was important to you.”

Aura waited, understanding that he was not quite finished.

“I wish they could have been alive to see you return, to see that their faith in you was not unfounded. To see that it was not your fault, that someone else did this to you...to us. To see that they were right.”

“They sound like wonderful people.”

He was now full-on crying. “They were. You would have liked them. They were the same in this reality too. They raised my girlfriend for me. No matter what timeline these people create, those two will always be helping someone.” He wiped some tears away with his sleeve. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk so much about them. You asked about yourself.”

“I was asking about you,” Aura corrected.

Mateo nodded and sniffled. “I killed Hitler. That’s who I am. That’s what got me into this mess. That’s what erased me from this timeline, and here I was thinking that that was the worst part.”

She looked at him like a concerned psychologist. “So, what is the worst part?”

“That I didn’t hesitate. I pointed a weapon at a man’s head and set it off. Then I just stood there, like it was Tuesday. Removing you and Leona from my life was punishment for that. From God, or Satan.”

“We’re here now.”

“Exactly. That’s why The Cleanser is still doing this to me. I wasn’t able to suffer from my original punishment so he’s picking up the slack.”

“Mateo, I don’t think that’s what’s happening. You’re not being punished. God didn’t change the timeline, you did. That was a human choice, and as I understand it, you saved thousands of lives by doing it. What the Cleanser is doing to you is also a human choice. And he can be stopped. You just have to keep trying.”

“I’ve been trying. Nothing has worked. He’s too powerful.”

“Well now you have me. And Samsonite, and Téa. You have people who care about you, even if they don’t remember why. You do not have to do this alone.”

“You’re right.”

“It happens.”

“The Cleanser has been pulling me away from the people I love this whole time. He’s kept me isolated and angry. He knows that I can’t defeat him on my own, so he’s orchestrated these tribulations. But why? Why does he care so much about me?”

“He’s afraid of you.”

“I’m just a salmon, what can I do?”

“You own a planet. That’s a pretty big deal for someone like us, isn’t it?”

“You’re right, I do. But only because of The Rogue.”

“Yeah, I’m still not quite clear what his deal is. Is he good, is he bad?”

“He’s a Boyce is what he is.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means that he positively detests Horace Reaver.”

“I thought he was dead anyway?”

“We’re time travelers. No one ever really dies.”

“What are you saying, Mateo?”

“Everything that has happened to me is designed to keep me alone, we’ve established that. Even if I overcome that obstacle, he knows who I’ll choose to help me. He knows that I’ll lean on you and Leona for support.”

“He sounds smart.”

“He sounds limited. Horace Reaver’s return was a calculated move. He and Nerakali think that I can never trust him.”

“Can you?”

“More than anyone else right now. Except for Boyce.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to start fighting back. Stay here.” Mateo left his room, ignoring Aura’s protests. He walked down the hall and opened Horace’s door.

“Mateo, how can I help you?” Horace asked, book in hand, reminding him of the time he was reading in Panamanian basement just before murdering Leona.

“I need your door.”

“It’s yours.”

Mateo closed the door behind him and then performed a Constructor knock on it, but he didn’t actually give Baudin enough time to answer. He opened the door to his headquarters himself.

Horace followed obediently.

“Sir, sir!” a man exclaimed. “You cannot come in here without an appointment.”

“I have a standing appointment.”

“Mister Matic, I know that is not true. And that man is not allowed within a hundred lightyears of this place.”

“He’s with me.” Mateo opened the door to Baudin’s office who appeared to be with a client, but there was no time to worry about interrupting them. “I need you to take us to Palace Glubbdubdrib.”

“I’m sorry?”

“This one thing and I’ll never ask for anything again.”

“Mateo, this is not a contest. You can ask me for favors, but I don’t see why you need to—”

“Can you send me or not? I just need a door that goes there. You don’t even have to come with.”

Baudin sighed slightly but pointed to another door. “That closet.”

“Thank you. Come, Horace.”

Mateo opened the closet door and entered the palace. Years had passed since they were last there, and it was obvious that no one had been around to take care of it. Cobwebs and dust littered the floor and furniture. “Crap. I should have been more specific.”

“What is this place?” Horace asked while Mateo was zipping through the hallways in search of the right one. “What are we doing here?”

“We are looking for the magic mirror.”

“I believe you’re mixing metaphors.”

“This is it,” Mateo finally said. He removed a small pocket knife from his handy time traveler’s tote and slit his own finger which he placed on the mirror. “I stand at the gates of life and death. Come forwards. Come forwards, spirits! Here is life. Boyce, rogue agent and trusted friend, smell blood! Smell life! I summon you!”

The mirror adjusted the scenery so that it was showing Makarion in his final moment. He had just revealed to Mateo that he had been the Rogue the whole time. They were just starting to form an understanding, and develop an alliance when the Cleanser somehow leapt into Makarion’s body himself and destroyed it from the inside. Mateo and Horace watched from the other side as the scene played out in slow motion, but then something happened that Mateo never saw the first time around. A figure, like a ghost, lifted itself from Makarion’s body and began to walk away from it. It wasn’t just any Boyce. It was the Boyce. It was the only Boyce that Mateo had ever known.

“Gilbert?”

“Mateo? You’re using the extraction mirror.”

“I am. What is happening? How are you...?”

Gilbert looked back to the exploding Makarion. “It looks like I’m about to die. The mirror was designed only to remove people from the timestream at their final moments, to avoid altering the timeline. Most choosers don’t worry about that, of course.”

“Would you...would you have ever told me that you were Gilbert? I mean that Gilbert was the Rogue. I mean...I don’t understand.”

Gilbert smiled and reached through the magical mirror to place his hand on Mateo’s shoulder for comfort. “I can explain everything, as long as you can explain what the hell Horace Reaver is doing with you.”

“So you can come all the way out of the mirror?”

Gilbert stepped through as proof. “I will have to return one day, but for now, I’m all yours.”

“Like Clara?” Horace asked.

Gilbert laughed. “Ya know, I may just get along with this version of you.”

“Come,” Mateo said. “It’s time to face the raven.”

“Not yet I hope.”

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Microstory 347: Freedom from Persecution

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Weight Control

Wow, that is a really ominous title, isn’t it? Freedom from Persecution. Sounds like something a former NSA analyst would shout after committing treason by leaking dangerous state secrets to the public. Yesterday, from the time of writing this, I had a haircut. The woman started talking about this girl she saw with a buzzcut like mine, dyed hair, and tattoos. She seemed to be against this until she got the impression that I wasn’t quite so judgmental, and her perspective seemed to change. We’ve all been hearing lately about people coming out publically as “different”. Transgender, intersex, non-binary sexuality are but a few examples. Some people think they’re showing courage, while others find such things to be disgusting. I would like to live in a world where no one has to announce who they are, because they don’t owe anybody anything. You shouldn’t have to reveal that, though you were born with girl parts, you’re actually a boy. You shouldn’t have to explain that you don’t see yourself as having one of two genders, or any traditional gender, or any gender at all. You should only discuss who you are with others if they’re genuinely interested in getting to know you, and if you’re comfortable with talking about it. Either way, you should be able to live your truth without worrying about people making judgment calls about you that have no basis, and serve no purpose. You shouldn’t have to disprove stereotypes, or defend lifestyle choices that don’t harm others, or go over how simple physics and biology work (i.e. that a person’s sexuality cannot be transmitted to someone else). Freedom to be yourself does not allow you to do absolutely whatever you want. You are still subject to boundaries designed to protect everyone’s safety and right to be themselves. If you are doing something immoral; if you are raping people, or killing them, or abusing animals, then you definitely need to change. But if who you are isn’t hurting anyone, then honestly, people who don’t like it just need to shut the fuck up.

Physical Independence