Microstory 2341: Earth, March 11, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

Ultra-capacitors, really? That was you? We use those here for everything. It was a breakthrough in technology, which has allowed us to harness the power of lightning, just like you do, but has had numerous other applications through advancements in miniaturization. Back in the olden days, it would take minutes, or even hours, to charge a small device. Now it takes seconds. I just place my phone on the charging pad, and it’s at 100% by the time I can take my watch off to charge it next. Some people even have these gun-like chargers where you simply point and shoot at what you want charged. They’re developing persistent charge technology as well, but that’s a few years away, and would take a lot of retrofitting for preexisting infrastructure. It’s mostly the backend that’s slowing us down on that, though. We need a constant, reliable source of energy generation, which lightning strikes do not provide. It’s particularly hard to develop such things on a moving platform on the water. They never told us that these inventions ultimately came from off-world. I hope that it’s in the literature somewhere—and I’m just ignorant as an individual—not that they’re intentionally hiding the truth from us to allow someone else to take credit. To answer your sort of question, we’re not back out to sea just yet, but definitely by the time you read my letter, we will be. All of our new friends are now safely inside the dome, but we’re still docked because they’re still making sure that everyone who came won’t change their mind, and everyone who chose not to come hasn’t changed theirs. We have the luxury of being able to go wherever we want most of the time, but that’s not going to be the case for the near future. Part of the negotiations involve us staying close to the Australian coast for at least the next six months. We can still move around, which we do to maintain safety and security, but we can’t stray too far. I believe that that’s what slowed the talks down overall. We also move around to trade and interact with other land partners, but that won’t be possible until our time is up. I personally don’t see us staying a minute past our negotiated duration, because we want to maintain positive relations with other regions, though many are projecting that we’ll be here for a full year. We’ll have to wait and see. Speaking of the future, we’re probably a couple months out from reaching Bowen Orbital Spaceport. You and I will be the closest we’ve ever been since we started talking. After a quick car ride, I could be stepping onto a shuttle, headed your way, haha.

Thanks for the electricity,

Condor

Microstory 2340: Vacuus, March 4, 2179

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Dear Condor,

It’s okay that Pascal won’t be able to write for a while. Honestly—and you don’t need to tell him this—it’s a little awkward. These are just letters, but I still felt like I was on a blind double date, which I know is a weird way to look at it. I suppose we could always speak through you if we really needed to. That’s great news about reaching your rendezvous point. How long will/did it take? By the time you read this letter, you may be well on your way back out into sea. Make sure you choose the right path, though. It sounds like the weather is pretty dangerous out there. I never thought about that, about how the toxins in the atmosphere could make things even more dangerous. We learned about climate breakdown in school. Things were already not as safe as they were a couple hundred years prior. Humans were evidently damaging Earth before they started to do it intentionally to harm each other! I just hope your leaders always exercise caution. Vacuus does have weather. It’s not nearly as bad as it is for you guys, it’s just different. We experience infrequent, and rather weak, dust storms. These can still damage our instrumentation, though, and our permanently outdoors equipment needs constant cleaning. Or rather, they don’t. We’ve incorporated state-of-the-art onboard self-cleaning technology into nearly everything. You have windshield wipers on your cars with wiper fluid? We do too, but for cameras and other sensors. Instead of going out to clean every day, our field maintenance workers go out periodically to refill the fluid, or maybe repair or replace a blade. It’s much easier, and the infrequency of the task lowers the risk of something happening to them while they’re exposed like that. They’re also at risk of running into electrical storms. These things happen all the time. Our habitats are riddled with lightning rods. They both protect us from the strikes, and help power our habitats. That’s something else we’ve developed out of necessity, ultracapacitors which capture the short, energetic burst of raw power, and store it safely for future use. I keep using words like we, but I obviously had no hand in any of this. As I’ve said, I’m not cut out for field work, and I have no interest in it. I didn’t choose where to break ground on our settlement either, which was not chosen at random. Other parts of the planet experience volcanic activity. Some of these are even cryovolcanoes, which release nasty chemicals like ammonia and methane. Thankfully, we’re really far from those things, but I have a friend who operates a drone array which studies the nearest spots. So yeah, it’s dangerous here, but not worse than Earth. At least no one did it on purpose.

Again, stay safe,

Corinthia

Microstory 615: Amphibious Infestation

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Like most taikon listed in the scripture, the fifteenth was written without too many details. What has been largely interpreted to refer to some kind of minimal population boom for one particular species of amphibians has turned into something greater. Much, much greater. Amphibians of all shapes and sizes, and of all species, began crawling out of the waters at the exact moment the storm in the last taikon ended. This did not happen from only one body of water, and to only one city. It didn’t even happen on only one planet. All major cities on all central worlds began experiencing an infestation of these creatures simultaneously. Streets were soon overrun by them, halting all land transportation. Some species appeared on planets on which they did not naturally live. Experts immediately began studying the phenomenon, and running some numbers. They came to the understanding that there were more amphibians present during the infestation than there should have been in existence across the galaxy. How this was possible was not something that anyone, from any field of study, could explain. What was strange about this event—as if that wasn’t enough—was that the animals left as quickly as they had come. Less than a quarter standard hour later, they began receding into their waters, and disappeared. After these moments, the number of observed individuals of their respective species returned to expected quantities. Things were back to normal, and after the shock had worn off of every resident and visitor to these cities, people started realizing that the animals didn’t actually do anything. They didn’t destroy any equipment of infrastructure. They didn’t hurt anyone, or cause any freak accidents. They came, they went, and that was it. Unfortunately, for as inexplicable as the incident was, the Lightseed faith did not significantly increase its own numbers. Obviously this was undeniable proof that Lightseers were true and righteous, but perhaps it also scared any potential doubters. Still, as the ol’ song goes, the taikon..must go on. This was still only the beginning. The majority of prophesied events were yet to come to pass, starting with the Feast of the Fruit of Love.

Microstory 614: Annihilation of Pagan Statues

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Eido Seamus’ first order of business was to kick the rest of the taikon into high gear. Any and all that could be achieved arbitrarily were to be planned and executed as fast as possible. As mentioned before, there are other religions in this galaxy that contradict Lightseed teachings. And though no law prevents these faiths from existing, much of the text in the Book of Light warns Lightseers of the possible threat. Every belief that goes against ours has the potential to become a menace to our way of life. Most of them are rooted in the old beliefs, which means they could theoretically lead us down a path of returning to our tainted history. One dangerous religion is known as honshin. It is an unremarkable faith, noted for its plethora of gods. The problem with it is that it preaches community over individuality, under certain conditions. In the last half-century, honshin has risen in popularity by seven percent, and has even taken believers from Lightseed. The fourteenth taikon states that following the annihilation of pagan statues, an entire world will experience an infestation of amphibious animals. In order to arrive at the fifteenth taikon, Eido Seamus ordered a group of his followers to destroy a garden built by the motherhouse of the honshin movement. He could have chosen any other pagan religion, but honshin has proven itself to be a formidable enough of an enemy to warrant attack. Unfortunately, the fifteenth taikon did not arrive as predicted, leading some to lose trust in the words of the Book of Light. But as it has turned out, the faithful cannot be rewarded if they take action that does not belong to them. The wording of the taikon said nothing about how the pagan statues were to be destroyed, but it has become clear now that this could only happen through natural causes. While those closest to the taikon events were awaiting the fifteenth taikon to arrive, growing less and less confident by the minute, their patience was rewarded. A lightning storm on an entirely different planet established itself over an entirely different garden for an entirely different pagan religion. Just as the last lightning bolt flew from the sky and struck one final statue, the first amphibian climbed out of the swamp, marking the beginning of the fifteenth taikon. We were now assured that all taikon would play out in unexpected ways, and whether anyone had anything to say about it, or not. Most traitors returned to the light after realizing their mistake, and remembering that there is only one true God.

Microstory 537: What Will Happen When Mosi Jengo Dies?

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It has been a couple decades now since Bellevue—the organization responsible for collecting and distributing people with extraordinary abilities—first revealed its truth. Since then, we’ve all had our ups and downs, but in the end, true progress was made. Each anomaly was placed in a particular department, with only a few left over who chose some other vocation, or existed on the fringes of society. Today, I’m going to talk about Mosi Jengo. Jengo was born to a poor family of wheat farmers. Misunderstanding the properties of his own power, he inadvertently killed his mother with lightning in an attempt to protect her from an attacker. Following this traumatic event, he was taken under the wing of the leader of the gang that first attacked them. Together, they used Jengo’s abilities to alter weather patterns across all of Tanzania, eventually fixing the entire country’s economy.

Jengo was soon recruited into Bellevue, like many before him, and expanded his power. He ultimately developed the strength and focus to monitor and adjust the global climate itself, and this is what he does with his life on a regular basis. But what happens when Mosi Jengo dies. Other anomaly abilities have been studied and recreated using technology. Francis Deering helped doctors and scientists understand how to perform more advanced sex reassignment operations. Extremely reliable augmented reality was developed on the basis of Quang Phan’s ability to superimpose information on his environment with his eyesight alone. Bree Nolan’s ability to inherently understand family trees led to instantaneous genetic testing techniques. For some reason that this writer cannot understand, Mosi Jengo has never participated in such experimentation. It would seem that Bellevue, and the world governments, are content to have him control the weather for them. What’s the endgame here? How can this method be at all sustainable? The important question here is the one I asked that caught your attention to this article...what happens when Mosi Jengo inevitably dies? What will the world do then?

Microstory 535: Suspended Animation Essentially Achieved

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For decades now, many science fiction stories have attempted to tell stories about the unreal through a lens of realism. Writer take a hard position on what’s possible, and try to include real scientific data as much as they can. Sure, for every realistic portrayal of advanced technology, there is an example of something ludicrous. I think we all don’t remember the short-lived series Thunderriders, wherein the characters travel to other planets using inexplicably instantaneous interstellar lightning. Bear in mind that this wasn’t released in the seventeenth century, or something. This was only about twenty years ago, when such nonsense would have been easily debunked by any preliminary school student. There is some fiction, however, that is so revolutionary and innovative that they inspire real inventions. Some have been minor, like the fact that television sets themselves used to be perfect squares, until the primary director of the android matriarch series Motherboard, Osildr Herro—no scientist herself—pointed out that human eyes are evolutionarily designed to see the horizon. She’s famously [mis]quoted as saying, “kaida are too dumb to watch TV...why do we design it for their vertical eyes!” Other fiction-inspired inventions include the use of radar for driverless vehicles in the Whirly Anthology, flexible computer screens from Red Balm comics, and the prediction of a particle accelerator in the 1175 epic, Two Hearts by a River.

The most recent of these extraordinary advances comes in the form of something called suspended animation. While certain astrophysicists are working hard on both discovering, and developing, faster-than-light technology, others are solving the problem of isolation without it. Instead of traveling to an exoplanet using a tensor drive (or with interstellar lightning) a team of researchers at Pathelay-Alben University propose remaining within subluminal speeds. Travelers could theoretically reach the stars in a more realistic timeframe, but not have to actually experience the time it takes to do so. It’s called a sleeper ship, and it keeps its passengers in a deep state of hibernation. While in stasis, travelers do not age, or metabolize. They do not exercise, or interact with each other, or do anything other than sleep. Perhaps they dream. This concept has been a staple in harder science fiction for decades, and the truth is that we’ve been able to put humans in stasis for awhile now. The only problem...is getting them back out. “Cryopreservation,” according to lead scientist Haxel Jones, “is just a fancy way of saying death. That’s the easy part. Our kind has been killing since literally the very beginning. What we couldn’t always do was prevent tiny ice crystals from forming in the body’s system, which ultimately ruptures tissue, and leads to irreversible damage. Now we can.”

Though the team is keeping details secret for now, so as to protect their intellectual property, there are a few things that we know. They have created a perfect formula that places the traveler in suspended animation. One vital role it plays is protecting the body from ice using an otherwise completely harmless new chemical antifreeze. But that can’t be all there is. Different parts of the body will freeze at different rates, and simply injecting the formula into the traveler would never work. And so the team has also devised a delivery system ,with very little room for error, that transforms the body at the exact right pace. While travelers are asleep, an artificial intelligence (one that does not yet exist) would carry the vessel on the journey on its own, and revive them at the right time. More information will be published scientific journals starting next month.

Microstory 534: Cause of Strange Weather Events in Bellevue Found

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The day that the computer was officially invented is hard to pin down. It was a long and difficult process, with little solutions happening in succession. Most historians and other authorities on the matter agree, however, that the most vital breakthroughs occurred in the year 1724. And what everyone can agree on is that it changed everything. Not too terribly long after, the personal computer was invented, which allowed the common person to learn at literally the speed of light. After that, we started connecting these machines to each other, further allowing data to be transferred instantaneously. Suddenly, you didn’t have to live near Deko Garden Library to read anything you wanted. Philosophers and economists refer to this as the flatworld phenomenon. Whereas before you were limited by your geography, financial station, and access to education, you could now become anyone. Entire nations were lifted up to the level of prosperity previously relegated to the elite few. This was a slow and treacherous journey; one that we are still on, but for the most part, things have become better.

Unfortunately, the simplicity of data-sharing comes also with danger. Yes, if you aspire to become something greater, you can find the resources you need, even on your own. But this also means if you aspire to become something wrong, it’s difficult for anyone to stop you. For the last few months, the city of Bellevue—the so called heart of civilization—has been experiencing erratic, and sometimes deadly, weather events. Miniature tornadoes have appeared out of nowhere in the middle of a busy city street. Lightning has struck the exact same spot hundreds of times. It has not stopped raining in the Meltousey District for four weeks. The situation grew so out of hand that residents and visitors started evacuating. In fact, the more people who left, the more the weather calmed. There seemed to be a positive correlation between the number of people within Bellevue’s borders, and the intensity of the weather. This meant that the weather wasn’t so unpredictable...it was actually being controlled, by someone. Now all that was needed was to find out who these people were. A brave team of Detectives of Science reentered Bellevue. Apparently sensing their presence, the weather events increased to the highest magnitude than ever before, presumably in an effort to force the SDS back out. Yet they, equipped with specially designed protection, persevered. They were able to trace the source of the weather problems to a location, and quickly made an arrest. What they discovered was that the machine causing all this havoc was being operated by a single individual. Little is known about this person, or her motivations, at the moment. The only information on her that has been released has been a name. She calls herself...Meteora.

Frenzy: But They Don’t Fall Down (Part X)

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K-Boy is this mysteriously perplexing enigma that no one can explain. Seriously, as Slipstream tells it, he just showed up one day and started running with them. He didn’t say a word then, and still hasn’t. They only let him stay because he’s the absolute best. I mean the things he can do are physically illegal. No human can accomplish such amazing feats. Slipstream contacted the Singularities to see if he was one of their transhumanists, but like, from the future. They said no, and he even cut himself on the arm, presumably to prove that he bleeds and heals just like everybody else. All these are just stories to me, though. I’ve only ever personally seen him at a distance while I was eating his dust. What I really wanna know is how they know what his name is if he’s never said it.

One thing is for sure, he’s incredibly strong, just as I would expect. I try to break free from his grip, but there’s nothing I can do. In fact, he holds me tighter to his body and zips away. Next thing I know, I’m standing in the middle of a parking lot, but not just any parking lot. This is right around my final destination at the amusement park. I can see rides in the midground of my vision. I also look back and realize that I witnessed all the space in between the church and here. So we didn’t teleport, we ran. We ran fast. “Whoa. How the hell did you do that?”

“That is not your concern at this time,” Lincoln Rutherford, Esquire says, revealing himself to have been standing there the whole time. He starts walking towards the two of them then nods to K-Boy. “Good job. Best get to your next checkpoint.”

K-Boy carefully hands Crispin back to me then speeds off in the blink of an eye. This is not my first experience with time manipulation, but now I know that I wasn’t dreaming before in the police station. This is real. This is my life now. Some people can mess with time, and I don’t know what they’re going to do with me now that they know that I know.

“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to not sound like I’m accusing him of anything, but failing.

“I work very hard to remain a neutral party. You’ve no idea how difficult it is for me to act like a normal person...to be a lawyer, of all things.”

“What are you if not that? A time traveler?”

I don’t travel through time, but I can see it.”

“So can everyone else.”

He smiles. “Yes, you’re right about that, aren’t you?” He paces, but just a little. “I see every possible outcome of every possible choice, and I see the entirety of the past, and I see every alternate reality that once was.”

“Fascinating,” I say, feeling like it’s time for him to get to the point. Even though it really is interesting, I don’t actually understand what he’s talking about.

“But I can’t see you. You are a variable that exists...let’s say, outside of my jurisdiction.” He nods at his own accomplishment of finding the right analogy.

“Is this because I stepped into the police station?”

“When was this?”

“Earlier today.”

“No, whatever you mean by that, it was before that. You’ve always clouded my vision. I like being around you because it makes my life interesting for a change.”

“How did this happen to you?”

“It didn’t happen to me. It happened to an alternate version of me, and that has had repercussions across all timelines.”

“I see. That doesn’t explain what I have to do with anything, or what I’m doing here.”

“I told you, because—”

I cut him off, “yes, I’m special. You can’t see my future. Something, something, something, chosen one, something, something, dark side.”

He twitches at this. “What made you decide to use that term?”

“What? Dark side? I dunno, ‘cuz bad guys?”

“No. Chosen one. Did you hear that somewhere?”

I shrug. “It’s a common trope in fiction. They’re all just Jesus, though.”

He paces again, but adds some jitters. “No, that’s not right. There are choosing ones, but no chosen ones. Unless...”

“Unless what? I mean, who’s choosing what?”

He starts backing away, like he’s afraid of me. “Umm...”

“Rutherford, what just happened? All I said was chosen one.”

This makes him twitch again. “You’re something different. You’re new. I have to consult the timestream. I can’t be here right now.”

Black sports utility clichés screech into the parking lot from the other side and start driving towards us menacingly.

“I brought you here so that you could technically finish the race, but you should go. I’m sorry, I have to go too, I can’t help you.” He crawls into his car and drives off.

“Wait! What am I supposed to do now!”

He doesn’t answer, of course, so I just stand there and watch as he passes the SUVs who don’t give him the time of day. I could try to run, but we’re in flat Missouri. There’s nowhere to hide, and they would eventually catch up to us. I look down at Crispin who’s been as quiet as ever. But then he does that adorable squeak again, giving me the signal. “You’re right. We have no choice but to fight.” As the vehicles draw closer, I summon the electrokinetic power from Crispin and send a lightning bolt towards the lead car. It overloads the battery and sends it exploding out of the hood. The others swerve around it and keep coming. I can see an unassuming sedan coming at me from another direction, but I ignore it and send another bolt towards the major threat, which shoots right through the windshield and presumably fries the humans on the other side. Still more SUVs race towards us, and they’re almost here. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’ve one more trick,” I say, then I face my palm towards the ground. Energy passes out of Crispin, through me, and then into the air around us. An electromagnetic pulse halts all electronic equipment in the area, sending all vehicles in the lot into a frenzy as the drivers attempt to regain control.

After the dust has settled, men in dark suits and sunglasses step out of the SUVs and point their firearms at me. They don’t want to shoot, though, because they obviously want Crispin alive. I’m actually starting to get the feeling that they want him back. He didn’t come out of nothing. Somebody made him, and he must have escaped some off-the-books facility they built underneath a lake, or on the side of a steep cliff. The men carefully walk towards me. None of them is wearing the kind of suit that Noobo was, though, so I think I can take them. As luck would have it, I don’t have to. Ace suddenly runs up to me from the side and starts firing his own weapon at them. They fire back, but miss, of course.

The leader guy screams, “hold your fire! Hold your fire!”

They all stop but duck behind their cars because Ace doesn’t stop, until he has to. His gun only holds so many bullets.

The leader guy runs up and engages in fisticuffs with Ace, who holds his ground beautifully. Redshirts run up as well. A couple try to help their leader, despite Ace’s ability to hold them all off at once. The rest strategically attempt to steal Crispin from me. I zap a few of them, but minimally, because we don’t have much charge left. I swing both my legs and one of my arms at them, landing a few good hits, but in the end, I’m overtaken. I fall to my ass and try to shield Crispin from their grimy little hands.

Ace pulls their attention away just in time, though, having successfully put down the others. Before too long, they’re all on the ground, nursing their wounds, or just plain unconscious. He reaches his hand down to me. The sun produces a brilliant halo over his head. If that’s not apropos symbolism then I don’t know what is. Maybe he’s the real chosen one. I sure as shit can’t imagine it’s me.

“Where did you come from?” I ask.

“I can’t explain that since we have to, ya know, GTFO.”

“Why does everyone I know have something to do with it?”

“With what?”

“With it, IT! What’s happening right now. This whole thing. The rabbit dog, the SUVs, Lincoln Rutherford, you! You all know something I don’t, and I want answers!”

“I can give you answers, but just not right now, okay? It’s time to go. That was our ride you destroyed.” He gestures to his sedan.

I let out a sigh of impatience. “Fine. I can run, can you?”

“Well enough.”

Then we jog away.

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Frenzy: The Spoon is Not There (Part IX)

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All gangs in the metro have their own territories, but they’re a little more complex than simple geography. First of all, it’s important to realize that when I’m talking about gangs, I’m not referring to the violent or criminal elements that plagued earlier times. To be sure, those kind of gangs still exist, but advances in police surveillance—and more importantly, changes to legislation—have tampered those down considerably. The gangs of now are more like clubs; groups of like-minded individuals who reject mainstream conformity. They don’t belong to national organizations, they don’t have websites, and initiation can still be somewhat dangerous.

The Taggers, for instance, are dedicated to taking part in illegal artwork. Part of the newer legislation has been used to redirect police work to more serious crimes. Drug manufacturing and dealing are prosecuted so much more severely than drug usage, but still not as much as rape. Addicts are treated less as criminals, and more as patients. The key term there is patience. Likewise, as long as the Taggers don’t draw violence, nudity, or other unseemingly pieces, they’re generally left alone. There is also a sort of treaty designed to allow members of the Tagger gang to come back and clean up their paint jobs once they feel that their message has been effectively delivered.

The Tracers are also not known for being the most upstanding citizens. As but a probationary member, I’m only allowed to run with them in certain designated locations. Full members can run anywhere. Or rather, they do run anywhere, including places that require they be trespassing. Some of the best places to run are abandoned buildings and construction sites. If you’re caught, you’re in trouble, but they have to actually catch you. Just like in baseball, they can’t just see you, or even capture your crime on a recording. Cops have to catch up to you and take you into custody within a certain period of witnessing your crime, which is something most aren’t willing to do, because what’s the point?

The Beasts are an entirely different story. There’s a lot of controversy surrounding them, much of it fueled by its multiple semi-interrelated factions. The most innocuous of these are hippy-dippy tree hugging vegetarians. The most dangerous, however, are self-righteous vegan eco-terrorists. What began as a single gang gradually cleaved into these factions due to inconsistencies in their ideologies. No one wanted to give up the name, though, so like Christians, the rest of us just sort of lump them into one group, and we don’t really care how they feel about that.

There are other gangs; the Ballers, the Hardcore Gamers, the Codas, the Singularities, the Gunbenders, and several more. But the Taggers, Tracers, and Beasts are the main three that rule the proverbial playground. Like I said, they all have territories, but it’s not like they’re not allowed to cross at all. They form treaties and other agreements with each other. Taggers are allowed to cross borders to make statements, but only in the inner city, and only under certain circumstances. These either have to be cleared with that territory’s leader ahead of time, or during an initiation. Newbies are required to prove themselves worthy by an endeavor known as “flagging”. Flagging entails painting either over preexisting work, within another gang’s territory without permission, or at high-risk areas like police stations or museums. Freeley managed to become gang leader by painting the entire front edifice of a mayor’s home in Mission Hills. This had to happen much later, however, because he was caught and served real time in prison for it.

This is important information because the Tagger apartment building headquarters is located at a confluence of three counties. The Beasts generally run Johnson, the Tracers handle Jackson, and the Taggers have Wyandotte. If you looked at a map of territories, they wouldn’t follow county lines so perfectly, and there would even be some overlap, but there is a general order to it. By running even a few blocks, Krakken enters Tracer territory without permission. It’s true that he’s not doing it with the intention of tagging, but still, it’s common courtesy to let ‘em know. Unfortunately this is simply not possible. The infiltrator has taken Crispin towards downtown, so that’s where we have to go. Luckily Krakken has me, so I should be able to halt any disagreements. I might even be able to recruit some help. Freeley had the impression that Crispin’s kidnapper worked for a company of some kind, and if there’s one thing all gangs can agree on, it’s screw the man.

I can’t think of any other name for him, so we’re just gonna keep calling him Noobo, the one who stole Crispin from my arms. We’ve nearly caught up to him. Krakken is doing surprisingly well. Noobo’s weird outfit is within centimeters of my fingers when he makes a lateral move to his right that I did not expect. I can’t stop and zag fast enough to get back on track before he’s turned on his vehicle and taken off. Now he’s not operating a car, motorcycle, or anything that normal people drive. No, this is a hoverplat. It’s a niche product that never really caught on because it looks like a balcony that can’t go more than a foot off the ground. They were also never very popular because the consumed energy to speed ratio is far too great. But this one is different. It’s still not as fast as a car, but faster than a golf cart. And this means that it’s faster than a human.

He’s getting farther and farther away, and there’s no way we could ever overtake him. Not like this. He’s chosen his vehicle, and we can use that against him. I have one trick up my sleeve that he would not expect. “Do you have a phone?”

“Of course,” Krakken says. “Don’t you?”

“Give it to me,” I order. “Frenzy racers aren’t allowed to carry tech.”

“Oh, right.” He takes out his phone and hands it to me. I dial one of the few numbers I have memorized, which connects me to one of the few gang members outside of the Tracers that I know. J-Cuken isn’t the leader of the Grammer gang, but he’s pretty high up there. And he owes me a favor. “J,” I say into the phone. “I need you to turn the device I’m calling you on into a master.” He gives me a little crap, but I tell him that it’s time sensitive and he immediately complies. “I’m also going to need a proximity ICC eavesdrop for the car I access with this.” He gives me that as well.

“What are we doing?” Krakken asks as we’re walking towards the car I’ve chosen.

“We’re takin’ this car,” I answer.

“We are?”

“I wouldn’t think a Tagger would be afraid of a little GTA.”

“I’m not, it’s just...”

“Get in or not.” I wave the phone in front of the door and it opens for us. “Vehicle, head North by Northeast. Search for any hoverplat in the area traveling more than thirty miles per hour.”

“You can do that?” Krakken asks as the car automatically drives off.

“All driverless cars on the road are connected to each other. They communicate traffic conditions, route changes, and upcoming hazards. Humans can’t usually read or write this information, but an eavesdropping protocol makes it possible.” It’s the modern-day equivalent of stepping into a New York taxi and instructing the driver to follow that cab.

“Wow,” is all that Krakken can say.

“We’re gonna catch up to this guy,” I say to him, “but I don’t know what happens after that.”

He shakes his head. “Taggers aren’t known for our caution.”

I nod. “I hear ya.”

“Requested hoverplat found,” the artificial intelligent system in the car we’ve just stolen says through the aether.

I’m about to order the car to catch all the way up to it and knock it off the road or something, but Krakken cuts me off. “Follow at a distance of two car lengths.”

“What exactly are we waiting for?”

“For an opening. Unless you want to barrel through this like a typical tracer. I can’t ensure Raggy’s safety if we try that. Can you?”

“Point taken,” I respond. We wait patiently, hoping Noobo never realizes that we’re right behind him. After a few minutes, I start looking around. This is weird. “Vehicle, what is the hoverplat’s destination?”

“I do not have that information.”

“Predict its destination based on pattern of travel.”

“Present course could lead to a number of destinations. Areas of interest include Linwood Strip Mall, Union Cemetery, Crown Center, University of Missouri Kansas—”

I interrupt the voice, “end list.”

“Do you know where he’s going?”

“He’s on my route.”

“You mean...?” Krakken started to ask.

“He’s heading towards my finish line. Where exactly he’s going, I can’t know, but it’s quite odd.”

“Indeed,” Krakken agrees.

I make a steeple with my hands and rest my mouth on it. I don’t know where he’s going, but I know where he is. Whoever he works for has no good plans for Crispin. They could show up at any moment, and it is then that I lose my advantage. I have to act now. “Do you know how to drive?”

“What?”

“Please stop questioning me. You agreed to come along, so just answer me.”

“I don’t drive. I ride the bus or walk. But I can technically drive. Though, I don’t know why I ever would.”

“You would if I need the instincts of a human instead of the precision of a car’s artificial intelligence. I need you to do bad things with this vehicle. Could you manage that?”

He lifts his chin to get a look at the controls. “You’re lucky this even has manual option.”

“I take that as a yes.” I do a few stretches then place my hand on the door handle. “I trust that you understand what I’m going for here?”

“I understand, and I’ll do everything in my power to get you there, but I cannot recommend this course of action, Captain.”

“Noted.”

I pull the door open and brace myself on the roof as Krakken takes over the controls and speeds up. So far, Noobo has still not noticed us, so that’s something. It does little to alleviate the stress of holding onto the top of a car as it speeds down the road, though. “Closer!” I yell through the windshield, fully aware that Noobo might be able to hear me. He does and tries to kick the hoverplat into high gear, but that’s not a thing. He was always going at maximum speed. Krakken gets me about as close as he’s able to without endangering Crispin’s life. Like an action movie star I may be destined to become, I jump off the hood of the car and head for the hoverplat. I land right behind Noobo and steal Crispin back from his arms.

“This is our property!” he yells to me, but only because we can’t really hear each other very well at these speeds.

“He’s not property, he’s a life.”

Noobo takes a gun out of his pocket and points it at my head, careful to keep it away from Crispin. He needs the rabbit dog alive.

Crispin transfers some power to me and I instinctively shoot a bolt of lightning out of my hand.

The electricity just surges all around Noobo’s body, affecting him only by giving me a huge smile. “Why do you think I’m wearing all this?”

That must be some kind of grounding material, or a Faraday Cage, or whatever it is that allows electricity to pass over him safely. What can I do with that?

Someone sneaks up from the side of me and takes Crispin for himself. He uses the same power of electricity to disrupt the operation of the hoverplat itself. He then takes me by the shoulders and casually steps us backwards off the machine. We land safely on the ground, magically ignoring the properties of momentum. We then watch as the hoverplat explodes. In the attempt to avoid a collision, Krakken swerves and ends up smashing into a giant Catholic church.

The masked man keeps holding onto me, and won’t let me try to help. He’s an infamous member of the Tracer gang who literally never speaks. “K-Boy.”

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