The Parallel: Steady as a Rock (Part II)

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For fifty years, the citizens of the new Sixth Key have lived in relative peace, but always teetering on the threshold of war. The reason it’s taken this long to come to a head is because this is about as long as most so-called independent states have been able to manage on their own. There are some truly independent communities, which utilize the resources at their disposal, and require no external aid. These are mostly outposts built deep in outerspace, which subsist on something that some people call dark hydrogen. It’s no different than any other hydrogen, except that it’s not supplemented by solar power. They will always have at least two fusion reactors, using one to jumpstart the other should an issue occur, or if there’s a need to shut one off for maintenance. So the hydrogen isn’t really dark; it’s just kind of a nonsensical name that multiple cultures have chosen to assign such a scenario, even across multiple realities. This kind of situation isn’t even all that rare, but an outpost of this type is usually rather small. Some of them only have one family, or even one individual. There are others who need star power, or external infrastructure, in order to keep going. They have done okay for the last several decades, but people are sick of it being so crowded, and some are looking to start a fight.

That’s where The Rock Meetings came in. Representatives from each collapsed reality were convened at a neutral location. It was actually sent into the very distant past, and placed in a time bubble that slowed time on the inside. This way, no one could argue some imbalance in power from any one location, according to all four dimensions of standard spacetime. It was an important milestone in the quest for peace in the Sixth Key. Everyone watched these discussions on a special cross-temporal broadcast network. The community’s engagement with each other in response to the streamed developments slowed down the march to war, and the decisions they made would have a profound effect on the dynamics of reality once all representatives were returned home. But it was not a magic bullet. Diplomacy is an everlasting pursuit, and you can’t ever let your guard down.

Kalea and Nuadu have been returned to their territory, standing in the executive conference room on Kalea’s homeworld. This was where they happened to be when the tree god summoned them into the past for the big meeting. They were in the middle of an internal negotiation back then, but that was about a month ago. Unsure what’s been going on since they left, they walk out of the room together, and enter the lobby. The guards posted there stand up super straight out of respect. Some of them are expressing their loyalty to Kalea, while others are secretly in favor of Nuadu’s plan to take control of this universe through force. That’s what he used to want, anyway. He no longer feels the way he did when the Rock Meetings first began. He’s a much different man now. He’s still in control of the Resonant Parallel Coalition, but it’s now going to be a defensive force for all of reality, including those which he once called his enemy.

Kalea’s partner in the Tanadama, Ramses glides over. “You two are standing uncomfortably close to each other. I was worried that you would be at each other’s throats by the time I returned. I nearly went back in time so that I would have only been gone for a second.”

“What?” Kalea questions. “That was weeks ago.”

Ramses winces. “It has not been weeks for me.” He looks at the guards, still frozen in place. This is not a figure of speech. A guardsman on this world is not allowed to leave their post during their entire shift, and is literally unable to move if one of their charges is within view, except to follow that charge’s movements. They are held in place by spatial restraints. It sounds bad, but it’s actually easier on them. The restraints distribute their weight evenly, and relieve them of the pressure that would otherwise come from regular total stillness. They all basically feel like they’re lying down in the most ergonomic bed imaginable right now. Yet they’re still alert. “It’s not been weeks for them either,” he continues.

A nearby two-dimensional screen flips on. The tree man from the meetings materializes in frame. “Hello. My name is Magnolia Tree. That is not a first and last name, I’m literally a, uhh...oh, never mind. What you need to know is that your worlds are at risk of suffering from a great war. You have experienced a severe drop in resources. Or rather, you’re now being expected to share the available resources with competing civilizations. I’m not here to help with that. I’m here to introduce you to the diplomats who will be representing you in these matters. I’m calling it The Rock...” The tree goes on to explain what’s going on, but Kalea and Nuadu have already been through this, so she lowers the volume.

“The meetings he’s talking about are over for us,” Kalea explains to Ramses, but for Nuadu’s benefit. He has trouble tracking all this time travel stuff. He’s always just wanted to serve and protect, not worry about things that have already happened. Kalea goes on, “he broadcasts the meetings for the people—live and interactive—though I believe he edits for content and...bad tempers, on the fly. We’ve come to some major decisions as a result of these talks, but when we were returned to our territories, I guess we ended up in our subjective pasts.”

“I understand,” Ramses says. “You’ve already filmed all of the episodes, and now the rest of us need to catch up. We have to find the other representatives, and sequester them too.”

“Sequester us?” Nuadu questions. “Is that really necessary?”

“To avoid a paradox? Undoubtedly,” Ramses answers. “I’m not asking.” He looks over to his partner. “You’re the only one powerful enough to stop me, though.”

Kalea sighs. “Harbinger Zima and I were the first to show up in the neutral zone. Hopefully that means we have some time to intercept the others before they disrupt the spacetime continuum too much. But it may not be. It’s time travel, so the others could have been taken years ago for all we know.”

Nuadu pulls out his handheld device. “I have a list of everyone.” He hands it to Ramses. “I would imagine that you can ignore the delegates from the territories outside of the Sixth Key.”

Ramses starts scrolling through the list.

Nervous, Nuadu adds, “you can ignore the notes that I wrote on each of them too. Opposition research; you understand. I’m not proud of every first impression I received...or made to others.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely be reading those,” he says with a smug look on his face. There was actually an alternate version of Ramses who served as the engineer on the Rock host ship, The Vellani Ambassador. The delegates had little reason to interact with him much, but he was a lot nicer than this version here, who is no less formidable than a god with an immeasurable sense of self-worth. He’s not a bad guy, but he’s definitely at no risk of ever wasting the power that he wields. “Take a shoulder,” he asks of them without looking up from the device.

The three of them teleport to the Tanadama’s private Nexus building. A Nexus is a machine capable of transporting matter across vast distances in mere moments. Given enough power, it could access the far reaches of the universe, or even other universes. However, there are restrictions on travel, some imposed by the state, and others by the mysterious secret entities who invented the network in the first place. Nuadu doesn’t know who these inventors are, nor whether the Tanadama have any information about them, though there’s a strong chance of it. This particular Nexus is the most secure of them all, and the least restricted. No one can come to this station unless invited, but the Tanadama can go wherever the want, even if the people on the other end don’t want them there. In fact, no one knows where this station is located in space. Most trips are logged on both ends, but there are ways to encrypt or erase the logs from here. Nuadu has no idea where in the galaxy he is right now.

Kalea steps into the Nexus cavity, and looks up through the window, into the control room. “We need immediate transport to Hockstep.”

Nuadu shudders. Hockstep is an entire planet of prisons. It’s not just a penal colony where people are free to move about as they please. It’s protected from outside interference, and prisoners are genuinely locked up in prison structures. They’re separated by walls, gaps, swaths of land, canyons, and oceans. You get sent here, you’re not going anywhere until it’s time for your release. Visitation is facilitated by an isolated telecommunications network, limited to a handful of highly secure interstellar relay hubs. Like the Tanadama base of operations, no one knows where Hockstep is, and almost no Nexus technician is authorized to send someone there. An elite division of prison transport specialists are the only ones with access keys, plus the Tanadama themselves...obviously.

“Come on down,” Ramses encourages.

“Is that where we’ll be living?” Nuadu asks. “It sounds like an awful place.”

Ramses looks up at the techs. “Clarification: Hockstep W.”

“Yes, sir,” the tech confirms. “Hockstep W.”

Nuada tentatively steps down into the cavity, and looks around in fear. The building itself isn’t scary, but he’s worried about what will be waiting for him on the other end. He doesn’t know what Hockstep W is, or how it differs from any other. Perhaps the planet has multiple Nexa for different continents, or whatever.

A white light overwhelms the three of them, then fades. It’s usually orange or red, but white is what appears when the Tanadama outpost is involved. They have been unwilling to explain why exactly this is. Whatever the reason, they make it to their destination, but it’s not what Nuadu expected. Theoretically, a Nexus has to be designed to be identical to all others in order to connect to the network properly. It’s a rule that Nexus builders are required to follow. If they fail in the most minute of ways, it simply won’t work, even if everything else is correct. Those in that line of business know exactly what they’re doing, and how they’re meant to do it. This place seems to be some kind of exception. The cavity is about twice as deep as a normal one. The ramp that wraps around the inside of the Nexus chamber is totally missing, leaving the stairs as the only way up to the control room. The drum on the ceiling that actually houses all of the faster-than-light parts is much lower to the floor. This is wrong. It’s all wrong.

Ramses chuckles. “Trippy, isn’t it? This one is designed to be incompatible with the rest of the network. It doesn’t even have a term sequence to punch into the computer. We’re in possession of a unique positioning algorithm that lets us beam directly here as a workaround, plus an authentication key to be let in.

A woman opens a hinge door into the chamber. That’s not where the door usually is, and the normal ones are pocket doors. The woman stands at attention, and nods to the Tanadama. “Sirs. Awaiting your orders.”

“Gather the troops,” Kalea returns, “for a prison break protocol...handle with care. The tech will have your assignments.”

The fugitive recovery agent—as Nuadu is guessing—begins to tap on her wristband.

Nuadu, meanwhile, follows Ramses, who walks up to the control room, and hands the tech Nuadu’s device. The tech sets it on the console, where it immediately begins to sync with the local systems. The list of the other delegates from the Rock Meeting pop up on a hologram, showing their respective statuses and locations. Everyone has a checkmark next to their name, as well as their specific location, except for two of them. Carlin McIver is the primary representative from the Third Rail, and Cosette DuFour served as his second. They both have red Xs next to their names, and no locations, which surely means that they’re missing.

Ramses sighs. “They’re probably in a pocket dimension. They love those things over there.” He starts to manipulate the hologram with his hands, separating the delegate pairs accordingly. Two of the delegates don’t appear to be very close together, so they’re kept separate from each other as well. There ends up being five destinations, including the blind one for the hidden delegates. “Break the team into random groups of three to find the others,” he instructs the tech. “For anyone who doesn’t go in the field, keep them here to facilitate dropshock orientation. Kalea will lead the operation. I’ll be personally handling the Third Rail Earth mission.”

“And me?” Nuadu asks, wondering if Ramses even remembers that he’s here.

“You’re coming with. I’m not much of a fighter, and we may encounter resistance.”

“Thank you, sir,” Nuadu says respectfully.

This surprises Ramses. “You really have changed, haven’t you?”

As they’re walking back out of the control room, other people wearing the same uniform as the first woman teleport in, scattered around the room, ready for battle. “You got lead on recovery, Kal. I have a solo assignment.” He turns his head to face Nuadu. “I mean a duo assignment.”

“See you on the other side,” Kalea replies.

Ramses and Nuada step back into the cavity. There’s a ramp that leads into it, but on the regular model, you don’t have to use it, because the cavity is only one step down. He’s always wondered why these machines were designed to be handicap accessible. It’s not that it’s stupid, but a race of superbeings advanced enough to have come up with it should be expected to have priorities so incommensurable that they wouldn’t think to include the feature. Yet, they did. Unfortunately, Nuadu is used to that regular version, which only has the one step. He trips, and almost falls on his face, but thankfully, Ramses catches him. Nuadu clears his throat, and decides to make a joke of it. “Gravity, right? Like a rock on a cloud.”

The recovery agents laugh, but not too hard, which is nice of them.

Ramses reaches over his head, and points at the Nexus tech as he nods once. They’re overwhelmed by white light again, and transported to the stars.

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Microstory 2255: A Public Nuisance

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I’m still recovering, but I’m moving around the house just fine on my own. It hurts, but I’m used to pain, so it’s not the end of the world. This is Nick, by the way. It looks like full payment is going to be transferred into our joint bank account sooner rather than later. With that high of a sum, and the legal things that Kelly told you about before, there’s just some regulatory hurdles to jump through. It’s not like I’m depending on that money to get me through the week, so it’s fine. There are still a bunch of news people on our lawn. Some of them left, disappointed that they would never get an interview from any of us. Others have stuck around, either because they don’t believe us, and that we’ll reward their tenacity, or just to be annoying and disruptive. I’m told that there is nothing that we can do to get them to leave unless they place any of us in danger, or try to breach the walls of the house. Lawns are private property, but when it comes to public interest, camping out on them is some sort of gray area. Again, they can’t do whatever they want, but they can just sit or stand there, and they can keep coming back every day if they want. I suggested that we turn on the lawn sprinklers, but that’s apparently some form of assault and needless escalation. I guess there’s just nothing we can do, except wait them out. Fortunately, it’s nicer in here than out there. It’s only getting colder. There’s one silver lining to this. If the crowd gets to be too big, the police will step in, because then it officially becomes a public nuisance, and maybe even a safety hazard. If they were here to protest, or something, then that would be a lawful assembly, and protected under constitutional rights. But they’re not here together; they’re just here for the same reason—or rather, legally speaking, simply similar reasons. If things do escalate to that point, we may be entitled to some form of authoritative protection. It’s a security risk, not knowing if all those people have decent intentions. There could be a serial killer amongst them for all we know. Our security team is doing all they can, watching them at all times, and securing the perimeter. I’m just going to rest and relax, and hope that things don’t get worse. But just a reminder, the team is also taking note of everyone they see, matching identities, and placing everyone into a blacklist, so your only possible accomplishment could be to be intrusive. You’re not going to get the exclusive story, I can guarantee you that.

Microstory 2254: Not on Our Lawn

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Nick is back home, though he’s still on bedrest. The doctors had no strong feelings about him returning to work this quickly, but I do, so I’m going to do this one more post before I let him get back to it. We have another privacy breach. We didn’t tell anyone which facility that he used for his procedures, but someone leaked the information to the media. Fortunately, our security team caught it early, and hustled us out of there before things got crazy. They weren’t able to stop the leak, but they were still able to protect us from the issues. Of course, that’s not all that was in the leak. People have finally figured out exactly where we live too, which was inevitable. They sell maps in Hollywood to celebrity houses. It’s not hard to determine such things if you really wanna know. So they’re camped out on our lawn, each reporter believing that they’ll gain some sort of access to Nick and/or Dutch. They may start to give interviews at some point in the future, but Nick won’t be talking to anyone while he’s in recovery, and at any rate, it will be on their terms. We’ve taken note of everyone on our lawn right now, and will be deliberately excluding them from any interview potential. Congratulations! You just unknowingly disqualified yourself! Anyone who follows in their footsteps will experience the same barrier. But if you’re not on our lawn, and your superiors have not authorized you to do so at some point, fear not, there are other ways to become disqualified from consideration. You could call us incessantly. You could send an inordinate number of letters to our publicist. You could harass our families, or our friends. You could attempt to infiltrate our past employers, or other places that we have frequented. You could try to hack into our security firm. You could try to kill, or otherwise harm, one of us. You could commit any other crime in pursuit of information regarding our lives and situation. Any of these things will be met with swift justice, and an immediate spot on our growing blacklist. Please note that the above is not an exhaustive list of disqualifications, and we reserve the right to amend our requirements and limitations at any time. All three of us are happy to tell you our stories, but there are appropriate ways to ask for that, and inappropriate ways. It will be up to you to choose your path, but there are consequences to every action. You would do best to not forget that.

Microstory 2240: Filth

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Not much has changed yet. Yes, the dude who wants my bone marrow and index and I had a discussion, and we came to an initial agreement. We’ve not signed any papers, but as a sign of good faith, he gave me a down payment, which I will be using to hire a personal security detail for myself, and my two friends. Kelly and Dutch had the option to leave me behind, and enter a form of witness protection. They could have blended in well enough wherever they were sent, but they chose to stick by me, so I have to do right by them. I won’t tell you how much money I have at the moment, but it’s enough to afford security for the three of us for at least a few weeks after the FBI lets us go. So when I said that not much has changed, that wasn’t totally honest. The government isn’t entirely keen on letting me donate samples of my body to science. I don’t know if they think that they should have it for themselves, or what. Who knows what’s going on in their bureaucratic heads when it comes to me? I don’t mean to sound mean, or to be overly critical of them. They’ve helped me immensely multiple times when I really needed it. But it may be time for our relationship to end. I need to reassert my independence, and I assume that they would benefit from diverting resources to other things. Of course, none of this should be a thing that I’m worried about. I wouldn’t need any of it if the world were safer. The violent, disturbing, and stalkery messages haven’t stopped coming. I hired a publicist, who has taken over the responsibility of sorting though the filth. They’ll handle getting the word out on that. Apparently, they have a database of dangerous individuals, so if you chose to write something to me, just know that you may end up on a list. If I understand their reach, it could affect your credit score. Just be nice, safe, and happy, okay? We’ve been over this. I am not your monkey.

The Edge: The Eagle Has Landed (Part I)

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Leona closed the door behind her, and let the portal close along with it. She turned and reopened the door on this side to confirm as much. A part of her hoped that her husband and friends would be able to join in on this special occasion, but she was not surprised that they weren’t. There was a reason they called this group The Shortlist. It will presumably be even shorter now that Ramses was dead. Either that or they’ll pull him from earlier in the timeline, which seemed a little unlikely since there was not much the two of them didn’t tell each other prior to his death. He probably would have let it slip at some point. There never had to be eleven members, though. That was just how it worked out. Perhaps they will find someone worthy of replacing his seat, or maybe they won’t. She didn’t know who was organizing this whole thing. No one was really in charge, but Hokusai Gimura often found herself in a pretty strong leadership role.

They were here to discuss the future of the Milky Way Galaxy in the main sequence parallel reality. Most of the public had seen or learned by now that there was something else going on in the universe that they didn’t understand. A message appeared in the night sky that could not have formed using conventional technology. Light just does not move fast enough to join stars together like that in a brand new constellation. Plus, the stars that were used to display the message weren’t even on the same celestial plane, as they never were. There was just no logical explanation for the message. For now, no one had to come up with one yet, but the longer they put it off, the trouble it might cause. Someone has to answer for it, and the energy god who actually wrote the message wasn’t going to do it.

“The Eagle has landed,” Thor Thompson said into his watch as Leona passed.

“Hey. What are you doing here?” Leona asked. He was intelligent, and well-versed in the world of salmon and choosers, but he was not part of the Shortlist.

“I’m just here to watch.”

Pribadium Delgado glided up, and took Leona by the hand. “He’s been saying that to everyone. Everyone is The Eagle.”

“What does he mean that he’s here to watch?”

“Come. We’ll explain.”

As Pribadium was leading her down the corridor, they heard Thor repeat the phrase when Weaver walked in through her own portal, from wherever it was she was.

They turned into a room which might have been the observation deck of a space station. A large array of windows was showing them the star that they were orbiting. “Where are we?” Leona asked.

“Altair. The locals have agreed to host,” Pribadium answered.

Leona kept looking at the beautiful star for a moment before turning her head. “I’m not familiar. Not the star, I’ve heard of Altair. I just don’t know who lives here.”

Pribadium smiled. “The Altares, of course.”

Leona chuckled. “All right.”

“Follow me. This is their diplomacy station, which they call Diplomacht.” She continued through the corridor until they came into an open space. It was a huge expanse with simulated daylight, plantlife, including trees that would be the envy of the tallest redwood, and walking paths. And these paths were being walked on, but not by humans or other humanoid entities. They were animals. They were intelligent animals. Some were wearing clothes, some were carrying on conversations with each other. The majority of them were the great apes, like orangutans and chimps, but there were plenty of canines, felines, and even birds. It was difficult to tell whether the birds were smart too, because they were just flying around and hanging out, but everyone else was definitely of comparable intelligence to humans.

“Uplifted animals. How did I not know about this?”

“You’ve been pretty busy, going to other worlds, other realities. Besides, this is a different timeline than the one you left. It’s close to what you recall, I’m sure, but you can’t trust anything you thought you knew from the past.”

“You seem to know a lot about what I’ve been up to,” Leona noted.

“Your grandfather filled us in.”

“Labhrás is here?” Leona questioned.

“We sent him back to where he belongs,” Pribadium explained. “He still has to father your father, so your father can father you.”

Leona nodded, and continued to watch the animals moving about like a creeper.

A bonobo hopped over to them. “Take a picture! It’ll last longer!”

“I’m terribly sorry,” she said to him.

“I’m kidding,” the bonobo replied with a laugh. “It’s okay to be intrigued. If I saw a cricket pushing a baby carriage, I would probably stare too.” He held out a hand. “Hello, my name is Gresham Oberti, Exalted Ten. I run this station. If there’s anything you need, you can ask me, and I’ll do what I can.”

“Exalted Ten?” Leona asked with a slight grimace, embarrassed by her ignorance.

“There are degrees to which an organism may be uplifted. Level Ten means that I have the tools I would need to elevate myself to superintelligence status, but I have not actually done that. In my opinion, Ten is the best. I don’t wanna know everything, and I don’t understand anyone who does. Anyway, I have to introduce myself to the rest of the Shortlist, but remember what I said, I’m here to help.” He ran off.

“Altair,” Leona repeated. “Exalted ones. Cute.”

“We didn’t name them that, or choose this as their homestar. They chose for themselves, and the migration was authorized by the Earthan government. There are plenty of them who still live there, of course, and on the other worlds. They just wanted a home of their own, as we all do. You’ve been gone a long time, and as I said, this is not the timeline that you remember.”

“Yeah. Our actions changed a lot.”

“Not just yours. There were other teams crossing the parallels, creating new timelines. I’ve done it a few times myself.”

“What does any of this matter?” Leona asked. “The meeting, I mean. You know what’s about to happen, don’t you?”

“The Reconvergence? Yeah, we don’t have to worry about that.”

Leona shook her head. “I’ve spoken to people who know the fate of the universe. The main sequence will be taken into the Sixth Key. If there was ever any hope that the public could be kept in the dark regarding time powers, it has been sent down the drain. It will happen. If nothing else, the Parallel and the Fifth Division will see to that.”

“It’s complicated, but don’t you worry,” Pribadium began. “We’re not going to be in the Sixth Key. We’re staying right here. Now let’s keep going. We’ll be convening tomorrow in Lylla Hall. It’s across Town Square.”

Leona looked back to see Weaver in the middle of a conversation with Thor and Gresham. Everyone on the Shortlist was probably taking the same route. This was all planned and structured, but by whom? They walked across Town Square, and entered the double doors under the huge sign that read Lylla Hall. They first entered the vestibule. Standing there in full military dress was General Bariq Medley from planet Teagarden. He was once in charge of the Quantum Colony game that millions of people played without realizing that it wasn’t a game at all, but they were in control of real star systems light years away, some of which were inhabited by clueless natives.

“Madam Matic,” Medley said. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Likewise, I hope,” Leona replied. “I did not expect you to be here.” She looked over at Pribadium, who wasn’t looking back. “I did not expect any of these people.”

Pribadium cleared her throat. “Is she free?”

“She’s inside, finalizing the audience roster,” Medley told her.

“Audience?” Leona questioned. “What audience? Pribadium Delgado, who is she, and what audience are we talking about? Will people be watching us?”

The door to the meeting hall opened. A familiar face stepped through. It was Divinia Tiongsong. They met her in the Third Rail, but she didn’t say who exactly she was, or why the global brain scanner logged her as an error who had experienced an unusual amount of time for someone in the rather primitive reality. “It’s okay, General, I’ll take it from here.”

He nodded, not just respectfully, but reverently. She was more powerful than him. “Ma’am.” He walked away with his entourage of officers.

“I could hear you talking from in there,” Divina said to Leona. “Yes, there will be an audience, and no, it was not our idea. Members of the Shortlist made this decision. Why you were not involved is not something that I can answer, but in your absence, they convened a quorum, and requested certain things from us. Firstly, they did not want to hold the meeting on Earth, Teagarden, or other politically charged locations. They chose Altair, and the Altarens obliged, following my facilitation. If you take issue with his, I suggest you speak with the others. As the term goes, the public has been deveiled. It’s my job to keep everyone safe while you decide what that means.”

“Okay.” It seemed wrong and weird, but what could she do? Leona wields the least amount of power and influence amongst the group. Honestly, she’s always felt that her inclusion was more out of pity than anything, so if this is how the others want to do it, then she won’t object unless someone else does first. The question was, who would be in this audience, and would they have any say in the decision-making process?

Weaver and Thor came into the vestibule. The former was just as confused as Leona was. Thor just acted fortunate to be included. Right behind them was Ramses Abdulrashid. He did show up. “Oh hey, Lee-Lee. Shocker I know. I’ll explain how I survived the destruction of Phoenix Station. But first...I found Olimpia.”

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 12, 2399

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Leona tried to escape the boiler room two nights ago. Tarboda thought that she was going to remove the chain from her ankle with the wrench, but instead she started banging on the pipes with it, and making a whole ruckus. When the eejit goon came in to see what all the fuss was about, she hit him over the head with it, and stole his keys. She was about to free Tarboda too when she thought better of it. She was in uncharted territory here. The chances that she would actually succeed in escaping were extremely low. They were almost as low as the number of friends she has left. They may try to use Tarboda against her if they think she gives a crap about him, and they may not if they think she doesn’t. He cursed at her as she was running out of the room, but also gave her a wink at the last second, so he understood. Perhaps he can be added to that friend list.

As she suspected, she didn’t make it far at all. The boiler room was one section of a basement with seemingly only one way out. That door at the top of the stairs was locked, and the goon was never given that key. By the time she was able to pick it, his brother was upon her. She didn’t see much of the ground floor, but it looked like the start of a maze. Not a window in sight. But that was okay, because getting out was never the plan. She wanted them to place her in more danger, and activate the fear center of her brain, which would have alerted psychic Kivi to her location. It might have worked too, but only if she were a different person, and the people she was trying to escape were also different. She knew that she was never in any real danger, which is why she couldn’t have just created the fear on her own, and her abductors knew it too.

To her surprise, the goons made no attempt to scare her. They weren’t rough with her, they didn’t yell at her. They did nothing to generate the appropriate psychic signal. They calmly escorted her back to the boiler room and chained her up again. They didn’t even move her to a different pipe. They took the wrench away, and took a cursory glance around to make sure there weren’t any more weapons, but that’s it. It just wasn’t enough. Leona’s escape attempt wasn’t enough to concern them. They felt no compulsion to react, and even if they did, she probably wouldn’t react much worse either, because she has had too much combat training. So she has to be scared for real, which means that she can’t know when—or, really, even that—it’s coming, and when it does come, she can’t let herself decide that everything’s going to be okay since Kivi will rescue her as a result. That’s impossible! She thought she had it figured out, but she was being naïve.

The boss man walks into the room. “I heard we had a bit of trouble.” His accent is still there, but it’s toned down a little. Is he faking?

“That’s what you get with me. I’m trouble, with a capital T, which rhymes with P, and that stands for pool!”

He’s the kind of guy who’s smiling all the time, probably even when he’s pissed off, but he cracks it wider. “Stands for pool,” he echoes. “I like that. I’m gonna use it. The Chinese are movin’ in on some of our territories with drugs hidden in pool tables.”

“Have fun, I’ll probably be making my upteenth escape.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he says. “In fact, you’ll have one more opportunity. We were meant to move ya to the exchange, but something went wrong on the other end.”

“Don’t you hate it when the murderers who paid you to kidnap someone they want to murder can’t get their shit together?”

“You didn’t hear?” he asks. “The bounty’s changed. You’re no longer wanted dead or alive. They’ll only accept you alive.”

“What would be your guess as to why?” Leona questions.

“I would assume there’s somethin’ you can do or tell ‘em that only you can do or tell ‘em.”

Leona doesn’t know what to think of that. Her guess the whole time was that the bounty was only ever on her head because she was forced to kill that asshole TV pundit. But the bounty doesn’t actually say anything about motive. That’s just when it came about, so that’s the connection she made. As far as most people know, she doesn’t know anything that could help them. She’s just the jerk who took their precious demigod away. Maybe it never had anything to do with that. Maybe someone just recognized her on the screen, and knows who she is for other reasons. The talk show could have gone swimmingly, and she still would have ended up in this situation. Or maybe she’s still wrong, because she has no idea what’s going on, who wanted her dead, or why they don’t want that anymore.

“I can see yu have some tinkin’ to do. I’ll leave ya to it. Big day tomorra.” He turns to leave while she’s still lost in her head.

“I have a list,” she says, stopping him.

He’s curious. “A list of what?”

“Of friends, enemies, friends who’ve become enemies, enemies who’ve become friends.”

“Which column am I in?” he asks.

She waits to reply. “That’s for you to decide. I can’t do it for you.”

“What happens to the enemies who never become friends?” he presses.

“You can’t ask them. You can’t ask them anything. You think that guy I killed on TV was my first? Technically, I’ve been responsible for the deaths of billions. No, don’t look over at the pilot, he doesn’t know. He’s just in the fifth, neutral column of my list.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Why do you think?”

“I think you remembered that I offered you a job. Are you finally ready to talk about it?”

“I’ll do whatever you need, as long as it doesn’t involve killin’ someone I don’t want killed, or causing harm to the poor, helpless, or disenfranchised.”

“In return, you want me to call off the exchange?”

Leona chuckles. “No, I want the meet to move forward, but I don’t want to be hooded and chained when it does.”

He sighs. “I think that can be arranged. Anything else?”

“Let him go.” She nods over to Tarboda.

“Can’t be done. He’ll tell someone where we are.”

“Then let’s don’t be here when he does,” she reasons.

He closes his eyes for a few seconds to think. “Very well, bonnie.”

“Before you go again, what’s your name?”

“Labhrás Delaney. May our business be fruitful and prosperous.” He tips his hat and leaves.

Tarboda looks over at her once he’s gone. “Are you two related?”

She’s still in shock. “He’s my grandfather.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 25, 2398

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Alyssa has been driving all over the region of central-Western Kansas which her brothers discovered to be a black hole of religion. Everyone in the area reports no religious affiliation. She’s interviewed a few dozen residents in several towns, and they all seem like normal people. They don’t act culty or cagey. None of them refused to answer her questions, except for a few who were late to an engagement, or otherwise preoccupied. They didn’t apparently move here with the intention of being in a community of like-minded atheists. Most of them didn’t even notice. Everything here seems completely above board, which means that something has to be lurking in the shadows. There is a force at play here that keeps itself secret; there has to be, or all the time Carlin and Moray spent researching the phenomenon was a waste. She doesn’t want to believe that. When they return from their space trip, she has to show them that she followed through on their suspicions, and found something worthy of investigation, even if it’s a bad thing. Even if it’s a good thing, for that matter.

Now that she’s failed to come to a conclusion, she decides to switch tactics by exploring the literal center of the religious black hole. She rechecks her coordinates. This is the center of her brothers’ map, and it’s the location of one of the presumed time travelers that Ramses detected with his big brain scanner. That can’t just be a coincidence, but this also can’t be what she’s looking for. This is the center of all of it? It’s nothing special, or at least it doesn’t look it. Maybe it leads to a giant high tech underground complex, like the one under her farm. This could hold the key to the answers they’ve been asking since they arrived. She’s standing under this dilapidated shack on stilts in the middle of nowhere. Surely no one lives here, that would be ridiculous. Then again, stranger things have happened to her already.

Alyssa doesn’t see any no trespassing signs, and again, this would be a terrible home for someone, so she decides to take a risk, and get a closer look. She climbs the ladder all the way up, and into the tower shack. The inside looks like a shack as well. It’s pretty clean, with no debris or equipment, but she ought to watch her step, because some of these boards may not be stable enough to hold her weight. It’s a long way down. There is nothing here, except for one window, and a mirror. The mirror is hanging there on the wall, so completely out of place. It’s not old and dusty, but new and pristine. Alyssa stumbles back when she realizes that she doesn’t have a reflection, but she doesn’t have time to figure it out. She was right about the instability of the floor. One leg crashes right through it, leaving the other leg at her side, causing her to hit herself in the crotch. She tries to get her breath back, but she can’t. The pain in her groin is almost too much to bear. Not only did she hit it hard in the fall, but now she’s doing the splits, which is not something she’s trained for.

She doesn’t want to move, because she’s afraid that any motion will cause the whole structure to fall apart, and then that will be the end of Alyssa McIver’s life. She’ll never see her brothers again. She’ll never fulfill whatever future Mateo and the team believe is waiting for in the alternate reality where they’re from. Okay, she packed climbing equipment. Kansas doesn’t have mountains, but it’s not as flat as the coastal elites believe. We do have edges, and it is possible to fall off of them, and it just made sense to be prepared for such an eventuality. If she can just spin her backpack around, and open it up, she might be able to find a rope, and throw it over something here.

As she’s starting to do that, she sees something move out of the corner of her eye. Is that—no. There’s not a hand coming out of the mirror like a Japanese horror film. It’s not being followed by the top of a head. Nope. Nope, nope, nope. This is not happening. She has to get out of here. How long will it take to hit the ground if she falls right now? Is there time to spin this backpack around, open it up, find the rope, and throw it over something? Probably, right? Let’s see, take the square root of her weight, and multiple it by the height of the shack. Carry the one, and no, she doesn’t have enough time. She’s either going to fall to her death, or get eaten by the ghost monster coming for her. Neither one sounds appetizing, but the ghost monster may spare her life if she spreads the message about how they died to as many people as she can, or something like that.

The figure finishes climbing out of the mirror, and does a front roll down the wall. Then she stands up, and reaches out a hand. “Let me help you.”

“Who are you?”

The woman doesn’t want to answer. “Don’t worry about it, just take my hand.”

Alyssa lets the stranger pull her to safety. Together, they jump over to the ladder, and make their way down to the safety of the ground. She finally recaptures her breath. “This is the center of unusual religious activity. Are you the cause of that?”

The stranger doesn’t want to answer that either.

Alyssa sighs, and takes out her tablet. “Nerakali Preston.”

“Huh?”

“Meliora Reaver, Xearea Voss, Ariadna Traversa.”

“What is this you’re listing?”

“Sanaa Karimi, Aquila Bellamy, Amanda Moss, Cambria Buchanan, Susan Glines, Natasha Orlova, Ellie Underhill, Téa Stendahl...”

“Are these meant to mean something to me?

“Ida Reyer, Aura Gardner, The Officiant, The Overseer, Tonya Keyes, Dr. Mallory Hammer, Danica Matic, Dilara Cassano, Marcy Calligaris!”

“Stop! I don’t understand!”

“I’m listing names of people that you could be, because when I land on your name, your microexpressions will tell me that it belongs to you. I have dozens more to get through, unless you would like to speed this up and tell me who the hell you are!”

She doesn’t speak.

“Quivira Boyce, Catania Porter, Bhulan Cargill—there! There, that’s it. I bet you didn’t think I’d find it, but you’re Bhulan Cargill.”

“That’s Mateo Matic’s list, isn’t it? That’s the cleverest thing that man ever did.”

“Are you the cause of the religious black hole?”

Bhulan still won’t answer that question.

“Daria Matic, Dodeka Sarkisyan, Lita Prieto—”

“I thought you already figured out what my name is.”

“Now I’m just doing it because it seems to annoy you. Answer my questions.”

Still nothing.

“Khuweka Kadrioza, Hogarth Pudeyonavic—”

“Fine. Yes. I’m the cause of what you’re calling the religious black hole, but not by choice. I’m just a prisoner here.”

“Who did this to you?”

“That I don’t know.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 2, 2398

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Angela’s company was a great idea, but she was a fool to think that it could last. This reality is not her home, and she doesn’t want to stay here any longer than she has to. This doesn’t mean that she doesn’t care about what happens to it. There’s some decent people here, and if she can help lift those voices, she will feel more comfortable walking away when the time comes. It’s unclear when that might happen, if ever, so she has come up with a continuity plan. She will keep working as long as she’s around to do so, but she’s also going to have a line of succession, and one that does not rely on friends which might follow her through the dimensional exit. She was already looking to expand the team, so she had a short list of candidates, but one in particular has been on her mind, so this morning, she set up a same-day interview for the afternoon.

Her name is Derina Torres. She’s young and active on social media, advocating for more government community support programs, and less reliance on individual religions to help the impoverished and disenfranchised. She actually built her own platform, which is impossible to control with a dogma filter or region block, allowing oppressed peoples to vocalize their needs, and reach out for help. She would be perfect for the job, if she were willing to take it. She was apprehensive of Angela and her intentions during the interview, and clearly has trust issues, which is understandable. Even so, her responses were respectful, considerate, and open-minded. Some of the questions were a little unorthodox, but she never flinched, and she’s clearly as passionate about social change as her persona appears. Her answers reminded Angela of herself in her younger days, in the time before she died, but after she met Ed Bolton. She has great potential, but she would never be able to do this on her own. She needs a partner; preferably a realist with experience. That might be a harder ask.

After Derina’s interview, Angela started researching business people who are particularly known for integrity and high ethical standards. It’s a short list too, based on what she’s already seen so far, except one that she’s going to have to build from scratch, because there is no database with such information.

“Yes, there is,” Leona tells her.

“There’s a database of good people?”

“Pretty much, yes. It’s not Winona’s department, but the government has curated a list of every member of the country’s labor force. It uses a rudimentary artificial intelligence to rank them according to tendency towards dishonesty and corruptibility, as well as level of import within their current company, and social status in general.”

“Why would they have that? Why would they make that?”

“That’s how they know who to exploit or turn into assets.”

“There it is, that makes more sense.”

“Yeah, so all you would have to do is sort it in reverse, and all the good people will suddenly be at the top of the list.”

“That’s all, huh?” Angela asks sarcastically. “I suppose this list is a matter of public record then?”

“Not quite, but I’m sure I could get you access to it.”

“I don’t want you to burn a favor. At some point, they’re gonna get sick of you.”

“Let them try. They know they don’t want me as an enemy.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 26, 2398

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Palmeria is the smallest country in the world, and is known as a micronation, though a few major countries do not recognize it as a sovereign state. Located on the border of the Minnesota, United States and Canada, and comprising two lacustrine islands, Palmeria is the home to an unknown very few people. To qualify as an independent nation, a population must interact with others in some significant way, and fulfill several other reasonable requirements. As an isolationist political region, the whole point is to not interact with anyone, but the founder—whoever they were or are—found a loophole, and of course, it has to do with religious freedom. Most of the time, declaring yourself independent of your host nation would be more difficult, because they might pose a threat to peace in the world, but Palmeria is so small and insignificant that most governments accept it because they don’t really give a crap. It’s not like the U.S. and Canada were clamoring to hold onto all of maybe fifty acres of land. The Palmerians stick to their islands, and don’t bother anyone.

There is a small economy. For one day and one night, a minimal party of guests are allowed to stay at a resort on the small island, which is only about fifty meters wide. It reportedly costs a buttload of money, and there are no extensions or repeat visits; no exceptions. The waitlist is several years long, and while no details have emerged regarding what a night stay actually entails, it enjoys a five star rating from one hundred percent of vacationers. Mateo, Marie, and Angela have arrived uninvited and unannounced via teleportation. They simply do not have time to do this the ethical way. Hopefully the Palmerians won’t be too angry about it to help. Who could be upset in a place like this? They find clear, unpolluted waters; crisp, clean air; beautiful greenery all around. Many would call this paradise. The only people who wouldn’t like it surely don’t like nature of any kind. It is so calm here, they hope not to ruin it with conflict.

They decided not to land directly on the island, because they don’t know what kind of security measures might have been put in place. Once Mateo finishes blowing up the raft, he and Angela paddle the half kilometer leg to their destination. At first they think they see a man standing on the bank, but the figure isn’t moving, so they decide that it’s an optical illusion. As they draw even closer, it becomes pretty surreal. It must be a person, right? No, it’s still not moving. Maybe a statue? It looks so real. It’s real. As soon as the raft touches land, he relaxes his Queen’s Guard stance to help pull it ashore.

“Thank you. We’re sorry to intrude,” Marie says to him diplomatically.

“Bring the boat up under here before today’s real guests see it,” the man says, helping carry it to a pile of brush and other debris.

“We were hoping to speak with the one in charge,” Marie continues.

“Follow me before today’s real guests see you,” he paraphrases himself.

As they’re following the stranger into the woods, Angela leans over to whisper, “this is a good sign. He might have access to a seer who foresaw our coming.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Marie agrees halfheartedly.

They don’t have to go far before they reach what the greeter calls the main house. He motions for them to approach the door, but doesn’t come with them. He must need to get back to greet today’s real guests. Mateo knocks.

Another man opens. “Ah, there you are.”

“You knew we were coming didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he says with a chuckle. “I have cameras all over the island.”

“No,” Marie says, “you knew we were coming today, even though you’ve never even met us.”

“No, I had no idea. You’re supposed to make a reservation online.”

“Why did you let us in then?” Mateo asks.

“I have cameras all over the island,” he repeats, “and a few off of it. I saw you three appear out of nowhere. I’m curious, what universe are you from?”

That makes it sound like he’s directly connected to Chase Palmer. “We’re from this one,” Angela explains. “We’re just from a different reality, where things like teleportation are slightly more common.”

He nods. “I see. “Well, what did you want to speak with me about?”

“Do you know a man by the name of Chase Palmer?” Mateo asks. “He was from another universe.”

The man in charge tilts his head back, surprised by the question. “Did you come here after hearing the name of the island? Did you think you would find him here?”

“We thought maybe we would find one of his descendents, or acolytes maybe?”

“I’m the former. I’m his son, Keaton.” He outstretches his arm. “Keaton Palmer.” After they take turns shaking his hands, he opens his arms wide. I grew up on Earth, where such is the custom. On my mother’s side of the family, however, it’s tradition to hug upon meeting friends, both new and old.

They hug him too.

“Your mother is not from Earth as well?”

Keaton smiles proudly. “No, I’m a successful hybrid. We’re quite rare.”

“I should say so,” Marie determines, “half human, half something else.”

“I’m fully human,” Keaton contradicts. “My mom was just born on a different planet. Technically a different universe too, but it’s a biverse, so we’re very close.”

“How did you end up here?” Mateo asks.

“That is a long story that’s not as interesting as you’re probably imagining. Essentially, I’m on vacation. I wanted to go somewhere without all the fuss and bother. I was just going to retire on my own Earth, but I kind of got detoured.”

“Does that mean you have a way to return?” Marie asks, hopeful.

“In about four or five months, yes,” Keaton answers. “Until then, I can’t so much as contact anyone beyond the membrane. Do you want a ride?”

“Four months is the shortest estimate we’ve heard so far, so...if you’ll have us...”

“Sure, there’s more than enough room for you.”

“Actually, we have many others back home,” Angela warns.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Keaton says, unfazed.

“We appreciate it.”

Mateo nods, glad for the progress. He hands Keaton his notebook of names. “Whenever I meet someone new, I like to find out if we have any mutual acquaintances. Would you mind?”

“No problem.” Keaton takes the notebook, and begins flipping through the list. He’s taken aback. “My mother’s name is in here. How do you know Amber Fossward?”

“Uh, she literally saved my soul once,” Mateo answers.

He considers the news fondly. “That sure sounds like her. Now I definitely feel obligated to help you.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 25, 2398

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They found only one other recognizable name from the comprehensive list of world religions. And it was another major one. Bhulahai was obviously named for timeline mapper, Bhulan Cargill. No one on the team who knew her knew how she could have ended up here, but it’s not that important. The fact is that she’s here, or at least she was, and she either created a religion, or inspired other people to start it, perhaps by performing miracles that would seem mundane to them. That’s probably how they all got started; Pryce turned himself into a sabertooth tiger, and the cavemen who witnessed it started worshiping him as a god. In Bhulan’s case, Bhulahai appears to be a pretty nonviolent religion. It promotes learning from one’s mistakes, and trying to predict the future with high accuracy. That makes sense for someone with the actual ability to do that with real past events.

It’s hard to say much more with just the list itself. It doesn’t necessarily tell them the whole story. Any of these others could lead to the identity of someone else and they just don’t recognize the name, or the name of the religion is simply not shared by the founder or inspiration. They need to do more research on the history of faith in this reality. Things can change a lot over the literal aeons. “Someone is going to have to trace these all the way back to their origin stories,” Mateo realizes.

“I don’t really have time,” Leona laments. “I need to get back to the fusion project. They have been operating independently of me for a long time now. I’m worried what they’ve been up to.”

“I have quite a bit of my own work too,” Ramses says.

Mateo would do it himself, but he’s not quite—what’s the word he’s looking for?—smart enough. “I shouldn’t bother, I would just make mistakes. I think I have an idea of who could handle it, though.”

“Who are you thinking of?” Leona asks. “Angela and Alyssa have the business, and Marie is helping them out while Kivi is in the field, looking for Erlendr and Meredarchos.”

“No, not them.”

Leona thinks she knows who he’s talking about. “Oh, don’t bother the people living at the condo either. They’re not a part of this anymore.”

“No, they made their choices,” Mateo says, smiling. “How quickly you forget the children.” Mateo leaves the lab, and goes up to the residential floor. He takes a quick look in the common area. Finding it empty, he walks back and knocks on the McIver door.

Young Moray answers. “Hi.” He hasn’t been the same since Trina’s memorial service. “My sister isn’t here.” He frowns. “I mean, Alyssa isn’t. Obviously Trina isn’t anywhere at all, since she’s dead.” Yeah, he’s definitely not finished grieving.

Maybe the boy just needs something to take his mind off of what happened. This doesn’t really have anything to do with that. “Is your brother here?”

“Car, it’s for you!” Moray shouts into the apartment as he slides out of the way.

“I’m here for both of you, actually,” Mateo says, stepping into the unit. “Could I have a word?”

Carlin comes out of his room. “Are you kicking us out?”

“Why in the world would I kick you out?”

“I caused a lot of problems yesterday.”

“Those are called feelings,” Mateo clarifies, “not problems. We’re working that out together, and I don’t know exactly how to help you, but I know it doesn’t involve kicking you out on the street.”

“What is this about then?” Carlin questions.

Mateo hands him the tablet. “This is a list of every religion in your world. That’s great and all, but we really need to know more about how they each got started, when and where, and how they evolved over time. We need to know which ones branched off into which others, and get lists of key important historical or mythological figures.”

Carlin peruses the list. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, we would like you and Moray to take on this challenge.”

Carlin drops his arms loose. “You want us to do homework?”

It sounds to Mateo like these kids need some structure in their lives. They have had it a little easy since they’ve come to Kansas City in terms of daily life. It hasn’t been easy—they’ve made sacrifices—but Alyssa has a job, and the boys need their own responsibilities. It’s not good for them to do nothing. “Everyone has their assignments. This is really important to us. We need to know who else like us is here, and this research could be the key to finding that out.”

He looks back at the list. Moray comes over to look at it too. “This isn’t just busy work?” Carlin asks.

“Ain’t nobody got time for that.” Mateo assures them. “Four of the most popular faiths in the world were named after people we know personally. One of them is my cousin, and I’ve been looking for her since we fell into this reality.”

Carlin sets the tablet on the dining table. “We’ll do as you asked, but we’ll need some direction on precisely what you’re looking for. Written guidelines would be helpful.”

Mateo nods. “I’ll have Leona draw something up for you. I’m liable to make mistakes, or I might try this project on my own.” He turns to leave the apartment gracefully.

“Hey, Mister Matic?” Carlin stops him somberly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, and just call me Mateo.” He sends a text message to Leona as he’s leaving the apartment. He then walks downstairs to find Marie.

She’s taking a shift in the security room. “Hey, you wanna get in on this?”

“Nah, I came here to ask you a question. Do you remember when you and I were alone together in the Mariana Trench? Those bug aliens attacked us, and were probably going to kill you until a couple of bulk travelers swooped in and saved us?”

“Yeah, of course,” Marie says. “That was shortly after I joined the team, long before I split in two, so I was still just Angela back then. Why?”

“What was the name of that guy who flew us from the rendezvous moon to the battle staging planet? Do you recall?”

“Yeah, he called himself The Hound, but his real name was...Hunter? No. Hold on...Chase.”

“Chase,” Mateo echoes. “That’s it. Chase what?”

“Chase...Palmer. Why?”

“He’s from another brane, and we didn’t spend much time with him, so I guess I forgot to put him on my running list. Have you ever heard of a religion called Palmeria?”