Microstory 2104: People Are Animals

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My job is going well so far, but I’ve only been doing it for one day, so we’ll just have to see. This place is open 24/7, which equates to a crew of five janitors. Each of us works six hours straight with no breaks, except to use the restroom. When one leaves for the day, the next one comes in. A fifth person sleeps on location, and can fill in if someone is sick. We don’t get paid to take time off, though we can if we need to, but we have to coordinate with each other, and the fifth guy will substitute during that time too. In the meantime, he gets paid for the entire day, whether he has anything to do or not. He’s the one who trained me, because he’s been there forever. The job is simple and tedious. You start at the top floor, and work your way down. Different janitors have different methods to get the work done. Some use the carpet sweeper all the way through, and then go back up to mob the bathrooms, and other tile areas, and then go back up again to collect the trash. Others prefer to focus on one floor, and complete all of the necessary work at once before moving on to the next one. They may not do it the same way every time, and our employer doesn’t care. They want it to be as clean as possible as much as possible. The work that the regular workers do here requires concentration, which means that they require us to be quiet and out of the way, which is why we don’t use vacuum cleaners. Fortunately, there doesn’t seem to be a whole lot of collaboration, at least not in person, so we’re not constantly tripping over the staff, making it easier to stay invisible.

For one hour at 11:00, they are all having lunch together upstairs. We are not allowed to go upstairs. I’ve not even seen their cafeteria yet, because we’re expected to eat on our own time, but the other janitors have caught glimpses of it over the years, so they know that that’s where everyone is going. Apparently, a sixth person handles that entire area alone, and isn’t part of my team. I suspect that, in addition to eating, they’re having some kind of building-wide meeting. I still don’t really know what exactly they do there, but it must be pretty sensitive stuff. They lock everything up in their special desks, even when they’re only leaving for the restroom. I’ve yet to see a single piece of paper that isn’t still blank. The regular workers are usually really focused on their work, and don’t pay me any mind, not in a sort of disrespectful don’t fraternize with the help sort of way, but more like they’re trying to stay out of my way just as much. I think they’re aware that I’m on a schedule of my own, and they appreciate not having to worry about the mess. And when I say mess, I don’t mean that these people are animals. Honestly, I don’t think we need to clean up as often as we do. They don’t eat at their desks, or do anything else that would make my job harder. I barely have to empty the carpet sweeper, but that’s what’s in the job description, so I’m going to keep doing it until they ask me to do something else. I was under the impression that I was going to get a lot dirtier, but the really gross places, like the boiler room, are handled by a different team too. All in all, I think I’m going to be okay here. I know what I’m supposed to do, and how I’m supposed to do it. They even let us listen to headphones at a low enough volume to hear the environment. I don’t really report to a boss. My coworkers are treating me as one more person in the collective. The woman I’m replacing worked here for 48 years before she retired with six-figure savings. I’ve never dreamed of having that much money. I’ll let you know if anything changes, but I think I’m just going to stick around for now.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 8, 2399

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What Leona and Mateo learned when they tried to explore the upper levels was that all ways up were locked. Alyssa was gone by then, so they couldn’t ask her if she had anything to do with that, and if not, if she could transport them up just to see. They’ll have to get a professional to help them break through, because Alyssa granted Leona temporal energy. This should give her the ability to generate illusions, but it also means that they can’t teleport. Is Alyssa becoming an antagonist, like the Cleanser and so many others before? Different enemies have had different motivations, and different tactics, but one thing they’ve had in common is that they like to come up with arbitrary rules and limitations only to make the team’s lives harder, not usually because of any inherent unbreakable law of the universe. They hope to get her back on their side one day, but they’re prepared for the possibility that it may never happen. They are under the impression that they’ll work together on a permanent basis in the future, but time is in constant flux, and perhaps they were mistaken about the truth of that the entire time.

The doorbell rings, sending an alert to their phones, despite the fact that they never set up any sort of smarthome connections. The couple found a furnished bedroom near the back of the building to sleep in. It was the only one of its kind, leading them to believe that it was made that way specifically for them. Someone constructed this place, and they did so while it was both invisible and soundproof to the rest of New York. Friend or foe, it’s not random. They know what Leona was planning.

As they’re walking through the lobby, they can see two people through the glass doors. One is an IRB agent—or whatever it is they’re called—and the other is an oldish man holding a black bag that kind of makes him look like an old-fashioned doctor making a housecall. It must be the locksmith. Leona answers with a smile. “Hello.”

“Hi, ma’am, I’m Evander Martinez from Evandoor Locksmiths. I was called to get you into some rooms?”

“Floors, more like it,” Leona replies.

“Ma’am, where is Leona Matic?” the IRB agent asks.

“She’s busy with another project.”

“I would really rather speak with her, so I can be sure that this operation is authorized,” the agent requests.

Leona and Mateo exchange a worried look, then Leona sighs. I will go see if I can find her. It may take a little time.”

“We’ll wait.”

“Are you sure?” Mateo asks his wife. If she’s going to attempt to create an illusion mere millimeters from her skin for the first time, she may need, or want, some help.

“I’ll be all right,” she says.

Evander holds up his passport as Leona is walking away.

“We don’t need to see that,” Mateo says to him.

“I promise, I’m all up to code,” Evander says.

“I’m sure you are.”

“I’m willing to sign a nondisclosure agreement,” he continues.

“That will not be...” Leona hears Mateo say as she’s leaving the area. She assumes that his last word was necessary, and she’s wondering if Mr. Evander has some more things to say about this situation. He seems curious and interested, and nonjudgmental.

She rounds the last corner, enters the bathroom, and takes a breath in front of the mirror. She tries to shake the nerves and anxiety out of her body. “Okay, Leona, you can do this. It’s you. All you have to do is make yourself look like you. You know exactly what you look like, right? Who knows your face better than you? No one, that’s who.” She shakes some more, and jumps up and down like an athlete pumping themselves up before the big game. “All right, here we go.” Nothing happens. She doesn’t feel a thing, causing her to worry that Alyssa just shot some pretty lights into her chest, and didn’t give her any temporal energy at all. It was all just a weird joke. She’ll never know unless this works, at least a little bit. “I see now, that was asking a lot. Don’t change your whole body, or even your face. Hair color. You have red hair. Change your hair to red. Do it. Do it. Change your hair. Make it red.” She rolls her eyes, and turns away in frustration. “Here I am, trying to wiggle my big toe like Beatrix Kiddo.”

Leona glances back at the mirror, sure that nothing’s changed, and who should be staring back at her, but none other than Uma Thurman. She jumps back in fright, not because she’s afraid of Uma Thurman, but because she didn’t expect it to happen. It didn’t feel like she was changing. Though, that’s the thing, this isn’t shapeshifting. A perfect hologram of someone else has been wrapped around her body, but you can’t touch light, so it shouldn’t feel like anything. “Well, that sure is something, isn’t it? Problem is, I don’t think these people have seen Kill Bill. I need to look like Leona Matic.” She turns away again. “Here I am, trying to look like Leona Matic like...like Alyssa McIver.” She faces the mirror again, but she’s still Uma Thurman. “So those aren’t the magic words, it’s something else.”

Mateo enters the bathroom, startling her again. “How is it going, honey?”

“Why are you here?”

“I was worried about you.”

“I’ve been gone for, like, two minutes. It’s a big building, and we have access to a few floors.”

“Leona, you’ve been gone for more like twenty minutes.”

What? “Crap!” She realizes something as she’s looking at her watch. He didn’t seem to notice that he was talking to Uma Thurman. That’s because she doesn’t look like her anymore. She’s back to being Alyssa. Cool, so she can look like anyone but herself. “Are they pissed?”

“I let them in.” He shows her the security feed from his phone, which also just magically appeared when he needed it. “They’re sitting comfortably in the lobby.”

Leona nods, but she doesn’t really care. She’s not having a good time. “I don’t know if I can do this, Matty.”

He smiles kindly at her, and leans forward, planting a soft but passionate kiss upon her lips. When he separates from her, he’s looking at his wife. He smiles again.

Leona sees herself in the mirror. “How did you know that would work?”

“You’ve always disliked being affectionate with me in other people’s bodies. And hey, if it didn’t work, at least I would have gotten to feel what it’s like to smooch Alyssa McIver.”

“We are not using this power for roleplay.”

“No, ma’am,” he says with a faux serious face. He’s not so sure about that.

They leave the bathroom, and return to the lobby where they find the agent and locksmith unperturbed by the amount of time that took. Leona reintroduces herself, and assures the agent that he is free to go. They’ll be fine. If Evander the Locksmith turns out to be Evander the Assassin, she’ll just make herself look like a rageing gorilla, or something.

Once the agent leaves, they lead Evander up the stairs to the locked door that should take them to the residential levels. The first few levels are an assortment of offices, and similar spaces, and they combine to span the entire width and length of the plot of land. The upper levels are called spokes, but they could be thought of as wings. There are six of these spokes, in between which is open space. On top of the bottom levels is a roof that could be used for a garden, or short walking paths. This is very similar to main sequence architecture for standard megastructure arcologies, except half the size. Those are two kilometers tall, with twelve extra long spokes. The first levels are larger too, of course, and serve as communal areas for eating, socializing, and their form of shopping, which obviously doesn’t involve the exchange of money for goods.

It takes the man a good hour to break through. The lock was reportedly extremely complicated, and he apparently only kept going this far, because Leona is the king of the whole country. She tried to correct his perception, but he’s just one person. If that’s what people think of her, then she has an image problem, and she may need to think about hiring a publicist. Evander tried to step away to give them some privacy, but they ask him to press on, in case there are any more unruly doors they need through. They don’t need privacy anyway. All of this is going to become public knowledge at some point, as long as they clear any other hurdles standing in Leona’s way of doing with the building as she wants. If it doesn’t work out, then it really doesn’t matter what’s behind these doors.

They step through cautiously, and walk down the hallway. Everything appears as they expected except for the inside of each room. They’re of the refugee model, which is exactly what Leona was thinking for her goals, but main sequence arcologies have never really needed them. A basic rule of thumb is that a cuboid unit accommodates a single person. Now, that may mean that a hypothetical individual lives alone in a studio apartment layout, or it could be a family of five with a kitchen, a living room, a master bedroom, two bedrooms and a turfed lawn for a dog. That adds up to six units, but couples could also fit in a studio, or a family of six may only need four units. It’s the average that counts, and for the most part, the math works out pretty well, which is why estimating residential capacity is generally pretty accurate for these structures, even though they’re so customizable. Each unit is exactly the same size and shape.

The bottom floors were mostly not furnished, except for a few places here and there, like that little bedroom, one bathroom, and enough of the lobby to get by. The first unit they walk into is fully stocked with enough bunk beds for eight people. If they’re all like this, then we’re talking well over 600,000 potential residents. The bottom floors could be used for services, socializing, and recreation, but any unused rooms could be fitted with bunks as well to house even more people. They haven’t even checked for a basement.  Leona doesn’t know who might need to live in these units one day, but it may not be long before they can move in. The three of them spread out down the hallway, and check other rooms. They’re bunked up too. They manage to get the elevator working, and choose random levels to explore as well. All bunked up. All of them.

“Someone put a lot of effort into this,” Leona notes. “That’s either really good, or it’s really bad.”

“Perfect,” Mateo says sarcastically. “Another mystery. Add it to the pile.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 13, 2399

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Labhrás moved Leona and Tarboda to a much nicer room, with cots to sleep on, clean running water, and control over the lights. They also allowed them to have a shower, and eat some real food, instead of this reality’s version of hard tack. The door was still locked, but he promised to let Tarboda go at the right time so as to avoid any run-ins with the authorities. The exchange was on, so they all had to get a good night’s rest. It was hard to tell when it was bedtime since Leona had yet to see a window, so they just turned in when they felt tired.

It’s the morning, and Tarboda is gone. Leona is at the exchange with her future grandfather, the two smelly brothers, and a few other goons. Or maybe they’re henchmen. There’s a difference, apparently, and they would probably be offended by being called the wrong one. Labhrás altered the conditions a little bit. Leona is in chains, and she is wearing a hood, but the shackles were bought at a magic shop, so they only appear to be locked, and the hood is see-through. They still want to make it look real while Leona finds out who’s really after her, and why. They’re standing on the docks, which is a truly unique locale for a ransom exchange. Really, no one has ever thought of that before. Why don’t criminals meet at the docks more often?

Leona still doesn’t know where she is. It’s cool, which implies they’re still in the northern hemisphere, and she can taste the salt in the air, so the body of water to her left is an ocean, rather than a lake. That tells her that she’s not in a landlocked region, which rules out places like Kansas. She never thought they were in Kansas, but it would have been nice. As far as she’s aware, her grandparents emigrated out of Ireland, and went straight to Topeka, so it wouldn’t have been the craziest of developments. Then again, they’re in a completely different reality now. Labhrás has probably never even heard of Topeka, and maybe not even Kansas City. None of that has happened yet, and all this timey-wimey stuff is weird and complicated, so maybe it never will. Maybe everything they’re doing now will negate her existence, kind of like what Mateo did to himself when he killed Adolf Hitler, but worse because it would happen in every timeline for her, and she wouldn’t even have the satisfaction of killing Hitler.

“Are ya still with us?” Labhrás asks.

Even with this hood on, he could tell that Leona was stuck in her head. “I’m fine. What time is it?”

“Half past they’re feckin’ late,” he answers. “Pardon my English, Madam.” Hm. What is England to him?

“Doesn’t bother me. That’s not even a real word,” she jokes.

The smellier brother waits for a solid minute before responding with, “yes, it is.”

We don’t wait much longer before a well-dressed man carrying a cane shows up. He’s kempt and confident, and does not seem embarrassed by his tardiness. Leona doesn’t recognize him. Now that doesn’t mean he’s not the one who put a price on her head, but she’s still getting the impression that the true force behind this mess is still living incognito. This guy’s just a lackey. “My name is Connell Arrington,” he announces. British accent; British name. Where are these people from? Happy cliché day, anyway.

“You don’t look like you’re carrying very much money on you?” Labhrás notes.

“Everything is electronic these days, my dear.”

“That’s not what we agreed on. We want untraceable bills.”

“Impossible. You’ll take what you can get, or you’ll get nothing.”

Labhrás just fumes.

Connell goes on, “you identified yourselves as the Bounty Hunters of the Old World. As a result, we are unaware of your specific designation. What is your name?”

“Labhrás Delaney.”

Connell’s eye twitches. He looks over at Leona. “You would give up your own kin for a bit of cash?”

Labhrás looks over at Leona as well. “We are not related.”

Connell twitches again. “You expect me to believe it to be a coincidence that you are both named Delaney?”

“Her name is Leona Matic,” Labhrás tries to clarify.

“Pull the hood off, please,” Connell requests.

Smelly Goon One does so without waiting for Labhrás’ go-ahead.

“Did you not tell him your unmarried name?” Connell asks Leona.

“Do we know each other?” Leona asks, undeftly changing the subject.

“You and I have never met,” Connell begins. “Neither have you and the man I work for. Yet you have wronged us both, and we are here to collect on your sins.”

Leona narrows her eyes at him. “Which sins?”

“All of them,” Connell replies.

“Who are you to make me answer for all of them?”

“We are...in a great position to do so. That is what gives us the right.”

“How are we related?” Labhrás questions, frustrated at the tangent.

She’s been avoiding eye contact, but that’s no longer viable. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?” Connell asks. Then he has a realization. “Ah, I see. Who is he, then; your son? Great great great great great grandson?”

Labhrás is super confused now.

“You’re my grandfather,” Leona corrects while continuing to look at Labhrás.

“How is that possible? You may be older than me!”

“Time travel, old chap!” Connell says jovially. “She’s from the future.”

“I’m not from the future,” Leona contends. “You are. I don’t know why you go back in time, or how you do it, but it has to happen, or I never exist.”

“Is that all it would take?” Connell asks. “I believe we’ve found our solution.” He twists the handgrip of his cane, and pulls out a gun, instead of the usual sword. He shoots Labhrás in the chest, and then ducks away to avoid gunfire from the henchmen.

Leona catches Labhrás as he’s falling to his back, already coughing up blood. She removes her shackles, and tries to apply pressure to the wound, but he’s not going to make it. “I’m sorry. I would have told you if I thought that this might happen.”

“I’m sorry,” he struggles to say. “Ta...Ta...”

“Thanks? Are you trying to say thanks?”

He shakes his head. “Tarboda. Tarboda is dead.”

Leona’s face falls. Tarboda was not a great friend, but he could have been one day, and he did nothing to deserve that. “You’re no grandfather of mine.” Connell is still in a firefight with the rest of Labhrás’ people. She stands up, and ignores the flying bullets. She walks across no man’s land, and approaches him.

“I thought you would disappear before our very eyes,” he says to her.

“That’s not how it works, you bleedin’ eejit. Now take me to your boss.”

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: Year 222,398

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Danica prepares herself, and opens the hatch to let Mateo out. He looks at her, then glances over to Curtis and Cheyenne. “I have a job for you,” she tells him. She hands him a tactical bag with the clothes and other gear that he may need. “Get dressed and meet us in the time machine room.”

“I don’t know where the new time machine room is,” Mateo says.

“I put it back where it was,” Danica replies. She takes Curtis’ left arm while Cheyenne takes his right. They all three teleport away.

Five minutes later, Mateo shows up, ready to go. “What’s the play?”

“After exhausting all other possibilities,” Danica begins, “I have decided to authorize a mission to the future to retrieve Bhulan Cargill.”

“Did Pryce tell you the exact date?”

“He did not,” Danica says, “but I was able to figure out how to trace it. He sent an object of roughly Bhulan’s mass to the temporal coordinates that I have already input in the machine for your mission. All you have to do is get her back into the chamber, and bring her home. If, for some reason, you cannot return to the future version of the machine, I’ve programmed it to slingshot you back after half an hour. As long as one of you is holding onto her, she’ll be pulled back with you.”

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Mateo questions.

“We’ve been planning this for three years, accounting for every possible obstacle, and coming up with every contingency. Curtis knows what to do. Follow his lead.”

“Okay, but she can’t go,” Mateo says, pointing to Cheyenne.

“Why the hell not?” Cheyenne and Danica question simultaneously.

“It’s no secret that I already knew Cheyenne when we first met,” Mateo says. “Just trust me that she is better off not being involved in this. I’m not saying she’s not capable, just that she ought to stay out of it.”

Curtis is ticked off, but he gets it.

Cheyenne is confused, but doesn’t feel comfortable advocating for herself, or maybe she just didn’t want to go anyway.

Danica has no choice but to trust Mateo’s words, and hope he’s not lying. Cheyenne volunteered for this job, but it only demands two people. Well, it really only needs one person, but Mateo is being sent to teach him a lesson, so he knows who’s boss, and obviously he can’t go alone, or he might just go off mission. “All right, Chey, sorry, you’re benched.”

“That’s totally fine.”

Yeah, Danica doesn’t think she was ever interested in this. It’s possible Mateo picked up on this as well, and that’s his entire reasoning. That’s the kind of thing he would do, if given the data. She really does need to cut him some slack. Until this, he hadn’t truly done anything wrong intentionally, and even this wasn’t an unreasonable choice. Besides, he didn’t technically do anything but teleport an empty stasis pod to the middle of outer space. Tamerlane is at fault here. He’s responsible for everything. “All right. Whenever you’re ready, I’ll pull the switch.”

Mateo and Curtis step into the chamber. “Go ahead,” Mateo says.

Danica pulls the switch, and they disappear. Ten seconds later, they return. “Report,” she orders as they’re stepping out, sans Bhulan.

“She wasn’t there,” Mateo answers.

Danica looks for confirmation from Curtis.

“She wasn’t there,” he concurs. “You’re the one who—”

“Don’t tell me anything about what I may or may not have done in the future,” Danica warns. He was obviously going to say that Future!Her will admit that Bhulan really doesn’t show up, suggesting that Tamerlane used a lie to cover up another lie.

“Sorry,” Curtis says.

“Thank you for trying. I have to go.” She starts to walk away.

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

Danica turns around. “I’m resorting to Plan Z.” She leaves the room, but not before she shouts, “everyone out!”

Tamerlane has already been placed in a special hock of her own design, which the builders of this facility apparently did not foresee as being necessary. It has three levels. There’s a regular cell that operates in realtime. A stasis chamber moves faster, and the prisoner is free to choose when and when not to use it. The stasis pod, however, is mandatory when not activated. He can’t get out, and he can’t control the differential. He’s been in that level almost the whole time since she found out that he sent Bhulan to the future. He’s only been allowed out for interrogations, which have not gone well so far. He has given away nothing. He’s never going to be honest with her again. Bhulan will lose her control over the Omega Gyroscope, and until Danica can find a solution to the line of succession problem, there’s only one thing left to do.

He’s in the stasis chamber right now, so she switches off the differential, and opens the hatch remotely. “Come on out,” Danica demands.

Tamerlane does as asked. He is not showing any remorse whatsoever. “You tried to go to the future, didn’t you?”

“You lied to me. Again.”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“I can tell you, but you have to let me use the machine for myself...when the time comes. I must set the Gyroscope free.”

“I’m giving you one more chance to tell me where she is. If you don’t speak up now, you’ll regret it, I promise you that.”

“Not until power shifts. This is going to happen, and you can’t stop it. I don’t care how butthurt you are about it.”

Danica opens the gate, and doesn’t close it again. It doesn’t matter, it’s more for show. He’s wearing spatial cuffs, which means he can’t leave the immediate area, or get within two meters of someone else. “You made me do this.” She removes the Gyroscope from her bag as she steps into the chamber, and approaches the pod. She unlocks a secret shelf above the head, places the object inside, and locks it back up. “The minipod is special. It is simultaneously attached to the time inside, and the time outside, so we can keep using it, but you can’t ever be away from it, no matter how fast your differential is. Someone will always be in control. I control you, and you control it.” She once thought she would have to do something like this one day, but after the first few decades of realtime without him giving them any problems, she stopped worrying. She’s so disappointed. Perhaps spending a few decades in here will sober him up. Or maybe she’ll leave him there forever. She forces him into the pod. “Welcome to your new life.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Year 12,398

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One second. That’s how long Mateo spends in the stasis pod that Danica forced him into. As soon as that door closes, he teleports out, and lands on the other side of it. To his left is Past!Mateo’s pod. This is the version of him that first came back here after falling down the main elevator shaft. He’s destined to remain here for the next few billion years until his team rescues him with a sledgehammer. For now, though, this room has not yet been sealed up with concrete and wood. He could walk right out that door, assuming it’s unlocked, but that may not be the best way to handle this. She obviously doesn’t want him wandering around The Constant unsupervised. He might learn a secret that she doesn’t want getting out. He has to be smart about this. He tries the door anyway, and finds that it is indeed locked from the outside, so that’s a no-go.

Mateo jumps around to loosen up his joints. He’s assuming that each section of the Constant has its own set of alarms. If he can teleport to each one of them in succession, he’ll be able to choose one at random, and hide out there while Danica is scrambling, searching through the rest. It’s not the most brilliant of plans, but that was never his strong suit. He doesn’t usually do well on his own, but he’s all he’s got right now, so there’s no point in dwelling on that. He starts going over the sections in his head one by one, formulating a route, when the handle turns, and the door opens. He peeks his head out, and looks around to the other side of it. There was someone there, but he doesn’t get the chance to see who. He catches a glimpse of a silhouette before it disappears, either teleporting or time traveling away. They’re either trying to help him or hurt him, but either way, they have more information than he does, so worrying about it isn’t going to do him any good. All he can do now is try to gain some kind of advantage that will prevent Danica from being able to just throw him away like garbage.

First off, he wants to find out where she is, and where there might be others lurking about this facility. Though, if there is anyone else here, they’re probably fully invited, and he’s the only lurker. He steps out of the stasis room, and immediately regrets it. His shoes are too loud. What are they designed for, tap dancing? After he closes the door behind him, he takes them off, and starts walking with them in his hand, but he doesn’t get far before changing his mind. He feels like a heroine in an action movie who had to go undercover at a fancy party where the villain is entertaining a bunch of freeloaders to hide the fact that he’s really there to host a black market auction in the wine cellar, and now it’s time for her to run and fight. He decides to tuck them away underneath the couch, and move on.

He slinks down the hallways, hugging the walls, and trying to avoid the cameras, but he didn’t exactly memorize their locations, and there probably aren’t any blindspots anyway. He just keeps going, and hopes that his presence doesn’t trigger the artificial intelligence to sound that alarm after all. He could probably breathe easy, because the person who let him out of the stasis room surely knows whether they would be a real issue or not. No one is in the kitchen, no one’s in Danica’s office. No one’s in the security room, or the small film screening room. There’s no one in this library-looking place that is apparently called the master sitting room. “Wow, look at all this seating!” he exclaims to himself. The gym looks empty, but it has lots of spots to hide, so he gets himself a better look to be sure. No, it’s clear. Man, this is a big place for only a few visitors at a time. Only one person is meant to work here, except for Danica’s current posse, which Mateo assumes consists of Bhulan, Aquila, and maybe Tamerlane Pryce and Dalton Hawke?

“Tryna get swole?” a voice asks from behind him.

Mateo turns around to find a man who he doesn’t recognize. “I’m just trying to get answers,” Mateo admits.

“Aren’t we all?”

Mateo sizes him up a little. “Report.”

The man smiles. “Asier Mendoza, father of The Concierge. Some people call me Corporal Mercy.”

“Never heard of ya. Danica never mentioned her father, and Daria never mentioned her baby daddy.”

Asier nods. “You were probably talking to the wrong version of Danica.”

“I thought there was only one.”

“It’s complicated when you’re the way that she is.”

“Is that why we’ve never met before?”

“I guess.”

That’s not surprising, when Mateo thinks about it more. This is not the Danica he knows and loves, and that’s the point. Nerakali was always trying to explain that alternate selves are not identical. The fact that everyone is unique isn't just something to teach your kids; she called it a metaphysical maxim. “What are you going to do to me?”

“Do to you? What do you think we are, monsters?”

“Honestly, I don’t know anymore. Danica can’t take five minutes to have a conversation with me before she either erases my memory, or throws me into stasis.”

“If your memory was erased, how do you know how long the conversation was?”

“Does it really matter if my memory is gone? It’s like it never happened anyway.”

“Good point,” Asier muses.

“Interpret my question however you please, I would still like an answer. What is going to happen, and how can I prevent you from putting me back into that stasis pod?”

“Stasis is a gift, Mateo. For you and me, it’s a way for us to skip time, and reach the future. For the others, it’s a way to avoid the boredom of the aeons.”

“I understand its value, but why did she force me into it without saying a word? She took my friend, Alyssa away, claiming that she was going to send her back to the future, but I don’t know if that’s the case. Why is she being so cagey?”

Asier considers his approach to this. He’s obviously not allowed to answer all of Mateo’s questions. “This version of my daughter has caught glimpses of the parallel realities, which most versions never see. Each one is only meant to be responsible for one reality, and are meant to fend for themselves. The insight she gained from this information has changed her. She’s decided to make this reality different. She’s decided to protect it in a way that all other Concierges were never asked to do. It was a hard decision to make, and she’s incredibly stressed out about it. I would kindly ask you to be patient with her while she figures out how to proceed. Can you do that for me?”

Mateo considers what’s been asked of him. “If I’m going to support her, then I’m going to need to speak with her personally. Can you promise me that?”

“She’s not scheduled to come back out of stasis for another ten thousand years.”

“Then I’ll be back in ten thousand years,” Mateo responds.

“Okay, then. I’ll escort you back to your pod.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 15, 2398

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Marie is sitting on the cot, face pressed up against the glass, not in a longing sort of way, but just because she’s bored. This isn’t the first time she’s been locked up, and if she survives, it won’t be the last. The other three are doing their own thing, but they seem just as bored.

“How long have we been here?” Kivi asks.

“At least a day,” Heath answers, just guessing.

“Are they gonna torture us, or something, or is this the torture?” There is nothing in this glass cell but eight cots, one toilet, partially covered, a sink with an extension to approximate a shower, and holes for ventilation. Under the sink is a stack of these dense granola squares for them to eat at their leisure.

They haven’t seen a single soul since they woke up here yesterday. The light is dim, and they can’t see the outside. They get the sense that this thing was built in the center of a warehouse, but it’s so dark that they can’t be certain of the scope. Surely someone is watching them on monitors somewhere, but they don’t actually see the cameras. There is no sound. Not even the light fixtures give off that familiar hum you normally wouldn’t be able to get out of your head when everything else is this silent. For now, the only noises they hear are the ones they make.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Marie tells her, pulling her face from the wall for a minute. “They’re always listening,” she whispers.

“You don’t know that,” Heath says. “Look around. I don’t see anywhere for anybody to slip food to us. Hell, one of these bars holding the glass together is probably a door, but we don’t know which. All we have may be all we ever will. This may not be a jail cell at all, but a coffin.”

“Don’t be so morbid,” Marie urges. “They brought us here for a reason.”

“What reason?” Kivi questions.

“If I knew that...” Marie begins, going back to the glass. She stops in the middle of the sentence when she realizes that there is no way to finish it. It doesn’t matter what she knows, and doesn’t. There are no actions to take in here besides sleeping, eating, cleaning, and wasting. Her guess is as good as Kivi’s

“Does this have anything to do with A—”

Marie quickly turns from the glass again. “Shh!” Kivi was about to drop Amir’s name, which she shouldn’t, in case he has nothing to do with it. Or they, rather since there are two Amir Hussains. Swapping them, and freeing them both to different places, was their only choice. They knew it would cause problems, but they didn’t think these people would take it this far. The second Amir was so interested in getting out of Birket that he gleefully accepted the risk. Marie is glad that Leona isn’t here, but she could have helped. For one, she probably would have already figured out who these people truly are, and how to get out of here, and in two weeks, she would be running the joint.

“Sorry,” Kivi says. “I’m just hungry.”

“Go ahead, and have another square,” Marie suggests.

“I can’t, we have to ration it.”

“No, we don’t,” Heath insists. “It’s fine. I was just being dramatic.”

“Yes, we do, and no, it’s not, and no, you weren’t,” the fourth prisoner says.

Microstory 1864: That’s It

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Here’s a story for ya. You can either choose to believe it or not, but I’m telling you, it happened, and it happened to me. My father and his father did not have a good relationship. According to what little my mother was able to relay to me, they fought all the time when he was young, and then they just stopped talking completely. I don’t know what they were so angry at each other over, but whatever it was, it’s the reason I never met my grandfather. When he died, he left no one to go to his funeral, let alone plan it. I decided to take up the responsibility of putting him to rest. Because hey, if my dad wouldn’t tell me what the guy did that was so wrong, he couldn’t expect me to hate him as much as he did. Four hundred bucks gets you a bag of your loved one’s ashes, and that’s pretty much it. I didn’t hold a service, and I didn’t buy a fancy urn. I just kept it in the cardboard box that the guy at the morgue went out of his way to tell me was included free of charge, and walked away with the rest of his personal effects. And when I say effects, I really just mean the one thing. Besides his pajamas—which he died in, and I didn’t want back—the only possession he had was a key around his neck. Per the paperwork, he lived only a few blocks from my childhood home, which makes the whole thing even sadder. I took that key, drove to my grandfather’s house, and unlocked the door. The place was immaculate. No dust, no dirt, no smudges on the windows. It looked like it had just been cleaned, but it couldn’t have, because it was missing the smell of cleaning chemicals. Oh, and everything else. Like the man himself, the only thing in the house was a key, hanging from the chain for the entryway light. I tried it on every interior door, but it didn’t work anywhere. It didn’t even fit. I had to investigate, which was harder back then, because my phone couldn’t magically spit out information about it just by taking a picture, like my grandson’s does. He showed me that once.

I went to three locksmiths until one happened to recognize it. It belonged to a storage facility on the edge of town. Most facilities require that the renter use their own lock, but this particular location prided itself in excellent security. Their keys couldn’t be copied, and you couldn’t use it unless you were already on the list of people allowed to access the unit. Still, I figured I might as well go check it out in case they made an exception. They didn’t have to. Their records showed that I was on the list, as was my grandfather, and nobody else. He left this all for me. Whatever was in there, it must have been pretty special. Was it a pristine collection of rare figurines worth millions? Did he just leave me a chest of actual millions? Could it be a creepy, ominous freezer, inside of which was the dead body of his archnemesis? I just kept thinking of all the amazing things that could be waiting for me, and nothing was even close to what I ended up finding when I opened that roll up door. Was this it? I was about to run back to the office to ask for a flashlight, but the guy who signed me in had followed me, and had one at the ready. I switched it on, and shined it all over the unit. “Any secret entrances?” I asked. No, this was it. Both of the neighboring units were recently emptied, in between renters. This. Was. It. On the floor in the center of the unit was a key, like someone had dropped it without noticing. But it wasn’t just any key. It was the key to my parents’ house. It looked exactly like the one on my keychain. All that anticipation just to learn that my mom had given him access to our house in case of emergency, and he had never used it. That’s it.

Microstory 1847: First Husband

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Let me preface this by saying that I’m not a slut. I try to tell people how I met my first husband, and they get hung up on the first part of it, which sort of throws off the flow of the rest of the story. Did I have relationships prior to him? Yes. Did I have relationships after him? Yes. I would ask that you kindly hold all questions until the end. I would rather just not bring it up at all, but it’s kind of important, because you’ll otherwise wonder what I was doing in that hallway in the first place. So. I don’t remember the guy’s name. It was Brad, or Gad, or something dumb like that. He had to go to class, but he said it was cool if I slept there. I knew it wasn’t going anywhere, but I’m really bad about waking up, so I took him up on his offer, and stuck around for the next couple of hours. When I was finally ready to go, I stepped out of the door at the same time as the guy across the hall. We smiled politely—I recall it being quite obvious what I was doing there, but also how totally nonjudgmental he was about it. We kind of had this moment when we didn’t quite realize how hard it was going to be to get down the hallway at the same time. We happened to be moving at the same pace, so right there, I would say it already would have been a meet-cute. Except, like I said, I wasn’t ever going to see the other guy again, so maybe we wouldn’t have even exchanged information. We certainly had time, though, after the next development. We both froze when we saw the same thing. There was a giant snake in the middle of the hall, blocking our way. I don’t know what kind it was, but it was one of the ones that wraps itself around its victims, instead of biting them. Or maybe it bites them too. Or maybe they all bite; I don’t know. I’m just saying it was freakin’ huge. It was surely someone’s pet that got loose and got lost. So we probably weren’t in too much danger, but neither of us knew one way or the other.

The only safe way to react was to get ourselves on the other side of a door. I remember thinking days later how strange it was that there wasn’t an emergency stairwell at the end of the hallway. It just ended at someone else’s room, and I don’t think he was there at the time. Neither was the dude I had just spent the night with, and the locks were the kind that automatically pop into place when you close the door, key or no, so I couldn’t get back in. Being the gentleman that he always was, my future husband, of course, let me sit in his room. You might ask why we didn’t try to call for help, but first, yelling down the hallway seemed counterproductive, because what if that freaked the snake out? He seemed pretty chill, but again, we couldn’t know that. Secondly, this was the early eighties. Lots of dorms installed phone lines in individual dorm rooms by then, but not all of them shelled out the money for it, and my school really wanted to budget for academics. I admired that back then, and I still admire it now. We generally didn’t need phones. The payphone by the front desk was good enough for the era, because most hallways weren’t infested with snakes. We got to talking, and found out what we had in common, and what we didn’t. It was nearly an hour before we heard a commotion outside. A couple of guys were a lot less nervous about it than we were. They picked it up, and carried it up to the third floor together. Evidently, they knew who it belonged to. And us? Well, as you know, we eventually got married. He will always be my first love, and if there’s an afterlife, I honestly hope we meet again, because I know that he and my second husband would get along so great.

Varkas Reflex: Identity (Part VII)

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First order of business as Superintendent of Varkas Reflex was to figure out what it meant to be the Superintendent of Varkas Reflex. Hokusai knew she needed help, and the best place to get it was from someone with experience. Even better than that one person with experience was an entire council of them. Several people had held the position on Earth, while each of the colony planets only had one, with the exception of Sujo. Its first superintendent couldn’t handle the responsibility, and fled into the void with a stolen interstellar vessel, never to be heard from again. Of course, that wasn’t much help, because Hokusai would not be able to communicate with him, which was sad, because understanding what went wrong could have resulted in invaluable advice. Not everyone agreed to become part of Hokusai’s council, which was fine. She wasn’t looking to run a survey about them with a large sample size, but gain insight and guidance. There were eleven of them, ready to help in any way they could.

Hokusai built quantum surrogate substrates for the visitors, so they could arrive much faster. The former superintendent of Teagarden was unable to use one, since she never installed the necessary transhumanistic upgrades to accomplish this, so she appeared as a hologram. Hokusai wasn’t sure what she was expecting out of these people. Were they going to be helpful and supportive, or balk at her inexperience and naivety. They had all dedicated their lives to public service, and were presently serving in other ways. She was just a scientist, living on a planet that elected her because she was cool, and there wasn’t anyone else. Would the council believe that was enough? As it turned out, some did, while others were not so convinced. They weren’t nasty or pretentious about it, though. They applauded her for having the wisdom to form the council in the first place, and recognized that Varkas was unlike any of the planets they had dealt with themselves. Their formal approach wasn’t going to work well in this case, and they would all have to tap into their creative side in order to make this work.

After months of discussions, they decided that they had come up with something reasonable, and appropriate for this world. Hokusai realized on her own that she was never the only superintendent at all. By forming the council, she had outsourced a lot of the decisions. It went swimmingly, and if it could work for this, it could work with the actual government. So there would be no congress, no delegators, no advisors, and no administrators. This world’s government was going to be a council democracy. Councils would be formed as needed, and disbanded when the problem they were trying to solve was over, which could potentially mean never. If the council wasn’t trying to solve anything, but was there to maintain harmony, then that council would simply continue on. The question then was how to form any given council in the first place.

Would they be elected? Selected? Earned? Completely open? Yes, all of those things. Hokusai decided that the people had the right to decide how any new council was formed—making the entire populace one gigantic council in its own right—and they didn’t have to do it in the same way previous councils were done. Some councils may require particular expertise, and would only be available to certain people, who exemplified certain criteria. Others could impact the entire population, and didn’t necessitate specific competencies, so anyone who wanted to could join. If this resulted in an unmanageably large council, then it could be broken apart into smaller subcouncils. This flexibility made things really complex, but it also prevented the system from getting bogged down by its own procedural regulations. The technocracy that the majority of the stellar neighborhood used was great. Everyone had a role, and the only people allowed to make decisions were those that knew what the hell they were talking about. But it was also a slow process—often slower than the highly bureaucratic democratic republics that dominated Earth in the 20th and 21st centuries. Councils got things done, and they did it efficiently, as long as they were supervised by someone who could make sure the councilors weren’t getting sidetracked, or wasting time. This was the problem that Hokusai needed to solve now, and Pribadium thought she had the solution.

“Here me out,” Pribadium said, “we upload your mind to multiple substrates.”

“Why would we do that?” Hokusai asked.

“You say these councils need leaders. In fact, you say that each council needs one leader. This crowdsourcing is good and all, but it won’t work if they spend so long discussing the possibilities, that they can’t ever come to a conclusion. Someone needs to protect them from themselves, and who better than you?”

“First of all,” Hokusai began, “lots of people. Secondly, why would we have to upload anyone’s mind to multiple bodies? All you’re asking for is a singular entity that oversees the proceedings.”

“Eh, no one has time to be in more than one place at once.”

“Right, but why can’t each council just have its own leader.”

“Because the profusion of leaders is just going to lead to the same problem. I’m not sure if you’ve thought this all the way through. You think councils can be fast-acting, but they could be slower than republics. At least the technocracy is efficient. Most consequences to any action are predicted at some point down the assembly line. With a council, everyone might have some great idea, but they won’t say anything, because no one else is, so they may think it’s actually not that good.”

“What are you saying, that this should be a monarchy?”

Pribadium knew that Hokusai didn’t actually think that’s what she was saying. “A real democracy is perfect when you have a few dozen people. It doesn’t work in the thousands, millions, or, God forbid, billions. That’s why most healthy governments operate under representation, to varying degrees of success and moral honesty. People hate to think about it, but power must be consolidated. That’s just the way it has to be. It’s your job to make sure that consolidation is fair and reasonable. A soviet democra—”

“Don’t call it that. It has negative historical connotations that predate your birth.”

“Very well. A council democracy is fair, but it is not reasonable. You’re gonna run into problems, and in order to fix them, you’re going to form more councils, and that’s just going to add to the problem, and it will never end. The councils need a single voice. And when I say single, I mean single; not one each.”

“So, you are kind of promoting a monarchy.”

“All monarchs are tyrants, so no. I was using you as an example of the voice, but perhaps that is how it should remain, as an example. This overseer can take any number of forms. It can be elected any way you want, and remain in control however long you want. You worried about checks and balances? They’re built right in. Let’s say the overseer poses some existential threat to the planet. No problem, form a council to get rid of them. The overseer doesn’t have to run every single meeting for every single council, but they have to have the potential to be involved in any council, except for ones that would come with a conflict of interest. That’s why I suggested you copy yourself—or rather, whoever we choose for this—so each one gradually loses identity. You see, what we need is a good leader with a good history, but that’s only necessary as a foundation. Once that’s established, the copies can go off and start living other lives, but at least they all came from the same place.”

Hokusai was shaking her head. “I think you’re looking at it the wrong way. Good governments are based on diversity. Each leader should be separate, and have always been separate. Then they can serve to check and balance each other.”

Loa stepped into the room, having been listening from the hallway for most of the conversation. “Why don’t you take the best of both worlds?”

“How so?” Pribadium asked.

“Mind-uploading, councils, single voice. Put them together, what do you have?”

Neither of them answered for a while, not sure if it was a rhetorical question, or a sincere inquiry.

“Amalgamated consciousness,” Loa answered herself.

“Where did you hear that term?” Hokusai asked her.

“My mind-brain,” Loa replied. “You want fast government, but you want the people to have a say. So. Upload their minds into a system, but don’t just keep them isolated, like we normally do. Merge them together. Create a new entity. This entity won’t have to discuss how to deal with the issue. They’ll immediately know what that council would have said about it. The answers will just be right there. That’s how a normal brain works. If I asked you how to keep this door from being opened, you’ll have an answer right away. You’ll say we should install a lock on it. If I asked Pribadium, she would say let’s drag a bookcase in front of it. Ask someone else, they’ll say we should murder everyone who might try to open it. But if we put these brains together, the council-entity would say we should install a lock, plus a deadbolt, and then ask everyone who might want to open it to not do so, so we don’t have to kill them.”

“Amalgamated consciousness,” Hokusai echoed, thinking it over. “That’s a pretty big departure from how we decided to do it.”

Loa brushed this away. “The superintendent council is not the superintendent of Varkas Reflex; you are. You don’t have to consult them. You were just using them for advice, never forget that. It is still your responsibility.”

Pribadium didn’t approve. “I’ve seen this show. This is The Borg. You will be assimilated.”

“Assimilators in fiction are evil. We won’t do this to anyone who does not wish for it, and we won’t be neurosponging them. These will be copies, which leave the original contributors both independent, and intact.”

“The only reason we would do this,” Hokusai began to explain, “would be to increase the speed of decision-making. It doesn’t actually help with proving the sensibility of the decisions themselves.”

Loa disagreed. “No, it’s like Pribadium said. People might be afraid to speak up. If we copy their perspective—which is really what we’re after; not people’s episodic memories—they won’t have to worry about sounding foolish. They will have good ideas.”

“There are a hell of a lot of ethical considerations no one thought they would have to make. If we were to do this, we would be the only government to do so. All eyes will be on us, and we will have to make sure we don’t screw it up. Like, what happens to the entity we create when we amalgamated the council? Is that a person in their own right? Do we dissolve this creature later? Do we keep them on retainer for later decisions? Do we let them run off to lead their own lives? Do we let them leave the planet?”

“Now you’re getting into science that you know I don’t understand,” Loa said. “And ethics isn’t my forte either. This is an idea, which I came up with after hearing your ideas. I can’t be expected to have it all figured out.”

She was right. This was just the start. They spent the next year working on the new plan. And then they instituted it.

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