Microstory 2504: Regret Seer

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I can see your regrets, and show you your potential. Before Landis Tipton received the gifts of The Ten Vulnerabilities, I was responsible for two of them. There were five of us in total, and we chose to use our abilities very differently. We were nomads, traveling all over the world—mostly the North American continent—helping people one at a time. We searched for those who were at their lowest, who needed the most help. I was on the frontlines of this mission. Regret is one of the strongest emotions that a person can have, and sight is one of the strongest senses. It was easier for me to pick our targets out of a crowd without having to wait for them to do something to draw attention to themselves. I could just see it. Once I found a candidate, the five of us would explore this person’s life further. We could strategize about what we could do to help this person live a better life. The way we saw it, our tasks were helping the whole world exponentially. Everyone we supported would go out, and pay it forward. With a brand new lease on life, they would find it in their hearts to help others in their own ways. Honestly, we didn’t think to focus on only one of the Vulnerabilities, like Landis has. We were drawn to one another, and it felt like we absolutely had to work together in order to fulfill our destinies. Had we only let the Health Smeller do her thing, what work would have been left for the rest of us? We just had a different perspective. And fittingly enough, I regret nothing. And you know that’s true, because if I did, I would be able to tell, and I’m comfortable enough with my own vulnerabilities that I would be honest about it. I can’t bring my own regrets to the surface, but I’m very good at recognizing them. We did our own thing our own way, and I still think we improved the world. We didn’t always hit it out of the park. There is a reason why we don’t have the gifts anymore, and why we had to transfer them to Landis. But I don’t like to talk about it, because that is something that I regret. Maybe I’m not as brave as I believe. I should be able to talk about what happened. Unfortunately, while I helped countless others see their potential, I could never see my own. But again, the gifts belong to Landis now, and while it saddens me a little that my Vulnerability senses aren’t being used, I’m proud of the work that he’s been doing. That’s why I chose him in the first place. I didn’t know exactly what he was going to do, but I knew that he was on his way to reaching greatness.

Extremus: Year 102

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There is a very old, and very sad, tradition on Ansutah, which gratefully, no one has had to practice in a very long time. Life was hard on the human continent. It was perfectly designed to be a protective haven from the white monsters, but that was pretty much it. They were limited technologically, because they still had to keep hidden from any Maramon who might stray too close. They couldn’t develop aeroplanes, fireworks, or even tall buildings. They made do, and their population eventually numbered in the billions, but that was thanks to the knowledge that they retained from their ancestors, who lived on post-industrial Earth. Had they been starting entirely from scratch, many experts posit that they would have gone extinct. Unfortunately, while they survived as a people, it did not come without loss.

Dead babies were once a fact of life, on Earth, as it was on Ansutah. Though they don’t receive much news from the stellar neighborhood all the way out here, the Extremusians believe that it’s still going on. There are holdouts, who refuse to adopt certain advances, including those which might save their own children’s lives. Such choices come with consequences. This did not happen in the Gatewood Collective. The refugees embraced modern technology, grateful to finally achieve a way of living that was safer, healthier, and less restrictive. No more dead babies, what more could they want? To not forget their past. History is a profoundly important subject to teach each subsequent generation. Not every kid likes it, nor do they grow up to change their minds, but they do recognize its value. There was a time when the bed of mourning ritual was a common practice, and they’re getting a practical history lesson on the subject today.

When someone died on Ansutah, a funeral or memorial service would start off the mourning process. They were superstitious that the scent of the decaying corpse would attract the white monsters, alerting them to their location. The body was buried deep to hide them, and they were buried quickly. For many years, there was a debate about whether they should start performing autopsies on their deceased when the circumstances called for it. Many murders went unsolved because this belief was so ingrained in the culture that medical examiners had very little time to perform proper inquiries. This technique of a quick burial was also used when it was a child who died, but this created a secondary problem. Especially in the case of infants, there were few—or even no—images of their loved one. There was little to remember them by. Often, the only thing they had that remained was their bed. Often, not even that existed yet, and there was an entire industry that specialized in single-use cribs.

With the body of the child gone too soon, their bed was left temporarily empty, and the Ansutahan humans believed that the angels would not be able to find their soul so deep underground. The belief did not extend to adults, for their soul should be strong enough to seek the angel’s gate on its own. To help the angels find her child’s soul, the mother was expected to drag the child’s little bed out into the cemetery, lie in it the best they could...and cry. Her wails of pain would bring the ferrying angel to her, where they would find the child’s soul below, and rescue it. She would not be alone, at least not at first. Friends and family would attend the ritual, just as they had the funeral. They would not stay forever, though. While the mother continued to mourn, and the father or partner continued to try to comfort her, little by little, the visitors would leave. The first to go were anyone who just wanted to be there for the family for a fleeting moment, who did not know them at all. The next ones were passing acquaintances. And the dance continued until only the mother and father remained. And then...the father would leave as well. That is the most depressing part. The lessons in this are that you are ultimately alone, and that everyone leaves eventually. When that angel comes to retrieve your soul, it comes only for you. No one can be there with you. No one can see you. Not even your mother. For once she has been alone in that bed of mourning for some time, she too will leave. The bed, the body, and the place in their hearts where the child once lived, will finally be empty forever.

Audrey is in her bed of mourning right now, and Tinaya is standing nearby, in irony. It feels like five minutes ago when she was scolding the medical team, and the other conspirators who betrayed the public with their secret plan to impregnate however many women on this ship without their consent. Now it is she who is lying to their people. Audrey’s baby is not dead. She is being kept in a secure location while they put on this little charade. It is not entirely a lie, however. Audrey will never see her daughter again. That is called an ambiguous loss, and it can be just as impactful and saddening as an unambiguous one. Once this is over, she will give the child a name, say her goodbyes, then watch her disappear into the mini-Nexus that they have in the Admiral office. Audrey, Tinaya, Silveon, Arqut, Thistle, and one other person are the only ones who will know what truly happened to the girl. Everyone else is in the dark, including the baby’s father. That sixth person is presently caring for the baby until it’s time to leave. It’s someone they can trust, but whose absence will not be noticed at the ritual.

Waldemar is hovering over the crib. He is incapable of feeling certain emotions, but he has become better at pretending. Tinaya can tell that he’s faking it. She even caught a glimpse of the nanopuffer that he used to induce tearing in his eyes. He still doesn’t quite have the facial expression right. It’s overexaggerated, like what they show in cartoons, so young viewers can tell with certainty which emotion is being displayed. Arqut is gifted at reading people. He’s scanning the crowd for any indications that anyone is clocking Waldemar’s performance. He hasn’t seen any skeptics so far, but they may be exceptionally emotionally intelligent too, and pretending not to notice. One day, everyone will know what Waldemar truly is. That day is unavoidable, but they hope to put it off until there are no longer any innocent people in his orbit. That may be an impossible task too, especially now that Audrey is in so much more of a vulnerable position than she was before the baby.

People are really starting to leave now. They’re in Attic Forest. It’s not expansive enough to fit everyone on the ship comfortably, but they’re not all trying anyway. Some strangers want to be there, but some are just living their lives, or have to be at work. This is the first dead child in a very long time, so it is absolutely noteworthy, but that doesn’t mean everyone has to be involved somehow. Even so, there were a lot of people before, and now, it’s mostly empty. Even Lataran is walking away now. A few random visitors are here because they want to walk around the forest, but the Captain’s people are asking them to leave, because that’s not really appropriate at the moment, even if they are clear on the other side. Tinaya wants to be the last one to stay with the sad couple, but she’s only the mother of a friend of the mother. The families need to go through the final steps alone. Captain Jennings will stick around until it’s time for Waldemar and Audrey to be there alone, though. Waldemar’s mother is still a hot mess, and kind of needs supervision, and he’s perfect for this role because he can go anywhere he wants, and he always carries a good excuse with him.

Tinaya and her family are currently standing outside while Audrey’s parents depart. Audrey overwrote her younger self’s consciousness at an older age than Silveon did, so she was able to hide her maturity from them. They have no idea that she’s from the future. She thinks that Waldemar took advantage of her, and they are pursuing legal action in this regard, which is a whole other thing that they’re going to have to deal with, one way or another. They’re not exactly right, but they’re not wholly wrong either. Waldemar is not a good guy, but it’s unclear what happens to the future if he goes to hock. Will he still become a leader, and if he does, will he be worse than he was in the previous timeline? Will all of Silveon and Audrey’s efforts be for naught?

Immediately after Audrey’s parents round the corner, Waldemar steps out too. He’s supposed to stay in there with his baby’s mother for longer than that, but he’s not feeling anything but annoyed with what this might do to his ambitious plans. He nods politely at the three of them, then walks away. Audrey is now alone in there. Waldemar was right about one thing, there is no need to drag this out. “Meet us in my office.” Tinaya teleports back to the crib, helps Audrey climb out of it, and then waits patiently as Audrey tries to wipe the tears out of her eyes.

“Did I do okay?” Audrey asks.

“That was perfect,” Tinaya answers.

“Believable?” Audrey presses.

“You are in mourning, Audrey. You weren’t faking anything.”

“No, it’s fine. She’s fine. She’s gonna grow up on a planet. That’s everyone’s dream. That’s why we’re here.” She’s smiling, but her tear ducts continue to leak.

“Aud. You’re sad. I would be very concerned if you weren’t. I wouldn’t let you see her again.”

“I know,” Audrey admits. “I’m just trying to be strong, because it’s going to be hard to watch her leave.”

“I can only imagine what you’re going through,” Tinaya responds with a nod. “But you are right. She’s going to be happy there. The only thing that she’ll be missing is you. I know that sounds like I’m trivializing you, or your contribution, but you’re gonna need to make a clean break, and being optimistic about her future is vital to that, for your own sake.”

“I agree.”

“Are you ready?”

She wipes more moisture from her cheeks. “Yes.”

They take hands, and Tinaya attempts to teleport to the entrance to Admiral Hall, but they end up somewhere else. “Thistle? Where the hell are we?”

“This is a sealed chamber in a currently vacant sector of the ship. You can only enter through a teleportation frequency of my own devising. I built a clone lab here.”

Tinaya is confused and apprehensive. “...why...?”

“It’s a gift,” Thistle replies. “Turn to your left.”

They both turn to find a gestational pod. It lights up. A copy of Audrey is floating inside. “What did you do?”

“I understand that one Audrey Husk must stay behind on the ship to fulfill her mission, but that does not mean that a different Audrey can’t travel to Verdemus, and raise her child. I know that it’s not the same thing, but my own consciousness has been copied countless times, split across multiple universes, injected into countless systems and devices. You will get used to the knowledge that there is another you out there.”

“We did not discuss this at all,” Tinaya begins to scold. “You had no right to build this, let alone that clone. It is a violation, on par with what the medical team did with the faulty birth control.” She keeps going on with her admonishment against the superintelligence.

Meanwhile, Audrey has slowly been approaching the pod. She’s looking at herself in there, tilting her head in thought. “Thank you.” She says it quietly, but Tinaya can hear it.

“What was that? You’re thanking him?”

Audrey ignores the question. “Have you already copied my consciousness?”

A light flickers on over a casting pod on the other side of the room. “Not yet.”

Audrey nods as she’s slowly walking towards the second pod. “Sedate me. Copy me. Do not reawaken either of us until one Audrey and the baby are on the other side of the Nexus. It doesn’t matter which one you send away. There is a fifty percent chance that I will simply awaken in my cabin, and an equal chance that I will awaken on the planet.”

“That’s one way to look at it,” Tinaya says. “Others would say that there’s a hundred percent chance that you’re the copy, and a hundred percent chance that you’re not. Both of you will think that you’re the original, and one of you will be just as disappointed as the other would have been.”

Audrey spins back around. “I am a consciousness traveler already, Admiral Leithe. I understand the philosophical ramifications of the process, better than you ever could. This is my choice. One of us is gonna stay here as Space-Beth, and the other...will be happy.”

“Audrey...”

“She will be happy planetside...with Silvia.”

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Microstory 2302: Still Feel So Lonely In Here

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You may have noticed that I’ve not been talking much about the KC memorial at the end of this week. That’s because I’ve had to step back from it. The mayors of KCMO and KCK have been working on it through their own teams. I’m still involved, I answer questions, but I just can’t do too much. I can’t let this all drag on like it has been. I’ll be there, it’s okay, I’ll be there. But I don’t want to be too involved anymore. I realized that I have something else to do before it’s over, which is to do something with Nick and Dutch’s private spaces. Neither of them were big collectors of belongings. I don’t need a moving company to haul stuff away, but I also don’t wanna create a shrine to them, even incidentally. I am thinking about moving, though. This house was already too big for the three of us, and only made sense because of our security team. They’re still here, protecting their one remaining charge, but I still feel so lonely in here. I mean, this whole place reminds me of the two of them anyway, so why would I make myself stick around? That reminds me, I should discuss the elephant in the room. I want to make it clear that I do not blame the security team for what happened. It was a freak accident, no one did anything wrong. Those roads were slick, and I looked it up; they’re not the only ones to suffer from that particular stretch of highway. People think of bodyguards as these supernatural beings with no room for error. They’re still just humans. They’re fallible, and they’re fragile, and they can die. They did die. The firm lost just as many of their people as I did of mine. I’ve always felt that we are commiserating together. So no, I’m not going to fire them, and I’m not going to sue them. It was a terrible tragedy, which I’m choosing to not make worse by seeking some undue form of vengeance.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 12, 2398

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Angela is sitting in the welcome room. It has a conference table, multiple screens, a snack bar with refrigeration, couches, and comfortable chairs. This is where she’ll first meet clients. It’s a playground for them to explore what kind of software they might want to create without the limiting factors of a stuffy office. Completing this room was the final flourish. If she wanted to take a meeting today, she would be ready for them. Well, the building would be ready. Psycho-emotionally speaking, she may never be ready. She’s nervous already, and she hasn’t even opened the doors yet. Can she do this? Is she ready? Should she do it?

Kivi peeks her head into the room like a sideways prairie dog. “Hey.” She’s Angela’s researcher. Angela knows how to counsel people, and she knows how to code, which is a lot of work for one person. It will be Kivi’s responsibility to find people who might be interested in their services, but who might not be aware that it’s even a thing. Or they might not be aware that they can do it for free. This is a highly competitive field, but most companies charge for development. Angela isn’t even sure that she wants to call them clients, because once they go into business together—if it goes that far—they will be more like partners. They will work together to build something, and share in the profits, and if it fails, they will share in the loss. The point of this is to take on the financial burden, because her only partners will be people who both can’t do it on their own, and can’t afford to invest monetarily.

Angela takes a deep breath. “You found my secret hiding place.”

“You mean the biggest room on the floor besides the lobby? Yep.”

Angela nods, but doesn’t say anything.

Kivi walks over and sits down next to her. “What are you feeling?”

“Hesitation.”

“Hesitation,” Kivi questions, “or cold feet?”

She shakes her head. Does it matter? The result is the same when this whole project is cancelled. They should never have even tried, and they wasted so much time, money, and effort getting to this point. They don’t need the money. The entire pursuit is all about her, inspired by the simple fact that Leona and Ramses only needed one floor for their lab. The business doesn’t do the team any good, and it doesn’t do the world much good either. It’s selfish. She feels so selfish, spending so much time on this.

It’s like Kivi can see all this detailed angst in Angela’s eyes. “You don’t have to feel bad about doing this, just because Leona is working on fusion, and Ramses, Mateo, and Alyssa are trying to get Trina back. They want this place to succeed. We all do.”

“It’s all so stupid compared to everything else going on.”

“It’s not, and you won’t feel that way when I show you the profile for your first partner.” She casts her tablet to the big screen. A group of teenagers are laughing for the camera. “The boy in the green shirt has been walking two miles to the nearest internet cafe everyday to research ways to help his community. The area is poverty-stricken, and the school’s population is dwindling as a cult promising riches recruits kids for what he realizes is actually a militia. He has some pretty cool ideas to put a stop to it, but not the resources to follow through. Upon your go-ahead, I’m prepared to reach out.”

Angela reads about him on the screen, and thinks. “Okay. Call him.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 1, 2398

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The night nurse comes into the hospital room to check Alt!Mateo’s vitals. At first, he doesn’t notice the other Mateo in the chair next to him. He managed to get some sleep last night, but only a few hours, and now he’s probably awake for the rest of the day. “Oh, I didn’t see you there,” the nurse whispers. He looks over at the one in the bed, and then back to Mateo. “Twins?”

Mateo rolls his eyes as if he’s heard it a million times before. He hasn’t, but if they really were twins, this is likely how he would react to such a dumb question with such an obvious answer. “All my life. Sometimes I feel like we’re the same person, but other times, I look at him, and I don’t know who he is.”

The nurse nods, and takes a look at Alt!Mateo’s chart. “He got hit by a car?”

Mateo nods. “It was his fault. He’s an idiot.”

“All the smart genes went to you in the womb, huh?”

“No,” Mateo replies. “I’m an idiot too.”

This gets a chuckle out of him. “Can I get you anything? Some water, a soda?”

“I’m all right, thanks.” Mateo waits until the nurse is finished with his work before saying, “he’s gone.”

“How did you know that I was awake?” Alt!Mateo asks, turning over to face his other self.

“Because I know you.”

Alt!Mateo turns back away. “No, you don’t.”

“Do you remember what happened to you?”

“It’s like ya said, I was hit by a car...because I’m an idiot.”

“You ran into traffic, because you desperately wanted to get away from me and Delaney,” Mateo clarifies for him.

“Delaney?” Alt!Mateo echoes.

“That’s what we call her, to distinguish her from Leona Matic and Leona Reaver.”

“Peachy.”

“Would you like to be called something else too?”

“Don’t matter to me. Call me Alligator Pimpleface, for all I give a shit. Just get out of my room, and out of my state.”

“How much did it cost?”

“How much did what cost, New Jersey?” It’s surreal, talking to an alternate version of himself with the same sense of humor. It’s hard to trip him up when he sees every punchline coming a mile away.

“One dollar, Bob,” they say simultaneously like creepy twinspeak in a horror film.

Alt!Mateo can’t help but laugh at this, causing Mateo to hope that he might be opening up. “Look, I don’t know what you’ve been through, but...you’re not alone anymore. We can help you. All you have to do is let us. Come back.”

“Who told you that I was ever alone?” Alt!Mateo question.

“I don’t see anyone else in the room,” Mateo points out.

“They’re probably just getting tea.”

“What’s got you so upset? So sour?”

Alt!Mateo sighs, and sits up quickly, immediately regretting straining his still healing body, but pushing through it. “What has me upset? I killed someone, Matt!” He realizes that he doesn’t want to be so loud in public, but no one seems to have heard. “I killed an innocent woman. And to make matters worse, it hasn’t even technically happened yet. But that doesn’t mean I can stop it, so now she dreads every second she spends above ground, because she knows it’s coming, she just doesn’t know when.”

“Most everyone lives their life like that,” Mateo points out. “Most people don’t know the date of their own deaths.”

“Yes, because that’s what God decided. It’s not like that for her. I’m the one who put her in that position. No wonder God doesn’t come down and help us. He’s probably paralyzed with guilt!”

Mateo waits a beat. “You know that no one ever really dies, right?”

“What, like, we all go back to the earth, and it’s the cycle of life?”

“No, I mean that literally. It’s called the afterlife simulation. There are tiny little tube things in your brain, which are actually organic computers. They convert all of your thoughts to digital format, and when you die, your consciousness is uploaded to a server in the center of the galaxy, on a giant space statue called the Matrioshka Body.”

Alt!Mateo peers at him. “That sounds insane, Matt, and that is saying a lot, given what we both know about how the world works.”

“Worlds,” Mateo corrects. “There are countless others, and I know a lot more than you. I don’t remember how many times I’ve died. What I’m trying to tell you is that Leona is going to be fine. She’ll just go up to the big video game in the sky. So shall you.”

Alt!Mateo considers the possibility for a moment. “Even if that’s true, it doesn’t matter. It won’t last.”

“What do you mean?”

“We’re from an old timeline,” Alt!Mateo reasons. “It’s gonna collapse, whether we’re in this so-called simulation, or not. Everybody dies.”

Mateo closes his eyes, embarrassed at the terrible logical mistake he made. “You’re right. Reality One doesn’t count. Neither does mine. We keep changing the timeline, so what does that mean for me, and my past?”

Alt!Mateo struggles to lean towards his alternate, almost menacingly. “It means nothing. Life doesn’t matter. Everything you try will be erased...and you too shall be replaced. No rhyming intended.”

Mateo leans back, letting the words sink in. “You’re right again.” He doesn’t let Alt!Mateo be pleased with himself for long, though. “Which begs the question, why are you so butthurt about all of this? Leona Reaver will die no matter what you did.” He shrugs coolly. “She’s even already met her replacements. That’s pretty rare, even in our world...or worlds, rather.”

Alt!Mateo reaches out for the remote, and lowers the head of his bed down until it’s fully flat. “I need to get some real sleep now. Leave me be, please.”

Mateo stands up, and grabs his tea from the table. “Come back to KC, and not for me, but because my guess is that you owe her. She deserves some level of closure before fate intervenes, and spirits her away to her inevitable death. Goodnight, sir.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 31, 2398

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Bridgette didn’t want to tell them who she was keeping alive in the back of her apartment with the Insulator of Life. That’s okay, it’s her business, but it was important they find out where she got it in the first place. She agreed to hand over the information, as long as they left, and left her alone. Mateo wanted to go find his alternate self, so Marie took the documents to deal with it herself. In the meantime, Mateo was able to convince Leona Delaney—the one who lost her version of Mateo after the kidney transplant—to accompany him on the trip to New Jersey. Never mind how he found out Alt!Mateo was there. He probably won’t respond well to anyone’s face but hers, and the other Leonas are busy at the moment.

Mateo looks through the map as Delaney is driving into the city. The internet calls Howell a township, but neither of them really knows what that means, especially not in this reality. No matter, the point is that Alt!Mateo was captured on camera on Aldrich Road, just off the highway. The file that Winona gave them indicates that he doesn’t have access to a vehicle, or at least didn’t have one in Kansas City, because he hitchhiked with truckers all the way there. So he most likely walked to the restaurant from his motel, and there’s only one in the area. That’s where they head first, hoping that someone will agree to help them.

The clerk—or maybe the owner—doesn’t seem pleased about seeing Mateo when they walk up to the counter. “Have you seen a man who looks like me?” Mateo asks.

“You mean you’re not the one in Room Eleven?” he asks.

“No, that would be my brother.”

The guy looks between the two of them. “He in some kind of trouble?”

“Only with the family. It’s important that we find him, though.”

“Could you maybe let us in his room?” Delaney asks.

“I can’t do that. You probably shoulda told me you were him, and lost your key.”

Mateo smirks, and nods over to a notice taped on the glass. “Then I would have had to pay the thousand dollar lost key fee.”

The man shrugs.

“Is he in there right now?” Delaney asks.

“Haven’t seen him all day, ‘cept when he left this morning. I have a great view of all those rooms. I’da seen him if he had come back. He wasn’t carryin’ nothin’ and he didn’t check out, so do what you will with that information.”

“Okay.”

“I can get you the room next door,” the guy says.

“Thanks,” Delaney says, “but we’ll just wait for him in our car.”

Mateo isn’t sure that he agrees. Since his stuff is still here, he’s probably coming back, and if he doesn't, there is nothing more they can do to find him unless they get more updated intel. The only thing to do now is stake the place out. It could take days, they better get a room. “Hold on. Is Room One vacant?”

“Sure is.”

“Book us for the night.” Mateo catches Delaney’s look. “It’s an L-shape. We have a better view of him through the window, and it’s too hot to sit in a car.”

Delaney is nervous, but she appreciates the logic. “Okay.”

The man chuckles at all this, but takes their money, just the same.

It’s an incredibly gross room, but if all goes well, they won’t be sleeping here, or anything. They crack the shades, and position the chair in a good place. Mateo takes first watch while Delaney sits on the bed. They wait for hours, switching places when one of them gets tired of it, but boredom is the real killer. Everything here costs, including so much as turning on the television. They could probably expense it to the government, but then they get audited, and it would be this whole thing.

“Hey, uhh…Mateo?”

He’s in the chair again now. “Yeah?”

“It’s getting late,” she states.

“I know,” he replies.

“What are we gonna do about sleeping? There’s only one bed.”

“He may return in the middle of the night. We have to take shifts anyway.”

“Oh, right.”

“Why? Do you want to book a room in a nicer place?”

“No, it’s…it’s not that.”

“What is it? I know you don’t know me that well, but you can tell me anything.”

Delaney hesitates, but then she really decides to just go for it. “Can we have sex?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I never got that far with my Mateo, and I was just thinking—”

“Well, stop doing that, I guess.”

“Stop doing what, thinking?”

“If those are the kinds of thoughts you have, then just quit while you’re ahead.”

“If it’s a problem of fidelity, I already asked your wife about it, and she said—”

“You didn’t ask her anything. Why are you lying to me?”

“Will you stop interrupting?”

“Probably not, not if you’re gonna say things like that. I don’t know how much you’ve been told, but I got a lap dance once, and it nearly destroyed my marriage. I’m not going there, and I would ask you to respect that.”

“Your wife sounds like a bitch.”

“What exactly is your problem?”

“My problem?” She’s getting angry. “My problem is that the life of my life died to save my life, and I end up in this reality, only to find—not one, but two—men who look exactly like him. One of them has now asked me to help him find the other, and it’s giving me all these emotions that I’m not allowed to talk to anyone about!”

“I know a good therapist.”

“You know what I mean!”

“No, I obviously don’t. If you need help, you need to find someone who can do that for you, and I’m not that guy. I can’t even begin to understand what you’re going through, because I’ve lost the love of my life too, but I keep getting her back.”

Something clicks in her brain. “Yeah. You did. But I remember your Leona telling us that you were from two different realities. So how did you make that work?”

“Her brain was blended,” Mateo answers, hoping that the fight is over.

Leona tries to guess the meaning by the context. “I don’t know what that is.”

“It’s when someone pulls memories from an alternate—”

“Stop. Hold very still,” Leona interrupts him to say.

“What is it?”

Leona carefully lifts her hands up. “The sun set while we were talking.” She claps, signaling the lights to turn off. She gasps at the sight outside the window.

Mateo pivots to see what she’s so afraid of. It’s Alt!Mateo, and he is not happy. He’s so not happy that he runs away into the night.

Microstory 1849: Devastated

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I was so excited when I finally got my driver’s license. Freedom is what it meant, and I was ready to drive off into the sunset alone. My older brothers drove me to the DMV, and when it became official after years of waiting, they performed a quick little ceremony in the parking lot. Then they returned home together, and charged me to go find myself. I just sat there for the next fifteen minutes, wondering where I could go, but I realized that there was nowhere. We lived right next to a strip mall that included a movie theatre. I mean, there just wasn’t any need for a car, except maybe to get to school on mornings with bad weather. Otherwise, I pretty much walked or biked everywhere, and I saw no reason for that to change. So I just went back home. My brothers were disappointed, but they had to agree. The cabin fever didn’t go away, though, and I continued to feel the urge to get out and go places. So that’s what I did, not worrying about wasting gas, or the money it cost to buy it. I just had to feel my independence, and maybe a little wind in my hair. I never worried much about getting lost either. I just kept exploring. It was much easier to make your way to the middle of nowhere back then, because the area was not as developed as it would quickly become. One day on one of my drives, I came across this tiny little cemetery. There were maybe a dozen gravestones, most of which were damaged, worn, and hard to read. But there was one that was clear as day. It was just as old as the others, but it didn’t feature a name. Son, 1923 – 1923. I was heartbroken just looking at that, and it haunted me for the rest of my life. It’s what makes me think that life is just God’s cruel joke on all of us.

I went back to my secret spot about once a year for over a decade. I found it simultaneously chilling and comforting to be there. It remained my special place to get away from it all for a long time. They’ve only now started to build a neighborhood there, and I hate it. I doubt they’ll pave over it, but I thought it was really cool how remote it was. I felt like it was something only I knew about. The latest grave was placed in 1947, so it was entirely possible that no one was left alive to remember anyone there. Those people might have only had me. I met my husband five years ago when he started working in the cubicle next to me. We started dating six months later, got engaged eighteen months after that, got married eighteen months after that, and had our child eighteen months after that. The math works out as it ought to. We made sure we knew each other well before we took the next step, and we made sure we were ready for kids before we did that. We also wanted it to be painfully clear that we didn’t get married because of any children. This way, there could be no confusion or whispers. Well, there was still confusion, and there were whispers. People started whispering around and at me all the time. My son managed to live and breathe for all of eleven days before God took him away from us. I don’t know why he did that, but I can never forgive him for it. My little boy was so beautiful, and perfect, and innocent, and he deserved the world. I just kept thinking that I couldn’t bury my child without a name, like that baby from almost a hundred years ago. So we named him posthumously, and I insisted we lay him to rest not too far from the unnamed boy. That way, they can be friends forever. Not once in my life did I ever consider killing myself, but I simply cannot bear this loss, so I’ve already picked out a plot right next to my Elijah, and I will be joining him soon.

Microstory 1828: All Messed Up

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This is my own fault, and I know it, even if I don’t know much right now. I can’t even tell you everything I’m on at the moment, though I can make a few guesses. I suppose you wanna know how it is I ended up at this point in my life, huh? Well, I was taking opioids before taking opioids was cool. The pharmaceutical companies didn’t get me hooked, and I’m not a victim. I knew what I was getting into when I took my first hit. I just kind of thought I was better than that, and would be able to quit if I wanted. Maybe I am one of those people. Maybe I’ve just never truly wanted to quit. Or maybe that’s just an excuse I make to myself to make myself feel better for being too weak to make my life healthy and drug free. A lot of people seem to find their poison and stick to it. One guy likes bourbon, another prefers cigarettes. I don’t really care how they taste, and as far as I’m concerned, they all get you messed up, so what difference does it make? I drink, I smoke, I shoot, I snort. I swallow, I ingest, I place on my tongue, and I rub on my skin. I do it all, which I think used to be a point of pride for me. I’ve never really gotten addicted to one thing. I would say it’s more that I’m addicted to being addicted. I imagine a part of me thinks that no drug can take over my life if I stop using it for a while to focus on other things. But those other things are just as bad, so the result is the same. Again, the taste doesn’t matter if I’m effed up all the time. My real problem is a lack of consequences. Being constantly high meant that I didn’t care how it affected the people I loved. I loved drugs more than any of them, so losing one loved one never felt like such a great loss. Way I saw it, I was always just trading one friend for another.

Money has been absolutely no issue. I unlocked my trust fund when I became an adult, and before my parents could cut me off, they were dead, and no longer had any say in the matter. So I just kept going, because no one could stop me, nor even tried for long. Perhaps they thought I would give up and crawl back to them with my tail between my legs. They overestimated their own value to me, and my own ability to recognize how much better things could actually be if I knew what true happiness was. In the end, I’m sure it’s for the best. Anyone who tried to hold onto some kind of relationship with me would have been dragged down into the depths of hell. I say that like it was something a mysterious unseen force would do to them. It would have been me. I would have dragged them down, and I’m glad they didn’t let me do that to them. So I’m like the only sacrifice. Except this sacrifice didn’t need to happen either. No, I’m not making any sense, but what do you expect from a guy like me? Did you think I would be coherent? I forgot how to do that years ago, and I don’t really care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I wish I could tell you that I wasted my potential, and had a lot going for me, but it would be a lie. My parents didn’t worry about my grades, and I was filled with so little promise that mother didn’t even want me to go into the family business. They just let me coast through life, and this is where I am today. Again, I’m not blaming anyone but myself. I had some pretty great teachers who came this close to steering me down the right path. The reality is that I’m a loser, and I was pretty much always destined to be as much. As I’m sitting here on this dirty couch, I contemplate what to do next. I realize that I could probably call for help before this overdose kills me, but what would be the point? I’ll always just be that guy you used to know who’s always all messed up.

Microstory 1826: Shared Birthday

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It’s not my birthday today, but it’s the day that I used to use for it. My best friend, who I grew up with, was born exactly six months after me, to the hour. Obviously, we used to have our own separate celebrations, but we liked to do everything together, so we figured we might as well include birthday parties in that. We split the difference, and always observed it halfway between mine and hers. Our families didn’t really understand why we would want this, and it took them a while to recall the occasion, since the date wasn’t significant for any of them, but they eventually got on board, and it became a lovely tradition. As we got older, we did the usual thing of distancing ourselves from our families, and exerting our independence, but we never grew apart from each other, and we never stopped these middle birthdays. She died years ago, not too long after our last ever joint party. It was so sudden, but not an accident. Her heart just stopped beating. I think her parents know more about it than they wanted to tell me, but I don’t think there was anything anyone could have done to stop it. I was devastated, and depressed, and I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself. Who was I without her? We would always go on group dates, and we took care of each other, and we had no secrets. I just sort of went on autopilot after that, letting my routines take me through life, which just made it worse, because so many of those routines involved her. I realized after that how much I loved her, and that I didn’t really need anyone else to be happy. Those dates were pointless. Rather, they weren’t, but we were really just dating each other. We were in love, at least in every sense that mattered. Sex was so unimportant to both of us. We probably would have admitted this much about ourselves, and stopped trying to find partners in others. Now we’ll never know.

A few months after it happened, her real birthday rolled around. I didn’t realize it until the end of the day. I was sitting on my couch, watching whatever happened to be on TV, when the weather came on. They showed us the date, and I realized its significance. A normal person would know exactly what day it was, but I had all but missed it. It’s like she died all over again, I cried for hours. Thin walls line my apartment, I know my neighbors heard, but everyone knew what was going on, so they didn’t say a word. The next day, my neighbor to the left invited me over for dinner, and though he still didn’t say anything, I know it was because he didn’t want me to have to be alone. It was nice. We started to do it every week, making it a new tradition. I should have seen it all along, but I didn’t notice what was really going on until my own real birthday occurred. Again, I didn’t realize right away what day it was, because the day was so meaningless. But that neighbor wanted to take me out, and do something special. The way he looked at me that night, it was the same way he always looked at me, but I was seeing it in a new light. It was love. He was in love with me, and I was in love with him. We had been dating for the last few months, and I didn’t even know it. I felt like such an idiot. How many times did I act like a bad girlfriend because I wasn’t aware that I was one. I decided to be honest with him. I’ll always remember his smile. He wasn’t the least bit surprised at how dense I was being, and he didn’t hold it against me. We just kind of started over from there, with both of us on the same page. We have been married for thirty years. And now I’m dying, and it’s not my birthday, but it’s the day that I used to use for it.

Microstory 1797: Dying Alone

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I had a pretty rough life, full of death and despair. My father died in the war before I was born. My mother never said much about him. I couldn’t get the sense of whether he was a hero, or a jerk. I think the problem was that she didn’t really love him anyway. She died of cancer when I was eight, leaving me to be raised by my grandparents, who were both so old that they died within a year of each other by the time I turned sixteen. The state awarded me emancipation, so I just took care of myself from then on. I met a great girl at her college. I wasn’t in college, I just worked maintenance there, but she didn’t make me feel bad about myself. We were in love, but she died trying to give birth to our third child, who also died. I had to raise our boy and girl on my own, and we managed to get through it, even with all this heartache; that is, until my son got himself killed in a car accident when he was 28. My one remaining child actually managed to make it to her forties before she succumbed to lung cancer, just like the grandmother she never knew. In the latter’s case, it was surely the cigarettes. In my daughter’s case, it was just because life is unfair, and there is no good left in the world. So there I was, a sixtysomething guy with no family left, and no more drive to do anything with myself. Everything around me reminded me of someone I cared about—who God took from me too soon. I had to get away from it. I had to get away from everything. There weren’t a whole lot of places left to hide away in modern times. Used to be, people we called mountain men owned whatever territory they claimed, and no one gave them any trouble. Now the government has all these rules,  and even publicly available pieces of land are heavily regulated. To live a new remote life, I was going to need some help.

I didn’t have any money, so I couldn’t buy up a bit of land myself. I may have been able to afford a single acre if I had stayed in the workforce for a few more years, but no one wants to sell that little unless maybe it’s on the edge of their property. The edge of any property is usually too close to another property to satisfy my needs. I remember knocking on the door, and I remember talking to the farmer and his daughter, but I don’t recall how I convinced them to let me live on their back forty. I’m sure I told them the God’s honest truth about why I wanted to live in the wilderness, and that I didn’t want to cause any trouble. I don’t remember if he hesitated either, but it obviously ended up working out, because he showed me a patch of land that he didn’t need for other purposes, and it was great. I was planning to live with the bare essentials, but he gave me more than I needed. He chose a spot right next to a creek of clean water. He let me have some pots and other tools that were just taking up space in his attic after he upgraded. I had my own tent, but it wasn’t rated for winter. He donated a brand new one that his daughter asked to buy for me instead of her Christmas gifts. I later carved her a nice birdhouse as a thank-you. She invited me over for family get-togethers a few times, but she grew up to understand that the point of this was to live alone, and not get attached to people, since I felt cursed, and didn’t want to go through that again. She ended up taking over the farm, and continued to fight off the authorities when they came to complain about me living there every few years. I never got over my depression, but I figured out how to live fairly comfortably for the rest of my life until I died, hoping to finally see my loved ones again.

Microstory 1788: Vulpeculiar

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I never wanted to get into gambling. My family has a history of gambling addiction, and I knew that I didn’t want to even look down that path, so I never put myself in that position. Unfortunately, gambling found me anyway, and I fell into it hard. Maybe if I hadn’t been so afraid of it, I could have learned restraint, but there’s no way to know now. I’m madly in love with it, and every time I lose, it only makes me want more, because there’s always a chance of turning things around. I’m actually not half-bad, now that I know the rules of my favorite games. I’ve come up with a system, and I know everyone says that, but most of the people who say it are thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—of dollars in debt, whereas I always keep myself in the black. I have a special savings account of money that I don’t touch. It doesn’t matter how close I get to losing everything else, that money is for food and shelter, and I’ve held firm on that. That doesn’t mean my life has been safe and happy. I’ve certainly had some problems, especially with sore losers who think that they’re entitled to live their own lives free from consequences. It’s hard to disabuse them of the idea that they won when they’re holding the scary end of a gun against my temple. I’ve recently become immersed in the shadier side of gambling, to which the authorities either turn a blind eye, or can’t even find. I’ve just been going deeper and deeper, playing games with higher and higher stakes. I’ve recently discovered the most mysterious and unusual game of them all. Bottom of the rabbit hole, I call it. The people who play it, though...they call it Vulpeculiar.

There’s a family game I remember playing as a kid called Catch Phrase. I don’t remember the rules, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s just the game disc for Vulpeculiar that reminds me of it. Only 121 people can play in the world, and the only time someone new can join is if someone quits while they’re in the black. This is hard to do, because if you’re in the red, you can’t choose to play. Only someone else can select you as an opponent. It’s a game of chance. You choose who you want to play against, and how much to bet. Then you squeeze the button. You either win, or you lose, and the only strategy is to decide to quit while you’re ahead. When you lose—and you will lose—if you can’t pay with money or collateral, you pay with your soul. You’ll be sucked into the disc, where you’re conscious, and totally at the mercy of the corporeal players. They can give you a chance to win back your freedom, or they can ignore your slot, and play against someone else. The guy who got me into this mess is probably best described as my frenemy. I guess he figured it would be easy to convince me to help him cheat. It’s a two-man job. If I hold the disc, and he squeezes the button, the game is confused about who the player is. If he loses, the round will be disqualified, and nothing will happen. But if he wins, it will pay out into our supposed joint account. Of course, he betrayed me, and never gave me access to those funds, so I’ve decided to screw him over too. I let go of the disc at the very last second, dooming him to losing after betting the sum of every player’s debt against the “dealer”, which he could never hope to pay. He’s sucked into the disc, and I realize I’m the last corporeal player left. It has to end here. The game is evil, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I bet the pot too. It’s over a billion dollars, so I assume that I’ll be sucked in, and leave no slots open for new players. I was wrong. Not only do I win, but the other 120 slots suddenly open up. I think I just killed everyone.

Microstory 1749: Balance Board

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Life is all about balance, ya know? Don’t eat too much fat, but don’t eat none at all. Playing video games is fine as long as that’s not all you do. We don’t ever stand on one leg, or keep one eye shut while we’re driving. A lot of people like the cold, and a lot prefer the heat, but just about everyone is at least fine in mild temperatures, right in the middle. That’s really what it is, isn’t it? When in doubt, stay in the middle, and be ready to move to either side as new information comes along, metaphorically speaking. Balance has been no more important to me in my life than it is today. I actually am standing on one leg. My right eye is closed, I’m playing a driving simulation—not a racing game, but one that simulates following the rules within typical traffic scenarios—and I’m expected to finish something they call a lard shake with a crazy straw. To make matters worse, the room goes from scalding hot to near freezing in a matter of minutes. If I pass this last challenge, I’ll win the million dollars, but if I don’t I’ll have to pay as much. That’s why they call this show Balance Board. Right now, the board is at plus or minus a million. By the end of the contest, that number has to go back to zero, whether it comes out of my pocket, or the show’s budget. What I’m doing is betting on myself. In the first challenge, I was only asked to bet a hundred dollars that I could walk on a straight line of tape on the floor. No big deal, right? If I had lost, it would have been over, and I would have owed, but I would have been all right. Believe it or not, people have lost that challenge, and nobody wants to be that contestant. It’s so embarrassing, and those people usually never get over their tainted reputation.

The second challenge is the same thing, except instead of tape, it’s a balance beam; just as narrow, but with a smaller margin of error. You’re still only betting 200 bucks at that point, but obviously the bets get higher, and the challenges get harder. You can stop anytime you want, of course, as long as you’ve not already begun the next stage, and that happens all the time. It’s a risk in more ways than one. Betting on yourself again shows that you have confidence in yourself, but if you fail, it can have a negative impact on your life. And I don’t just mean socially. Employers look at your Balance Board record, and take it into consideration when deciding whether you would be a good fit for the organization. Giving up is worse than going for it and losing in most people’s minds, but not everyone’s. The only way to truly be safe is to win the whole darn thing. It’s rarer to get this far, and even rarer to succeed, but if you do, it pretty much sets you up for life. It’s a national phenomenon, but most contests aren’t broadcast nationwide. Every city has its own local programming. They only put you on the national circuit if they think you’re gonna go far, or if they want the attention you’ll receive to make things even more stressful for you. For me, I’m sure it’s the latter reason. I’m sure I looked like an underdog to them. They lucked out, because I’m just about to do it. Five more seconds, and...there! I’ve done it! I can’t believe it, I’ve actually won! One million bucks, baby, tax free! “Congratulations!” the announcer shouts. “And now, something we’ve never done before: an extra challenge! For the two million dollars, complete the next level in the traffic game, just as you did it before, but in the center of a wooden plank that’s laid between two high-rises, with no net below. As always, the choice is yours, but once you’ve made it—say it with me, folks!” The audience joins in, “ALL! BETS! ARE! OFF!”

Microstory 1668: Curtain Call

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Year after year, Joseph Jacobson showed up to the universe that deliberately invited him with his special summoning ritual. They put on a show that fictionalized his life. Actually, they put on multiple shows at the same time, and crowned the one he responded to the winner. Joseph was aware of what they were doing, and seemed to have no problem with it. When he returned a year later for another go around, the amount of time he had spent away was incongruous. It might have been a year for him as well, or longer. He once spent three days doing this, just going straight to the next one after the last, though that wasn’t too terribly much fun, because the point of the event was to listen to the tales of his travels while he wasn’t with them. He even once jumped to five years in the future from everyone’s perspective, before going back and filling in the years prior, which meant both that he knew their future, and they knew a little bit of his. The point is that he always showed up, without fail. Until one year. It was the largest contest yet, with hundreds of productions around the world hoping to go down in history as the best. None of them won, though, which was odd. By then, they were pretty well versed in his life’s story, and the chances of not one of them being good enough seemed unlikely. Did something happen to him? Was he indisposed? That didn’t make much sense. He was a time traveler in the truest sense of the term. The only thing that could have ever stopped him from not eventually getting their message was death, and maybe not even then, because a younger version of him could simply appear instead. They didn’t even think he could die anyway. He certainly never gave anybody that impression. He had already been alive for millennia upon millennia.

As far as they knew, he was immortal, but they didn’t know everything. Perhaps there was some weakness he quite deliberately withheld from them. That would be completely understandable. But the idea that no one won the contest? That sounded far-fetched. He always acted like he quite enjoyed traveling to a world that knew all about him. He was famous in some circles, but since he moved around so much—and rarely visited the same place twice—there weren’t a lot of others that revered him so much, and continued to show it. The summoning ritual was always a choice. It was a way for people to contact him, not force him to show up at their whims. He never had any obligation to come if he didn’t want to, so if this was his way of saying he was over it, it seemed like an odd occasion. What had changed since then? Well, that was probably the point. He could tell them all the stories he liked, but they never really knew what it was like to be Joseph Jacobson. That wasn’t even suggesting he liked to lie. Maybe he left out enough about himself that they didn’t really know him at all, and there was no explaining his absence, because there was no explaining him, full stop. The reigning theory after everyone went home was that Joseph simply didn’t want to tell his stories anymore, but a close second was that they were so used to putting on the productions that there was nothing interesting about them anymore. People put a lot of effort into analyzing past winners, and trying to come up with the perfect way to perform to maximize their chances. After carefully going over the shows from the total failure year, they realized just how similar they were to each other. Either Joseph couldn’t pick the best, or the fun was gone, and it didn’t matter anymore. The world tried again the next year, but they were much more rigorous about weeding duplicate performances out. Still, Joseph didn’t show, so they tried one more time, but only with one single great performance, and then they just gave up. He never appeared again, and the people chose to move on. Maybe that was his intention all along, to somehow teach them to be completely self-sufficient. Or maybe something else had happened that most people on this planet didn’t know anything about.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, October 12, 2219

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Mateo and Leona returned to salmonverse on Tuesday, October 12, 2219. They didn’t know how it happened, or who had done it for them. One minute they were somewhere else, and the next they were back. Serif was still around, which was great, along with the rest of the current transition team. They got them up to speed on what happened during their absence, but the two of them didn’t talk about what had transpired in the other universe, because of copyright reasons, or some other legal something-or-other.

Now that everyone was where they were meant to be, hopefully things would stay the way they were. They kept meeting great new people, yes, but they also kept losing them, and that was becoming exhausting, if not heartbreaking. It really needed to stay consistent. Unfortunately, Mateo had a bad feeling about that. He was pretty sure that wasn’t going to happen. It had never been like that before, even long before the transitions. Nearly everyone from his past was still alive, having been young enough to reach the longevity escape velocity, or through some other means. Even dead people could return through the afterlife simulation. They mostly hadn’t, though. As the two of them pushed forward to the future, they kept leaving people behind. Most didn’t die like Mateo assumed they would in the beginning; they just went off to their own adventures, but they were still gone. Would that ever end? Would they ever find more people like them? Or were they fated to be the only constant in an ever-changing landscape of characters?

It wasn’t time to think about that right now. Their Cassidy cuffs were directing them to their next mission in Antarctica. At first, Mateo figured a researcher was going to be trapped in a blizzard, or a crevasse, but then he remembered that the continent became more temperate over time, thanks to climate breakdown. There were people living there, and calling it home, so any number of reasons could lead the team here. The AOC powered up, and teleported them there, where they waited for the window to open. As they watched the augmented reality flickering, they saw something they recognized. It was a Nexus machine. They had encountered many of these before, but it only occurred to Mateo now that he never knew where the Earth Nexus was. They had always gone off-world via other methods.

A middle-aged man was standing next to it, not really doing anything. Once the transition was complete, he looked around at his new environment, and shivered. Antarctica was still just as cold as it was meant to be in this reality.

Jeremy took off his jacket, and gave it to the man. “Thank you,” he said. “Where am I?”

“The Parallel,” Leona answered. “It’s a concurrent alternate reality. Did you just come through the Nexus?”

“I did,” the man confirmed. “I was on Durus.”

“You got the Durus Nexus working?” Leona was interested.

“Just for me,” he said. “I have the ability to absorb and release temporal energy. I guess it responded to my presence, and sent me back to Earth. Why would I end up here afterwards, though?”

“That we don’t know,” Angela replied. “Before we get too deep in the conversation, I’m Angela Walton. This is Jeremy Bearimy, Leona and Mateo Matic, Serif, and Olimpia Sangster.”

“I’m Escher Bradley.”

“Oh, we know you,” Leona realized. “The Escher Knob and Escher Card are named after you.”

“I don’t know what those are,” Escher said. “I do remember there being some kind of weird door knob when I was first getting trapped on Durus. Is that what you’re talking about?”

“Yes,” Leona said. “You imbued it with power.”

“Oh, cool.”

“Were you on Durus in the year 2219?” Leona pressed.

“Yeah, I think that was the year,” Escher imagined.

“That doesn’t make any sense.” She thought about it, trying to understand how this was possible. “You escaped Durus back in 2021. You and Rothko.”

“Nah, that wasn’t me,” Escher insisted. “You were probably seeing Effigy. She was the one who trapped me in the time crevice, and she can make herself look like anyone.”

“I see.” She understood now. “Well, I’m sorry you went through that. Let’s get you to our ship where it’s warm.”

The seven of them made the short trek to the AOC, and climbed inside.

“Was your life in danger?” Jeremy asked. “We usually receive people who need to get out of wherever they are.”

Escher yawned. “I don’t know that I was in any immediate danger, but I couldn’t leave. No one was operating the Earth Nexus, so I found myself just out here alone. Perhaps all I could ask from you is to transport me back to civilization?”

“That’s easy,” Olimpia said. “Is it possible for the mission to be so simple?”

“Definitely,” Mateo said. “Sometimes that’s all people need. Antarctica is more populated than ever, but I would think they put the Nexus in a very remote region of the continent, so no rando could stumble upon it.”

“Well, I would much appreciate it. I don’t suppose you can get me back to my time period? It’s not a big deal if you can’t,” Escher assured them. “I wouldn’t mind catching up with my friends, but I’m sure they did fine without me.”

“I don’t have the timeline memorized,” Leona began, “so I don’t know what you know, but Savitri is gone. She was transported to a different universe, and went on to become a very powerful immortal.”

“Yes, I suspected she survived. That’s quite interesting,” Escher said. “And Rothko?”

“Rothko...” she started, but couldn’t finish it.

“He became evil, didn’t he?” Escher guessed. “I’m not surprised. I could see the sickness in him as we were trying to survive on pre-civilization Durus. I ignored it, because...I didn’t want to be alone.”

“It’s okay,” Leona assured him. “He didn’t get a chance to hurt anyone permanently, and they put him where he belonged.” Mateo didn’t know all this about history, and of course, no one else did either. Why did she know so much? “He died a long time ago,” Leona went on. “We could ask Nerakali to send you back, so you could speak with him once more, if you want.”

“That’s okay,” Escher said, shaking his head. “I just want to start over, where no one knows who I am. Earth in 2219 seems like as good of a place as any. Will it be difficult to conjure a new identity for me?”

“We know a few people who can do that,” Leona promised. “It won’t be a problem.”

“I appreciate it,” he said gratefully. Olimpia was right, this was an easy transition. It was nice, though, after everything they had been through. They teleported to Kansas City, where a transition window would be waiting to deliver him back to the main sequence. They gave him the tools and instructions he would need to summon help from The Forger, Duane Blackwood. He thanked them again, and went on through.

Mateo’s bad feeling worsened, compelling him to look over at Serif. “You’re leaving too, aren’t you?”

“I have to,” Serif said. “My baby...our baby is special. She can help a lot of people, and I have a responsibility to let her do that.”

“Where will you go?” Leona asked.

“Wherever they take me,” Serif decided.

“Wherever who takes you?” Mateo asked.

“Me.” Thack Natalie Collins was behind them with another young woman. Serif recognized her, but never caught her name. “We know where she can do the most good. It’s not as easy as it seems. The baby is a vaccine, not a cure.”

Big surprise, Serif was leaving yet again. It would seem that the universe was working against them, always coming up with new ways to keep them apart. It wasn’t the universe, though, it was something else. It was someone else, and he was unbeatable. “Serif, was this your decision?” Mateo asked. “Or was it someone else’s?”

“I know what you’re asking,” Serif said, “and I don’t believe it to be the case. Dubra has a destiny. She was born with the ability to heal that was given to me, which makes her stronger. We can’t just not do something with that.”

“She is only a baby,” Leona argued. “Not even that, she hasn’t been born yet. You could stay with us for a very long time before you would have to leave.”

“I don’t wanna skip time anymore,” Serif contended. “I want to raise my child in realtime. I want to teach her to believe in tomorrow. You can come too; all of you. Nothing is forcing you to remain in this universe. The powers that be can’t stop you.”

“I think we all know that it’s not the powers that be that we’re worried about anymore,” Mateo clarified.

Serif nodded. “I know. I’m going just the same. I love you.” She hugged Leona, and then Mateo. “You’ll see us again, and I don’t just mean our alternates. I, myself, will return one day, or we will meet up somewhere else. We keep being pulled apart, but we also keep being pushed back together.”

Regression towards the mean,” Leona added.

“I assure you that she will be in good hands,” Thack claimed as she was leading Serif away.

“Who are you?” Leona questioned. “You can see things happening in other universes. Why have you not helped us before?”

Thack smiled. “Who says I haven’t?” Without another word, she left, along with the other woman, and Serif.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Olimpia comforted.

Mateo turned away from the group. “She was more than a friend.”

“Mateo.” Leona could tell that an anger was bubbling up in his soul. “You make bad choices when you’re mad. Think about you and Cassidy.”

“He can’t get away with this,” Mateo complained.

“He most certainly can,” Leona said. “He’s more powerful than anyone else we’ve ever met. Arcadia, Nerakali, The Rogue, even The Cleanser. Everything that happened to them happened because he decided it would. They have powers because he wanted them to, and those powers work and don’t work, according to his whims. Likewise, our pattern has changed because of him. Our missions have changed because of him. If we try to go after him, he’ll just write a story where we fail. This isn’t like Supernatural, where a nephilim will show up as a loophole. The Superintendent didn’t create us, he dreamed us. And dreaming people always wake up. We can’t exist if he doesn’t.”

Mateo wouldn’t hear it. “There’s a way. He’s not invincible. He may be our God, but who is his God?”

“Someone none of us will ever meet,” Leona reasoned.

“We’ll see...”

Yes, we will.

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