The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 3, 2516

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Ramses leaned up against the building they were all sprawled out next to. He took insufficient, shallow breaths, trying to make them deeper, or at least complete one good inhalation so he could jumpstart his system. He occasionally did get some air to go all the way down to the bottom of his lungs, but it was never as helpful as he hoped. Finally, he yawned, which helped more.

“What’s the issue?” Mateo asked. He was choosing to try to recuperate while staying horizontal on the ground. “Why aren’t our healing nanites fixing our bodies?”

Ramses slurred his words. “Whatever they gave us, it was probably designed to target our substrate repair systems. It’s harder for the modern man to get intoxicated, which is fine, because people stopped doing recreational drugs anyway. They’re still around, though; in certain dark corners of the universe. The drugs people take now have had to be adapted to contend with our advanced bodies. The funny thing is, if someone from, say, the year 2025 were to try this drug, it probably wouldn’t even affect them. They’re too simple.”

Mateo was doing a lot of half-yawns, which were never satisfying, and his frustration with this was only growing. “Even when you’re drunk, you’re a genius. Quit soundin’ so smart.” He coughed.

“He’s right,” Garland said, turning himself over to the side so he could throw up and not choke on it. He wiped his lips with his sleeve. “That’s the solution, though.” He retched, and prepared to let go of more. “Purge it.”

“Yeah, clear the system. That makes sense.” Ramses reached his hands out, and apported his solid helmet into them from the pocket dimension that it was stored in. It was a backup in case the nanite helmet he usually formed wasn’t working, for whatever reason. “Okay.” Oh, big yawn. “Here’s what you’re gonna wanna do.” He turned the helmet over, and placed his lips near the back of it. “This is gonna make you throw up like Garlique did.” Ramses stopped talking for a moment, still staring into space blankly. “Did I start calling you Garlique?”

Garland got to his hands and knees so he could force more out of his stomach. “You sure did. Bleeaaargh! Gaaack!” He spit. “I don’t care for it.”

“It’s gonna make you throw up, Matic. Oh, I get it, it’s not just garlic. It’s like if I combined your two names. Anyway, medicine is gonna shoot out, and then what you’re gonna wanna do is turn away immediately, so you don’t vomit into the helmet itself, which is why the emetopuff is placed in the back, instead of the front. Watch me do it. Puff me, Thistle.” As he promised, a cloud of medicine darted out of the hidden cartridge, and into Ramses’ mouth. He dabbed away from his helmet, and vomited onto the ground, more productively than Garland with his piecemeal attempts.

Mateo did exactly as Ramses did, and immediately felt a lot better.

“Can I get a hit of that?” Garland requested.

Ramses tossed him his helmet. “Only one. It has two doses. It’s not exactly something the suit was designed to expect to need a whole lot of.”

“How do you know to purge?” Mateo questioned. “You said that you didn’t know the water was laced with the stuff.”

“That’s what I said, that’s what I meant,” Garland replied, holding the helmet, waiting for the opportunity to use it. “I never said I didn’t know what the drug was, though. It’s called Dare. Let me see if I remember...it stands for Debilitating Anti-Resistant Euphoriaceutical. I think it’s a backronym, though.”

Bronach had been surprisingly quiet this whole time, and they had kind of been ignoring him. Garland probably didn’t know who he was, but he was doing a good job of following their lead. Bronach now took something out of an ankle holster, and jammed it into his own neck. “Ahh,” he said with relief. He stood up, and started hopping around to get his muscles loosened up. “Cleaner, safer, more effective, and doesn’t taste so bad in my mouth.” He held it out towards Garland. “I have an extra dose too, just so you know all of your options.”

“It won’t do anything,” Ramses warned. “I’m pretty sure he was just drunk. Alcohol is nothing compared to what it sounds like we were slipped.” He apported two bottles into his hands. “Electrolytes.” He threw one of them over to Garland.

“I don’t know who he is anyway.” Garland took the puff, and purged.

Mateo apported his own drink, and started sipping on it. “Bro, are we in the Goldilocks Corridor?”

“You appeared to me through dark particles last year. You told me that you thought you could put me on your pattern as long as we timed it just right. Then you activated the particles again just as the clock struck midnight central. We ended up here, and I think it worked.”

“You agreed to be on our pattern?” Ramses asked.

“Of course not, but I was drunk, and I couldn’t fight back. What are those little creepy things?”

“Neu—”

“New reason to fear us,” Mateo interrupted. Boom, saved it. He didn’t need to know that they were neutrinos. For that matter, neither did Garland. “Never mind that, though. “Do you know what planet we’re on?”

Bronach looked around. “I don’t just by looking at the sky.”

“How do you expect to get off of it yourself?” Ramses asked him.

Bronach shrugged. “I have a tracking implant. They’ll come for me, and when they do, they’ll get you too. All I have to do is wait it out.”

“Not if I can help it. Come along now, boys.” Mateo stood and waved Ramses and Garland towards him. After they got close enough, he tried to release a swarm of dark particles from the dark dimension, but it didn’t work. He could feel the tiny windows opening up, and he could feel his power engaging, but it wasn’t enough. He was empty. It reminded him of turning the key on a car with a dead battery. Click, click, click, but no ignition.

“It’s okay,” Bronach began to joke. “It happens to a lot of guys your age.”

“I probably just need to recharge,” Mateo insisted. “We’re gonna go to the other side of the planet now, so...bye.”

“Wait, Mateo.”

“Don’t you worry, we haven’t forgotten about you. We’ll overthrow you in due time. Just not quite today.”

“No, I just wanted to say something.” He kicked at the dirt bashfully, like a little boy trying to ask the older girl if she wanted to see his rock collection in his treehouse. But then he suddenly shifted to a far more serious, and perhaps even sinister, expression. “I know you’re on Castlebourne. I’m gathering my forces now.”

Ramses suddenly blitzed Bronach, and spirited them away. Mateo tapped on his comms disc. “Ram. Ram! Are you there? Where did you take him? What are you doing?” No response. He tapped again. “As anyone else on this channel? Can anyone hear me? This is Mateo Matic. Calling anyone and everyone in the Goldilocks Corridor.”

Ramses reappeared, soaking wet.

“What did you do?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Ramses answered gravely, sending shivers down Mateo’s spine. “He’ll be fine. Guy’s got nine-thousand lives. I’m more worried about us.”

Mateo didn’t approve of what Ramses likely just did, but he understood it. And he was right, they needed to get out of here. They couldn’t use their tandem slingdrives with only the two of them. They really should have brought a third member of their team. He just didn’t want to overwhelm Garland, and make him feel ganged up on. Why didn’t Boyd warn him that the dark particles didn’t always work, presumably if you use them too much? He played around with them a lot during the party; probably very wastefully.

They didn’t have to be stuck. They weren’t beyond saving, just a little lost at the moment. Their best hope would be if the Vellani Ambassador happened to show up, which it probably wouldn’t because there was no one else here. Maybe they were the exact reason why this little town looked abandoned. Team Kadiar came, and scooped up the whole population because they all wanted to escape the Exin Empire, and left. Or maybe this place just outlived its usefulness. There was no telling where the ship would be, and no way of getting there either way. It wasn’t like they were ever given a schedule of which world the VA would go to next. They weren’t even sure if the refugee program was still active. They did have friends here, though they didn’t know exactly where; just not in range of comms so far.

“Garland, only you can save us now.”

“How’s that?” he asked, genuinely confused.

“Your mother says that you have some means of blocking her from finding your location. You need to release that so our team can come get us.”

“I dunno, I never agreed to see her.”

“That’s not really the point anymore, is it?” Mateo posed.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Garland agreed, sighing. He shut his eyelids and centered himself. Nothing special happened to him. There was no change in the way he looked, nor any dramatic light effect. He just reopened his eyes and said, “it’s done.”

Right on cue, a blob of technicolors formed a few meters away. When the colorful light receded, their team was left standing there. Most of them looked calm as they spotted the guys, and opened their helmets. One of them started to stumble around, however, and grasp at her helmet. Marie was the closest, so she tapped on the side of Magnolia’s helmet, using the master code to unlock it for her.

“Oh,” Magnolia said with relief. “I felt like I couldn’t breathe.”

“You should be able to breathe better in it,” Leona informed her, “not worse.”

“Well...” Finally, Magnolia made eye contact with her son. “Garland.”

“Hey, mom.”

“I don’t have any expectations,” she claimed. “I just wanna talk.”

“I can do that. Maybe away from them, though?”

“Certainly,” Leona agreed. “Stay within view, though. This rock might be dangerous. We would never eavesdrop intentionally, but we do have superior hearing, so I recommend going about fifty meters. We’ll walk in the opposite direction a little.”

“Hey, thanks. All of you,” Magnolia said.

“No problem,” Mateo replied, despite the myriad of problems.

“Report,” Leona requested for their own team meeting.

“Do you know where Epsilon Eridani is?” Mateo asked her.

“Yeah.”

“That’s where we were, before,” Mateo began. “We must have left Darko there. At least, I hope we did. I don’t know where else he could be.”

“Well, now that we have somewhere to navigate to, we’ll be fine. But why didn’t you just go back with your dark particles?”

“It’s broken. I think I used it too much.”

“Yeah, that can happen,” Romana explained. “It’s kind of bass-ackwards. The more you use it, the faster your energy runs out, but also, the more used to storing it your body becomes, so ultimately, your reserves will grow, and you’ll last longer between recharging cycles.”

“Thanks. I’m glad he...told you so much about it,” Mateo lied.

“I used to metabolize dark particles too, remember?” Romana said.

“Oh yeah, you don’t seem to do that anymore. How did you stop?” Ramses asked, quite curious about it.

“Boyd absorbed them from me in the mirror reality, so I could be free.”

“Oh.”

They continued to catch each other up. The girls had their own celebrations without them, and while there weren’t any drugs involved, they were pretty eventful too. After Magnolia and Garland finished talking, over half of them departed. Leona, Ramses, Marie, and Olimpia used their tandem slingdrives to transport the outsiders back to Earth, with plans to rendezvous with their other half later. Mateo, Angela, and Romana would go straight back to Castlebourne to warn Hrockas of the impending invasion. They didn’t know when Bronach’s forces would arrive, but hopefully not for years. This was one reason why Leona discouraged Hrockas from figuring out how to install a Nexus on his planet. It opened them up to too many security vulnerabilities, and it wasn’t necessary with the quantum casting and reframe engines. As long as they maintained the encryption of The Terminal, and reinforced their orbital defense systems, there should be nothing they couldn’t take on.

Before the three of them finished investigating the nearby buildings in case there was anything useful to find out, a ship descended from the heavens. A ramp opened in the front. A contingency of soldiers filed out, just as they were wont to do in the Exin Empire. A masked menace slowly walked down the ramp between their goons, and stood before the three members of Team Matic who were still here. They reached up and removed the mask. It was Korali. She was smirking. “Mateo, Mateo, Mateo. I should have known you would be involved with the abduction. Tell me. Where’s his body?”

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Microstory 2371: Earth, September 22, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I forgot to tell you that the word don’t isn’t in my vocabulary. So to me, all you said was “get mad”. So I got mad. I’m not mad at Bray, as long as you’re not mad at Bray. Are you not mad at Bray? Okay. I just support you. But I am mad at our parents. It seems that every few weeks, we find out this horrifying new secret about our pasts, or our lives. The answer is yes, I was sick. I was apparently very sick as a child. I confronted my father yet again for answers, and he confessed to everything. To his credit, he’s not a doctor, and it didn’t occur to him that you might be suffering from the same condition. We couldn’t afford to visit a doctor back then. Things were bad, the entire industry sector was suffering. There was a huge gap between supply and demand for medical help, and as a result, prices were exorbitant. We could only afford a nurse. He claims that he never lied by telling me that she was a babysitter, so I guess I just grew up assuming that. She wasn’t even a nurse yet either, though, but a nursing student, so she was willing to help for less just for the experience. According to him, she was incredibly kind and helpful, and while he didn’t have the education necessary to assess how she was helping, the results were rather clear. Whenever I was showing signs of my illness again, she slipped me medicine—often hidden in the chicken noodle soup—and then I got better. She had no clue that it was hereditary, however, I’m still mad, because he should have said something recently. He should have made the connection, especially when he was compiling his list of people who might have been responsible for studying the Earth twin. It could have been her, for all we know. We don’t know. Anyway, I’ve looked her up in a database of medical professionals, which I have access to for potential telehealth needs. She’s currently living under a dome in what was once South Africa, before the borders collapsed. I’ve reached out to her, and am awaiting a response. Someone needs to fix this. I have attached a copy of all of my medical records, so you can look for yourself, and give it to your doctor. I also attached our dad’s file, with a signed cover sheet that proves he authorized it. Please take care of yourself. Don’t overdo it.

Love you so much,

Condor

Microstory 2249: Not Sure on the Motive

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I’m happy to report that Nick is doing well. They gave him some medicine, and performed some other treatments, and the poison is clearing his system. It evidently could have been a lot worse. If he didn’t have this website, we may not have been too worried about his symptoms, but the way that he was writing was just so unlike him. Plus, he’s at a particularly high risk, so the people who care about him are probably always on high alert for things like this. In other news, the authorities already know who poisoned him. They evidently confessed without much effort. We did not expect any answers this fast, but we’re grateful. Though, our gratitude is overwhelmed by our anger and disappointment. We’re still not sure on the motive; if there was some kind of financial gain to be had, or what? That’s usually the reason. They’ve not yet released any names. Others may be involved, so they don’t want to say too much. Once all suspects are apprehended—or it’s determined that there only is the one—they’ll release more information about it. So follow the FBI on socials, I guess, or watch the news.

Microstory 2219: It is Always Fatal

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I might try to say more tomorrow, but today is not a good time to spend a lot of time curating a good post. We’re reeling from today’s news. We knew that it was bad. I mean, just look at him; it had to be bad. But we didn’t know quite how bad. There are five types of infections. When Nick first arrived in this universe, he contracted a virus, and shortly thereafter, he got a bacterial infection. These might be the two most common. There are some people who just get the cold every year, whether they take a vaccine for it or not. Fungal infections are fairly common too, and they often go untreated, because symptoms are sometimes rather mild, albeit fairly gross. He also managed to suffer from a fungus when he used some unclean showers in Iowa, but before that, a parasite took hold of him when he was exposed to the wrong plant at the nursery where he worked. All of this happened during the first quarter of this year, and he thought that he was out of the woods for a while. Sadly, that has turned out to not be true, though we didn’t know until today that the disease that he has is yet another infection. You see, all four of the types of infections that you’re familiar with can potentially be deadly. None of them is totally safe. But there is a fifth type that you have probably never even heard of, and the worst part about it is that it is always fatal. It’s called a prion, and while some prion diseases can be treated to some degree, they are the least understood class. The good news (or bad, depending on how you look at it), is that everything I’ve been doing with him has been everything that the doctor would have ordered had he diagnosed this before. Managing symptoms is the only possibly helpful course of action. Now that he knows that it’s there, he can study it more, and tweak some of Nick’s medications, but that’s about it. The horrible truth is that he is going to die from this. He may have a few months to live, but the doctor doesn’t see him making it through the New Year. I’ve written more than I planned on. I better end it here, so I can get back to taking care of him. We’ll see how much time I have tomorrow, or if I’m even emotionally up to it.

Microstory 2118: Tiny Little Baby Boy

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I had a physical examination today. Some laws in this world are weird, and some of them are better than they are where I’m from. For others, I’m not sure one way or the other. I think my world would do this sort of thing sometimes, for when there were specific reasons to believe that the accused was in need of it, but here, they do it for everyone. There is an entire branch of medicine dedicated to making sure that people like me are fit to stand trial, or even just this small hearing. They call it Judicial Fitness, making this my Judicial Fitness Evaluation. I’ll go through more by the time this is over, and maybe more while I’m being monitored by a parole officer. This Earth, and this country in particular, is very concerned with the physical and emotional stability of their accused and convicted. I would be interested to learn what happened in history to turn this into a common practice. Were there too many bored doctors? Were there a ton of patients who were later discovered to have been unfit for legal proceedings, which resulted in severe damage to their welfare? Or maybe there was one highly publicized case that shifted perception. Either way, I don’t have a problem submitting to it. I have nothing to hide. Y’all already know, I don’t mind admitting to my medical issues; I’ve done that in multiple instances on this site. I believe in medical privacy, but I’ve personally never run into a situation that I felt I couldn’t tell anyone about, even if it would be “embarrassing” for a neurotypical. I’m trying to think of a story like that to prove to you that I don’t care, but nothing comes to mind. Perhaps I just don’t understand what other people’s threshold would be. I’ve had a few ingrown toenails, which required minor surgery, does that count? They sent a scope up my urethra to try to figure out my digestive issues. That’s not great, a normal person would probably keep that to themselves. Let’s see, I used to vomit from anxiety whenever I did something new. I guess that can still happen, it’s just that less is new than it was when I was a tiny little baby boy. I just called myself a tiny little baby boy, should I be embarrassed by that? You tell me. If those aren’t juicy enough for ya, I’m afraid that my current condition isn’t gonna help you either. I earned a clean bill of health from my physician, which means that I can attend my hearing tomorrow. What exactly the purpose of it is a bunch of legalese that I don’t understand, but I’ll try to recount it tomorrow, unless they throw me in prison right away, and don’t give me access to a computer. If that happens, my blog will just end. I don’t have any backup posts waiting on the schedule this time. Welp, it’s been real...or rather it hasn’t, because I’m making all of this up, ain’t I? Or am I? I am. Wait...oh no, I was right, this is all fiction.

Microstory 2093: Not Depressed At All?

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I’ve been going through some stuff. I dealt with a lot when I first came to...town, and then I got sick multiple times. The last one was the roughest illness I’ve ever experienced, and I contracted staph infections four times in my adult life! Going to the hospital to get the parasite taken out of me was a huge wake up call, but the problem is I’m still proverbially bleary-eyed. I don’t know who I am anymore, or what I’m supposed to do. It’s not like working at the nursery was ever my calling, but it was pleasant, and I enjoyed it. I guess I’m not even really talking about a job specifically. I just...I don’t know who I am; that’s the best way to put it. Everyone I’ve met here has been so great to me, and so helpful. I required quite a bit of patience, and I appreciate how difficult that must have been for them. I’ve been able to save up about 1500 dollars so far, because my landlord has been buying my groceries, I don’t have to pay utilities, I don’t have a car, and I don’t have any other responsibilities. That’s not bad, but it’s not nearly enough for me to start my life over from scratch. I need to find something else, and I need to do it fast. It’s just been hard to even go for it, ya know? I’m depressed. It’s not the first time, but it’s particularly bad this time. I was hoping that I was on my way to getting over it since I was separated from the love of my life, Cricket, but now I’ve backslid. I shouldn’t be surprised that I’m down again. I’ve grown so used to it that it’s become my resting state. Joy is something that I can fathom, because there are times when I’m less depressed than other times. But not depressed at all? Is that even a thing? I’ve genuinely never been sure about that. I was a full-on adult before I realized that normal people do not wake up nauseated every morning. I just thought that everyone went through the same thing, so I didn’t usually bother telling doctors my concerns. Even when I did bring it up, they would always brush it aside like it was nothing, until one of them was all, “you have acid reflux, dude. Gravity works against you when you’re lying down.” Just knowing that made it easier to get through the day, even when I didn’t actually do anything to correct the problem. There’s no simple fix for my sadness, though, except for drastic measures. The only way I have ever figured out how to get out of a funk is to make a huge change in my life. Of course, that usually causes anxiety vomiting, but with the right over-the-counter medicine, and personal behaviors, I can alleviate those symptoms too. I don’t know what I’m gonna do yet, but sitting around and sulking is decidedly not it. Getting yet another job for which I’m barely qualified is also not the answer. Stay tuned for updates.

Microstory 2092: I’m Finally Back Home

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I’m profoundly tired today, as I’ve been for the last week. Or rather, I guess I’ve been tired for weeks, haven’t I, because of the parasite? It’s been taking a lot of energy from me, which should have been my first indication that something was wrong, even if I really did believe that I was an alien from another universe. I can’t eat enough, and I can’t sleep enough. Today is different, though. I’ve been released from the hospital specifically because the parasite has been vanquished, but it was just a hard day, so all of those kinds of symptoms are still around, just now for different reasons. Before I could be released, I had to meet with all sorts of people; I can’t even name them all. Doctors, nurses, a patient advocate (who was more advocating for the hospital). The pharmacist came upstairs to tell me how the drugs that they had prescribed me worked, so that was nice of her. At some point, a class of med students showed up, but they didn’t spend very much time with me, since it was my last day. Not everyone who came in was good. Two lawyers snuck into my room in case I wanted to sue my boss. I’m not entirely sure how they found out about what happened, but I don’t appreciate my private story being—oh, wait, I’m the one who told them, aren’t I? I’ve been telling my story this whole time on this blog, inviting all sorts of characters to come into my life, and give me their two cents. That’s okay, I could sure use the money, right? Anyway, I’m finally back home, and about to go to bed. I have to set my alarm every hour and a half to take my medicine. It’s going to be hard to get real sleep, but as I’ve already said, I don’t have to go back into work anymore, so I guess I’ll just stay here until I end up with a total of eight hours.

Microstory 2069: There Are No Winners

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I’m feeling bad again, but it has nothing to do with my recent infections. I’m a week away from my first day on the job at the garden, and I’m getting really nervous about it. I’ve been worshiping the porcelain god, as they say. Can you imagine what a real porcelain god would be like? Of course you can’t, you gave up religion a long time ago, because it was too interesting. That’s one upside to living on this Earth, I guess. You somehow lost the curiosity gene, but at least you don’t believe in a flying spaghetti monster. I was hoping that I would be less anxious, since I’ve not encountered very many surprising people, except for those two alien believers, but my stomach has a different idea. When I’m not running from my life, like I was when Cricket, Claire, and I were hopping all over the multiverse, I’m anxious all the time. That’s me, I’m full of anxiety. Well, that and depression. I hear “brave” people in the public eye talking about how their mental health issues are things that they’ve been battling. But for me, it has always just been suffering. It’s not a fight, it’s survival. There are no winners. All I can really do—after the medication wears off, and the therapists close the door—is get through the day. Then I get five or six hours of sleep, and wake up to get through the next day. Listen to me, being all moody and broody about life. It’s not all that bad. It’s not like I can remember every bad thing that has ever happened to me, and I can’t remember many of the good things. That would be crazy, right? Ha. Right? Who could survive that?

Microstory 2068: Tongueball It

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I’m feeling much better, thank you very much. It’s been pretty hard to get to sleep, which has sometimes been all right, because I’ve not had anywhere to go, but that hasn’t been true every single day since I got here. I’ve had an itchy and sore throat, so I cough, and then just make it even more sore. I believe that my landlord can’t hear me all the way up here, but I don’t know that for sure, and I’m afraid to ask her. I probably should ask her, though, since she would be able to explain it. My guess is that, when I lie down, fluids start moving in different directions, which is why it hurts more, but I don’t really know. She’s been off work for the last few days, and as a medical professional, in a particularly high need of a real good night’s rest every time, she should be able to expect me to work hard to put a stop to my constant disruptions. I generally don’t like to take drugs, but I’ll do it when I have to. When I was in my mid-twenties(?) I didn’t know the difference between a teaspoon and a tablespoon. I thought I was taking twice the recommended amount of nighttime cough syrup, but it turned out to be six times. It’s the only time I was ever intoxicated. I did not like it one bit, and I’ve never repeated the incident. Until last night, sort of. The tiny bottle of the strong stuff that my landlord had didn’t have any sort of fill cup. There wasn’t much left, so I figured I could eyeball five milliliters—or rather, tongueball it—but I was wrong. I ended up with twice the amount, but didn’t get to sleep any easier, and I never felt drunk. I probably really should have asked her about it, huh? It’s not my fault, I took too much cough syrup!

Microstory 2055: My Real Problem

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Not much to report today. The medicine is working, and I’m feeling better. I’m trying to focus on getting a job, and not worrying too much about my requirements for that. It just has to give me some kind of steady income, and my employer can’t get hung up on my lack of social security number, or whatever other info this country expects out of me. I’ve not found anything yet. Unemployment seems to be rather low here. There are about as many jobs as there are people, and my arrival has thrown off that balance. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t really know how any of this works. I try to spend a little bit of time every day getting an idea of what exactly is different about this world, but there’s no real way for me to understand. My real problem is that I don’t have any résumé to speak of. I mean, I do, but I can’t prove any of it, since I lived in a different universe at the time. Still, I’m putting out feelers, as they say. Nothin’ yet, but I’ll keep looking. It’s only been a few days. I’ve spent months looking for work before, so I’m not going to be discouraged quite yet. Then again, I was living in a lot of privilege before. Now I have nothing to fall back on. I’m alone. That’s not true. I have this great finished attic, and I’m so grateful for it. Still, I don’t want to overstay my welcome. It’s important that I figure out how to take care of myself. I think I’m going to have to start hanging out in the side lot of a home improvement store as a day laborer, if that’s even a thing here.

Microstory 2054: Technically The Top Floor

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Believe it or not, the free clinic was pretty good. I guess I don’t have to tell you that. My target audience lives in this world, right? It would be hard to get this message back to my version of Earth, where free clinics aren’t great, because society doesn’t care about the people who have to use such services. Anyway, a lot of people here need it, so it was really busy, but they were good at prioritizing patients. I’m feeling sick, but there was a girl in there who had nailed her hand to her thigh. Well, I guess I don’t know that she did it to herself, but she obviously needed to be treated before me either way. Once I was in the room, the doctor was patient and understanding. She also didn’t question who I was, or where I came from. I mean, she did ask those questions, but she didn’t push it when I couldn’t answer them. She prescribed me some medicine, and gave me a large sample until I could afford to actually buy the medicine. She also gave me the card for a social worker, who is known for being really caring of people in my situation. I kind of have to wait for that, though, because he deals with a lot of sensitive people, and I don’t want to get him sick. In the meantime, though, no more sleeping in the park for me. One of the nurses is letting me stay in her attic. At first, I was worried about that, because I’m already sick, and I’ve always had trouble with allergies, but she was underselling it. Yeah, it’s technically the top floor of the house, and it’s slanted like an attic, but it’s fully finished, clean, and well-ventilated. It also spans the whole length of the house, so my living space is larger than anyone else’s room. It almost feels like I belong here. Maybe I was too harsh on this world, calling it Boreverse, and all. I’ve not had a home for a long time, not really. Even the 20 years I spent waiting for Cricket before felt like a resort stay; not something permanent. And the five years we lived together with Claire still felt like we were just looking for a way out. That’s not to say that I want to keep living here. I still need to get back to them. But at least I’m not out in the cold anymore, so to speak.

Microstory 1961: Alignment

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Reese: Is that everyone? Let’s see; one, two, three... Okay, we’re good. I understand that we all have a lot of work to do, but I think it’ll be worth it to take a few minutes for an alignment meeting to talk about what’s happening tomorrow. Some of you may have already heard that Director for the Office of Special Investigations, Lotte Washington is coming tomorrow for an inspection. I don’t want to scare you, but this is kind of a big deal. I’ve been told that she is here to inspect the remodel of our office space, and that it has nothing to do with us, but I think we all know that it’s not that simple, even if that really is the prime motivation. We will all be under a microscope tomorrow.

Yanna: Even you?

Reese: Especially me, as well as the other two main leaders here. Your behavior will reflect on us. Now, I’m not saying that any of you are behaving badly, but I do want to make sure that you’re extra careful in the hours leading up to her arrival, and obviously, while she’s here. Navin, I know that your naps have been cleared by medical, but is there any way that you could avoid them while she’s in the building?

Navin: If I can get a good idea of when she’ll come, I can be awake and alert for a sufficient amount of time. If there’s a lead team coming before her, that may be an issue.

Reese: There should be no lead team. She does not travel with a security contingency.

Celandine Robles: She may for this, though. Right or wrong, she may be uncomfortable around the freepersons, and feel compelled to take extra precautions.

Reese: That may be the case, but if it is, they’ll come with her, rather than ahead of time. Navin, we’ll make sure you get your rest, and take your medication, so you can be presentable with the time comes. That goes for all of you, you need to be presentable. We’ve been lax on the dress code, because I personally do not care, but when we have guests, you’ll need to be wearing nice clothes. Myka has agreed to visit your homes to take a look at your respective wardrobes. If need be, we’ll purchase one set of business casual for you. But only if you need it, and it will be a one time thing. Paychecks will start rolling in, and you should be good to go from then on out. Any other questions?

Henley Grahame: *raising her hand* Yes, I’ve been assigned to reception and switchboard, but we haven’t nailed down the procedures yet. I assume that mine will be the first face the Director sees tomorrow. I mean, I know how to greet people politely, but I’m worried there is some nuance that I’m going to miss, since it’ll be my first time.

Inge Flynn: Yours will not be the first face she sees. I’ve just been assigned internal security, and will be working with you at the front, at least for now. When Director Washington gets here, I’ll greet her in the parking garage, and escort her in. I’ll introduce you, but you won’t have to sign her in, or anything. If there’s blowback for us not having a badge printer yet, or really anything of that nature, I’ll take the heat.

Henley: Okay, I appreciate it.

Reese: Good questions, good answers. Anything else? [...] No? Cool. Like I said, this is a big deal. For most of you, there should be no reason to speak unless she or I ask you to. If she does indicate that you need to interact with her, of course do so respectfully, but don’t talk her ear off. Hopefully it will be quick and painless, and over quickly, and she’ll be pleased with what she sees. Until then, go on home early. We’ll see you tomorrow.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 6, 2398

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Marie is sitting with her alternate self at a late lunch, who she should probably think of as her twin sister now, since that’s what everyone beyond the team is meant to assume about them. They’ve been working on their relationship since Angela first appeared in this reality back in early April. It’s still a little weird, knowing that there’s this other person around with identical memories, but it helps now that Marie has four additional years’ worth of experiences. The more they diverge from each other, the less awkward it will become. But they will never lose the benefit they have of also knowing that there’s this other person around who knows how they feel about the world. Their personalities will not ever become unrecognizably different. She takes another bite.

“It’s not working.”

“What’s not working?” Angela asks.

“No bleeding, no cramps, no vomiting. These foods, they’re not working, and I’m getting sick of them.”

“Let me respond to you backwards. Remember what mother always said when we refused to eat our cucumbers.”

“Ugh, I hate cucumbers. And peppers. Now I really am gonna retch.”

“She said to treat them like medicine. You have to eat it, so just do it, and be done with it. Without cucumbers, we might have starved, and neither of us would exist right now.”

“Well, that’s a bit overdramatic, but okay.”

“Secondly, the foods might still be working. You just need more time. It’s barely been a week, and a miscarriage may not present itself for a couple more, which means you need to give it over a month.”

“The longer I wait, the fewer alternatives I have.”

“I understand that,” Angela agrees, “but you need to let this first attempt play out. You can’t keep going to the doctor to find out if it’s working, because then you’ll get in trouble, so all you can do is keep going, and....hope.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Marie accuses.

“You’re right, but that doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

“What’s the next thing you wanted to tell me?”

“The cramps and the vomiting.”

“Yeah, that’s how I would know that I’m having a miscarriage.”

“They’re also symptoms of pregnancy,” Angela points out.

“And they’re sometimes symptoms of regular menstruation, what’s your point?”

“My point is, you’re not experiencing those at all?”

“No.”

“Did you...experience them while you were menstruating?”

“No.”

“Have you...ever been sick...since you came here?”

Marie pulls her head back, and stares into empty space to think on that question for a moment and a half. “No. Never.”

“According to Ramses, something is blocking our powers and patterns, but...our durable new bodies aren’t all just about powers. I don’t remember if he specifically said we could no longer get sick, but it was sort of implied. I mean, if you’re gonna give someone an upgrade, don’t include Huntington’s disease, or cancer. You would take those things out, along with other medical problems like the occasional low blood sugar, seasonal allergies, and stress-related hives.”

“We still can’t get sick,” Marie realizes, “even here. What does that mean?”

Angela shuts her eyes. “The food that you’re eating, which is tailored for you to place the fetus at risk, is dependent upon your reaction to certain chemicals that those foods possess. They throw off hormone imbalance, and they send bad neural signals. If your body was designed to work around that kind of thing—to combat it—then...”

“Then I may be medically incapable of having a miscarriage.”

Ramses sits down before he collapses. “It’s possible. I don’t understand how this reality works. If there is something out there that protects linear time, then our immortality shouldn’t be affected. But we know that it is, because we get tired, and we don’t absorb solar power, and we—” He stops short. Then he stands up, goes over to the kitchen, and takes out a knife. He drags it across his arm, going in far deeper than he needs to in order to illustrate his point.

“Goddamnit, Ramses!” Marie exclaims.

“Yeah, we can still get hurt...a lot easier than we should. But maybe...” He gets lost in his thoughts, and the other two don’t try to force him to continue. He starts rubbing his blood up and down his arm like he has an unhealthy fascination with it. “Maybe...” he repeats.

“Maybe what?”

“Maybe it’s external. Maybe it’s literally external. Your body doesn’t get sick, because most illnesses are internal, which might be protected against the...magical...power-dampening whatever?”

“I open my mouth all the time,” Marie counters. “I’ve cut myself before; with the knife you’re holding right now, in fact.”

Ramses shakes his head. “It’s not a constant thing. It’s not an invisible gas in the air. When we jumped from the main sequence to the Third Rail, we passed through something that stripped us of part of who we were. It took away everything special about our skin. It didn’t take away anything inside.”

“Then why can’t we teleport?” Angela questions.

“It’s a separate thing,” Ramses decides. “They’re two different things: the linear time protector, and the skin changer.”

“Why would someone do that?” Angela presses. “It doesn’t make any sense. I mean, it sort of does, but who’s going to all that trouble, and to what end?”

“Maybe it’s not on purpose. Maybe it’s just that whatever barrier is between realities does this to us.”

“It didn’t happen when you went to all those other realities, did it?” Angela asks.

She’s right, it didn’t. Or did it? Mateo and Ramses thought they were converting solar energy in the Parallel, but even though he personally engineered these upgraded bodies, he hasn’t spent much time in his own. Maybe he was mistaken this whole time. “I need to talk to Leona.”

“Wait.” Marie stops him from going down one of his absent-minded genius professor rabbit holes. “What can I do? How do I fix this?”

He shakes his head at her. “I don’t know. Let me think on that too.”

Extremus: Year 47

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Kaiora Leithe isn’t usually nervous. It’s unbecoming of a captain. She has to be strong, confident, and prepared for everything. But there are powers at play here that even she can’t overtake. Yes, she’s in charge of the crew, and the entire ship, but what most people don’t know is that there are, in fact, two ships. She’s sitting at the entrance of what’s called The Bridge. Yes, it’s confusing, or at least it would be for any normal person. But the only people who know this thing exists are completely comfortable with the ambiguity. This is more of a bridge than the bridge that helps them navigate space. It’s where the two vessels connect to one another, and I’m not talking about something physical. It’s a portal that can transport a user to the maximum range of one light year.

The receptionist looks up from her work. “You may proceed now.”

“Thank you,” Kaiora responds. She stands up, takes a deep breath, and crosses over.

Her key contact is standing on the other side. Avelino Bridger is regarding her with his best poker face, as he always is. He’s completely unreadable. And yeah, the Bridger Section was named after him. It’s this whole thing. “Thank you for coming.”

“Well, I’m the one who requested this, so...thank you for having me.”

“I wanted to accept your request earlier, but this is not a dictatorship.”

“Isn’t it?” she asks, one-fourth jokingly, three-fourths yeah, it’s a dictatorship. It’s the most efficient way to run a ship, and the only reason they don’t do it on the Extremus Proper is because the passengers outnumber them by orders of magnitude.

“This meeting will be exclusively between you and me,” he tells her as they’re walking towards the meeting room. “Nothing we say today will make it beyond that relationship. No one else on the board, no one else on the crew, no one else in the civilian government, will know what we discuss. Is this acceptable? I expect you to remain as confidential as I’m promising to be.”

“I accept,” she responds as he’s letting her in the room first. “I assume it’s clean?”

“It’s timelocked,” he answers. “We’ve taken all the necessary precautions to make sure no one can intrude in the present, but also from the future, or the past, or any other dimension.” He reaches up to the sconce by the door, flipping it upside down to engage the special lock. He sits down on the couch after she situates herself on the chair.

“Someone I care very deeply about has...uncovered information regarding Operation Plan Z.”

“I gathered. That’s not why we’re here, though.”

“Not entirely.”

“You just want me to promise to leave her out of it, and to not go after her?”

“See, now I’m worried, since it sounds like you know who it is.”

He nods gently. “I know who it is. We traced her.”

“We?”

“Captain, this is an ongoing, massive issue. She’s not the only one we’re tracking. Nor is she of the most concern?”

“It’s worse than what my niece did? She downloaded consciousnesses from your database.”

“We’re aware. But...”

“But what?”

He was scanning the floor, but now he looks back up. “As she is a future Captain of Extremus, we are letting it go, because we don’t see time linearly. She would have been read into the situation anyway.”

“I see. So it’s true. You have the whole future mapped out.”

“Again, you’re thinking linearly. Mapping time is not as simple as just seeing what happens, and writing it down.”

“I bet.”

He clears his throat. “I assure you, as long as Miss Leithe reveals no secrets to anyone else, we’ll leave her alone.”

“But you already know whether she does or not.”

“Once more, it’s not that simple.”

Kaiora looks away and nods. “How bad is it?”

“We don’t know.”

“Ya know, from what I remember from Halan’s era, all the breaches have come from your side. He didn’t break protocol, and neither have I.”

“You’re right. We have leaks, and when we plug one up, another pops open.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“We’re killing the civilian program.”

“You are?” That’s a big step.

“It is no longer a viable option. Ovan Teleres got too close to us, and what little we divulge to the government has put this mission at too much risk. So from now on, the captain will be our only connection to Extremus Proper. Your successors will carry that burden amongst yourselves, as you will for the rest of your life.”

“Oaksent was not a member of the government. How did he find out anything?”

“That is a temporal problem; one which our map does not account for.”

“I see. So you can timelock this room, but not the Bridger Section as a whole.”

“Correct.”

“Who was Fake!Rita Suárez?”

“That is above your clearance.”

“So, you know who she was?”

He takes a long time to reply. “It’s above your clearance to know that we have no fucking idea who she was, or where she came from.”

She nods understandingly.

“Nor do we know whether the Yitro Moralez that your alternate self saw is the real deal, or another impostor.”

“I didn’t know that you were cognizant of him.”

He clears his throat again. “Dr. Malone works for us.”

“Dammit! I worked so hard to find the most random, inconsequential, ineffectual professionals Extremus had to offer. How did you manage to get him into my personal secret section?”

Avelino breaks his poker face to reveal a smirk, but it barely lasts a decisecond. “Honestly, it was a happy coincidence. We picked him for the same reason you did, because no one would suspect someone like that would matter much. People still share secrets with him, though, and more importantly, other therapists do it. We don’t know why, but we are using it to our advantage. He has no idea who he’s channeling information to. He could become a liability, actually.”

“Is that why he keeps trying to get a meeting with me?”

“Yeah, we think he wants to spill the beans about what he’s done.”

“What’s going to happen to him?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to kill him?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Are you going to kill the members of the civilian government who are already aware of the nature of the Bridger section, and its true purpose?”

“Why would we do that?” he repeats.

“Bridger. Start talkin’. I need to know if there are going to be any deaths under suspicious circumstances on my ship.”

He shakes his head. “The circumstances will not be suspicious.”

Kaiora sighs.

“It’ll be fine,” Avelino tries to assure her. He might be a sociopath, so his words are not very convincing. “You’re fine, your niece is fine, and anyone else who has been granted access to the hidden partition of the database is fine. We’re only going to go after the people who deliberately exposed our secrets. We have to find that leak. Speaking of which, I ought to be getting back to it, and you need to be getting to MedHock.”

“Medhock?” she questions. She wasn’t expecting that to be brought up. “Why?”

“According to our map...your Captain dies today.”

“How, uh...?”

“How mutable is this eventuality?” he figures. “Not at all. It’s over.”

She gestures to the ceiling, indicating the Bridger Section in general. “No, it’s not. He’ll survive this. We already know what his answer will be.”

“We know what his answer will be. You don’t.”

“What are you talking about? He said yes the last time, he came back.”

“When he died the first time, he asked to come back because he had more work to do as the Captain, and more importantly, as Admiral. We’ve plugged that leak already. Old Man’s loophole is not going to be resurrecting anyone on your side of the bridge again. Admiral Yenant told us that he was only saying yes because of that loophole. He has no intention of being a permanent upload.”

Kaiora looks away in sadness.

“Hey. There’s a reason we give people a choice. “You’ll have to make the same decision when you die.”

“You’re right, I will. And truthfully, I don’t know what I’m going to say yet. It’s not even that long off for me, and I still haven’t figured out my answer. Halan has had a lot of time to change his mind.”

“Well. As long as you timelock MedHock, you can ask him yourself.”

“How would I go about doing that?”

Avelino stands up, and turns the timelock sconce back around. He then removes the artificial candle from its holder. He twists the bulb off of it, and hands the rest to her. “Light it. It will timelock an area for the duration of the burn. And I mean that. If you blow it out before it gets to the bottom of the wick, the timelocking power will burn out with it, and you’ll never be able to use it again. It’s a one-time use whether you maximize your productive time, or not.” So maybe not so artificial.

“Thank you for the opportunity.”

He nods once, then opens the door to let her out. She leaves the Bridger Section, and teleports to her mentor. The Hock Watcher lets her in. She finds the MedHock doctor at a desk. “Is he stable?”

“For now,” he answers.

“Out.”

“He’s stable, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Get! Out!”

He leaves with a protesting attitude.

“Final lesson, don’t treat people like that,” Halan advises.

Kaiora places the naked candle on the table, and holds it up between a tablet, and a keyboard. It’s a fire hazard, but whatever. She lights it, then turns back to Halan. “I’ve just come from the Bridger Section.”

He turns his shoulders away as much as he can. “I don’t wanna know about it.”

“You have to, because I have to talk to you, and it’s my last—”

I don’t...want to know,” he maintains.

“You’re going to listen to me, because I’m the Captain, and you’re just a prisoner.”

He twists his neck, but keeps his shoulders pointed away. “That’s cold, Kaiora.”

“That’s cold—?” She holds there with her mouth open, waiting for him.

“That’s cold, Captain,” he amends.

“Thank you. Now...get back into a comfortable position.”

He readjusts.

“Avelino told me that you plan to say no to The Question.”

“What do I have to look forward to?”

“Once you die, since no one knows you’ll still be alive, I can set in motion a series of events that will lead to your posthumous pardon.”

“That’s dirty pool, Captain.”

“It’s necessary, and it won’t be political suicide anymore. The people will be overwhelmingly in favor of it since there won’t be any consequences; at least they won’t think so. I’m going to do it whether you like it or not. You won’t be able to stop me, because of the whole being dead and dormant thing.”

“Also cold.”

“Please. Say yes. Stay alive.”

“I’ve never agreed with The Question. I was young, and ambitious, and I wanted the job, so I didn’t argue, but I wish I had. I wish I hadn’t let them create the Bridger Section at all. It goes against everything this mission stands for.”

“Don’t you see, that’s what The Question is for? Anyone who wants to hold onto their principles has every right to do so. All they have to do is say no.”

“Then let me say no.”

“You’re an exception.”

“Why?”

“Because I love you!”

“Everyone is loved by someone. Death is a part of life. I accept it, as should you.”

“No, I’m not going to let you just—”

“The candle’s burned out,” he interrupts to point out.

She looks over at it incredulously. That was far too fast. Avelino did that on purpose. He knew the conversation couldn’t last long. “God! Dammit!”

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