The Seventh Stage: Foundation Rock (Part VII)

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Echo and Clavia both teleport out of the water, leaving every molecule of it behind, even the drops clinging to their skin, so they’re completely dry now, on the ground. They also apport clothes around their bodies so they can continue the conversation. “Aristotle Al-Amin,” Echo begins, “son of Maqsud.”

“That’s right,” Aristotle says. He was leaning against a tree. He pops himself off it, and saunters around, vaguely in their direction.

“You’re the one who made the Sixth Key?” Clavia asks.

“I didn’t make it,” he clarifies. “I did transport everyone to it, though.”

“How did you do that?” Andrei asks, still piloting the original Clavia body.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” Aristotle answers anticlimactically.

“That’s okay,” Echo decides. “The only question is, can you do it again? Mostly the same people, and their descendants. Comparatively, the population isn’t all that much higher, and they’re all in the same place now, going to the same place. Here, actually. But. We also have to figure out who wants to go, and who doesn’t. They’re getting a choice this time.”

Aristotle nods like he knows something they don’t, which he surely does. He continues to pace around a little, admiring the peaceful surroundings. “I should clarify, I didn’t do it alone. I had enormous help, from a god.”

“Some people call us gods,” Andrei says.

Aristotle’s eyes dart over to him, but he doesn’t move his head. “You may be gods in this universe, but I spoke with those who live on a higher plane of existence. Now, that doesn’t mean we need them this time. Maybe you could supply the power instead. I don’t know who any of you are. All I know is that I can’t do it at the scale you’re asking for without some serious might.”

“Well, how did you contact these higher gods?” Clavia asks.

“A special term sequence that you input in a Nexus,” Aristotle answers.

“Can you remember the sequence?” Clavia presses.

Aristotle snorts as he laughs. “Yeah, I think I can recall.”

They stare at him blankly.

“It’s one glyph long,” he clarifies.

“Then why doesn’t everybody do it?” Andrei asks him.

“Because it’s only one glyph,” Aristotle reiterates. “Most people don’t think to even try it, because most term sequences are longer. Besides, it can only be used once at any given Nexus, and if you’ve ever done it before, you can’t do it again. You can tag along, but you won’t get another wish. If we go this route, I won’t be able to do it, because mine has already been asked and answered.”

“A wish?” Clavia questions. “Are they gods, or genies?”

“Both, I guess. They don’t use either of those words. They just have names.”

Andrei looks around. “Does anyone know of a Nexus in the Sixth Key that might be so rarely used that no one has tried this oddly simple single-glyph term sequence? Can you even call it a sequence?”

Echo shakes his head as he’s beginning to walk away. “No need to find a needle in a haystack. I’ll just conjure a new needle.” He waves his arms. The trees before him sink into the ground as if it’s made of mud. Once the clearing has formed, an artificial cube materializes atop it. It looks just like any other Nexus, on the outside, and once they step inside, they find it to be typical there as well.

Aristotle looks around. “Are you sure you need my help to do what you ask, or the gods’ help? Might wanna save your wish if you can. As I said, you only get one.”

“No, we know we can’t do it,” Clavia explains. “But that’s a good question. Which one of us should go and ask?”

Aristotle shrugs. “We can all go. It’s one question each. The only thing is, whoever literally inputs the sequence can’t ever do it again. Just like the wish itself, I’m disqualified for that too.”

“I’ll handle it,” Echo volunteers. They all step down into the cavity. “Which is it?”

“Zero-enter,” Aristotle replies. “We’re going to a place called Origin.”

Echo kicks the glyph that translates to zero, and then the enter button. Technicolors rain down from the drum above, and spirit them away.

They find themselves on a dock, floating on a dark and mysterious ocean. It’s eerie, but beautiful. They feel safe here, like nothing can or will hurt them. A rowboat approaches. A person steps out of it, and ties it on. “Welcome to Origin. My name is Senona Riggur.” They turn their head to look at Aristotle. “You’re back. You know the rules, though.”

“Of course,” Aristotle answers. “I’m just their guide.”

Senona turns back to address the other three, but ends up focusing on Andrei in particular. “There are more here than there appears to be.”

Andrei is surprised. “Uh, yeah. We are six in one.”

Senona breathes deeply, and considers the situation. “Six consciousnesses, one body. Six wishes.”

“We appreciate the accommodation,” Andrei says with a slight bow. “That’s very magnanimous of you. A lesser god would not see it that way.”

Senona laughs. “We don’t use that term. Anyway, it’ll make it easier for us to talk if I separate you out first.” They lift their hand, and wave it towards the Clavia body. It disappears, only to be instantly replaced by Ingrid Alvarado, Onyx Wembley, Killjlir Pike, Andrei Orlov, Ayata Seegers, and Debra Lovelace. They’re all in their own bodies, just like they’ve wanted for so long.

And they’re surprised too. They inspect their new substrates, confirming with each other without speaking that they all look exactly as they’re meant to. “Whose wish was that?” Ingrid asks.

Senona is taken aback. “That wasn’t a wish. That was just...maintenance. You still have six.” They address the group as a whole. “To clarify, there are eight qualifiers here. You get eight wishes. You don’t really have to decide whose is whose. I’ve had people come here in groups who collectively all want the same thing, so it’s been more collaborative than individual. It’s all up to you. To further clarify, it’s not magic. What I just did for you, I did with the aid of someone with the tools to make it happen. Just because you can imagine it, doesn’t mean there is anyone in the bulkverse with the requisite tools. If I cannot accomplish what you ask, we’ll work together, and determine something that I can. You have all the time in the world to come up with your ideas.”

“A benevolent god,” Clavia decides.

“A benevolent person,” Senona corrects, “with, as I said, a set of tools. My tools are to find other people’s tools. I sense great power in all of you. I ask, on the side, that you make yourselves available to lend your talents to me in the pursuit of other people’s wishes. I don’t demand it of you, but it would be appreciated.”

“Maybe this is where we’re supposed to be,” Echo whispers to Clavia.

“Maybe,” she whispers back.

“Can we ask questions without them being wishes?” Onyx pipes up.

“Sure!” Senona agrees.

“His wish.” Onyx jerks his head towards Aristotle. “How’d you do it? And can you do it again?”

“Oh, that. I hooked him up with one of the most powerful entities in the bulk. You call me a god...”

“You did?” Aristotle asks. “I don’t remember that.”

“You wouldn’t,” Senona contends. “You didn’t actually meet him. I more just passed the message along.”

“Who was it?”

Senona smiles, but doesn’t answer.

“I think I know who you’re talking about,” Clavia guesses. She too doesn’t say it out loud, though. It would explain everything. He has omnipotent power over everything that happens in Salmonverse, all of its child universes, and reportedly a number of other branes beyond those. It’s a bit of a deus ex machina for him to exercise that control to the degree he needed to in order to make the Reconvergence happen, and to rescue everyone from four of the five original realities. So it’s unclear why he wouldn’t simply make it a non-issue, but she can’t question his judgment, lest he use his authority against her in some way.

It’s probably for the best that she not investigate further, the man she’s talking about concurs from his bed on a Thursday night. The only question now is whether he would be willing to do it again. Honestly, he’s still debating it.

Okay, it’s been a few hours for him, and he’s ready with his decision, but they’re not going to be happy about it. They’ll do it, though, because that’s what it’s going to take to end the Reality Wars once and for all. Senona receives his message telepathically, and they don’t like it either. “That is not how it works here. It goes against the spirit of everything that we’ve built.”

It’s a sacrifice.

“It’s unreasonable!” they shout back.

It’s too big for one wish.

“Someone once asked me for a sandwich!” Senona argues.

That one was too small for a wish. I can’t control their choices.

“You literally can!”

“Should we try to help?” Killjlir offers.

“Shh,” Ingrid warns. “It’s far too dangerous for us to get involved.”

“It’s not just about the number of wishes,” Senona goes on. “You’re asking them to leave everything they’ve ever known behind. You’re asking them to never see their loved ones again.”

They all hail from a universe where death is less profound, and more of a joke. From my perspective, as much as I’ve put them through, they’ve had it easy. Everyone I’ve ever known has either died for good, or will relatively soon. I shed no tears for these people, and neither should you. Are you going to do it, or make eight sandwiches instead?

Senona frowns with a level of rage that they have not felt in a long time. “I’ve had enough of your editorializing. You can stop inserting yourself into the story, thank you very much. I’ll talk to them myself.” They take a breath, centering themselves. “Based on the half of the conversation that you could hear, I’m sure that you can mostly guess what the stipulations are for your wish. He’s turned me into a liar, because if you ask for the wish that we’ve already discussed, you won’t get seven more. You won’t get any more. This one wish counts for all eight.”

“We understand,” Echo says. “It’s up to the whole group, though. It must be unanimous. Even Debra has to agree.”

“That’s not all,” Senona goes on. “You can’t live there, in your new universe. You can’t live in Salmonverse either, or any of its other offshoots, in fact. You’ll either be staying here, or going somewhere else.”

“Can we...stick together?” Ayata asks, glancing over at her love, Andrei.

“Truthfully, I don’t know,” Senona says. “I’ve become little more than a mouthpiece. It’s all up to him this time. And he reserves the right to change his mind at any time.”

“What a dick,” Debra muses.

“Debra! Jesus Christ!” Clavia shouts. “You’re gonna get us all killed!”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Debra dismisses it with a flick of her hair.

Senona clears their throat. “I’m receiving a new message. I’m told to ask if any of you know someone by the name of Ezqava ‘Effigy’ Eodurus.”

No, they all answer in one way, or another.

“He says...exactly.” Senona finishes.

Echo literally shivers.

They’re all tired of arguing about this, so they put it to a vote. To everyone’s surprise, what they figured would only be the first attempt turns out to be unanimous. They all want to avert the Reality Wars, even if it means not being around to witness the fruits of their labor. They have all been working towards this end for so long, it’s absolutely worth it. It would be selfish of them to try to find some kind of loophole. Debra doesn’t really have this same sentimentality, but she goes along with the plan, because she believes herself to be powerful enough to find a workaround later. And the reality is that she might be right. That has not yet been decided.

They don’t know where the others are gonna end up yet, but Echo and Clavia are going to remain here at Origin. They can do a lot of good, fulfilling visitors’ greatest desires, and making countless worlds better. It’s a great use of their gifts now that their primary goal of saving the Sixth Key is complete. They only asked for one thing in addition to the wish itself, which is to be given some kind of proof that this hasn’t all been for nothing, and that the wish will indeed be fulfilled. I can agree to that. I don’t need any more pushback from any of them, and would like to remove myself from the narrative. Clavia is right, that it’s a deus ex machina, and while that’s a very useful trope in some cases, it’s not something that should be overutilized, or the story essentially becomes meaningless, and a waste of time.

The Reality Wars will be stopped, and everyone who wants to live in the new universe will be automatically transported to it without fuss. All year, I’ve been trying to figure out what its name should be, and I think I’ve finally settled on the right one. In keeping with the motif of placing them in numerical order, it must necessarily follow The Seventh Stage. The result is unremarkable, and strangely simple. I’m calling it...The Eighth Choice.

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Microstory 1790: Mateo Daily

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First off, I probably could have figured out how to squeeze in one more constellation to round out the year, but I wanted to take this opportunity to talk about my plans for next year. I’m going to be doing something wildly different with my macroseries, The Advancement of Mateo Matic. So far, I’ve mostly been writing one installment per week. The first one didn’t come out until the middle of March in my first year, so it only has 42 installments. In fact, I actually doubled up on one day, because I hate the number 41. The next year was pretty normal, but the third year, while there were 53 Sundays, I still only did 52 installments, because I skipped a week for narrative reasons. Ever since then, though, I’ve been able to keep to a steady routine of 52 installments per year. That is all about to change, but not permanently. Everything will hold to convention for the first 24 weeks. Mateo’s story will continue as you would expect, year by year. So too will my current Saturday mezzofiction series, Extremus. I have two microfiction series lined up as well. The first is a return to my Vantage Points multiseries, which will give way to 14 original sonnets. I’m scared about that last one, but hopefully I’ll come up with some good stuff by then. The last sonnet will post on June 10. The last entry in the second volume of Extremus will post on June 11. A new installment for TAMM will be on June 12, but I’m not yet sure how long it’s going to be, or whether the official changeover will happen the following day, where you will find...another installment of The Advancement of Mateo Matic. The next day, there will be another, and then another, and so on.

Throughout the rest of the year, I’ll only be posting TAMM stories. No mezzofiction, and no microfiction. Though, because expecting myself to write 2,000 words—give or take—every day is unreasonable, they will be shorter than usual. I’ll probably do at least 600 words, but I’m not sure yet. I’m not holding myself to anything that restrictive. Each one will take place a day after the last, as we follow Mateo and the team through their latest adventures. They’ll probably be more subdued, and less intense. They’ll probably be family-oriented, with less action. They might read like diary entries. Again, I don’t know yet. I have to get to that point before I really know where the story is going. I serve the story, not the other way around. There is a reason why the team will fall off their pattern, and a reason why it will last them a full year, but I’ve decided to not give that away just yet. If I had chosen to start this in January, I might have said something, but since it’s so far out, I call that a spoiler. This new posting method will continue until the middle of July 2023 when I start a new microfiction series called Conversations, and begin volume 3 of Extremus. I will also get back to the weekly installments of TAMM, and while the story will continue to evolve, I presently have no intentions of altering the posting schedule further. I think I messed up the math, so we’ll see what it looks like when I finish working on the calendar, but I’m sure it will be fine. Speaking of math, I came up with this in my first year, before I had tampered with Mateo’s pattern, so this felt like a much more dramatic change. Since then, he and Leona haven’t always jumped forwards each day anyway. Still, I’m excited, and I hope you are too. This started as a working title, but it’s the best I’ve come up with. I’m obviously calling it...Mateo Daily.

Microstory 1688: Unstable Universes

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Perhaps now is a good time to talk about brane stability. Not all universes are created equal. Some are naturally occurring, while c-branes are created in someone’s dreams. Most dreams last for only minutes before they end, and unless something else steps in to maintain the dreamworld, the universe that was born out of it will collapse as well. Even if the dream is strong enough to survive, that doesn’t mean it will last forever. It is only as strong as the people who are responsible for it. What does this mean? Well, if the dreamer continues to deliberately explore the new world, it can last longer. If they create something semipermanent from it, like a written story, or even a painting, that can make it last even longer. If this art reaches some kind of audience, that can make it last indefinitely. The most popular stories make for the most stable universes. They have room to expand, and become more detailed, and most importantly, interesting. They might also be able to survive on their own merits, by the force of will of their inhabitants, but this is fairly rare. I was expecting to give you another story about the universe where zombies take over the world only briefly before dying out, but like Vacuumverse, there is nothing more I can say. The events that occurred here did not follow any level of logic, and the inhabitants weren’t strong enough to hold up their story on their own. History began the moment zombies were first created, and ended centuries later when civilization was all but rebuilt. Little happened in the meantime, and nothing happened afterwards. The whole universe collapsed under its own unstable insignificance, and that’s all you need to know.

Microstory 1673: Written in a Vacuum

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I am meant to talk about Vacuumverse again, though there is nothing more that I can say. When I started this series, I didn’t think I could come up with 100 universes. The majority of them would have to be new. Well, I didn’t, I only came up with 50, and while there are multiple microfiction series set in this one, I think pretty much the whole story has been told. I could explain how some people figured out that the Earth was about to drop out of orbit around the sun, but I don’t actually know how they did that. So, why don’t I just skip this one, and leave it at that? Some stories are more interesting than others, and I don’t want to waste your time on something that is not going anywhere, and has no potential beyond what has already been said. I created Vacuumverse to fill a slot, inspired by stories I had originally intended to be neither connected to each other, nor canonical. It is barely worth the effort, which is why I’m not even going to bother finding a reasonable photo to go along with it. Tomorrow, I’ll get into a story about Hypothetiverse, which is more fun, and it will be a lot longer to compensate for this.

Microstory 800: Dreams (Introduction)

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Dreams! (dreams, dreams) Dr-dr-dr-dreams! I’ve been posting my dreams on a special Twitter account since October of 2010. The point was to not only remember my dreams, and develop better control over my thoughts, but to engage my creativity. I did it for a little while before stopping, and I believe I picked it up a few times over the years, before recently deciding that I needed to be more diligent with it. As I was working on the future of my website, I came up with my idea for the 900 series, because the number fit well, but that meant I had nothing for 800, and obviously I can’t focus too much on ten steps from now, I need to know what I’m doing before that. Adapting my dream tweets seemed like the most reasonable use of this space, especially since I amassed enough of them to pick the absolute best ones, so that’s what you’re going to get now. It’ll be a nice break, because I realized I don’t have to come up with photos that match the topics I’m writing about. All I need to do is slap a screenshot of the original tweet, and that should be enough to catch your eye on social media links. It’ll also be nice because I have for a while now been beholden to my own canons, but now I can stretch my legs, and come up with stories free from these narrative constraints. I don’t even have to follow any set of physical laws, because you can literally do anything in dreams, even create stable paradoxes. I’m conflicted about my feelings towards this series. A part of me worries that any one, or more, of them could give rise to a new franchise that I had not been planning to do. Another part of me is excited for this possibility. This could get complicated. I think that’s pretty much all I need to say about this, as it’s a fairly easy concept to grasp. Every time I write one of these, I’m gonna be listening to a playlist of songs I like that involve the topic of dreams, just so you know how committed I am to my trade.

Microstory 783: Joy Girl

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I wanted to take a moment clear a few things up about my approach to sexuality in my stories, because the way they do things in these worlds may be a bit confusing. As I believe I’ve said before, homosexuality has never been condemned on these so-called “fictional” worlds. People tend to identify as bisexual, recognizing sexual acts as independent of love and/or procreation, but not always. But this sex positive position goes deeper than the acceptance of diversity. In our world, we have strong opposition to certain positions, like exotic dancing, pornography, and prostitution. Even the word pornography means “obscene painting”. Likewise, the word prostitution has a longer history of referring to dishonorable harlots than it does the job itself, meaning you could be called that in the 16th century as an insult, before sex workers adopted it the term more formally. But that’s just us, and it’s not how it has to be. In other universes, these people are respected for their dedication to their trade as much as a stockbroker, or a coal miner. Dancers and adult film performers are treated as artists, who provide a necessary and specific contribution to the world of entertainment. Similarly, sex workers provide a service for clientele in a more intimate, and usually private, setting. They don’t use that vile word, instead choosing to be known as paramours, which carries with it an interesting linguistic twist, in that it’s a portmanteau of para + amour, signifying their status as more ‘parallel’ to love, rather than in true love. There’s a lot of stigma surrounding these jobs, a lot of it evidence of ignorance. They say that the only reason a woman would walks the streets is because of some psychological trauma they’ve been unable to come to terms with by “healthier” means. The most common of these claims is daddy issues, but setting aside my fiction for a moment, I want everyone to look at their wall and see if there’s a fucking psychology degree on it. If there is, I then want you to look back at your records and check if you ever even had a fucking conversation with these women to make a reasonable conclusion about their motives or history. To be more general, let’s all take what any pundit or commentator says about the mental capacity of a politician, celebrity, news subject, or subculture, with a grain of salt, and appreciate the fact that that is not goddamn how science works. To be sure, this stigma does not exist in my stories, and I do this to illustrate how our world could look like if you rethought your judgy intolerance for one second. People claim there’s a lot of abuse, danger, a drugs attached to these jobs, and that’s true. But those are peripheral consequences of the laws and opposition towards them, not the industries themselves. If these things were both legal, and socially accepted, plus regulated, do you think those actual crimes would continue? Localized data suggests otherwise. This became more of a tirade against our (in)justice system, when I set out to simply codify my narrative canon, but if even one person starts questioning their judgy attitudes towards other people’s choices, then maybe I’ve helped, even only in some small way. This story is dedicated to all the joy girls out there, empowered by their sexuality, not ashamed of it. They are the best kind of wild cards.

Voyage to Saga: Base Reality (Part XII)

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“People keep saying that, what exactly does that mean?” Vearden asked. All these little nicknames that people who could manipulate time give to themselves. They seemed so...self-serving. Who does that? “Do you run a school district, or something?”

“No, nothing so reputable,” the Superintendent responded. “Superintendent, not as in a leader; superintendent, as in I fix things. I don’t run these universes, I just make sure they run themselves.” He held his hand up pseudo-defensively. “But please, you may call me Gaius. It’s not my real name, I just like it.”

“Very well. And this is.....base reality? What exactly does that mean?”

It didn’t seem like Gaius had a good answer for that one. He paused for a second. “I don’t wanna say anything that’s going to make you feel unimportant, but let’s just say that your universe sprouted from mine, and relies on mine’s continued existence in order to exist itself.”

No good response. “O...kay.”

“Now. Ya’ll ready for this?”

“That sounds like a reference,” Vearden said.

Gaius smiled again. Then he lifted a normal black pen and clicked it once. Suddenly, Vearden knew what he was talking about. That was a lyric from a pop song. Why was he not able to remember that upon first hearing it? He shook it off as Gaius was continuing on with his introduction. “Tell me—and remember that I know the truth, because I know literally everything about you—have you ever heard of a deus ex machina?”

“Yeah,” Vearden answered honestly. “It’s when there’s no logical reason for something to happen in a story, but the writer just decided it would.”

“That’s right. It’s not a good thing. Critics frown upon it. I am no different, but I have recently found myself using them. Now, what I’ve done here is an interesting case. I didn’t actually require a deus ex machina, but what I did require was a series bridges. I needed connections between the universes in my domain, and fortunately, you’re genetically predisposed to that sort of thing. I needed you to establish your presence in these realities so that I could more easily enter them whenever I need to. And in order for this to work, you needed to have a profound effect on the narrative, rather than just sitting back and watching.”

“Can’t The Shepherd do that? She’s the one who brought me here.”

“Well, she can only get me halfway. Yes, she can open windows to other universes, but she can’t establish herself in them. She can barely cross the threshold. That’s why you never actually saw her in one of them with you.”

“But she—”

He cut Vearden off, “went into that last reality? Yes, now she’ll be able to go to any universe that you have created bridges for, as will your wife and the scientist, or anyone else, really. You see what I’m going for here? Vearden, you’re a doorwalker. For a period of time, you were the doorwalker. You just created the Gretchen and Danuta team. They’re going to be very important to me down the line.”

“I see. Almost.”

“Close enough.”

“So can you give Saga back to me now?”

“I could, but I still need your help with a few things.”

“What might that be?”

He opened his arms to present his surrounds. They weren’t all that appealing. His apartment wasn’t too small, but it was dirty and old; not the best place to live. “I’m not lovin’ where I am in my life. I don’t expect a mansion, or anything, but I could do with a few upgrades. You can help me with that. I’m even more powerless than the Shepherd. I can’t usually personally experience anything but linear time. You’re my loophole.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Just go back in time and make a few changes.”

“Then I get Saga?”

“That’s right, Vearden, you get Saga. Jesus.”

“No, I don’t need him. I just need her.”

“Ha-ha.”

“What do I do?”

“First, don’t be afraid. We need to form a bond.” Gaius stepped closer and pressed his lips against Vearden’s, while holding him in a tight embrace. After a few seconds, he released and stepped away.

“What are you, a crossroads demon?”

“It’s either that, or you drill into my skull and touch my brain with your finger.”

“Is that true?”

He shrugged ambiguously. “Maybe.” He nodded towards the closet door Vearden had just come out of. “Open the door, and my mind will navigate to the proper point in space and time.”

Vearden did as he was asked. The doorway turned into a portal to reveal a child’s playground on the other side of a chain link fence. A young girl, and a young boy, were wandering around near the portal, which the girl ignored. It was unclear if the boy could see into the room, but he could definitely sense their presence. He started examining the edges of the portal, trying to understand it.

Gaius watched the boy intently. “I become my own inspiration.” He then redirected his attention to Vearden. “Close it.”

Immediately after Vearden shut the door, it transformed into a different door. In fact, they were standing in a totally different room, which looked like it was in a different apartment. It was much nicer. They had just altered history. “Is that it?” he asked.

Gaius thought for a moment. “Not quite. Open it again.”

Now they were looking at a teenager standing in the hallway of a school. The teen could definitely see them. He eyed them both carefully. Gaius leaned forward and said, “leave her alone.”

“Who?” the teen asked.

“You know.”

“Okay.”

Vearden closed the door again. It didn’t change. “That was you, right? I mean, he looked exactly like you. He didn’t seem that surprised to be seeing an older version of himself.”

“I would never be surprised by something like that. Rule Number Zero, act like ya been there. Again.”

Vearden opened the door. The same teen was there once more, but he looked a few years older. He was standing on what appeared to be a farm, gently petting a cow. Young Gaius, or whatever his name was, waved at them from the other side of the portal. Older Gaius gave further instructions. “You need to find a clever way of getting out of this. This is all well and good, but something is about to happen, and you need to be back home when it does. When it happens, you’ll know, and it is where you go next that you’ll truly find yourself.”

“How am I supposed to—” young Gaius asked.

“Make it seem like their idea. Make yourself...look...not well. Use the only skill you and I have.”

Young Gaius nodded understandingly. “I have a few ideas.”

Vearden closed the door, and it transformed dramatically this time. They were standing in a prison cell.

“Ssshhhit!” Gaius cried. “That idiot. Again.”

Vearden didn’t want to be in here any more than Gaius did, so he gladly took the handle. It didn’t budge.

“Oh my God. Of course. Why wouldn’t it be locked, I’m a criminal!” Gaius started scratching at a tattoo on his shoulder that hadn’t been there before. “Okay, I think this can work if we time it right.” He started banging on the door and screaming to the guards. “Hey, boss! Help! Help!”

“Open eleven!” the nearest guard commanded.

Gaius had his own command. “Now!”

Vearden pulled at the pocket door just as the buzzer rang out, releasing it from the locks. They were once again standing before the farm, but it was now nighttime, and the younger Gaius was searching for something.

“Oh, hey, a goat got loose. Would you be able to find him?”

“Dude,” the older Gaius said to his younger self. “Not that idea. You take it way too far. Just keep it simple.”

Young Gaius peers into the prison cell. “Yikes, okay, got it.”

Vearden closed the door, and they were now standing in a house.

“Hmm,” Gaius said to himself. “All right, I know what to do.” He prepared himself mentally, then nodded. “Go.”

The Gaius on the other side was probably negligibly younger than the older one. It was like they were just looking into a mirror, because it was the exact same house, with no change in furniture. “What now?” a frustrated younger Gaius asked, almost rhetorically. “What did I do wrong this time?”

“Don’t argue with them. I know it sucks, and I won’t lie, the television service in the new place is probably going to be the worst you’ve experienced in recent times. You have to tough it out, though. Your relationship with your parents is more important, and it’s a better house, so just agree to it.”

“Fine!” the younger Gaius reached in through the portal with an attitude and slammed the door shut himself.

“I didn’t he could do that.”

“He’s operating on a lot of energy right now.”

Vearden finally looked around. They were standing in yet another place. This was indeed superior to the previous one. It had two floors.

Gaius took a deep breath and muttered, “car.” He then spoke to Vearden, “you can take my old car, but you’re gonna have to get me a new one. Well...a new old one.”

“Is this the last job?”

“Second to last one. I promise. With this one, you won’t be seeing a younger version of me. I’ve never met the person who lives there. I just want her car.”

Vearden hesitated.

“I’m going to buy it, not steal it. Calm down and open the portal.”

He obliged, revealing a dining room table covered in documents. Gaius reached in a took a set of car keys. “Close it up real quick.”

“You said you weren’t going to steal it.”

“I’m not, I’m just hiding her keys so she agrees to sell it to me. Oh, don’t give me that look. She’s not allowed to drive anymore anyway.”

“How would hiding her keys make all that happen?”

“You stick to what you know, and I’ll stick to manipulating reality to create my own future? Kthx, byeee.”

“Who is this woman?”

“None of your business. Close the door, and then open it again. Or do you not want to get Saga back?”

Knowing he had no choice, Vearden closed the door for a second, then reopened it. They were now in a bedroom that had the same architecture as the dining room. Gaius reached through and dropped the keys into a purse.”

“That’s it?” Vearden asked as he closed the door for yet another time. “I’m free?”

Gaius picked up a piece of paper and started scribbling something on it. He then handed it to Vearden. “Go to this listing and request to take a look at the car they’re selling. Then buy it, no matter the condition. The car will take you to Saga.”

“Can’t you just—?”

“Vearden, I need the car to be at a certain place at a certain time so it can be used for something important. If it makes you feel any better, if you don’t do this, Mateo dies.”

Vearden nearly gulped at this.

“Buy the car, drive to Saga, and leave the car exactly where it is when she appears. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Here, take my old phone so you can call the sellers.”

“No,” Vearden said. He was remembering what the insane doctor who had given him a lobotomy once said. There was a moment when he was different, like he had changed into someone else, and it was then when he warned Vearden to accept only the car and Saga from the Superintendent. “I don’t want the phone.”

Gaius studied his face for a good long while. He then put the phone in his pocket, coming back with the pen from before. “I’ll make the change.” He clicked the pen. “Now go forth.”

Vearden completed his final tasks, ultimately buying a piece of crap old Toyota Camry from a lovely couple. As he was driving it down the road, the scene changed, and he found himself in the middle of a jungle. Gaius, the Superintendent hadn’t lied. There she was, waiting for him with that beautiful crooked smile. He jumped out of the car and tackled her into a bear hug.

She laughed.

“Oh, Saga, how I’ve missed you. It’s been years for me. The Pentagon thing probably only felt like yesterday to you.”

“Actually, no,” Saga said in her sweet and comforting voice. “I feel a deep sense of emptiness. I don’t remember being anywhere, but I know I wasn’t here, and I know I’ve missed a lot.”

He hugged her again. “Then let’s go find a way back home, and get you caught up.”

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 483: Floor 2 (Part 2)

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I’m going meta again. For Floor 2? Meta!? Say whaaa—? Let me explain. The thing is that nothing happens on the second floor after Alpha’s death. Why is that? Well, the lobby is actually two stories high. An atrium runs from the bottom, almost all the way to the top, which allows people on the higher floors to conceivably see what’s going on below, but there are still rooms. Everybody works on the outer side of the building, and the atrium is really just to have a nice view, like a courtyard, but without a sky. I’ve talked more about architecture on this site than you ever thought I would, eh? Anyway, like I said, the second floor is different. It doesn’t have rooms on the outer side. It just overlooks the lobby, but doesn’t otherwise serve any real purpose. That’s why there can’t actually be any action here. In the first part, someone happened to be standing there, but once the building went into lockdown, everybody was removed from the first two floors, and ordered to remain away from the view of the atrium. So that explains why I keep bringing up the lockdown without actually depicting the announcement of it. Sorry if that was confusing. Here are a few other things you need to know. I titled each installment in the first half as “Part 1” which sort of locked me into this motif, but now I’m regretting it, because Part 2 wasn’t always a logical continuation of the greater story being told. I came up with the idea of witnessing the events of every floor in a building as a man falls from the roof a long time ago, and did not mean for it to have anything to do with time travel, let alone insert it into the salmonverse. It carries with it a connection to the Serkan Demir series, which was another story originally intended to stand alone. I’ve talked very little about where the hell the thirteenth floor is, and what it does. Obviously, I don’t have space for it here, but I do have plans to explain it in greater detail. But for that, you’ll have to buy (for free) my book. I intend to release it sometime in 2017; I don’t have that in front of me right now. No, I can’t just look it up; I’m on a deadline! I don’t even think I’ll have time to read this agoain and revvise it.