Microstory 2462: Aztec Empire

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My girlfriend dragged me to this place. She’s all in on this historical BS, and I couldn’t be less interested. I’m writing this anonymously because she won’t let us leave, and I cannot even with this guy. He keeps talking about their traditions and customs, but I just don’t care. I’m telling her that I’m looking up extra information about the Aztecs, so you’re my excuse. Just be cool, okay? Be cool. I will say that it is nice here. Like, they did a good job making it feel like you traveled through time to ancient Aztecia, or whatever you’re supposed to call it. I’m sorry, I’m not listening to him. There are a few weird things. The androids who are programmed to believe that they’re Aztecs mostly ignore you. They just go about their day like you’re invisible. Something the guide will say will sometimes trigger them to respond in some way that is relevant. For instance, the guide mentioned how a man would court a woman, and then we would see that play out off to the side. I didn’t notice they were doing that right away, but I guess that’s a nice touch. It’s like they’re a part of this elaborate show, but they don’t realize it, because everything is so well-timed. Anyway, a few of the androids seemed to be breaking character, or they were just straight up broken, because they did seem to notice us. One kid just kept staring at me. I looked over my shoulder to see if there was anyone or anything else, but nothing. I moved over to the side to see if his eyeballs would follow me, and they did. At one point, he pointed right at me, and mumbled something in whatever language they spoke. I had kind of fallen behind the tour at that point, so no one else saw. My girlfriend didn’t even completely believe me about it. It was creepy, but honestly, it made the trip that much more interesting. Well, no. It made it slightly more tolerable. That’s a better way to put it. Come here, don’t come here, I don’t care. Just don’t stray from the pack, lest you be cursed by some evil shaman child. Beware.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 13, 2398

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As far as anyone knows, there are no special temporal locations in or around Munich, Germany in any reality. This is just one more step towards their goal of Croatia. They don’t want to be spotted in this area at all. It would defeat the purpose of having Angela pretend to be Marie, safe and sound stateside. This is just part of a contingency plan. Yes, maybe Marie Walton was in Europe, but it’s not because she was having an abortion. She was just enjoying some time off, and maybe she and her husband are having some marital problems, and this was just a little break from each other. Again, hopefully no one finds out, which is why she’s walking around in a sort of casual disguise, but there may come a point where fessing up to one lie is the only way to protect the true lie.

The trio checks into the hotel, where they’re given a three-room suite this time. They agree to do their own thing for the rest of the day. None of the landmarks interest any of them. Actually, Marie already had a vacation here two years ago, and saw just about everything she wanted to. She’s remaining in her room, meditating on what she’s about to do. Ramses is buried in his work, analyzing the data from the Bermuda Triangle water, and whatever else he has up his sleeve. That leaves Mateo to wander the city, hoping to get lost for a few hours. That’s precisely what happens, but just because he’s lost, doesn’t mean he can’t be found. Across the street, he spots a familiar face, staring back at him with serious eyes. For half a second, as a bus passes between them, threatening to spirit the vision away, he questions his own sanity. Then the vehicle moves on, and the light turns green.

She maintains eye contact as she crosses, and approaches. “How was your flight?” she asks him in a suddenly British accent. “Or did you stay on the water?”

“What happened to your voice, forger?”

“This is my real voice,” she responds. “Not many hear it. I never needed anyone being able to narrow the search for me using superficial characteristics, like my place of origin, or natural hair color.”

“Why would you let me hear it?” he questions.

“Because it’s time you learn the truth about who I am, and why you’re here.”

“Why I’m here has nothing to do with you,” Mateo insists. “Please leave.”

“No, you chose the location, and I respect that. We were hoping you would end up in Türkiye, but we can work with this. There’s an important enough mission in this area too. I would like more prep time to pull it off, but based on your experiences with the traffickers, I believe you can get up to speed quite quickly.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re intelligence.”

“Not exactly. You’re intelligence, and so is your wife. I’m just adjacent, which is why I was able to place the two of you in your respective positions of authority. I have my own background, though, which prevents me from making certain moves—”

“Blah, blah, blah, you needed an outsider. Blah, blah, expendable. Something, something, something dark side.”

She smirks. “That’s a reference, isn’t it?” She sticks her tongue under her upper lip. “You’re from the future.”

“Excuse me?”

“That’s why you don’t have an identity. That’s why you struggle with pop culture, but seem to have a set of your own. You and your friends are from the future.”

Mateo drops into a paranoid demeanor. “Clever girl, not many have found out. Timey-wimey, wibbly wobbly. But if you know, then you’re now in more danger than you can imagine. I’m one of the good ones, but we’re not all like that. If they find you, they will kill you, or worse...erase you from existence.” Okay, this is all actually somewhat plausible. Such forces are real, but it’s just that they don’t seem to live in this world. “I can get you to safety, but you have to do exactly as I say. Do you have any aluminum foil?”

She looks down her cheek at him. “Oh, you had me for a second, you sly dog. You sexy, sly dog, you.”

“Sexy?”

“What? Did you think my attraction to you was just part of the act?”

“One can always hope,” he replies.

“It is you who should come with me and learn the secrets. We have a job for you to do, and there is no time to waste. You will meet the team.”

“Yeah, you seem to be pretty convinced that what you say I should do is just what I’m going to do, as if choice has nothing to do with it.”

“It really doesn’t,” she says.

He stands there a moment, considering his options.

“We really must go,” she urges.

“You have a man on the inside.”

“Inside what?”

“That merc team who had the plan to free the refugees. Either they’re all your people or at least one of them is.”

“Yes, that’s how we know what happened to you. You didn’t think that a bunch of ex-soldiers randomly approached you, and forced you to help, did you?”

He shakes it off, “fine. My point is that you read a report. You know what we did.”

“Okay, yeah...” she trails off.

“But you don’t know how.”

“No, we were hoping to debrief you, perhaps after this next mission.”

“Oh, I can just tell you right now.”

She’s intrigued. She’s very intrigued.

He tips his forehead towards her, and beckons her to do the same with one finger. When she leans in, he looks around to make sure they’re not being watched, and drops into a whisper. “We’re willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done, even if it’s unsavory...”

“Yeah,” she presses.

“Even if it hurts.” With that, he slides his pocket knife into his gut where his left kidney used to be before he gave it to an alternate version of Leona. He gasps, but doesn’t scream. He leaves the blade in, and applies pressure. He turns around, arches his back a little, and stumbles away from her. It’s not long before passersby begin to notice that something is wrong, and then they see what is wrong. Good samaritans try to help, a couple of them catching him by the shoulders as he collapses to the ground. The crowd grows and grows. Somebody calls emergency services. He can’t see it, but he assumes that the mysterious forger-but-not-really is executing an exit strategy.

Microstory 1756: Bee of Paradise

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I’ve moved past the most traumatic experience of my life, and I’ve been able to reach some semblance of normalcy. I can’t say that it no longer affects me, but it at least no longer consumes me. I have prosthetic feet now, and while I can’t feel sensations down there anymore, I can walk just fine. I don’t even tell people my situation anymore, because it’s not relevant, and they can’t tell. I’m happy now. I have a better job than before, with better benefits. My boss calls me her busy bee, so she forced me to take a vacation, which is why I’ve agreed to this island getaway. I still find it rather difficult to trust others, which is one reason I’ve come alone, but I decided that I’m okay with that. This is about recharging my batteries, and remembering what I want out of life. It goes well at first, but then I start to get a bad feeling as I’m walking around the resort, and my excursions. I can’t point to an actual reason for my spidey senses sounding sirens, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. There is an evolutionary advantage to detecting the presence of a potential threat even when you can’t pin it down. Something or someone is out there who doesn’t want to be seen.  They’re watching me, and making me nervous. I keep telling myself that I might just be paranoid, but the sirens don’t go away. I really don’t think I’m making this up. I can’t ask for help, of course, because what is who going to do? The staff isn’t qualified to suss out a hypothetical stalker, and the police never help. I have no proof, just my instincts. I try to shrug it off, but the feeling grows worse, and I catch a glimpse of a shadow every once in a while. Finally, I cancel all of the activities I had planned for one day, and lock myself in the room. It’s not enough.

Presumably having decided he’s ready to show himself, my stalker breaks down the door, and enters my room. I didn’t come with pepper spray, or anything, so I’m helpless to fight him off. I head for the balcony, but I’m on the eleventh floor, so I don’t know where I thought I was going with that. It’s him. It’s the one who abducted me from my own home, and burned my feet so badly that they had to amputate both of them. They said they caught him, and he committed suicide by cop. How could they have been so wrong? Did they not look for evidence after the incident? Did they just assume they shot the right guy, and let it go? Who did they actually shoot? Obviously I shouldn’t be worrying about any of this right now; I just need to get away from him. I don’t know how he found me. I don’t even know what he wants with me, or how he knows me. But I know it’s the same man, and I know I can’t just run away. I won’t let him hurt me again, though. I’m going to fight back. I’m going to fight back hard. Not doing that before has been my greatest regret, and while I can’t go back in time and change it, I can do better this time. First, I scream. No one comes running before he manages to cover my mouth with his gloved hand, but that doesn’t mean they never will. It’s the off-season, but there are plenty of other guests here, and hopefully they’re not all at the bonfire. My attacker is stronger, so it’s not hard for him to overpower me, gag me, and start dragging me down the emergency stairs. My right foot gets caught on the edge of a step, and falls off, which gives me an idea. When we’re on a landing, I swing my left leg up, and take hold of my remaining foot. Hitting him once in the face is enough to get him to let go. Then I start bashing him over and over again until he stops moving. Only then does someone come to my rescue, but it’s too late. This time, I’m here to make sure he’s dead.

Extremus: Year 10

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When a Captain’s shift ends, that doesn’t mean that their responsibilities are over. It is a lifetime appointment, it’s just that their duties shift. When the 25th year of the journey begins, Halan will hand the reins over to someone else. This change in power is a complicated one, which involves a vote from the crew, a vote from the passengers, and Halan’s final say. Not everyone’s vote is equal, and the result can change even after an appointment has supposedly been made. There is a probationary period of one year, where the new captain must prove themselves capable of handling the job on a day-to-day basis. It is believed to be the best solution to the problem of there being no such thing as a captain’s apprentice, unlike other roles. Even then, Halan will not be finished. During that year, he will be known as the Admiral Pro Tem, and at the end of it, he’ll be automatically promoted to full admiralship. He will advise and guide the captain, and should he still be alive when the third captain is chosen, he will continue to serve the ship in this capacity. He’ll reserve the right to resume power if the circumstances deem it necessary. Multiple simultaneous admirals could mean multiple people fighting for this power, but the hope is that it will never come to that.

Halan will not be the first admiral that Extremus sees. There is already one in that position right now, who was sort of shoehorned in so that the First of Nine would have someone to consult in the way that he one day will himself. His influence over the crew is limited; more so than it will be for Halan in fifteen years. He’s not even allowed to interact with them very much, and his ability to assume power is far weaker than it will be for the same rank later. For this reason, Admiral Perran Thatch is rather bitter and grumpy about the whole situation. He wouldn’t have wanted to be captain himself—and was, in fact, unqualified, due to his age—but he expected a much higher sense of reverence from others than he’s been receiving. This is the first time Halan has stepped foot in his office since the day before launch ten years ago.

Alcohol isn’t very common anywhere in the stellar neighborhood. Earth never technically outlawed it, but it fell out of favor decades ago when healthier, and more sophisticated, ways of destressing became available, such as virtual relaxation therapy. The Asutahan humans developed no such luxuries, as they had to deliberately temper their technological advancement in order to avoid being detected by the white monsters. Still, relatively few people on this ship are old enough to have begun drinking by the time they were rescued, and returned to their home universe. Adhering to Gatewood’s dry policies was fairly easy for the majority of the population, and the practice has largely been eradicated here as well. Admiral Thatch is a major exception. He’s almost never seen without a drink in his hand.

He pours another glass, and tries to hand it to Halan. “Your father was a bootlegger.”

“He kept a bottle of bourbon under the counter for special guests. He didn’t drink himself, and neither did I.”

“Take it please.”

Halan reluctantly takes the glass, but just sets it down.

“If you’re here, it must be wildly important. Can’t hack it, can you? Micrometeoroids won’t stop knocking you down.”

Halan leans back in his chair to avoid showing the man any level of respect. He sighs, and waits to respond. “Was it you?”

“Was what me? The one who sent the meteoroids on a collision course? I dare say, I’m not that potent.” He smiled sinisterly.

“Were the one who tried to have me killed?” Halan clarifies.

Thatch is in the middle of attempting to take another sip, but it doesn’t reach his lips before he stops. “Who tried to kill you?”

Halan doesn’t want to answer, because he still doesn’t know the answer to his own question. This isn’t a formal interrogation, though, so he has to make it look like a moderately cordial conversation. “Old Man.”

“Old Man is gone,” Thatch states the obvious.

“I just found out that he may not have been working alone. Someone put him up to it. I don’t know what they offered him, because I don’t know who it was. Was. It. You?”

Thatch closes his eyes and scratches between his eyes too rigorously. “What would I have to gain by having you assassinated?”

“Perhaps you believe you could run this ship better than me?”

“My dear boy, you know the rules. Nothing would change about my job. I would just be reporting to someone else.”

“Maybe there’s someone else you would rather be reporting to.”

“I don’t much care for the announcer boy either.”

“Rita was my lieutenant when this happened.”

Thatch nods and watches his bookcase remain motionless. “Oh yes, I did like her quite a bit. She would have been a better choice for the seat all along, don’t you agree?”

Halan sits back up, and rests his elbows on the desk. “Maybe. We’ll never know, because she’s gone, and I’m still here, and I still don’t know who is out to get me.”

“You sound paranoid.” Thatch resumes his drinking.

“Paranoia is a delusion. I’m operating on facts. And the fact is that Old Man tried to hand me a tainted time traveling device, which would have banished me to who knows where. Now, we were not the best of friends. At the time, I considered it some kind of personal grudge. Today, the facts say otherwise. I have been quietly looking into the matter, speaking only to a few trusted individuals. I’m beginning to branch out to people I can’t trust...like you.”

Thatch isn’t perturbed by the old news that they do not like each other.

Halan goes on, “I am going to ask you again, and I want an actual answer; not a deflection.” He stands up and holds his fists against the desk, like he might try to push it through the floor. “Did you try to have me killed?”

Thatch sets his drink down, and stands to meet his accuser’s eyes. “Unequivocally...no.”

Halan takes a moment to study Thach’s face for any signs of deception. He’s not a particularly adept poker player, but he wouldn’t have been assigned this job if he weren’t at least somewhat decent at reading people. He sighs and steps back. “I almost wish it was you.”

Thatch picks his drink back up, but doesn’t sit down. “Why is that?”

“Because I would be confident in the belief that the conspiracy would end with you, on account of the fact that you’re not super popular around here. Anyone else who’s behind it is not working alone. I will never be able to trust anyone again.”

Thatch switches his glass to his left hand, so he can extend the right. “You can trust me, sir.” He sounds rather genuine. “I may be a bastard, but I’m a loyal bastard.”

Halan waits for a moment before taking the hand, and shaking it. “Just...be on the lookout for anything suspicious, or any whispers. I don’t need you going around asking questions. You’re about as subtle as a Maramon in the short grass.”

“Will do, boss.”

Halan leaves the room, only to experience the actually paranoid, possibly misguided, belief that Thatch immediately took out a communicator, reached out to his co-conspirator, and started discussing how they were going to handle this new complication. He keeps walking down the corridor, doing his best to convince himself that none of this is true, that Thatch was being sincere when he said he was on his side. Suddenly, a passenger appears from around the corner, freaking Halan out, and forcing an embarrassing sound to come out of his mouth.

“Terribly sorry, sir,” the passenger says. It’s Riltren Takeda. Halan doesn’t know that much about him, but he remembers how nice he was to Airlock Karen. He never could tell whether Rilten agreed with her anger about the mixup, or if he was just really good at pretending. He seems to be being nice right now, but is that an act. Is he just being polite so Halan doesn’t figure out his true intentions? What is he doing up here?

“What are you doing up here?”

“I was just on a walk,” Riltren answers.

“The track isn’t good enough for you?”

Riltren looks at his watch. “It’s pretty crowded this time of day, and I like to be alone. If I just wanted the exercise, I would probably use a stationary machine.”

Nah, he’s up to something. Nobody should be in this section of the ship unless they need to talk to Thatch, and no one needs to talk to Thatch unless they’re hatching a scheme together. Thatching a scheme. This is all very sus. Halan can’t trust anyone.

“Are you okay, Captain?” Riltren asks.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Halan shoots back at him.

“Forgive me for saying this, sir, but you don’t look so great. Why don’t you let me take you to the infirmary?”

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” Everything went black.

Lieutenant Eckhart Mercer is standing over his superior officer, watching him sleep. He actually looks rather comfortable, despite what must be a busy and tormenting nightmare. According to his neural readings, his brain is extremely active at the moment, but he is showing no such signs on the outside. “What the hell is wrong with him?”

“Frankly, we don’t know yet.” Dr. Ima Holmes is the Chief Medical Officer of the Extremus. Her duties are primarily administrative, despite what science fiction would have you believe. She’s only chosen to return to practice right now because it’s the Captain. “What unusual signs was he exhibiting before he collapsed?”

“I don’t know,” Mercer replies. “I wasn’t there, but a Riltren Takeda was the one who brought him in.”

“I’ve spoken with him. He believes the Captain was acting irrational and paranoid, but admits that he does not know the man personally, and can’t speak to the difference between usual and unusual behavior.”

“Why is the sedative not working? It should be calming his mind, as well as his body.”

“It should, yes. If this were purely psychological, that wouldn’t be possible, which is why I’m running a tox screen right now. The truth is that he’s out cold primarily due to whatever is causing this.”

“How long will this take?” he asks.

“Impossible to tell as of now. It could be permanent.”

Mercer breathes deeply, and continues to watch his boss not move a muscle. There’s nothing he can do about it. “I have Takeda locked in an interview room.”

“Okay...” Dr. Holmes begins, not sure what he means by that.

“If you could erase his memories, that would be great. I can work around it, but it would certainly make it easier.”

“Make what easier?” Now Dr. Holmes is worried.

“Did the Captain ever talk to you about something called The Façade Contingency?”

Dr. Holmes contorts her own face. “He had me look into the technology a few months before launch, which I complied with, but I took it as a joke. You’re not seriously suggesting...”

Mercer shakes his head. “The crew needs a captain. Whether they would believe it or not, so too do the passengers. If only his body were damaged, we could surrogate his mind into an android substrate, but since it’s his mind that’s the problem, someone is going to have to go out there and lead this mission...until you can bring him back to us.”

“Are you trying to seize power?” Dr. Holmes questions, this close to calling in a security team.

“Lieutenants are not the next in line for the job. The position was designed as temporary backfill.”

“Exactly,” she agrees. “Which is why this is highly irregular.”

“If Second of Nine were lying there in that bed, Halan himself would be able to step in and take his place, but we cannot trust the current Admiral to do the right thing. Someone has to take the Captain’s chair, and unless you can tell me he’ll be up and about by tomorrow morning, it has to be me, and it has to be right now.”

“Why can’t we tell people the truth?” It sure sounds like a reasonable suggestion.

“Because someone is trying to kill him, and until we figure out who, we need the guilty parties to expose themselves by trying again. I am a great decoy, because I already know what’s going on, and honestly, I’m more expendable than you might think. So strap me into whichever one of these machines is pertinent right now, and make me look like Captain Halan Yenant.”

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Microstory 1532: Those Nightly Noises

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I’ve never felt safe in this ________, but there’s never been anything I could do about it. It’s rent-controlled, and I can’t ________ to live anywhere ________. Plus, I work right down____, and that’s a perk I never thought I would ________ so attached to. Though, maybe I ought to stop ________ of that as a perk, because I’m ________ with it as long as I’m stuck in this ________. My dad always said that a ________ job is one you can ________ before you find another one. I think he’s probably right about that, because if I ________ tomorrow, I wouldn’t last more than a ________, and then I would really be in trouble. There are a lot of noises in this ________ that I can only hear at ________ when I’m trying to ________. It doesn’t matter when I go to ________; they always start about two ________ later. I suppose that’s what makes it so ________, because it feels like someone is ________ for a cue. Shortly after I ________ here, I was so paranoid about that possibility that I ________ this place apart, looking for surveillance ________. I didn’t find ____ing, but I am not getting my deposit ________, that’s for ________. I didn’t ________ destroy the place, but I did cause a ________ bit of damage. I don’t regret it either. Just because I couldn’t ________ out where these creepy ________ were coming from, or why they were there, doesn’t mean I’m confident everything is ________. I wish I could ask my great ________ what’s going on, but the only reason I live here is because she ________, and passed it on to me. She always took ________ of me, knowing that I needed a lot more help than the rest of the ________ in this family. There’s a little bit of friction ________ us because of it, but most of them understand that I’m ________ a slacker, I’m just not ____ly skilled at anything. I do try, and I give it my ________, and I work ________, and I contribute to the ________ as I can. That just happens to not be very much.

Anyway, back to those nightly noises. I’ve tried getting ________ of bed to hunt for them, but it never works. As soon as I step ________ enough away from my bed, they stop. And they’re not coming from my bed, if that’s what you’re ____ing. For some reason, I end up ________ to one of my customers about it, and she suggests there’s some kind of pressure sensitive ________ under my bed, which would be in____, but an explanation of the timing nonetheless. I actually go out and spend ________ on a dummy filled with sand. The ________ tells me I won’t be able to return it, but assures me I’ll find ________ of uses for it over the years. I’m not so ________, but I feel like the decoy should look humanoid, and I’m feeling ________ at this point. I place it on the ________ on the far side of my bed, and go about my day. When it’s time for ________, I wait for the ________ to begin, then carefully pull the dummy up to the bed with ________. The noises stop for a ________, apparently wondering why the bed is so much ________ now, but I gracefully step off, and move away. The noises restart, apparently satisfied with my ________. I quietly leave the ________, and go off to look for the noises. The sound leads me all the way ________, to where I ________, and into my boss’ ________. He’s crouched on his ________ like an animal, staring at the upper corner, and kind of purring, but also making gurgling ________. He’s watching this weird hologram that’s ________ in the air. It’s showing an image of my bedroom, using a ________ I could not find, which is somehow pointing directly at ________ bed. It appears to be quite soothing for him. The ________ feed seems to activate when the bed is occupied, but I still have no ________ why, what my boss is, or what exactly he’s getting out of this. Tomorrow, I’ll ask a ________ to come over to be the ________, so I can ________ what happens to my animal boss when the bed is empty. I wish I had ________ of that before.

Microstory 1192: Frank Delaney

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Frank Delaney’s life was full of heartbreak and death in any reality. Though he was not salmon himself, he was always somehow involved with them. There was one timeline where his mother died when he was sixteen, so he changed his last name to Williams, in honor of her. His father lived long enough to be proud of him for this, but then he died too. Frank went on to become a famous model-turned-actor, but apparently that was too much of a happy ending. In the following timeline, everything started to play out as it had before, but a mentally unstable time traveler altered the past, which ultimately led to Frank’s untimely death as well. There was a timeline where both his parents survived into old age, but he spent a not insignificant amount of his adulthood battling a pirate serial killer, and other nefarious individuals. His first wife died in a later timeline, while he died with her in the timeline after that, and this was something he knew was going to happen. When the current version of Frank Delaney was a child, he encountered a boy in the park who introduced himself as Zeferino Preston. Zeferino claimed that Frank’s death was part of destiny; that it was inevitable. Someone had gone back in time, and changed history. This historical event had nothing to do with Frank personally, but due to the butterfly effect, a series of other events were leading to his demise, and there was nothing he could do about it. Most children would either disbelieve the prediction, or be scared out of their minds about it. All evidence suggested Zeferino was intending for him to live the rest of his short life in paranoia, but that’s not what happened. Frank just learned to make the best out of every situation. He still didn’t know exactly when death would come. He met, and fell in love with, his wife, just as he was scheduled to. And when his time came, he accepted his death. He just wished Zeferino had been clearer about the nature of the incident. His wife died as well, and this spawned even greater changes to the timeline, which few could have predicted.

The Disappearance of Rothko Ladhiffe: Chapter Four

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I don’t know how fast whatever force that is swallowing up the city is moving. So I just start running, at first as fast as I can go, but I gradually lose energy until I’m just back to a walk. I keep going, though, until I reach the bus stop. I take the next bus that arrives that’s also headed for the opposite direction of the oncoming nothingness. It takes me to the central hub where I take a second bus going straight for the original library branch. I carefully look around. Ever since the librarian suggested that I have some intuition about when and where things are disappearing, I’ve become paranoid. I need to keep my eyes open, pay extra attention, and take note of anything, anything out of the ordinary.

Okay, so the numbers she recited to me obviously belong to the Dewey Decimal System. In fact, they seemed to be the very last ones possible, likely not going higher than a thousand. After taking a few mental photos of my surroundings, so I can cross-reference them with what I see later, I enter the stacks, and head for the last shelves. I find myself in a section labeled Extraterrestrial Worlds. Really? Aliens? I guess it could technically explain what’s going on here. It’s kind of the go-to explanation for phenomena that don’t make any sense. Aliens are too easy, because they can do anything. Their technology can be at whatever level suits the story. You don’t have to figure out how the antagonists somehow managed to turn garbage into edible food decades, or centuries, beyond the technological level of the rest of the world. You just have to decide how much smarter, or further in development, an alien race is. Was this it? Was this what she the mysterious librarian was trying to tell me? She didn’t tell me to look for a book, she just said to remember the numbers. If she wanted me to read a book itself, would she not have just given me the title? Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps she didn’t know.

I run my fingers across the books, looking for the right number, even though I know it’ll be the very last one. I pull the book out. Hotspots: A Look into Places of Great Power on Earth, and Beyond. It sounds to have more to do with this planet, than any other, but again, the librarian didn’t mention anything about reading a book. Still, what if that’s exactly what she meant? I have to exhaust all my options during the investigation. I read the whole thing cover to cover, including the copyright page, which might have held the name of someone I should contact, or a code of some sort. I just don’t know what I’m looking for, so it’s all relevant, until proven otherwise.

The book actually turns out to be a rather fascinating read, especially since I now know all this to be possible. The writers put forth a theory that there are many locations around the world, and in other worlds, where time doesn’t behave. They use the analogy of river, which is common to use when explaining time. In the river of time, water continually flows forward, but there are obstructions in it. Rocks, bends, branches hanging down; they can all distort the water’s motion. These things create, sometimes permanently, a spot where the water has to find a way around, above, or under. It still keeps going, it has to, but it’s still a change. Now the important part is that, once the water moves past any given barrier, it comes back together, and continues flowing normally. It is only that spot that holds any significance. A river is easy, as these impediments are obvious, even if they’re not immediately visible. Temporal hotspots, on the other hand, are a bit harder to explain. Why they exist is not something the writers claim to understand, instead assuming them to be as natural physical phenomena as rainbows, or wind.

They list all of the hotspots they knew about at the time of publishing, including Stonehenge (of course), Ayers Rock in Australia, and Easter Island. They speak a great deal on Kansas, claiming that the borders were drawn in order to protect the entirety of it. This theory has some holes in it when you consider that parts of Kansas City, Missouri apparently belong to the same category as all of it, but they just attribute this to political complications. The most interesting part of the book is the section on Springfield, Kansas. It talks about its connection to another world; one that is dark, unnamed, and void of all healthy life. Words, sentences, and even entire paragraphs in this section are completely blank. There is clearly meant to be text, but it’s been erased, likely by time itself. This much I understand, so it can’t be what the librarian wanted me to see.

After I finish reading it all the way through, I start flipping back through it, needing refreshers on some of the information. Besides this dark world we’re supposedly connected to, there’s also a planet that’s eerily similar to our own, but located in a galaxy nearly three million lightyears away. It also talks about Atlantis; how it’s located both on Earth, but also not. They consider it to be their greatest challenge, and hope to publish a second book, one dedicated exclusively to the mystery of Atlantis. Whether they end up doing this is anyone’s guess. This first one was released in...holy crap. How did I not see this before? I thought I read every word, but I somehow missed this. The book hasn’t even been published yet. It’s listed as being from 2017. How does a book travel seventeen years in the past? And why? And why here?

This was all very helpful, assuming any fraction of it is true, or rather at least will be true. Though I know that something is going in, I don’t know that these writers understand the reality more than I already do. I still have to continue looking for answers, and trying to find out how far the librarian wanted me to go. I pull a few of the other books off the shelf, and feel around. I’m searching for a note, or a safe deposit box key, or something else. There’s nothing there, so after taking stock of my surroundings to make sure they haven’t changed since I arrived, I decide to look into the catalog cards. I do the same here, in the drawer that would have led me to the Hotspots book, hoping to retrieve anything that can point me in the right direction. What I end up finding is something I don’t understand at first. In the back of the drawer is a hole, and there’s something sticking out from it. At first, I pull my hand back. I’m not a huge fan of spiders or snakes, so sticking my hand in dark spaces is never something I would do otherwise. I put on a brave face, though, and reach back into it. A young boy stops flipping through his own drawer to look at me funny.

“I think I lost my watch in here,” I lie.

He nods, then just leaves.

As I’m feeling the metal protrusion, I realize what it is. It’s a door with its knob removed, so all the guts and moving parts can be accessed. Back when I was searching for Escher Bradley, I ended up finding a doorknob in the invisible house that he disappeared from. This is it. How the librarian knew that I had this knob I don’t know. I’m just glad that I keep it with me at all times, rather than in my car, which no longer exists. I look around again, not checking my environment for changes, but just to see if anyone’s watching me. I don’t know what happens when I install this knob, but it’s best to keep it from public view.

The knob snaps onto the catalog door like a magnet, no screwdriver required. I look around one last time, then turn the knob. Either the entire catalog and I flip over a hundred eighty degrees, or the world itself does. It certainly feels like I’m standing on my head, even though my feet are still firmly planted on the ground. I soon learn that I am the one who moved when I notice where I am. It’s a cave corridor. Water is dripping upwards from a stalactite next to me. As soon as I remove the knob from its place, I fall down to the cave floor, slowly and safely. As extraordinary as what just happened was, now it’s done. Now I’m just standing in a wet cave, with no apparent place to go from here. It’s about half the size of a gymnasium, but I don’t see any corridors. But then a light begins to shine from a pool of water. I squint and approach it carefully. I think maybe it’s a magical alien tractor beam, but when I reach into the water, I discover that it’s just a flashlight. I pick it up to look for a way out, but something else catches my eye. I shine the light on the cave wall, trying to reflect it as much as possible so I can read the label on the bottom. RL. This is Rothko’s flashlight.

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Flurry: Déjà Vu (Part V)

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Serkan and Ace casually walked towards the exit. Ace had been right in that it was snowing outside, but it also wasn’t. It was like there were two different outsides outside; that of the present, and that of the future. They had to focus on one in order to block out the other, but they could always see that other in faded background view. It struck Serkan only then how strange their lives were. They were currently attempting to simply walk back into the future they came from in order to stop evil corporate executives from trying to control the weather. This was after some unseen force threw them back through time in the first place, which was something that apparently happened to them on the regular. This was their life now, and it didn’t feel weird, which was the weirdest part. This shouldn’t feel so normal.

Dismissing his brief existential dilemma, Serkan followed his boyfriend through the door...ending up still in 2013. “What happened?”

Ace stopped and jerked his head around like a pecking chicken. “We must have walked through the wrong one, like in Stonehenge.”

“Or we walked through it the wrong way, or at the wrong moment.”

“Let’s try it again.”

They went back into the mall. Through the glass doors, they could still see the dual time view. They agreed to concentrate all their focus on the winter dangerland, and try again. No, they were still in the past. They continued trying this several times, going through all of the doors methodically, and doing so at deliberately variable intervals. Pretty quickly, they drew a crowd of innocent bystanders who didn’t know what to make of it. One guy asked if they were here all week, and whether they needed a hat so that people could drop money into it for them. The crowd laughed and applauded playfully.

Ace bowed humbly.

“Thanks,” Serkan said to them with almost a curtsy.

“Did you just curtsy?” Ace asked after they finally left the mall to a world that was so 2013, determined to continue their mission in any way they could.

Serkan ignored his comment, and sighed. “What are we gonna do now?”

“We go to High Castle.”

“We can’t do that. The weather won’t be a problem for a full decade.”

“Well, maybe we could go there now and talk them out of ever doing it at all.”

Serkan shook his head. “No, see, what if that conversation is what ends up giving them the idea to manipulate the weather in ten years?”

“If that’s true, then we’re fated to go there anyway, and we don’t have any choice either way.”

“If that’s true then we don’t have to go there, because we’ll end up there anyway. Huh? Huh?” Feeling affectionate, he started pulling at Ace’s muscular arm, and smiling at him with dopey eyes. He was about to say huh one more time when Ace suddenly stopped and looked around. “What? What’s wrong.”

“I thought I heard something,” Ace replied. “And I thought I saw someone out of the corner of my eye.”

“We’re not at home, Ace. There are people around...as there should be.”

“People like us could do with a little paranoia, I would say.”

“I...suppose you’re not wrong.” Serkan looked around as well. “I don’t see anyone, though. Nobody walks anymore.”

“Just the same, we better duck into that service entrance, or whatever it is, so we can look at the map again. Hologram technology isn’t even as advanced as this in 2024.”

As they turned the corner, Serkan did think he saw movement out of the corner of his own eye, but when he took a longer look, again nothing was there. Okay, healthy paranoia. That’s fine. But as they were examining the hologram to determine the best route to High Castle Headquarters—coming to terms with the fact that that was their only logical course of action—they both heard a noise. It was the sound of a galvanized trash can being kicked, and was followed by the sound of someone pseudo-whispering dammit.

“Who’s there?” Serkan called out authoritatively while Ace switched the magic phone off and stuffed it into his pocket. “Come out!” he ordered.

A teenager reluctantly appeared from behind a dumpster, hands up, as if someone were pointing a gun at him. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Who are you?”

“I’m just some kid. Don’t worry ‘bout me.”

“What were you doing following us?”

“I was just...oh, is that Melissa Benoist?” He pointed behind them.

They didn’t look, because no, it wasn’t Melissa Benoist.

“Why? Are? You? Following us?” Ace pressed, inching forward understatedly threateningly.

“Okay, look,” the guy said. “I’m not here to hurt you, I was just curious.”

They both frowned. “Not allowed to be gay where you come from?” Serkan called back.

“Well...in my small town in Oklahoma...no, not really. But that’s not what I mean. I was curious about...time travel.”

Crap.

“I think the convention center is a ways away. You’ll find your science fiction friends there the next time they hold a comic-con, or whatever.”

“Don’t be coy,” he said. “I saw you try to walk through those doors, and it gave me the strangest feeling of déjà vu.” He clarified himself when he saw their reactions, “I mean stranger than déjà vu normally is. And that holophone sure ain’t 2013 tech. Anyway, I...think I’m a time traveler too. Or that I’m supposed to be. I was drawn to Kansas City. Skipped out on summer camp for it. I think I was supposed to meet you two.”

Serkan and Ace gave each other this look, like the eldest child in their village was trying to convince them to let him follow them into battle against the evil overlord who had destroyed their crops, but he can do better for their people if he stays behind and protects the women and children, because that’s an important job too.

“Listen, kid,” Ace started.

“Vearden.”

“Okay, Vearde—Vear...Vearden, really?”

“Yeah...?”

“Interesting name,” Serkan said. “Common in Oklahoma?”

“No...?”

“Look, Vearden,” Ace said bravely. “Yes, we’re time travelers. Mind blown, I’m sure. But we also have a job to do. So we kind of just need to get back to it. I’m sure you have a lot of questions, but we just won’t be able to help you.”

Serkan wanted to try a gentler approach. “We barely understand what’s happening either. Someone else is doing this to us. We’re really just along for the ride.”

“Speaking of rides, do you need one? Nobody walks anymore, and I have car.”

Yes, they could do with a car.

Vearden continued, “if I take you to wherever you’re going, all I ask is that you tell me as much as you can about how this stuff works. I just know that I’m supposed to be part of this. I can feel it. I heard your bizarre conversation, but it was you walking through those doors that really got to me. I assume you thought they were portals.” He started mainly talking to himself, “door portals. That feels so right. Please, ya gotta give me something.”

Serkan looked to Ace, knowing that he would know that he was fully prepared to agree to Vearden’s plea. So it was really up to Ace at this point.

Ace looked back and forth between them. Serkan could tell that he had already made his decision, but needed to make it look like he needed more time to consider it, so that they would understand how serious the situation was. “Okay. You give us a ride, and we’ll give you the name of the only person we know who might—might be able to help you. He’s kind of cagey, though.”

“Thanks, you won’t regret this,” Vearden said. He clapped once at his own accomplishment. “Okay, wait here, I’m not parked too far away.”

“Are we sure about this?” Ace asked once Vearden was gone.

“Maybe he’s right. Maybe he was meant to find us.” He looked over to his love. “Maybe we’re literally here for a reason.”

“Maybe,” Ace nodded, on the fence with whether this was a legitimate possibility.

Vearden returned with his vehicle and asked for the address, inputting it into his GPS. He drove it with his hands and feet, like an animal. Serkan couldn’t understand how anyone could stomach living in a world where cars didn’t just freaking drive themselves. It seemed stupid from his perspective.

“Ooooookay, we’re here,” Vearden said as he put his car in park with his hand.

“What is this?” Serkan asked.

“This is where my GPS took us. Lenexa, Kansas.”

“Well, your shit 2013 GPS obviously sucks.”

“I didn’t build it, I just bought it.”

Ace calmly took Vearden’s phone and pinched the map to zoom out. He then compared it to the map on Effigy’s skeleton key. “Yeah, this is the right place.”

“Horace, this is a field,” Serkan argued. “We saw High Castle; it’s a giant building. There’s no way this is right.”

“What’s High Castle?” Vearden asked naïvely.

“It’s a company,” Serkan answered impatiently. “Surely you’re heard of it.”

He shook his head. “Nah, sorry. Maybe it’s not founded until the future?”

“That doesn’t make any sense. The company was founded in 1969.”

“Oh, maybe I have heard of that,” Vearden said. “It was a miniseries...on the BBC?”

“No.”

“Or was it SyFy?” Vearden asked himself.

“No, that’s not it.”

“I don’t think they made it,” Vearden continued thinking out loud. “It was based on a book, though. Men in a High Castle. Or no. The Man in the High Castle, there was just one man. It was about time travel.”

Serkan had nearly tuned him out while watching Ace trying to figure out what was going on. “What?”

“The book. It’s about, like, an alternate Nazi world, or something. I never read it.”

“Oh my God,” Serkan said. “Oh my God,” he repeated. “The company wasn’t founded in 1969. Vearden was right.”

“I am?”

“He is?” Ace asked.

“It isn’t founded until the future, but somehow, since they’re time travelers, they find a way to make everyone think they’ve existed for decades. Hell, maybe they opened their doors on the day the winter snow began.”

“It snows in winter?” Vearden asked. “Wow, I guess global warming really is fake.”

“We think High Castle created the snow to stop global warming, actually,” Ace explained.

Serkan jumped back in, “this is why we’re here, not for Vearden. The Gravedigger. He can move people in time. He was first traveler I met.”

“Is that the guy I can talk to about my case?” Vearden asked.

Serkan went on, “we can’t get into the Headquarters, so he sent us back in time to sneak into the building before it’s even built!” He pointed towards the middle of the field in front of them. “I bet if we walk over there, we’ll be thrown back to the future, and on the other side of security.”

“But we have the skeleton key anyway,” Ace pointed out.

“That must not be good enough,” Serkan suggested. It’s best if we’re not seen walking to the building at all. I doubt other employees get in this way, they probably just have regular badges.”

“We don’t need no stinking badges!” Vearden interjected a little too loudly.

Serkan ignored him. “Or Effigy was screwing with us, and that thing isn’t a skeleton key at all.”

“Or he’s screwing with us right now,” Ace suggested.

“Who’s Effigy?”

“I say we try it,” Serkan said definitively. “The worst that happens is we stand in the middle of a field and look stupid for a few minutes.”

“Touché.”

They got out the car. Vearden insisted he follow them, claiming that he never liked 2013 anyway. Apparently ABC cancelled some really good show called The Neighbors. Serkan turned out to be right about what was going to happen. The outline of a building started fading into view, like the dual view in the mall doors.

Unfortunately for Vearden, he wasn’t able to see it, which meant that he would have to stay behind. “Wait! You owe me a name!”

Serkan smiled at him as a wall began to form between them. “Lincoln Rutherford, Esquire! You can find him at Kyle K. Stanley & Associates!” The wall finished forming, followed quickly by all the other walls. They were finally back in 2024, evidently hiding in some kind of closet. Gay joke. Funny.

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