Microstory 2152: Stop Stopping Moving

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I’ve gone back to being bored and boring, and that makes me nervous. Every time that happens, I get sick, and then something too crazy happens as a result of that. I’ve sort of exhausted every kind of infection that you can get, but that doesn’t mean I can’t get another one of the same type as before. To shake things up, when I had some free time, I returned to the nursery where I used to work to see my old friends and boss. It was a little awkward, because I didn’t leave in the best way. It wasn’t combative, like what sometimes happens with former employees, but it was really weird. To make things less uncomfortable today, I bought a few pots, and some seeds. I mostly chose daisies, since that’s my dog’s name, so it’s fitting. It’s not like I can’t do with a little bit more color in my apartment. I have a history of having very sparse dwellings. I don’t put up photos or paintings. I was born in 1987, so everything I ever cared about was in the cloud by the time I moved out of my parents’ house. If I wanted to look at a picture of someone I cared about, I could just take out my phone. It never seemed better to be able to see such things along the hallways. Walls are just there to hold up the ceiling, and I don’t see blank walls as problematic. All of those pictures are lost to me now, and no matter what I do, I will never get them back. I’m thinking about giving a description of my dogs, Sophie (who is no longer with us) and Daisy, so I can have drawings of them, though they may not be very good, because I have a notoriously bad memory. I am barely confident that the artist could even get close, and I’m not at all confident that we could figure out what my human family looked like. Still, it’s not a bad idea. It would certainly give me something to do with my days besides working, writing, talking about my feelings with my therapist, updating my parole officer on nothing, and sitting in jail. I should make a list...a list of things I can do, which may not necessarily improve my life, but perhaps just make it different. I’m a shark, so I should stop stopping moving.

Microstory 1776: Serpens Novus

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Star Mountains rainforest, Papua New Guinea. The mysterious unidentifiable snake stares at me like I just ate his squirmy little children. I’m normally good with snakes, and for a special reason. I can commune with them. They don’t have complex brains, so they can’t talk, but I can convey my intentions to them, and they to me. I’m a herpetologist, which means I love them, so they always know that I never mean them any harm. I don’t know if this particular species is immune to my wiles, or if simply the fact that it has never been studied before means that it’s not in the database. I don’t understand why that should make a difference, though. When I first realized I could do what I do, it’s not like I had ever looked at that list. I actually had to switch majors in the middle of my higher education career to account for it. I didn’t grow up having any strong feelings about snakes. I try to move backwards half a centimeter, but have to stop. He doesn’t like that—or she. I don’t know how to tell, but that obviously doesn’t matter right now. It doesn’t even matter why I can’t get this snake to relax. All I can do is call upon the training I’ve never needed before, and get myself to safety. Unfortunately, I ignored a lot of what my teachers tried to teach me about dealing with wild animals, because it didn’t apply to me. That was stupid, it was so stupid. What did I think I was, invincible? Just because I’ve been able to handle myself in the past, doesn’t mean that’s going to work in the future. Why, my situation right here just proves that. Stupid. Stupid me. I wish one of my colleagues were here now. They would know what to do. They’re used to it.

Lots of people know how good I am at my job as a snake wrangler, but they don’t know why. They don’t know that the best word I’ve come up with to describe it is supernatural. Perhaps it runs in my family, but I was always too afraid to bring it up to my parents, so it’s just been something I’ve lived with on my own. I think I did a pretty good job at maximizing my abilities to their full potential. That may all be coming to an end, though. This new snake doesn’t give a crap what I can do, if it can even tell that I’m special at all. Maybe it can. Maybe it knows exactly what I am, and does not appreciate it. Maybe it thinks it’s offensive, in some way. No, that’s dumb. It’s not that intelligent. It may be the smartest reptile in the entire world, and it still wouldn’t have any prejudices against me. I am in its territory, and I am a threat. That is all it knows. That is all it’s worried about. I try to back up again, but it’s not having it. It’s not going to risk the possibility that it’s a trick, and I’m about to attack first. It snaps at my ankle, and before I even feel the pain, it snaps at the other one. I falter, and fall down. I can feel the venom flowing through my veins, headed quickly for the rest of my body. Before it can reach my arms, I reach behind my back, and retrieve my camera. If I’m going to die, at least people can find out why. The snake is still there, like some kind of psychopath who needs to watch the life flicker from my eyes. I snap the photo. Now it doesn’t seem bothered by my sudden movements at all. I guess it’s pretty confident in the efficacy of its own venom. It has good reason to. Man, that’s a good shot. If anyone ever finds my body, they’ll find this picture too, and see how scary it looks. I carefully tuck the camera away in its case to protect it from the elements. If I have truly discovered it, I get to name it too. It will be my last act in this world. I take out my voice recorder, and speak the first name that comes to mind, “Star Mountain Purple Viper.” That’s not half bad.

Firestorm: Hello Doctor (Part VII)

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“My name is Agent Austin Miller, and I discovered something last year that’s going to change everything. And when I say it’s going to change everything, I don’t just mean my own life, or even the FBI field office where I work. It’s going to change everything about the whole world. Your children’s children will never know a world with war, or gun violence, or—”

“Hey, Hello!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sure thing, Agent Doctor.”

“What do you want!”

“There is a group of people in the lobby. They need to discuss The Ninth, and you are the agent in charge of that investigation.” He walks away.

“The Ninth. It’s shorthand for The Ninth Annual Frenzy City Event. While I’m the only one who remembers all the weird crap that happened, others noticed some inconsis—”

“Agent Hello, are you talking to yourself again?”

“No. I mean—I don’t talk to myself at all!”

“Okay, cool. Could you go ahead and collect your visitors? This isn’t a real doctor’s office. We really want you to be on time.”

“I’m not a doctor!”

“Yeah, we know, that’s the point.”

“Dick,” I mutter under my breath.

“Just go downstairs,” he begins, “Agent Miller.”

I secure my closet door, and head to the lobby, where three strangers are standing around. One of them steps forward as the apparent leader. “Agent Miller. I’m Agent Bran, St. Louis field office. These are my associates.”

Actually what I said earlier about them being strangers isn’t the whole truth. I do recognize one of these people. That’s Bozhena Horvatinčić, a.k.a. Armbreaker, a.k.a. Slipstream. She fancies herself a cop in this town, and the police here let her do whatever she wants. I don’t imagine I’ll be as accommodating to her. For now, though, I’ll hear them out.

“Could we speak in your office?” Agent Bran asks.

“What is this about?” I question.

“It’s about the Frenzy,” Slipstream says, “about what you remember, and what no one else does?”

Could this be true? Are there finally others who recall all the changes to reality that happened at that race? Someone erased everyone’s memories, but somehow missed me. I decided the law of probability demanded I wasn’t the only one who fell through the cracks, so I spent months trying to find like-minded individuals online, but they never revealed themselves.

“Sir?” the other guy says. “Are you still with us?”

“Yes, sorry,” I tell them. “We can talk in my office. You have your visitor badges, right?”

“I don’t have a badge,” the guy who doesn’t look FBI says. “It’s a laminate.” That sounds like a reference. Anyway, I lead them through the building, and into my office. It is only once the door is closed when they look like they’ve just dropped some kind of facade. Are they even connected to the FBI at all?

Slipstream stands in the corner like a patient bodyguard. Bran looks right at me, and the other guy sits in one of my chairs. “Way we understand it, you found something at the Frenzy?” Bran starts out like it’s an interrogation.

If anyone is interrogating anybody here, though, it’s me. “What do you know about The Ninth?”

“The Ninth,” the sitting guy asks, “or The Nine?”

That’s an interesting question. I decide to play it cool. “Both.”

Bran isn’t fazed. “You took something from that race. We need it back.”

“You are also in possession of other things you can’t explain,” the other guy says. “We need that stuff too.”

“Look—what’s your name?”

“Serkan.”

“Dammit,” Bran says in a breathy voice.

“Ugh.” Serkan palms his face. “I wasn’t supposed to use my real name.” He stands up, and almost looks threatening. “You can’t tell anyone I was here. If you ever see me again, you can’t say anything to me either. I won’t know what you’re talking about.” Maybe he is affected by memory wiping, just differently. “Look, Serkan, you people are obviously not really FBI. So tell me who the hell you are, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

Bran studies my face for a few moments. He then turns his head towards Serkan, but keeps his eyes on me. “I can just take a picture of anything?”

“Yeah, that couch would be perfect,” Serkan answers him, pointing.

“What the hell are you talking about? You can’t take pictures in here.” I lift up my desk phone, and search through the directory for the line to the St. Louis office. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

Bran takes the photo anyway. Seconds later, three more people appear out of nowhere. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, but it was on stage at a magic show. This is no trick. This is real power.

I drop the phone back into its cradle. “I knew it! I knew I wasn’t the only one!”

“Yes,” the new woman says to me. “You’re not alone. My name Alexina McGregor. You may have heard of Gregorios Bank. That’s me. These are my friends, Ace Reaver, and his daughter with Serkan, Paige Turner.”

Paige curtsies, making Serkan laugh.

“You can all...” I hesitate, “do things?”

“Slip’s normal,” Alexina begins to answer. “Bran is...no one really knows what Bran is, but he’s pretty normal too.”

“Oh my God.” I’ve been looking for answers for so long. Even before I found the artifact at the race, I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, and why I’ve always felt different. Now I’ve been vindicated, but I know what they’re going to tell me. They’re going to say I have to keep all of this to myself. It makes sense. It’s like most modern stories about vampires, or aliens among us. If people were allowed to know that teleportation was real, then they would already know it. I’m not sure if I can do that, though. I’ve seen the truth now, and I can see how to make the world so much better than it is. I can’t just let that go.

“We don’t know what you are,” Alexina continues, “or what you can do. We can help you understand it, but there are rules.”

I sit down in my chair. “I can’t tell anyone about it.”

“No,” Alexina says. “You can tell your significant other, or your parents, or even your kids. You just can’t tell the whole world. You have to be able to trust the people who keep your secrets, because it’s not only about you. Everyone you tell puts all of us at risk.”

“We won’t be the ones to stop you,” Ace says. “We don’t have that kind of pull. There is a prison, though. She and I have been in it.” He gestures towards Slipstream. It’s true that she hasn’t been seen in public for the last year, and though her gang never reported her missing, she has had a lot of fans worried.

“This prison is run by people from an old timeline,” Alexina adds. “They saw what it looks like when regular humans find out about us, and it doesn’t go well.”

“Their methods are becoming...shall we say, less respectful?” Serkan puts forth. “Less gentle. You don’t wanna piss them off. For the most part, they don’t care what you do with your powers. If you’ve gotten on their radar, it means they think you’re on the verge of exposing us. They sent us in to stop you, and while we will try to be gentle, we won’t be able to protect you if we fail in that. The team they send to fix whatever we do wrong...just don’t let it get to that point.”

I’ve always been really good at telling when people are lying, and I’m a hundred percent certain that these people are not lying. “This is bigger than me, though. Operation Firestorm is too important.”

“Oh no, he’s named it,” Paige laments casually.

“What is Operation Firestorm?” Agent Bran asks me, if he even is an agent.

“You want me to be secretive, then I will.”

“Paige was right about the closet,” Alexina says to her friends. “There’s something in there. I think it may be bigger on the inside.”

How does she know about that? I back myself up against the door, and stretch my arms out like a hockey goalie. “You’re not getting in here. I’m pretty smart. If you could teleport just anywhere, you would do it. You need a picture, which is why so-called Agent Bran took one of my couch.”

Bran places his hand on his service weapon, but doesn’t remove it from its holster. “We don’t need powers to get into that room, Hello Doctor.”

“His name is Agent Miller,” Serkan says like a mediator. No one has ever defended me like that. Everyone I’ve ever met has been totally down with making fun of my name history. “We can all be civil. Agent, we’re doing this to help you. I don’t know what Operation Firestorm is, but it’s not worth your life. We won’t hurt you, but like I said, they will.”

“This is worth my life,” I argue. “Firestorm is everything.”

Ace steps around my desk, and reaches for the doorknob. “I’m going to open this door, whether I use this knob here, or my own.”

I don’t know what that means, but I can tell they’re not going to stop. I’m outnumbered, and if I don’t let them into my world, they’re going to force their way through, and I can’t let anyone get hurt. If for no other reason, then it would reflect poorly on me if my colleagues find a dead body in my office, or something. Besides, perhaps them opening this door is the best thing that could happen to me right now. I step to the side and let Ace pass.

He turns the knob, and opens it up to see what I have there. “It’s here. I don’t see the rabbit dog, though.”

Oh, is that what it’s called? I just keep that as a pet in my house. It has nothing to do with this.

“What is it doing?” Serkan asks, peering into the closet.

I smirk. “It’s maintaining the connection.” I start to step back. This room is far too small for me to get myself clear of the blast radius, but I don’t plan on exiting through the door either.

“The connection between what?” Ace questions. “Do you know this is? It’s called the Omega Gyroscope, and we’re told it’s dangerous, but we don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a whole world,” I explain cryptically. “You’ll see soon enough.” I pull out my gun, and hold it to the girl, Paige’s head. I don’t want anyone hurt, but I don’t have the resources I need to escape that gyroscope, so if I don’t leave right now, none of us ever will. So, you see, it’s for the best that I do this.

“What do you want?” Serkan asks. His calm demeanor is gone. He’s gone into full father mode.

“I don’t want anything from you,” I say.

“Guys?” Slipstream interjects. “Is that thing spinning faster now?”

“The light inside of it is growing brighter too,” Ace agrees. “What is it doing?”

I have to hold back a laugh. “It’s powering up, because you let in the light.”

Ace immediately slams the closet door shut.

“It’s too late. It’s gonna go critical.” I cock the gun. “Now, Miss Turner, kindly do that thing you did when you got here.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she says. She doesn’t seem scared of the gun, but she does still respect the threat it poses. “I need a picture.”

“I know. You can take out your phone. Slowly.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here,” I answer.

Paige carefully removes the phone from her pocket, and lifts it up. Then, without warning, she jams it into my face. It’s not enough to do any permanent damage, but it distracts me long enough for Slipstream to attack, and free Paige from my grasp. No, this was my last chance. We’re seconds away from being sucked into that thing.

Suddenly, a woman appears in the middle of the room.

“Daria!” Serkan cries.

“Who needs to get out of here?” this Daria woman asks.

“All of us,” Agent Bran replies.

“I can only take two at a time,” Daria explains. She takes Slipstream in one arm, and Alexina the other, I suppose because they're closest to her. They disappear.

What’s apparently called the Omega Gyroscope reaches critical mass, and drags us into the other world. I wouldn’t be so afraid, except it’s like I said, this was an unplanned trip, and I don’t have a way to get back. We’ll be trapped forever.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 17, 2255

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During Leona’s interim year, Trinity received a letter in Sanaa’s handwriting, urging them to not look for her. She didn’t explain what had happened to her, or where she had gone, but she was clear that their plan had worked. She safely made it to the other side of the time cave, and filled it in so that no one else could pass. She implied an Earthan had aided her in this mission, but didn’t explicitly say who or why. She seemed to know that someone had blasted the Bida-side entrance for them, and she didn’t want them trying to dig it up again. According to her, this was the best outcome. Again, vaguely, Sanaa made it seem like Leona would never see her again. That was sad, but it was also not the first time it had happened. Even with all this travel, there were still some people she would forever miss. The last thing Sanaa said was that Leona should be happy, for by the time she would be reading the letter, Mateo should have finally showed up. She was right.

The Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was sitting in the hangar, right next to Radiant Lightning. It had arrived a couple months ago, but of course, neither Leona nor Mateo were there at the time. As she was exiting her quarters, he was exiting their ship, followed by the mysterious Cassidy, whose presence Leona never fully understood. She ignored this for a moment, and ran up to hug her husband. It had only been ten days for them, but that was long enough. They held each other in the embrace for a good three minutes before the rest of their now much larger group came in, and something distracted Leona.

“Pribadium! When did you get here?”

“I was on the AOC,” Pribadium explained. “Arcadia used me as part of the punishment for you crashing your own wedding.”

“Oh. That explains it...kind of.” There were still a lot of questions to be asked and answered. They spent the next couple of hours either eating, or just sitting around the large dining table. There was so much to catch up on, including a lot of information from before the wedding that Leona and Mateo just hadn’t had enough time to go over. All the while, Leona noticed that Weaver kept staring at the two ships on the other side of the large space.

Trinity noticed this as well. “Weaver, what is it?”

“What are the dimensions of that thing?”

Leona eyed it, trying to remember. “Uh...the passenger tube is about one-point-four meters wide, I think. It’s three meters tall, but with all the instrumentation, there’s still only enough space for one person. Why?”

“What about the inverted umbrella thing?”

“The main engine?” Trinity confirmed. “A little over six and a half meters in diameter. What are you thinking?”

Weaver kept staring at them. “They fit together. They fit together perfectly.”

“What do you mean?”

“Your passenger tube is about as wide as the AOC’s antimatter fusion drive.” Weaver held both her hands into claws, and visualized maneuvering the two ships in different formations. She appeared to be right. It was like they were built to fit together. It could be the easiest way to incorporate the reframe engine into the AOC.

“How long might that take you?” Trinity wondered.

“I need to study the engine first,” Weaver figured. “I guess it could take two years, because of Mateo and Leona’s temporal restrictions. I would hope to have it done in under a year, though.”

“That might be a little too soon anyway,” Leona said. “I’m still hoping Sanaa shows up, having lost Trinity’s picture. We still have a couple more colony ships on their way over the next few years. Maybe she just had to hitch a ride with someone else.”

Everyone got quiet. No one believed Sanaa was coming back; via ship, magic photo, or by any other means. Mateo was supportive of her, but he wasn’t around before, so he didn’t know what he was talking about. “We’ll leave whenever you want,” he said, wrapping one arm around her shoulders. “I’m not even sure who would be coming with us.”

“I’m probably gonna stick around here for a couple decades,” Thor decided.

“I would like to go with Leona,” Briar said. “Or rather, I would like to leave this planet finally.”

“One for one,” Eight Point Seven pointed out. “It’s perfect.”

“You’re staying too?” Leona asked her.

“I like my job,” Eight Point Seven answered. “You don’t need me anymore.”

“No one needs friends,” Leona argued.

“This isn’t the end. I promised to get you back to Mateo. I’ve followed through, so focus on that. I’m immortal. We will meet again. It might be, like, six hundred and eighty years from now, but it’ll happen.”

Ellie gave Eight Point Seven a look.

“Speaking of which.” Mateo pulled Leona closer. “Could we talk in private?”

“Sure. Let’s go for a walk; burn off some of these calories.”

“Do you want me to come?” Cassidy asked as she was standing up with them.

Mateo shook his head, but didn’t say anything. That was weird, Leona couldn’t help but think.

This felt familiar. Mateo had taken her on a walk on Tribulation Island a few days ago when they were briefly reunited. There was something he was reluctant to tell her. Was this it? If it was, he was certainly taking his time spitting it out.

Leona had to break the ice, or she would go insane right here. “When I was a little girl, my parents let me get a dog. The Gelens, that is. She was so smart; picked up on most commands so quickly, but sometimes she refused to obey. Our friends and neighbors thought she was stupid, but it was actually quite the opposite. Think about it; if I ask you to ram your face into that tree, would you do it? Probably not. Is that ‘cause you’re too dumb to figure out how? Of course not. You wouldn’t do it, because you’re smart enough to know you don’t want to, and you know the consequences for insubordination are far less than the severe head trauma it would cause. Freya—that was her name, by the way; after the Norse goddess—was the same way. If she didn’t want to sit, then she didn’t, because the treat she would get for doing it wasn’t worth it for her in that particular moment.

“One of the hardest commands for me to teach her was to speak. I wanted her to bark when I said so, because I didn’t want her to bark at inappropriate times. And she knew that. She screamed her head off when she heard an owl three houses down in the middle of the night, but she never did it when I was around, so conditioning her was practically impossible. I couldn’t get Freya to associate my hand signal with her bark, because they rarely happened at the same time. I understand, Mateo, that whatever it is you want to tell me is something you’ve probably been talking about for the last x-number of days, but that doesn’t do me any good. I don’t just need you to speak. I need you to speak to me. Does that make sense?”

“I didn’t sleep with her,” Mateo said, fully grasping Leona’s moral lesson.

She waited for a moment. “Obviously you’re not trying to confess what you didn’t do. So what did you do?”

“She was a stripper before all this.”

“I assume you’re talking about Cassidy.”

“Yes.”

“So, she put on a show?”

“Just for me.”

Leona waited again, but not so he could explain in greater detail, but just because she didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry.”

“She touched you?”

“Yes.”

“You touched her?”

“A little. I had just watched your bottle messages. Seeing your...decline—for lack of a better term—in such a short amount of time was heartbreaking. For you, it was days, but I watched you feel worse and worse over the course of only minutes. I’m not saying that my witnessing your pain was more difficult than you actually going through it. It just made me feel so alone. This ship full of other people, but not the one person I really wanted to be there. I guess Cassidy was...as close as I thought I was gonna get. You know, you two aren’t so dissim—.”

“No, you don’t need to talk about your fetishes.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“You’re saying that you have a type,” Leona argued, “and that both of us fit into it. But that’s what makes it worse. You took a substitute, because I wasn’t there.”

“If you were there, I wouldn’t have needed anything!”

“Do you want to pretend you didn’t just say that.”

“Yes, please!”

“Do you want to stop yelling at me, since I didn’t do anything wrong?”

Mateo took a breath, and lowered his voice. “I do.”

“Now. You had a lapdance. It’s not illegal. I’ve had friends who bought their partners dances at the club for their birthdays. The problem is you didn’t tell me. You didn’t ask me, and you didn’t tell me. I’m guessing this happened before we returned to Tribulation Island, which means you actually did have an opportunity. That lost you points. I’m a hundred percent certain we’ll get through this, Mateo, but we’re not supposed to lie to each other anymore. I don’t even want to look at you, but there is someone I do want to talk to.”

“Eight Point Seven?” he presumed.

“You’re gonna run up ahead, or stay behind. I don’t care who gets there first, but we won’t be walking back to Homebase together. Because when I get back, I’m taking the shuttle, and I’m heading for another continent. I won’t return until 2257, and where you and I will stand at that point, I make no guarantees. I’ll be going there with someone else, but no, it won’t be Eight Point Seven.”

“Then who?”

Mateo wandered around the woods for a couple hours. He was only planning on giving her a thirty-minute head start, but he got lost somewhere along the way. When he returned to Homebase, Leona was already gone, but he had to do a headcount to find out who had gone with her. After Eight Point Seven, his first guess would have been Trinity, who was just a different version of Paige Turner. But nope, she was still here. Briar was too. Mateo hadn’t picked up on any sexual tension between them, but he was an eligible bachelor, and a part of Mateo was honestly hoping she was doing something that would alleviate his guilt. Weaver, Thor, Goswin, and Ellie. Everyone was accounted for, except for one. He had no reason to believe that Leona would hurt Cassidy, but if they were going to be alone together on the other side of the world, there was no telling what was going to happen.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 16, 2254

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Though the life Briar’s mother ended up living wasn’t the one he would have chosen for her, given the opportunity, he couldn’t be sure she would feel the same way. She was a loving and protective mother, so in fact, if he could ask her what he should do right now, she would definitely tell him to not go back in time. The more he thought about it, the less he believed she would want him to erase himself from her timeline and memories. He didn’t know who his father was either, so even though she ended up losing him too soon as well, she might feel grateful for having met him in the first place. In the end, it wasn’t his right to alter history. He was just going to have to make peace with the fact that what happened wasn’t anybody’s fault. He still couldn’t help but feel a little hostility towards Trinity, but she didn’t seem too concerned about it. She understood that she couldn’t understand what he was going through. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Her life had been upended by accidental time travel, just like his, and she also had to say goodbye to her parents—her real parents, by the way; not the two who conceived her in the 1950s, and never took care of her.

By the time Briar was confident in his final decision, it was nearing midnight central. They had yet to discuss what they were going to do with the time cave, but Trinity wanted Leona to be around for that. They determined it was okay to wait another year for the conversation. The only people who knew anything about it were the three of them, plus Eight Point Seven, Ellie, and Sanaa. The colonists still hadn’t come anywhere close to touching land on that continent, so it was highly unlikely they would have to worry about some random person stumbling upon it. Something did need to be done, though, because they had no control over what the ancient Earthans would do with the cave. They needed to be protected just as much.

“Can we cave it in?” Sanaa put forth.

“First of all,” Trinity said, shaking her head, “we would need to go into the cave to accomplish that. That would make coordinating detonation—not impossible—but not easy. We also don’t really know how close Briar’s father’s village is to the entrance. They might notice the explosion.”

“Are we even sure we should try to prevent people from crossing over?” Ellie asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” Ellie continued, “it’s presumably a naturally occurring phenomenon; one that predates even Trinity’s involvement on this planet. It has only negatively impacted three people’s lives. Actually, I can’t say whether that can be called a negative impact; Briar wouldn’t even exist without it. Do we have the right to do anything?”

“We don’t know that it’s natural,” Eight Point Seven pointed out. “Nothing else on this world is natural. No judgment, Trinity.”

“No offense taken,” Trinity assured her. “Both you and Ellie make some good points. We’ve not yet proven the ethics of closing the cave at all. If we combine what you two said, perhaps it’s not natural, and that’s exactly why we shouldn’t do anything. What if it’s meant to serve a purpose? Maybe someone important will need it in the future-slash-past.”

At this, Ellie made eye contact with Leona, and gave her a wink. It was one of those winks that a time traveler will give to another to suggest they know something about the latter’s personal future, but can’t reveal specifics. Leona tried to shake it off, because even that was enough to cause problems with the timeline. Her mind was elsewhere anyway. In one day’s time, she would finally see Mateo again, and hopefully it would mean never being separated from him again. She hadn’t felt this nervous since she was a high school kid with a silly crush on a time traveler. How much had he changed since they last saw each other? How much of himself had he kept hidden when they briefly saw each other on Tribulation Island in the past? He seemed to want to tell her something, but was hesitant. Was it bad? Good? Shocking? Was she just reading too much into all of this, and was worried about nothing? More importantly, was there something about her own life that he might not like a whole lot when he arrived?

“Leona?” she heard in a muffle, which grew clearer. “Leona,” the voice came louder. “Are you still with us?”

“Yeah, sorry. Did you ask a question?”

Trinity was noticeably perturbed. “Did you see evidence that anyone else had ever traversed that cave?”

“No,” Leona said. “We suspect Irene had to spend an extended period of time there with Briar, so they could end up in more recent days on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, but I didn’t see anything that supported that supposition. The cave looked pristine, as far as I remember, but I wasn’t looking for such evidence either.”

“Is it easy to see and access from the Earth side?”

“It’s easy to find if you came from there,” Briar finally entered the conversation. “If you hadn’t been there before, though, I think it’s pretty well hidden. It’s fairly close to a path that others have walked, but no one seems to have found it.”

“That could change,” Sanaa said. “As the world develops, they might build a fast food restaurant right on top of it.”

“Or a library,” Ellie randomly added.

“I believe now,” Eight Point Seven began, “that we have a responsibility to close it up. If it’s not natural, and someone needs it there for a reason, they should have left a note. It would be one thing if it were just a bridge between Earth and Bida—even with the temporal component—but we can’t risk people losing years of their lives with their loved ones, just because they spend too much time inside. It’s not fair. Look at it this way, now that we know it exists, we’re liable if something happens, and humans are exposed to time travel. That could land us all in Beaver Haven.”

“That’s reason enough for me,” Sanaa agreed. “I ain’t goin’ to the pokey.”

“I’m inclined to agree,” Trinity admitted, “but I’m still worried about using explosives that close to veiled humans.”

“I could do it slowly,” Eight Point Seven offered. “I could just kick rocks, and shovel dirt. I could always make sure that no one’s watching.”

“You would get stuck over there,” Ellie told her, knowing Eight Point Seven was fully aware of this unfortunate consequence.

Eight Point Seven shrugged. “I can’t die. I’ll just wait and hitch a ride on one of the colony ships centuries later. Hell, Future!Me could be roaming around here right now, waiting to show back up here after Present!Me enters the cave.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Leona said, “but it’s not possible. You could survive all that time waiting, but the timeline can’t necessarily. What if something goes wrong with your internal mechanisms. You might be able to repair yourself, but what if a human sees? We can’t let you, as such advanced technology, be that close to ancient humans.”

“I’ll do it,” Sanaa said, surprising everyone.

“You’ll do what?” Trinity asked. “Go to bed? Eat a sandwich? What exactly are you trying to offer here?”

“Don’t be an asshole,” an offended Sanaa said. “I know what I would be getting myself into. All I ask for...is a sweat photo.”

“No,” Trinity argued, like it was the dumbest thing she’d ever heard. “No.”

“Why?” Leona asked.

“What is that?” Briar followed up.

Ellie and Eight Point Seven didn’t seem to know what it was either.

“You know I can travel through photographs, right?” she asked rhetorically. “Well, I’m not really traveling through the photographs themselves; I just need to see where I’m going. Anyway, I can take people with me, but like most choosers, I can’t...give my ability to others. Unless I use a sweat photo. It’s dangerous, though. It’s like carrying around a stick of dynamite. If you don’t use it right, or at the right time, it could tear you apart. When I first stepped through that Stonehenge portal in 1971, and became a spawn, my body was altered on a molecular level. I am designed to teleport and time travel. Other people’s bodies are not. One person died trying it, and I had to go back in time and change history to save his life. He sent his head, but not the rest of him. I won’t let anyone try that again. I believe my alternate did it to The Cleanser, but no one would have cared had he died.”

“I’ve traveled through time before,” Sanaa reminded her. “My body has been altered as well. That guy was completely inexperienced.”

“I told you about this, in confidence, in a vulnerable moment a few years ago. I know I didn’t specifically ask you to not tell anyone, but I think it was clear I don’t like people knowing about it.”

“I know,” Sanaa said apologetically. “But we need that cave closed, and I need to have a way back home.”

“I could just go with you,” Trinity said. “Solves every problem.”

“You’re too important,” Sanaa said to her, more serious than Leona had ever seen her before. “You have to protect these people from Pryce, and other threats. If I get stuck there, I won’t be super happy, but the timeline will go on.”

“Sanaa...” Trinity trailed off.

Sanaa sighed. “Give me a photo, and get me a shovel. I expect you to seal the Bida entrance yourself.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Leona wanted to ensure she understood.

“It’s really no big deal,” Sanaa promised. “I’m in the mood for some physical labor. I’ve been too sheltered all my life. Trinity will take a photo of the distance, so I don’t reappear before I’ve left, and risk a paradox. I’ll be gone for mere minutes, from your perspective.”

They continued to discuss the details of the mission, so that they weren’t rushing into anything recklessly. It was also going to be a hell of a lot of work. Sanaa kept guaranteeing that she recognized the risks and consequences. Leona couldn’t help but be proud of how much she had grown and changed over the years. It felt like everything Sanaa had been through since they met was leading to this heroic moment. Finally, after hours of preparation, and nap for the hero, it was time to do this. They could have done it on any day, really, but Leona wanted to be there to see her off, and to see her return.

Sanaa packed her essentials, took Trinity’s magic photo, and stepped into the time cave. They watched from the entrance as she practically froze in place. For her, time was moving much, much slower than it was for the rest of them. Future!Sanaa would be back before Present!Sanaa could be witnessed stepping around the corner. Except that wasn’t what happened. After a few moments of watching a boring movie on pause, they turned and headed for the other side of the lake, where Future!Sanaa should have been waiting for them. She wasn’t there, though. It should have been pretty much instantaneous, but she was nowhere to be found. Something had gone wrong, and there was nothing they could do about it. As they were trying to get back to the cave to stop their friend from possibly walking into a trap, the entrance exploded, and caved in. What just happened?

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Microstory 1062: Mae

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Margaret told you about my drawings, eh? Well, it’s true that I’ve been drawing the future for the last few months, but what I decided to keep from her was that I’ve technically been drawing since Viola first gifted us with our psychic bonds. Here is the proof. Don’t bother flipping through the book, they’re all exactly the same. I mean that literally. Actually, go ahead and flip through it. They may look like photocopies of the same picture, but I drew each of these by hand, on different days. I’ve never been much of an artist, so it doesn’t really make sense that this would be how my ability manifests, but this is where we are. I’ve been seeing this image in my head for a year, and I still can’t figure out what it is. It kind of looks like a bottlecap, but not exactly. I’ve thought about bringing my friends in on it, but I just can’t quite work up the nerve to do it. This has always felt very personal, and something I should keep hidden, until now. As soon as you showed up, I had the urge to show you. So, what do you think it is? What was that? A tire? Oh, have been looking at it upside down this whole time? It does look like a tire. But what would all this white stuff be? Even if that’s the answer, it doesn’t really help us, does it? What do we do, find a tire? Take your pick; there are thousands of them, in this town alone. What Margaret may not have mentioned is that my so called power has never been helpful, not even once. They’re so vague and meaningless that I can’t use them to help. The weatherman bled black, so what? I didn’t know that until it had already happened, and couldn’t do anything about it anymore. The pictures I draw don’t tell me the future so much as they remind me of the past later on, which is something I could do on my own, and it wouldn’t give me stress hives. I wish just once, it would give me a social security number, or GPS coordinates. Of course I tried to ask Viola what the actually hell was going on with these pictures, but she was real dodgy. She literally kept trying to duck away from me, and when I cornered her, she basically shut down, like a robot. Wait, where did you get that? Did that picture just change? No, these have all been identical, down to every last detail. It’s like it’s the same picture, but...zoomed out. I don’t remember drawing this one; or seeing it afterwards, for that matter. That in the corner looks like a cloud. Oh my God, it’s an airplane tire. I think it’s falling from the sky. I have to go call Mattie and Margaret.

Microstory 917: Photography

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Every time I go to the bulk store, one of the first things I see is the electronics section. This makes sense. As much as they move things around in that place, they still want to make sure everybody gets eyes on the most expensive things there. I pass longingly by the cameras, wishing I could afford one, but knowing that I can’t. Years ago, I started getting into Instagram. I didn’t use it to take pictures of friends, or myself, or the cool places that I visited. I was snapping photos of random objects at close range, and overusing filters, in order to create an image that you wouldn’t necessarily be able to recognize. A few weeks of this made me realize that I was into photography a long time before the service even existed, but in order to take a class in high school, I first had to take some other art class, and I was just not into that. I’ve never wanted to be a professional photographer. I had no dreams of opening my own studio, or traveling to far off distances with Sean Penn to shoot wildlife. I just wanted to take pictures. And that would be a fine dream if it weren’t just another one in a whole cluster of them. Filmmaking, astrophysics, evolutionary biology, medicine, futurology. These, and more, are my other passions, to varying degrees, and for different reasons. I don’t have time to do them all, and I don’t have the money to do any of them. Not even my writing actually makes me any money. I’ve earned $27.45 from Google Adsense on my website over the course of more than three years, which isn’t even enough to cash out. But my writing career holds the number three priority spot over anything in my life. It’s third only to family, and revenue. Photography is probably number four. It would be nice if I could purchase a decent camera, plus lenses, and anything else that goes with it, along with a couple classes so I understand how the damn thing works. I don’t know that I would ever do anything beyond more interesting Instagram posts, but it would at least be a start. If you personally would like to see my dreams come true, then spread the word about my website. The better this does, the more chance I have of publishing a real book, and the closer I get to pursuing any or all of my hobbies. Thanks!

Fervor: Swingin’ on the Flippity-flop (Part VII)

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I’m about to get myself as far from the temple as I can when I remember that I never did send that time pigeon to my past self. I’m meant to summon one to me using a special phrase, spoken over a podium, and surely this place has one. I sneak in the building, fearful that a mormon is about to catch me. I’m not worried they’ll kick me out for trespassing; I’m worried they’ll try to convert me. I saw the Book of Mormon, I know how this works. I see several people walking the halls as I’m slinking around, and a few of them notice me, but none of them bothers me, which is a great relief. I make my way to the sanctuary, or whatever it is they call their worship space. Thank Lord Xenu no one’s in here, because I’m about to do something strange.

I stand at the podium, but take a moment to recall the words that Laura taught me. I take one more look around, before repeating the line, “if he or she does their schoolwork seriously; does well, takes school.” A pigeon appears literally out of nowhere, and waits patiently for me on the podium. I remove the coffee receipt from my pocket, and prepare to write a note to myself. I can’t remember exactly what I read before, but that’s probably for the best. It’ll be more natural if I just write what I feel. Paige, take a photo of the wall outside of the cell. There, that’s both cryptic and clear. I tie the note to the pigeon’s leg, and shove it into the air. It disappears through a portal.

I hear the sound of papers falling to the floor, and look over to see a man wearing a white button-up shirt and black tie, staring at me in awe. He falls to his knees. “It’s a miracle,” he exclaims. “You have returned as proof.”

I walk down the steps, and approach him, and he bows his head. “Stand, my child.”

He stands up, and regards me with reverence and admiration. “Are you a new prophet?”

“Let me see your phone.”

“My phone?”

“Yes, your phone.” I’m using a gliding voice to impersonate this holy creature he believes I am. “Did you take any photographs earlier today?”

“I...I did. You know this.”

Closed time loops are confusing and dangerous things, but if the man says he’s seen me, then I better go prove him right. I have him open his camera roll, and show me the latest one. “Why did you take a picture of a stump?”

“The workers were meant to remove the whole tree,” he answers. “I was planning to send it as proof that they did not complete the job.”

I make my eyes burn, and travel into the photograph, back in time a few hours. I’m standing on the trunk, arms outstretched like a welcoming messiah. The man from the future drops his arms down in shock. “How did you do that?”

“You will drive me downtown,” I order him.

He has so many questions for me, but I just tell him that he will understand everything when he is ready. I make him buy me a burner phone, then take me back to J.U. Mithra Labs, which has not yet slid back to the 15th century. Someone’s left a window on the second floor in full view, and if I were more like this guy, I would pray that no one was in that room. “You’ve been trained how to spread the good word?” I ask him as I take a quick photo of the window.

He stutters a bit. “Uh...yes, I’ve memorized thirty percent—”

“I don’t care about that. Just go in there and try to get whoever you see to accept Jesus Christ into their hearts, or whatever. Be as loud as you can. We want the whole building coming down to hear what you have to say.”

“Yes, prophet, he says. Then he eagerly leaves the car, not even asking what I’m going to do.

I take one last look at the window, only to see myself up there, giving me a salute. “This is going to have to take some getting used to. First order of business once this is all finished is finding a way to store in one place every single photo that has ever been taken, or will be taken, in the history of mankind, so I can go when and wherever I want withing running into myself. Shouldn’t be too hard.

As the mormon—which I think he probably doesn’t want me to call him—is providing a nice distraction, I lean against the wall, and jump through the photo I took moments ago. I then step over to the window, and give Past!Me a salute. Then I hide out there for the rest of day. Just before the building goes back in time, I take one last photo of a strip of shops in the distance.

I’m about to go down and free my friends from the basement hock, but then I remember that this did not happen in the original history. I have to preserve the timeline as much as possible. In fact, I may not be able to change the past at all, no matter what I do. Maybe my life has all been written, and I’m just fulfilling my destiny, with free will being nothing more than an illusion. Armed with these deep existential ponderances, I wait out there for another couple hours, surprised with every passing minute that I go unnoticed. But then someone comes in.

It’s a security guard, but not the same one. He sizes me up real quick, then hands me his electroprojectile gun.

“What am I supposed to do with this?”

“Protect yourself,” he says, as if I should already know.

“Why would you help me?”

He takes a mobile device from his pocket, and shows it to me. “This is live security feed from the basement. There are your friends, and here you are on the outside of the bars. Don’t worry, I’ll erase this, but you might want to get back down and free them soon. I’ll escort you down there.”

“Again, why are you helping me?” I ask him as I’m following.

“I had a partner once; Kolby Morse. He went to work for the good guys, and I chose the bad guys.”

“It sounds like you regret it,” I say once we’ve reached the bottom of the stairs.

He shakes his head, and points to a door on the other side of the hallway. “I don’t at all. I’m deep undercover.”

People keep helping me, as if they have foreknowledge of my future. The mormon, I guess, actually did have such knowledge, but who is this guy? And who was the man who gave me the telescope picture? I don’t have much time to think about it. I hear the first guard shout, “hey!” to a past version of me. As I’m opening the door, I see myself fall drop my phone, and crumple to the floor. Then I pixelate and disappear, on my way back to 1972. The guard is staring at me in shock, so before he has time to figure out what to do, I raise the gun, and shoot him in the chest, to give him a taste of his own medicine. I then notice a tiny little screen on the back of the weapon, and discover that there are two kinds of projectiles. I switch it to the tranquilizer darts, so I can put him down without him causing any more problems for awhile.

“It’s been ages for me,” I say to my friends as I’m removing keys from the guard’s belt. You’ll never guess where I’ve been.”

“Well, we’ve just been here,” Laura says, “swingin’ on the flippity-flop.”

“Doing what on the what?” I ask.

“Never mind.”

I unlock the gate for them after only a few tries. Why are they still using physical keys when everyone has a perfectly good phone? “Come on. I took a picture of the future, so we can all get out of here.” I open the photo of downtown Independence, and hold it up in front of us, like I’m taking a selfie.

“Wait,” Laura stops me. “This might not work for us.”

“Yeah,” Samwise agrees. “The powers that be have a plan, and they may not let us out of our time period, until it’s...time.”

“You have to promise,” Laura says out of concern. “Promise that you won’t come back for us if it doesn’t work. We belong here.”

“It’ll work, so we won’t have to worry about it,” I say dismissively, and raise my arm again.

“Just promise,” Samwise insisted.

“I promise. Now let’s go before they send someone else.”

They were totally right. Despite the fact that Laura and Samwise were between me and Hilde, the latter is the only one who manages to come through with me. I wasn’t even touching her at the time. The evil group of unseen overseers have too much control over time and space. After we take of this Jesimula Utkin problem, I intend to go after them next.

“You’re back,” the mormon boy declares. Goddamn, is this guy in every one of my pictures, or what? “Did I do well?”

“You did it perfectly,” I say in my prophet voice. “Now do one more thing for me.”

“Anything, mistress,” the creeper says.

“Take off that outfit...not literally” I cry as he immediately starts trying to remove his clothes.

“I just mean stop being a mormon, because the religion is total garbage.”

“What should I believe instead?”

“There’s only one real higher power in the whole universe,” I announce, starting to drop my persona.

“And what is that?” he asks.

“Yeah, what is it?” Hilde asks.

I snap a pic of the empty lot in the distance where the laboratory once stood. “Time.” Hilde and I look at the photo, and teleport back to the parking lot, where our friends are standing around. They look lost and confused. “It’s a long story,” I say to them. “But we’re back, and we have some pretty good intel.”

“Story?” Leona asks.

“Intel?” Slipstream asks.

“Who are you people?” Hogarth asks.

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Fervor: Escape from 1972 (Part VI)

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“My God, young lady, you look like a whore!” my mother shouts for all the world to hear.

“I beg your pardon,” the woman who was trying to help interrupts, but she’s still being ignored.

“What are you wearing? Why do you look so old? Where did you go?”

I’m fourteen years old, which is only about a year older than my parents expect me to be, but I guess their memory is of me as a twelve-year-old, which is a fairly big difference in a young lady’s development. I’ve had to grow up pretty fast because of the terrible conditions I started in, and when Serkan and Ace took me out of that life, it wasn’t like I started regressing, or anything. I’m still rather mature for my age, and my time in the 21st century has only made me more independent. These two people here may have conceived and raised me—though, there’s no way of knowing whether we’re related to each other, because I’ve yet to see proof of it—but they don’t control me anymore. I scoff at her, and try to walk away.

There’s got to be a way out of here. Okay, let me think. I seem to have the ability to travel through time and space using photographs. That would be fine if I had a picture of 2025, or 1491, but I lost my phone with tons of options from the former, and camera technology didn’t exist as far back as the latter. Hell, I would take it if something could take me back to sometime in the 2020s, as long as it was before the day that I left. No, I’ll even take a week or to after that. Thinking about it even more, I realize that all I really need is a way to get out of what I see now from a shred of newspaper blowing on the ground that it’s no sooner than October of 1972. I would need to find something more current to get an exact date, but that matches up with what I remember about when the famous Blue Marble photo, which I’ve been using as my phone background, was taken.

“Don’t you walk away from me,” my mother spits. By now the other woman has slipped away, not wanting to interfere too much in other people’s lives. I think in the future, people will be less forgiving, because they’ll never know when they’re being watched by video cameras, designed to record social behavior. For the most part, however, a 1972 mother is free to discipline her child however she sees fit.

“Do you have any pictures?”

“What?”

“Like in your purse,” I press. “Or dad, in your wallet? Do you have any picture of me as a baby? Or of anything?”

She’s noticeably thrown off by this, and interprets it as an attack on her character, which it partly is. I’m just looking for a way out. “Well, no, but...”

“Did you look for me? Did you send out a photo of your missing daughter? Or did you just go back home?”

“We haven’t been back home since you disappeared,” my father finally says. He never hit me, but he stayed quiet when my mother did, and maybe that’s just as bad.

“Oh my God, are you still on your ancestry tour? Christ, I had my blood tested. We’re not part African. That was just what your own father told you to excuse himself for being a racist piece of shit. We are British or Irish, though, so you got lucky with that one.”

“Now, you listen here,” my mother begins.

I scoff again, but much louder, as I’m rolling my eyes, and turning away. She grabs my arm. “Let me go.”

“I am your mother, and you will—”

I don’t let her finish. I just narrow my eyes and take a quarter step towards her, my arm fully within her grasp. “If you don’t let me go right now, you’re gonna find out how good 1970s South African medicine is.”

She’s never been scared of me before, and she’s never been scared of anything more than me right now. She releases me, and lets out a whimper so faint, I can’t be sure I didn’t imagine it.

I take a moment to calm down, and try to be as cold as possible. “I left you in Stonehenge because I was done being treated like two chalkboard erasers. I have gone on to see wonders, to meet wonderful people, and to learn new things.” I realize I can’t say anything about being a time traveler, but as I’m speaking, I’m also realizing no time traveler I’ve met has actually said anything about some Time Patrol. Maybe I can tell them the truth, and no one will care. I don’t think I have to, though. “I left because it was best for me, and for you. You never wanted kids, and only did so because you were indoctrinated into a society that expected it of you. I’m pleased to announce that you have fulfilled your obligation. I may have escaped a few years sooner than you expected me to, but I think we all knew it would come to this. I’m not calling the cops, or seeking a journalist to tell my story about your abuse, but I’m also not going home with you. This is my life now, and that is yours. I need to find a newsstand, or maybe a library, so I can make my way out of this country. If you pursue me, in any capacity, I’ll make Lizzie Borden look like Cindy-Lou Who. Are we on the same page?”

They don’t say anything, and I just walk away, not sure who’s more scared of me; my father, my mother, or myself. I do find a newsstand, and discover that it’s the seventh day of December. The latest paper from the states is from the first of the month in New York. I feel like my best option is to at least get back to the states. I don’t know of any time travelers that lived in this time period, except for Detective Bran, who is still a child at this point, but the U.S. still seems like the safest place to go. I pay for the paper, and choose the first headline I see with a picture: Storm Caused Traffic Mishaps.

Maybe that wasn’t really the best one I could use, because I’m suddenly standing in freezing cold weather in late Fall. Several cars are stopped on the wrong side of the road—that is, as long as I’m not still in South Africa. I hear honking and screaming, and the sirens from a trooper. He gets out of his car, and starts rounding up help from other drivers, to get the cars back where they belong. Even though it’s cold as hell, I still have no idea what I’m going to do, so I might as well help too. I get behind one of the cars, and prepare to push. The big strong men also getting ready to push look at me funny. “Call me Rosie the Riveter,” I say to them. One of the men trying to push another car takes off his heavy coat, and gives it to me, which I don’t see as an affront to my feminism. Together, we all get them up the hill, and out of the way. I try to return the coat to the man as he’s getting ready to leave the scene, but he just winks and says I should keep it. He’s older than me, but I don’t get any creepy vibes.

As strange as it must look for a teenage girl to be wandering the highway alone in the middle of the day in November, nobody else gives me any trouble, or offers to help. There’s no telling how long these people were stuck in traffic, but surely they’re all just in a hurry to get home. It was probably mentioned in the article from the paper, but I didn’t bother reading it that closely, and I couldn’t take it with me, because it was run a day in the future. I start walking down highway 20, headed towards civilization, thinking about what I could have done better, confident that I made all the best choices with the cards I was dealt. Goddamn it’s cold, though. If I’m going to be a time traveler, I need to start thinking about not going anywhere without a bag of essentials. I need to keep things like water and cash with me at all times, but the first order of business would be a coat. I stick my hands in the pockets, and find what feels like a piece of paper. I take it out, hoping whatever it is isn’t important to the guy who gave me the coat. It’s a photograph.

At first everything seems normal to me, but then I realize that photos these days aren’t printed on paper like this. You would need a personal computer to do it, which is impossible. Even if you didn’t, the picture itself doesn’t look like anything that exists today. I don’t even know what it is, but it looks like something out of a science fiction movie. I flip the paper over, where it reads, Giant Magellan Telescope, April 4, 2025. “Holy shit!” I can’t help but exclaim out loud. That’s a few days, off but I'll take it. I look behind me, half-expecting the coat’s owner to have followed me there, but the afternoon rush is over, and I’m alone. Worried a time pigeon might come and snatch the picture from my hand, I concentrate on it until my eyes start burning, and I make the jump to the future. Man, that’s a lot easier that I would have thought. In movies, it takes superheroes days to master their powers, if not longer.

I stand and marvel at the telescope for a good long time before someone realizes I don’t belong there, and escorts me off the premises. I discover that I’m in Chile, so I make my way to the nearest internet café. I tell the woman working the counter that I just need a minute to look up directions, and she gladly activates a computer for me to use, free of charge. I try to run a search of J.U. Mithra Labs, but none exists on the internet, which is strange, because I feel like I’ve seen one before. Maybe it’s a weird timey-wimey thing. No matter. I just need a picture of Independence, Missouri, and I’ll figure the rest out later. The most recent I find is a photo that a Local Guide took of some temple with a crazy spire on top, from the fourth of April. Perfect.

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