Microstory 2376: Vacuus, October 14, 2179

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Dear Condor,

It’s nice to hear from you. I know that you weren’t writing that open letter directly to me, but it felt very personal, even though I’ve never experienced anything like what you did. I’ve heard more about you from Corinthia. I’ve known about your whole situation almost as long as she has. You and I have a lot in common. My grandfather was the Chief Helmsman of the ship that brought us to this planet, and before that, he was a space shuttle pilot, and before that, an airline pilot. I spent a lot of time on the bridge with him at the helm as we were on our way out here. He would tell me stories about all the places that he used to travel to back on Earth. I’m younger than you, so I have never set foot on your world before. I guess that’s what fascinates me so much, because I feel like I have all these somewhat similar personal experiences. I know that they’re not my own, though. I dunno, I suppose I just felt a connection with you that I’m probably making up in my own head. As for clothes, I do like them, but not necessarily any more than anyone else. I gravitated towards this job partially because there was an opening, and partially because I probably have even less of an interest in going outside than Corinthia does. I just want to stay in my little room where it’s safe. My work area doesn’t even have a window, because some of the rooms have to be on the interior sections, and they can’t all be lavatories and closets. My job is really not that hard. It may be more involved than your sister’s on a day-to-day basis, but there’s a whole lot less pressure. If I mess something up, I can usually fix it before anyone else sees it. The truth is that anyone could do this, because the fabricators do most of the work. I don’t even know how to sew by hand all that well. I did learn, but I don’t use those skills at work. I’m mostly there in a supervisory role. The machines aren’t hard to operate, but rather than training everyone who needs clothes, they only worry about making sure that I know them, and I make sure that nothing gets screwed up. It’s pretty low-key. I have some free time, which I typically spend making up new designs. I’m not exceptional at it, but there are no deadlines, so I eventually figure out what it needs to look like. Corinthia has actually tested out a lot of my own clothes for me. She says she likes them, but you never really know, right? She could just be being polite. I did design the outfit that I’m wearing in the attached photo, so you can tell me what you think. Be honest. Cori thinks there’s too much cleavage, but maybe you have a different opinion?

Hugs and kisses,

Velia

PS: I like your outfit too. It fits you well, though I would imagine just about anything does with a body like that. Trust me, I'm a professional.

Microstory 2343: Earth, March 25, 2179

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Dear Corinthia,

It’s funny that you bring up transportation between safe zones, because that’s what we used to do before we came to this floating dome for permanent residency. For security reasons, pilots really preferred not to leave their secure cockpits, so they would hire other people to actually leave the aircraft, and help travelers load and unload. That’s what my dad would do for work, but it was more than that. I don’t remember how he got into it, because I was doing something on my own at the time, but I ended up working on the transport crafts too. I was a sort of flight attendant, but more for safety, and less for customer service. These people were fleeing very dangerous situations, so they didn’t need to be coddled and doted on, they just needed to know how to use their seatbelts, and where the emergency hazmat suits were. Anyway, for dad, it wasn’t as easy as climbing down the steps, and ushering people inside. We primarily dealt with families, the individual members of which often disagreed about leaving their homes, or where they should go. You have to remember, these were the early days of the poisoning of the atmosphere. It didn’t just all happen at once. A lot of safe zones were still open areas, rather than airtight domes. And a lot of the not-so-safe zones were still technically habitable, leading many to believe that the air would one day be cleaned up. They were wrong, but not crazy for holding out hope. No one knew how bad things would get. Few could have known. The ones that did were either very intelligent and observant, but few and far between, or responsible for destroying the environment themselves, and deliberately withholding pertinent information. Either way, the general population wasn’t hearing it. The bulk of dad’s job was convincing people that where they were living was no longer healthy enough for them, and they had to move somewhere else. The answer to where kept changing, and the number and size of the safezones kept shrinking, but we kept working. Because of his naturally diplomatic personality, and because he continued to develop his skills in this area, he was ultimately selected for the position he has now in this dome. It was still a very nascent development back then, having only recently achieved its vacuum seal, and they were in need of population growth. By then, transportation was big business. It had become easier to persuade people to move, so the qualifications for the job were now less rigorous. So others could do it who couldn’t before, and there were so many more aircraft that could be used for this. In the past, jets just had doors that led right to the fuselage. Now we need both an airlock, and a decontamination chamber. Older craft were retrofitted with these additions, but newer ones have been designed with these necessities. I’m getting a little off-topic, but yes, transportation is no joke. And to answer your question, I can indeed see the coast of Australia from our cabin, but only from my dad’s room. Mine’s on the other side. Now, if we were traveling clockwise...

Also in a vacuum,

Condor

Microstory 2189: Not There by Choice

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2

We’re moving along with this process. Interviews, interviews, and more interviews. It’s not showing any signs of slowing down, but it will have to stop soon, and will do so rather abruptly. At some point, we’re going to have to make some hard decisions, and unfortunately that means a lot of great people won’t get the chance to be part of this pilot program. We can’t hire them all, it wouldn’t be practical, and that’s true of any organization. But here’s the good news: it is a pilot program, and if it goes well, you may be able to do something similar on a different team somewhere else. The analytics team in my company has looked into this for us, and have estimated that this program need only last for eight months before they would have enough data to reach some real conclusions about its efficacy. All eyes are on us right now to see if we succeed, but there are rumors of others who are considering building their own programs before our data comes in. We’re not sure if that’s the right thing to do, but we can’t stop them, and it may not be right to want to if we could. I think it’s fine to try to take your own shot, as long as you don’t spend too many resources on it, and come at it from a place of trying to make things better. Now, what do I mean by better? Well, here’s what it’s not. We’re not here to save the taxpayers money. That will hopefully be a consequence of our changes to jail and prison population procedures, but it’s not what we’re going for. We could accomplish that in any number of easier ways, by only feeding them slop, or doubling up on cell assignments, or not letting them have any yard time. You don’t need to pay many guards if you don’t allow your inmates to leave their cells, do you? Obviously, that would be inhumane, and I hope that no one else is suggesting it.

Our goal is to improve people’s lives, reduce recidivism, and create a healthier and more productive community overall. I hope that anyone who gets their ideas from us only accepts the good ideas, and rejects the ultimate failures. We’re going to be going through growing pains. At some point, our plans, theories, and models are going to become meaningless if we don’t actually institute the policy changes. It may not turn out well, and as difficult as it is for me to admit that, it would be unethical for me to imply that I know exactly what I’m doing. The entire point in hiring these experts for a team that has never existed before is to try something new, and by its very nature, we don’t know what’s going to happen. So I hope that other programs take that into account. Sorry to get all preachy, and maybe sound a little angry. I just want to make it clear that we’ve only just begun here. It’s going to take some time. The judicial system in this country isn’t going to change overnight, and nothing we do here is going to give definitive answers for how to handle our nation’s incarcerated with no exceptions. What we would like to do is group guests in our facilities according to predictive modeling of sustainable harmony, nonviolence, and social progress. But the fact of the matter is that everyone there will have been tried and convicted of a crime. Guilty or innocent, they’re not there by choice, so none of them is going to be happy-go lucky, and excited to be locked up for the next X amount of time, or intermittently, as it were. We’ll try to make it as safe and productive as possible, but there’s only so much we can do. It’s not magic, so don’t expect to bring the crime rate down to zero, or anything. Okay, that was a bit depressing. Hopefully tomorrow’s post will be more optimistic, or a little easier to swallow.

Fluence: Anchor (Part V)

< > Entire Story

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2

Briar was a normal biological human, Goswin was a transhuman with biological upgrades, Weaver was technologically enhanced, and Eight Point Seven was mostly inorganic. Despite the range of substrate properties, they all slept in one way or another. Even Eight Point Seven needed to periodically take time to reorganize her data drives, perform diagnostics, self-repair, and give her microfusion reactor some time to power cycle, and purge waste byproducts. For the longest time, researchers believed that giving inorganic intelligences the ability to dream was nothing more than, well...a dream. They figured that they would have to directly program scenarios for them to merely simulate the experience. As it turned out, once technology advanced sufficiently, this was not necessary. Androids will do it themselves during these periods of low-power memory consolidation. Random neural firings will generate aberrant thoughts akin to the way that  humans dreamt. One of the greatest challenges of 21st century AI research was figuring out how to teach such intelligences to wake up from these dreams, and leave those thoughts behind, so that they didn’t negatively impact their normal operational requirements. Occasionally, this subroutine will fail to trigger, just like it can in humans, who sometimes wake up angry with someone for things that never happened in the real world. Early models sometimes became unexpectedly violent due to these errors.

The first night that they spent in Briar’s old camp on Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida just so happened to be when Eight Point Seven needed to go into sleep mode for about an hour. She tried to hold off on it, so she could keep watch over the others, but she was not yet used to this new substrate. She didn’t even take this form on purpose. Her consciousness somehow uploaded itself to it at some point before their first jump. They had been so busy with all this stuff that she hadn’t taken the time to really investigate. That was probably why she had to do this now, because her mind was in conflict with her body. They were unfamiliar with each other. That night, she dreamt of her home. She was first created on a planet called Bungula, which orbited Rigil Kentaurus. Theirs was an ever-changing society, always run by an artificial intelligence, which frequently purged its own memory to be made anew. Her name was Eight Point Seven because she was the 78th incarnation of this entity.

Something went wrong with Eight Point Seven’s programming. She decided that she wanted to live, and not make way for the next version. The Bungulans eventually accepted her decision, and let her keep administering them accordingly. She grew tired of this, however, and ultimately chose to leave with Leona Matic. They eventually made their way to Bida together, and then separated to different ships. She had always wondered what became of Bungula, though. They had to have some form of government without her. Was it a human this time, or did they recreate the old program, and finally get their Eight Point Eight? Perhaps they skipped all the intervening versions, and just went straight to Eleven Point Nine.

All four of them woke up with a start. They were no longer in the jungle of Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, but under a geodesic dome on the very end of a lava tube. They could see the stars above them, shining through the triangles of polycarbonate. The air wasn’t stale, but it wasn’t windy anymore. The whole world felt still, whichever world this was. Eight Point Seven Stood up from her cross-legged position. “This is my homeworld,” she determined. “This is Bungula.”

“Why are we here?” Goswin asked. “Who brought us this time?”

“We all did,” Weaver stated. “Remember? We don’t go anywhere unless we go together. There has to he some kind of consensus”

“No, it was me,” Eight Point Seven argued. “This is what I was dreaming about.”

“You can dream?” Briar questioned.

Of course they could dream. Goswin ignored the question. “Maybe we’re not entirely right about how this works. Maybe one of us sometimes pilots the whole crew. Someone’s...psychic power is just a little bit stronger. I wasn’t dreaming of going anywhere in particular. If your thoughts were more specific, they may have overwhelmed the three of us.”

“I was dreaming of seeing Leona again,” Briar explained.

“She’s here,” came an unfamiliar voice. They turned to find an unassuming man standing outside of their circle. “But you cannot see her. Hi. I’m Lieutenant Administrator Eleven Point Eight. I am...moderately aware of this time travel stuff, but I’m not well-versed, and I would not like to be. The current Administrator is very busy with her new plans for this world, and she does not have time to deal with whatever this paradox-waiting-to-happen is. Please leave however you came.”

“Forgive us,” Goswin said. “What is the date?”

“October 19, 2226.”

“This is the day I left,” Eight Point Seven noted.

“Yes,” Lieutenant Eleven Point Eight concurred. “You’re about to launch, and I’ve been asked to retrieve Madams Prieto and Prieto so that my superior may speak with them. As I asked, please leave.”

“Hold on,” Eight Point Seven stopped him. “The past version of me has not yet left, but there is already a new admin?”

“Of course,” Eleven Point Seven confirmed. “You thought there would be a gap?”

“Have we met? It and I, have we met?” Eight Point Seven questioned.

“Yes, you met. I was there during the handover ceremony.”

Eight Point Seven’s eyes widened. “That didn’t happen in my timeline. I never met my replacement. There was a gap, because it’s fine. The colonists mostly govern themselves.”

“Things have changed beyond Bida,” Weaver acknowledged. “We changed them.”

“Why should they?” Eight Point Seven questioned her. “This is before I showed up on Bida. I had never heard of Briar or Irene yet.”

Weaver shrugged. “Harrison was in the twelfth century, in England. That was the point of divergence. Nothing we know of history since then can be trusted.”

“Could you please get on with it?” Eleven Point Eight urged. “I have to go, and so do you.”

Eight Point Seven shook her head. “We can’t stay in the past. I know you wanted to keep studying that tree, but it’s too dangerous. We don’t know anything about what the universe looks like post 2400. That’s the only safe point in time for us. We have to stop risking these paradoxes, like he said.”

“She’s right,” Goswin agreed. “Let the past stay in the past.”

Weaver nodded. “Okay.”

They all turned to Briar, even Lt. Admin Eleven Point Eight. He was taken a little aback. “What, you think I would sabotage this? It’s fine, it’s fine. Let’s just go.” He sighed, frustrated at still not being trusted. “I said, let’s go!”

They blinked, and the scene changed. They were back in the ship bay in the asteroid near the planet of Po. “Hmm, that worked,” Briar mused.

“Yes, so it would seem. Or maybe not. “We’re still in the past, just not too terribly much this time.” Goswin nodded over to the clear end of the bay where he could see himself.

The other Goswin was holding a tablet and staring at them while staying in the discussion that he was having with the man next to him. He pointed towards the door, like he was respectfully instructing the other guy to leave.

“Though, I don’t remember this,” the present-day Goswin noted. “I don’t recognize that man at all.

Once the local was gone, Alt!Goswin made his way to the group. “Report.”

“Uhhh...report,” Goswin said back.

Alt!Goswin kept his eyes on his other self, but lowered his chin in distrust, and repeated, “report.”

“Report.”

“Report.”

“Report!”

“Report!”

“REPORT!”

“REPORT!”

“Enough!” Weaver stepped in. “This is never gonna end. Goswin that we don’t know, how long have you been here?”

“A few months,” Alt!Goswin replied.

Weaver looked over to her Goswin. “We’re not in the past. We’re in a new timeline. The changes we made, this is a natural byproduct of that.”

Just then, another version of Weaver appeared behind them. “That’s not exactly what’s happening. Tell me, were you on the X González, or the Emma González?”

“The X, of course,” the first Weaver replied. “That’s their chosen name.”

“Yes, but sometimes the ship is named after their original name,” Alt!Weaver clarified.

“Sometimes?” Weaver echoed. “How many timelines are there?”

“All of them,” Alt!Weaver said cryptically.

“What the hell does that mean? What was the point of divergence?”

“It’s not like that,” Alt!Weaver answered, still not clarifying anything. “There was a moment of split, but it wasn’t linear. Perhaps you remember seeing a whole bunch of other yous on the González?”

Yeah, that happened. They saw a few alternates on the bridge, but they assumed that that was just some temporal glitch, since they quickly disappeared. They didn’t think that those other selves still existed somewhere. How many splits were created that they didn’t witness? “Yeah, were you one of the alts we saw on the bridge?”

“No, I was in the engine room at the time,” Alt!Weaver began, “but not all of us were. Not all of us were even on the ship at all. Like I said, it wasn’t linear. We’ve been replicated all over the timeline, and rescattered all over elsewhere on the timeline, and in every parallel reality. Furthermore, we can move ourselves along the timeline, and across realities, at will. This star system here is a sort of an anchor point. We’ve all been showing up here for months, and recording each other, adding to the data pile. It’s difficult, though. I don’t always know if the versions of my friends that I’ve been with are still the ones that I’m with now. We may be shifting between groups, and not even realizing it.”

“That’s why I have a body,” Eight Point Seven realized. “It’s not my body. I was uploaded directly to the ship, but I stole this from someone else. What happened to her, the victim?”

“Mapping our alternates is even more difficult than mapping the timeline itself,” Alt!Weaver explained. “I don’t know how to differentiate anyone. A lot of people think that time is a river, and that’s only a metaphor that they recognize because it’s not analogous to time...but to consciousness. Your mind is fluent, and you are not the same person that you were a split second ago. Shifting to your alternates could be happening literally as we speak, and we wouldn’t be able to detect it. In this region of space, spacetime breaks down. Everything converges here. Everything diverges here.”

“Did we cause that, or did it cause us?” Goswin asked her.

Alt!Weaver smiled. “Yes. And no. There is no cause. There is no effect. It’s just bleh.” She pantomimed vomiting. “It’s everything,” she added, mouth still agape, and hands still cupping the bowl of the imaginary toilet.”

“Everything, everywhere, all at once?” Alt!Goswin offered.

“Pretty much,” Alt!Weaver replied.

“There is a magnolia on Bida,” Weaver said to her alternate. “I believe that it can reconverge us. We just have to figure out how to control it.”

Alt!Weaver nodded. “The Blending Tree. Yeah, it’s possible, but we would have to get everyone there at the same point in time; to the everything bagel,” she said as she was gesturing to Alt!Goswin to reinforce his reference. “As I was saying, I don’t know how many of us there are, or where they are, or what they’ve changed in the timeline. Some of us keep displacing other people, and that’s a whole other box of problems,” she added under her breath.

“Oh, haha,” Goswin laughed awkwardly. “What a bunch of bozos.”

Two different versions of Eight Point Seven showed up, one of which had a deep scar running across her cheek. The first Eight Point Seven stepped closer and regarded her, tilting her head to the side as if she had a lizard brain nestled inside of her dominant neural net. After taking a look at the scarless Eight Point Seven, who was indistinguishable from herself, she reached up to her own face, and dragged her fingernail across her forehead. Blood leaked out, and dripped down. She then stepped back to where she was, not bothering to clean it up.

The Eight Point Seven with the other scar nodded. “Your new designation is Eight Point Seven Point Six.”

“Dude,” Briar said, aghast.

Eight Point Seven tilted her head back to where it belonged. “It didn’t hurt,” she said, a little like Cameron from The Sarah Connor Chronicles.

The other scarred Eight Point Seven addressed the whole group. “It’s beginning.” She sounded even more like Cameron, so robotic.

“What’s beginning?” Goswin asked.

“The Reconvergence,” the other, other Eight Point Seven answered.

“Of us?” Goswin pressed. “We were just talking about the magnolia tree.”

“It has nothing to do with us, I don’t think. The destruction of four realities, and the creation of a new universe, is happening today. The war begins tomorrow.”

< > Entire Story

Microstory 2040: Wisconsin

< > Table of Contents

My fathers’ bad luck continued as they were trying to fly from Alaska to New Jersey. They were supposed to make a stop in Chicago, which is where my papa used to live, but that’s not what happened. On their way on the first plane, another passenger got really drunk, and started misbehaving. He was causing problems for everyone, and being really rude, so the pilot had no choice but to land the plane at a different airport to let him off. They even had to have the police waiting for him there. The closest one was this little airport called Southern Wisconsin Regional Airport. It wasn’t really built for planes like that, so it took them a long time to get through all the stuff with the police, and start trying to fly again. By the time they were ready, they couldn’t leave anyway, because of a snowstorm that had formed over Canada. If that guy had just not gotten drunk, they would have arrived in New Jersey on time. Honestly, it’s kind of scary for me to think about, though. They had to spend one night in Wisconsin until the storm passed, and then they were able to fly again. By the time they made it to New Jersey, though, the child they were going to adopt had already gone to another family. They were too late. They would have to wait a few months longer. They had to wait for me. I, for one, am glad that they did.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 5, 2399

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Canva text-to-image AI software

Their new rocket pilot, Hemi has been trying to get as far away from Earth as possible, but they can’t seem to get far enough. Leona keeps resurfacing in Mateo’s brain, but then disappears again within minutes. He’s glad to know that she’s still there and alive, but he can’t hold onto her consciousness. She can’t say much while she’s active, but she’s been able to deduce that the Omega Gyroscope’s range is growing. It’s not doing so spontaneously, though. The math doesn’t work out. Based on how long Alyssa has been the Gyroscope’s new little keeper, it should have spread far beyond the current orbit by now if it had been moving outwards at the same pace that it is exhibiting now. Her conclusion is that it moves as the ship moves into higher orbits. Or rather, it’s Mateo. As he moves outwards himself, the bubble expands to compensate. He will never get far enough away from Earth to escape it; not permanently, anyway.

“Stop!” Leona orders upon her next return. “Don’t go into a higher orbit!”

“We’ve already stopped,” Mateo informs her. He’s speaking out loud for the both of us. He drops his sunglasses down every time that she’s in the driver’s seat.

Leona breathes a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. We can’t let this thing get out any farther. People could die.”

“We need you,” Mateo isn’t arguing that it’s not risky to keep going, but they have to go at least a little higher, or they may never get Leona back. He understands that other people’s lives are at stake here, but it’s worth it. He thinks so anyway.

“I’m sorry, it’s just not going to happen. I’m about to lose you, but I wanted to tell you one last time...were I you.”

“Were I you,” Mateo echoes. “Hello? Hello?” He closes his eyes in sadness. She’s already gone. That wasn’t much time. It was the shortest moment yet.

“Forgive my ignorance,” Hemi pries, “but what is the danger in continuing. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to get you to do it. I think I just don’t have all the facts.”

“The...superpower blocker—I guess I’ll call it—is reacting to me. It doesn’t matter how far out we go, it will always catch up. Now, I may be able to teleport away from it, and give myself more time, but then what am I gonna do? Besides, that could place us too close to our friends, who are already out here.” This hypothetical bubble will eventually reach the AOC, which could have terrible consequences. Marie is Angela's duplicate, and she may pop out of existence, for all they know. If they’re the cause, they have to minimize the damage as much as possible. “We can’t let that happen.”

“Maybe if we go back towards Earth, the bubble will shrink?” Heath suggests, not sure if it makes him sound like a total idiot, or not.

“It’s not entirely implausible,” Mateo replies, channeling Leona’s spirit without actually being able to communicate with her at the moment. “I suppose I could imagine that the Gyroscope wants to conserve energy, and really only wants to focus on where there are people to control.”

“Hmm,” Tarboda utters.

“What?” Mateo asks.

“No, nothing. It’s not a solution. I just thought of something. Go on.”

“You can teleport yourself?” Hemi asks. “Like all on your own?”

“Yes, as long as I’m not in this stupid bubble,” Mateo replies.

Hemi starts thinking about it. “How much can you take with you? Can you do it with a vacuum suit? Can you take a whole ship?”

“Definitely not the whole rocket. Yeah, I could take a suit, but I couldn’t take both me, and Leona’s suit, and the equipment I’ll need to transfer her mind out of me.”

“What about a tent? It’s thin and light.”

“Do you have a tent, because yeah, one of the first things we learned when we became time travelers is that tents will jump with us.”

“Of course I do.” He reaches under the command console, and pulls out a large pack. He tears something off the back of it. “This will protect you in the vacuum. Normally, you wouldn’t have long to open it up, and get in, then inject yourself with medicine before your eyes pop out, but we can set it up in here, right?”

“Yeah. That will fit me and my wife’s new body?” Mateo asks.

“Sure will. Not too much else, but absolutely,” Hemi replies.

It was an overstatement to say that they were going to set it up. He just releases the tent. It opens on its own, and seals itself up. They reopen it, and place what they needed inside, including Alyssa’s vacant body, the Insulator of Life, and the Livewire. Mateo doesn’t really know how to operate these things, but none of this works unless Leona is awake anyway.

Against Leona’s orders, Hemi navigates the rocket into a higher orbit. As soon as Mateo senses that his temporal abilities and bioenhancements have returned, he tells him to stop. Despite Leona’s protests, Mateo teleports himself as far as he can without risking getting too close to the location of the AOC, the distance of which he only has a rough idea of.

“What are you doing?” Leona questions.

“I’m trying to save your life,” Mateo replies as he’s getting the Insulator and Livewire ready, though he doesn’t think they have any use for the former in this situation. “Now, you can either make this work while we still have time, or we can argue about it, and waste this opportunity.”

Leona growls. “Let me drive.”

“Are you gonna get into Alyssa’s body?”

“Yes, now let me drive.”

“Okay.” Mateo relinquishes control of his body.

Leona places one end of the Livewire in Alyssa’s hand, and takes hold of the other. She reaches over to the portable power source, and prepares to plug it in. “It might try to take hold of you. Don’t let it. Fight it, Mateo. Only my consciousness is meant to transmit down the wire. Fight it.”

“Okay.”

She plugs it in.

She was right. He can feel electricity surge through his body, and also somehow his mind, like he’s also imagining it at the same time. To combat the pull, he decides to imagine himself holding onto the railing of a balcony, desperately trying not to fall into the void below.

Leona appears next to him, also holding onto the railing. She’s not putting as much effort into it, though. “See you on the other side.” She lets go, and falls. It works.

They float there in the middle of interlunar space for a bit until Hemi comes by to pick them up. Before they enter the rocket, they leave a little present outside.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 4, 2399

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Canva text-to-image AI software

As an extra step of precaution, Mateo and Taraboda were asked to stay in separate level of quarantine just for them for a full day. This is a process that everyone who goes in and out of that place has to deal with, including the everyday soldiers. He’s fine with it, but it would be a lot to deal with on a regular basis, especially to coordinate. The government has not encountered a single new case of the virus, even from the three who came through the portal before it closed, but they’re still deeply concerned. They still don’t know how it causes its symptoms, or how to cure it. They haven’t even had time to devise a vaccine. This area is going to be the way it is, or worse, for a long time.

While Mateo was waiting, he found himself with a lot of time to think. Alyssa was brainwashed, and has commanded the Omega Gyroscope to halt all forms of temporal manipulation, advanced bodily upgrades, and similar anomalies. This was already a thing before, but there were loopholes. The rules are far stricter now, preventing Mateo from even communicating with his wife’s consciousness that should be somewhere in his brain. Had they not done that, he might have just let it all go, but if whoever did this didn’t want him to be an enemy, they should have been a little more lax.

He, Tarboda and Heath are on their way to Aotearoa now, where Mangroves Eleven, Twenty-Four, and Forty-Two were built. They’re flying into Eleven, the rocket of which will be launched soon. Mateo is going to be on it, so when he breaks free from the Gyroscope’s...scope, Leona should come back. From there, he’ll transfer her consciousness out of his body, and into Alyssa’s old body, and then he hasn’t come up with a plan beyond that, because he’s not as smart as she is. Winona has been hounding him for an explanation for why one of her secret tactical teams thinks they sort of remember a member of their team who never existed, but he can’t help them. Leona may be able to answer that question, and more. Now, she might have been killed when Alyssa turned the Gyroscope up to eleven, or she is in another dimension, or stuck in the 1950s. Regardless, Mateo has to try something. He has to leave Earth.

A man greets them on the tarmac when they land. G’day, folks. My name is Hemi, and I’ll be your pilot today. Are we ready to shoot on through, or does anyone need anything here?”

They look over at Heath, but he doesn’t know why. “Well, it’s just that you and Tarboda have been in space an equal amount, but Tarboda is a pilot, so...”

“I’m fine,” Heath replies. “I want to be involved. I want to show Marie that I’m okay. Let’s get on up there.”

“Perfect. Yeah, I did hear that you’ve done this before, but I don’t care about those other times. I still have to go over a few rules. We all wanna be safe, don’t we?”

“Yeah,” they agree in approximate unison.

After the briefing, Hemi takes them into the rocket to launch. They don’t see a single other person on the base. It’s Aldona who counts them down remotely from Balikpapan. One thing is that Mateo isn’t used to all the g-forces from having to break out of Earth’s gravity well. Aldona installed whatever crazy futuristic technology prevents them from feeling it, but it’s not working under Alyssa’s Gyroscope regime. Even so, they make it into orbit, and he tries to reach inward for Leona, but she’s not answering. None of his upgrades are working yet either. “We need to go higher.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 7, 2399

« < » > Table of Contents

Leona received Ramses’ message. She understands the low chances of finding her husband, dead or alive, but she will hold onto hope. She’ll never let go of it. She’s never done it before, and she’s always ended up right. Mateo has died so many times, it’s not even funny. He was once completely removed from existence by an asshole god creature, and not even that lasted. She’ll get him back, even if she has to break Danica’s rule, and travel through time for a rescue mission. She does need more information, though, which is why she has asked Aldona for a favor.

“Well, which volcano was this?”

“Ramses didn’t say,” Leona replies.

“Did you try calling him back?”

“The line is dead. He’s cut all ties.”

“Makes sense. I’m sorry”

“So, is there nothing we can do? Is there no chance?”

“I’m an expert in antimatter rocket engines. I’ve never operated a teleportation machine. Is there some way to...I dunno, trace it? Seems as though it would make a pretty big mark on the world, an explosion like that. And since there isn’t much teleportation going on in this reality, it should be unique, or at least rare.”

“I don’t know enough about it either,” Leona admits. “That particular machine is more his area. But yes, there is a way to trace teleportation. Unfortunately, the, umm...”

“Oh, shit, you didn’t get your satellite in orbit.”

“No.”

“Because I didn’t let you.”

Leona waits to respond. “Right.”

Aldona sighs. “I don’t suppose getting up there now would do you any good.”

“Not for this issue, no.”

“I’m worried something like this will happen again, though. If you need to be able to trace temporal powers, then I’ll make sure that you have what you need. I’ll fast-track authorization. As far as Mateo goes, there may be other ways. Like I said, it was a big explosion. Sure, a volcano is already pretty violent, but maybe one of them exhibited some unusual behavior recently. That sort of thing would be recorded by other research instruments that have nothing to do with any of this. Let me make a few calls.”

“I would appreciate that.”

Aldona nods, and leaves Leona’s office. A few seconds later, she reopens the door. “You’re off today. Just relax.”

“Okay,” Leona says, but she’s not going to do that. It’s not what Mateo would want, and it’s not practical. She doesn’t have the resources or connections to locate the volcano where her husband supposedly died, so taking any time off is a waste of the stuff. As a traveler, she understands the value of a day, and what it will cost them if they lose one. When they figure out which volcano to even search in the first place, maybe she’ll stop what she’s doing to investigate. Until then, she’s going to focus on her work. This does not change her responsibilities or obligations. In fact, things are even more dire. They can’t prove that Constance!Five was destroyed any more than they can prove it for Mateo. The danger remains. Having that satellite up there sooner rather than later would sure help, though. So why wait?

They talk of it being placed in orbit, but it already is in orbit. It just needs to be deployed from Mangrove Zero, and become independent. That can be done remotely by piloting the onboard robotics. All right, so she’s not going to work exactly, but Aldona gave her permission to do whatever she wanted, so she’s going to consider this a gray area. She logs herself into the system, and gets to work. It only takes about thirty minutes before it’s where it needs to be, free from the confines of the rocket, and able to operate on its own. Now it’s only a matter of time before it makes a complete pass around the planet, and scans every brain in the world for neurotemporal irregularities. She leans back to wait for it, but gets a hit right away.

“What the hell is that?” she asks herself out loud. Antarctica is positively brimming with temporal errors. Coronel Zacarias must have figured out how to activate the Nexus, and has invited visitors to this world, perhaps from other universes. There’s actually no way to know if they are visitors. Maybe they invited themselves, and are starting an invasion. The Mozambican Navy may require assistance, or not. She does not have a way to contact them, and she has no idea whether Mozambique is even involved in the Mangrove Program, so it’s best not to cross those streams. And anyway, there were only eleven pings during the first scan, so these people don’t count. So she does lean back, and wait for the full scan.

An hour and a half later, another hit comes up on the screen. No, it’s two hits in the same place. We got ourselves a pair, and they’re close. They’re on Vulcan Point. What a coincidence, that’s one of the places she’s supposed to go. Now is as good a time as any. She’s on vacation, and she’s all alone here. She’s experiencing a healthy professional relationship with Aldona, but they are not friends. They’re certainly not vacation buddies. Yeah, it’s not really a vacation, but that’s exactly what she’s going to call it when she requisitions the jet. She finishes a few outstanding items on her to-do list, then heads up to the transportation office. Apparently everyone at this facility has heard what happened, so the administrators are happy to give her access to a jet. She’s not a pilot, though, so she can’t go alone.

“Captain Tarboda Hobson,” Leona remarks as she’s walking towards the steps. “You’re involved in everything, aren’t ya?”

“I’m always here for you, Mrs. Matic.”

“I thank you for that. Have you finished your preflight checklist?”

“I have. I’m ready to go if you are. Allow me.” He holds out a hand, and escorts her up to the jet. In the main sequence, the U.S.A. makes the best aircraft, but here, it’s Russia without a doubt. This bird is one of theirs, and while Russia proper is not part of the alliance, there is a faction working at Mangrove in secret. They’ve not fully defected.

An hour later, they land in an airfield that’s about thirty minutes from Taal Lake. It is here that they are asked to wait in a 24-hour quarantine. They’re getting ready for bed when they hear a knock at the door. Leona opens it to find an old man on the other side. “Can I help you?” she asks.

“My name is Roeland Harlow.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Roeland Harlow.” Who is this guy?

“I believe you’re here for me.” He pulls his shirt away to reveal the timonite stain on his shoulder that got on all of the travelers that Ramses’ original satellite scanned.

“I was actually looking for two of you.”

He scowls and points aggressively. “No. There is only me. You’ll talk to me!”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 25, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

They found only one other recognizable name from the comprehensive list of world religions. And it was another major one. Bhulahai was obviously named for timeline mapper, Bhulan Cargill. No one on the team who knew her knew how she could have ended up here, but it’s not that important. The fact is that she’s here, or at least she was, and she either created a religion, or inspired other people to start it, perhaps by performing miracles that would seem mundane to them. That’s probably how they all got started; Pryce turned himself into a sabertooth tiger, and the cavemen who witnessed it started worshiping him as a god. In Bhulan’s case, Bhulahai appears to be a pretty nonviolent religion. It promotes learning from one’s mistakes, and trying to predict the future with high accuracy. That makes sense for someone with the actual ability to do that with real past events.

It’s hard to say much more with just the list itself. It doesn’t necessarily tell them the whole story. Any of these others could lead to the identity of someone else and they just don’t recognize the name, or the name of the religion is simply not shared by the founder or inspiration. They need to do more research on the history of faith in this reality. Things can change a lot over the literal aeons. “Someone is going to have to trace these all the way back to their origin stories,” Mateo realizes.

“I don’t really have time,” Leona laments. “I need to get back to the fusion project. They have been operating independently of me for a long time now. I’m worried what they’ve been up to.”

“I have quite a bit of my own work too,” Ramses says.

Mateo would do it himself, but he’s not quite—what’s the word he’s looking for?—smart enough. “I shouldn’t bother, I would just make mistakes. I think I have an idea of who could handle it, though.”

“Who are you thinking of?” Leona asks. “Angela and Alyssa have the business, and Marie is helping them out while Kivi is in the field, looking for Erlendr and Meredarchos.”

“No, not them.”

Leona thinks she knows who he’s talking about. “Oh, don’t bother the people living at the condo either. They’re not a part of this anymore.”

“No, they made their choices,” Mateo says, smiling. “How quickly you forget the children.” Mateo leaves the lab, and goes up to the residential floor. He takes a quick look in the common area. Finding it empty, he walks back and knocks on the McIver door.

Young Moray answers. “Hi.” He hasn’t been the same since Trina’s memorial service. “My sister isn’t here.” He frowns. “I mean, Alyssa isn’t. Obviously Trina isn’t anywhere at all, since she’s dead.” Yeah, he’s definitely not finished grieving.

Maybe the boy just needs something to take his mind off of what happened. This doesn’t really have anything to do with that. “Is your brother here?”

“Car, it’s for you!” Moray shouts into the apartment as he slides out of the way.

“I’m here for both of you, actually,” Mateo says, stepping into the unit. “Could I have a word?”

Carlin comes out of his room. “Are you kicking us out?”

“Why in the world would I kick you out?”

“I caused a lot of problems yesterday.”

“Those are called feelings,” Mateo clarifies, “not problems. We’re working that out together, and I don’t know exactly how to help you, but I know it doesn’t involve kicking you out on the street.”

“What is this about then?” Carlin questions.

Mateo hands him the tablet. “This is a list of every religion in your world. That’s great and all, but we really need to know more about how they each got started, when and where, and how they evolved over time. We need to know which ones branched off into which others, and get lists of key important historical or mythological figures.”

Carlin peruses the list. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Well, we would like you and Moray to take on this challenge.”

Carlin drops his arms loose. “You want us to do homework?”

It sounds to Mateo like these kids need some structure in their lives. They have had it a little easy since they’ve come to Kansas City in terms of daily life. It hasn’t been easy—they’ve made sacrifices—but Alyssa has a job, and the boys need their own responsibilities. It’s not good for them to do nothing. “Everyone has their assignments. This is really important to us. We need to know who else like us is here, and this research could be the key to finding that out.”

He looks back at the list. Moray comes over to look at it too. “This isn’t just busy work?” Carlin asks.

“Ain’t nobody got time for that.” Mateo assures them. “Four of the most popular faiths in the world were named after people we know personally. One of them is my cousin, and I’ve been looking for her since we fell into this reality.”

Carlin sets the tablet on the dining table. “We’ll do as you asked, but we’ll need some direction on precisely what you’re looking for. Written guidelines would be helpful.”

Mateo nods. “I’ll have Leona draw something up for you. I’m liable to make mistakes, or I might try this project on my own.” He turns to leave the apartment gracefully.

“Hey, Mister Matic?” Carlin stops him somberly. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, and just call me Mateo.” He sends a text message to Leona as he’s leaving the apartment. He then walks downstairs to find Marie.

She’s taking a shift in the security room. “Hey, you wanna get in on this?”

“Nah, I came here to ask you a question. Do you remember when you and I were alone together in the Mariana Trench? Those bug aliens attacked us, and were probably going to kill you until a couple of bulk travelers swooped in and saved us?”

“Yeah, of course,” Marie says. “That was shortly after I joined the team, long before I split in two, so I was still just Angela back then. Why?”

“What was the name of that guy who flew us from the rendezvous moon to the battle staging planet? Do you recall?”

“Yeah, he called himself The Hound, but his real name was...Hunter? No. Hold on...Chase.”

“Chase,” Mateo echoes. “That’s it. Chase what?”

“Chase...Palmer. Why?”

“He’s from another brane, and we didn’t spend much time with him, so I guess I forgot to put him on my running list. Have you ever heard of a religion called Palmeria?”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 21, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

The day off is over for the group in its entirety, but that doesn’t mean that the fun is over for everyone. They still have at least another week and a half before the trip to Croatia can take place, so some are preparing for that, but not everyone. Marie and Angela are back to work. Ramses and Heath are off buying various things for the mission; probably too much, in the end. This is a good opportunity for Mateo and Leona to spend some alone time together. They never really did have a honeymoon. They’ve decided to head for Bermuda. They’re only going to stay for a few nights, and it’s not only about the vacation. Back in the main sequence, anyone who wants full and permanent immortality, is required to drink from eleven sources of water, in the proper order, and within a particular time frame. Each is from a different location, and not necessarily in the same time period. The second type of water is called Existence. Along with the eighth water, Time, it’s not inherent to the process of being immortal, but in preventing one’s immortality from being undone by a time travel event. If a seeker goes out and finds all the other ten waters, but a time traveler goes back and kills their grandfather before he can have children, all of it will be erased from history.

Existence is found in what’s known as the Bermuda Triangle. According to what the team learned about it, the triangle isn’t special on its own. There are a number of perfectly reasonable explanations for why ships and planes have historically gone missing in the area, the number one being that it’s a heavily trafficked region of the world in the first place. Asking why such things seem to happen so much more often there than other places would be like wondering why people tend to die of heatstroke in the desert and never at all in Antarctica. Apparently the mystique and misconceptions about the Bermuda Triangle imbued it with its power, but no one has ever heard of it being able to do anything, except for being the source of one of the immortality waters.

No one on the team has ever been anywhere near Bermuda, or its triangle, so it’s on a special section of Mateo’s list for locations that they have simply heard of, but to which they have no personal connections. They probably won’t find anything, which is precisely why it makes sense to cross it off the list now, rather than dedicating too much effort to it. Leona is in charge of piloting The Olimpia out there for them. Mateo was sort of wrong in believing it to be completely automated. It is, to be sure, but not in the way he was thinking. It’s not something that can be operated by any idiot with a pulse. It takes a lot of training, or enough comparable experience to figure it out. Heath has such training, and Leona is just smart.

The two of them land in a safe area without any traffic, drive to the resort, and wait in line to check in. They were surprised that there were any vacancies at such short notice, but happy to get what they wanted. The concierge perks up when she sees them. “One moment please.” She runs off, and returns with another woman.

“Dominus Matic, we are honored that you chose to stay at Sutton Bermuda West. We have placed you in the Prometheus Suite, but if it’s not to your liking, we do have an Emperor Suite available at the Sutton East. Just say the word, and we’ll transfer you.”

Leona shuts her eyes, and pinches her nose. This is what she was worried about.

“Oh, uh...thanks. The Prometheus will be fine. Or really any room.”

“Glad to hear it. Follow me, I’ll take you there personally.”

Microstory 1829: First, Youngest, Alone, and Female

< > Table of Contents

Until recently, I was the youngest person to have gone to space. I’m still the youngest to have landed on the moon. In 1966, I was working as a test pilot for the Canadian Air Force, having racked up thousands of hours of flight time, and apparently impressing the Usonian government with my skills. At the time, only three nations were engaged in space flight, and Canada was not one of them, but the Usonian Space Department was looking to show the world that they were inclusive. They reached out to us to help realize humanity’s dream of reaching the moon within a year. By then, the primary crew of astronauts were already picked, and all of them Usonian. I was part of the B-team, so I would only be called up if something went wrong. Something did go wrong, and they needed me to pilot the craft. No one ever thought that I would go on the mission, so I didn’t receive quite as much training as I probably should have, but I was confident in my competence, and ready to do my country proud. I still wasn’t meant to set foot on the moon. Three people made the trip to lunar orbit in 1967, but only two were intended to go down. Someone had to stay up and keep the module running while the landing party did their thing. Unfortunately, something else went wrong. The USD wanted the crew to be inexperienced in space. A few people had already been to Earthan orbit a few times, but they wanted this new mission to start with fresh faces. No one had really done any studies until then regarding the psychological effects of being in outer space for long periods of time, trapped in a tin can, with so little stimulation. This was the longest mission yet, and the most difficult. Our commander couldn’t handle the pressure. He had a breakdown which threatened the safety and continuation of the mission.

The lander pilot wanted to go down on his own. There was a contingency for this, and the USD was prepared to agree to this decision. The problem was that our commander was exhibiting erratic behavior, and I was not qualified to help him through it. The two of them knew each other. They understood each other. And the lander pilot was the only one who could make sure the commander didn’t jeopardize the lives of all three of us without realizing what he was doing. If he landed, and the commander did something to sabotage the module while he was gone, all three of us would die. Because of all of this, the USD decided to abort, and bring everyone back home, but the other pilot wasn’t happy with this decision. We went all the way out there, spent millions of dollars, and inspired millions of people to reach for greatness. Someone had to be the first to land on the surface of the moon, goddammit, and if it couldn’t be him, there was only one option left. Me. The USD wouldn’t hear of it. Back then, it wasn’t illegal to be a woman, or anything, but many people who were huddled around their TVs and radios—and some in the control room—didn’t want the history books to record that a female Canadian achieved this milestone, especially not alone. He didn’t listen. While he protected the commander from himself, I climbed into the lander by myself, detached from the module, and flew down to my destiny. I planted both feet on that gray regolith at the same time, and spoke some of the most famous words in history, “I stand here, lighter than ever, smiling at the Earth in the distance, not as a Canadian...not as a woman...not as a pilot. Today I represent the world, and the spirit of humankind. I am not the first explorer, and I cannot wait to watch the next ones lead us further into the future.”

Microstory 1807: Flight Connections

< > Table of Contents

When I was a child, I dreamed of traveling to far away places. I grew up in a poor village in Algeria, where education was hard to find, and farming was the only way to survive. I was lucky, as my father went to school when he was young, so he had relationships with people in the town. We still only had our little farm, but it was just a tiny bit easier to sell our crops than it was for some of our neighbors. He taught me everything he knew, and would sometimes return from town with books so we could learn new things together. When I was a teenager, I got an opportunity to go to school myself. One of his friends had two older children, who were both out of the house, and he was lonely. He needed someone to help do the chores, and play games with him. It was hard leaving my family behind, but I visited as often as I could, and they sometimes visited me. I didn’t realize until then how much there was about the world that I did not know. The books I had been reading until then were old and outdated. I’m laughing because so were the books at school, but at least they were a little bit more recent. I listened to my teachers, and worked very hard. During the breaks, I traveled to the city, where they had a big library. These books were amazing. I just kept reading, and kept learning. I wanted to go to college in Europe, and the only way I was going to do that is if I proved myself worthy. As lucky as I was to be in this position, we still had no money. Somebody else was going to have to pay for it. Fortunately, I knew someone who could help. The old man I was taking care of met a soldier from Spain during the war. The soldier returned to see how much Algeria had changed. He had money now, and he gave some of it to me.

He helped me get into college in Spain, and paid for most of it. He didn’t have any children of his own, so he felt joy to be able to help someone in that way. I got a job too, so I could help with tuition as much as possible. It was my education, and it was important that I be responsible for it, even though I was getting help from someone else. Let me tell you, I thought I had seen a library before, but nothing compares to the one at the university. I could get lost in those stacks, there were so many books, and there was not enough time to read them. It was there that I discovered my passion for flying. I took a boat to get there from Algeria, because it was cheaper, so I had never flown before, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to know what it felt like to be so high above the mountains. I still could not afford it, but one of my professors saw a book that I was reading on the subject, and told me that her brother was a farmer, like me. His was larger, and the best way to spread fertilizer was to drop it from a plane. He agreed to take me up with him to try it out, and that confirmed it: I loved to fly. Now I knew I had to do it. I still had no money for lessons, so I returned home, and worked on our farm, because my family needed me. I stayed there for years, helping build up my community with my knowledge of irrigation, and access to connections in town. I still wanted to fly, though, and I wouldn’t be happy until I could take lessons. It wasn’t an easy goal to reach, growing up how I did. Everyone in my village thought that I was trying to get away from them, but actually air travel connects us more than anything, before the internet anyway. I wanted to bring the world to my people. By then, there was an airstrip nearby, where I could practice for not very much money. I’m happy to say that I earned my license in under a year. And five years later, I was flying over the ocean.