The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 30, 2512

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3

It was time. This was the moment that Ramses, Marie, Olimpia, and Boyd had been anticipating for the last two days. For two years, the temporal energy crystal was being bombarded with the sonified version of a simple lemon, converted from its genetic sequence in full. While cracks had formed on the surface, nothing major had changed to the crystal. It was nearing the end of the original music piece, and it still wasn’t entirely obvious what was going to happen. As they watched the visualization of the chords fly by on the monitor from the safety of the antechamber, something bad happened. It stopped. With only one single bar of four chords left, the music just stopped. It wasn’t reacting to the near-end of the song. It needed the complete, unadulterated piece. The universe seemed to be fighting back.

“It stopped,” Olimpia stated the obvious.

“Yeah, I see that,” Ramses replied, angry, but not really at her. He just kept staring through the window.

“What does this mean?” Marie asked.

“I don’t know,” Ramses admitted.

“Well, do we have to start over, errr...”

“I don’t know!” he repeated.

“Surely we don’t have to start all over,” Boyd figured. “Let’s just get the music playing again.”

“Yeah.” Ramses grabbed the keyboard, and started fiddling with the program, trying to force the music to start up again. It wouldn’t budge, it just wouldn’t. His hands started shaking out of frustration. He looked like he was about to throw something across the room. “Get me that bowl of lemon juice out of the fridge.”

“We can’t do that,” Marie argued. “It’s too dangerous.”

“It’s our only choice now. It wouldn’t be so bad to wait another two years to try again, but the crystal doesn’t want to be turned off, so I have no reason to believe that the next attempt will go any better.”

“Well, let’s at least get a robot in there to do it for us,” Olimpia suggested.

“I don’t use robots,” Ramses explained. “I like to do the physical jobs myself.”

“Well, we’ll get one from somewhere else. It’s a big planet,” Olimpia said. She then stood there, concentrating.

“You can’t teleport out of my lab, remember?” he reminded her.

“Right.”

“I’ll go with you,” Marie offered. They both started to leave.

While Ramses’ attention was split between the girls and his hope that there was something he could do from here, Boyd had slipped over to the other side of the room unnoticed. He had opened the fridge, carefully grabbed the pitcher of pure lemon juice, and slowly left through the other door.

Only by the thud of the door closing did Ramses notice that Boyd had left. “Wait. No! Don’t go in there!”

Boyd was already through the next door, and was approaching the crystal.

Ramses hit the intercom button. “Just wait. They’re going to get us a robot.”

“There’s no time,” Boyd contended, still inching his way across the room. If he spilled just one drop...it would definitely be okay, but he obviously didn’t want to risk wasting any. “Look at the clock.” He was right. There was probably just enough time before midnight that the girls could come back with the robot, but this needed to be done while everyone was still in the timestream. And there was a security concern with bringing in an unauthorized intelligence of any kind without proper assessment.

“Run as fast as you can out of the teleportation suppression field,” Ramses urged Marie and Olimpia through comms. “It’s not safe.” He activated his EmergentSuit, including his external PRU.

Boyd reached the pedestal. “Tell everyone who has ever met me that I’m sorry,” he requested. He lifted the pitcher up, closed his eyes, and dumped the juice on the crystal. As predicted, it exploded in his face.

While it was difficult and rare to travel between The Eighth Choice and Fort Underhill, it certainly wasn’t impossible. And if anyone had the natural authority to cross the border, it was anyone from Team Matic. After making contact with Gilbert Boyce, Leona, Angela, Romana, and Jessie were sent passes to board a transport ship, which flew them through the interversal conduit, and into the other child universe. They were on the planet of Violkomin now, standing by the prebiotic lake, waiting for Mateo to appear. Any minute now.

“Are you sure your contact in the new afterlife simulation was talking about the right person?” Leona asked.

“How many Mateo Matics do you know?” Nerakali asked right back. “It doesn’t matter how many there are, I would bet my life that only one of them died anytime in the last many decades. It’s the right guy.”

“Well, where is he?” Romana asked for the fifth time.

Nerakali sighed. “His pattern could have messed with the transition. You’re not like any other salmon; I know this much. It’s hardwired into his neurology in a way that I don’t understand. Do you? The server that he was placed on when he died is quantum. The lake is controlled by a biological computer. The way it was explained to me, it’s difficult for them to communicate with each other. That might make it sound unsafe, but the fact that he hasn’t shown up is probably a good thing. It’s probably erring on the side of caution while it makes the necessary—and unique—data conversions.”

“He needs to get here soon,” Angela pointed out. “It took us so long to get here from that other universe. Is it possible that he already came out? Or could he be clear on the other side of the lake?”

“He’ll show up here,” Nerakali assured her, “and he hasn’t gone through yet, or I would know. This is my job. I asked for it. Returning from death has always been my thing. I wanted to give back.”

Romana commanded the nanites that formed her shoes to recede into their implants. She started to wade into the water. “Can we...go in after him?”

Nerakali smiled, almost condescendingly, but still in a nice way. “It doesn’t work like that.”

“There’s one way to get there,” Romana said darkly.

“Don’t even think about it,” Leona warned. “You don’t know what’s waiting for you. Like she was just saying, we each have a weird biology, and a weird neurology. You might not end up in the simulation. You might just die.”

“Then you do it,” Romana suggested. “You’ve been there be—” She stopped when she felt a sudden pit in her stomach.

Leona and Angela felt it too. It felt like they were losing something. Something was being removed...not from their bodies, nor even their minds, but somewhere else. They shuddered at the same time, a highlight of technicolors flowing over their skin, and then they nearly collapsed to the ground. They were feeling weak and woozy, but still had enough wherewithal to keep themselves aloft.

“What the shit was that?” Marie asked.

“The crystal. They must have shut it off.”

“Why did we need to feel it?” Romana questioned. “Wasn’t it just Boyd and Octavia who were on our pattern? I mean, we didn’t end up with their powers.”

Marie and Olimpia woke up on their backs on the roof of a building, but they didn’t know if it was the right one. They were trying to teleport to Bot Farm, but this could be just about anywhere. “What happened?”

“The crystal exploded,” Marie replied. “That’s the only logical conclusion.”

“We need to go back. If you’re right, we don’t need the robot anymore.”

“No, I don’t think we do.” Marie stood and waited a moment. “Is there a suppression field here too?”

“Why would there be?” Olimpia pointed to the ground in the distance where scraps of metal and other materials were being unloaded from a truck so they could be recycled into mechanical substrate components. “This probably is indeed Bot Farm.”

“Well, something is stopping us from teleporting.”

“Do you think...?”

“Oh my God, the crystal. It took away all our powers.”

“It was only—”

“Yeah, well this is why we didn’t just dump lemon juice on it in the first place. We knew that we couldn’t control the results.”

“Then we need to get down to the vactrain station.”

“Agreed.” Marie looked around for a more traditional way off the roof.

“My suit. It’s not emerging. I was just gonna jump down to the ground, but I can’t. The suit isn’t a time power, I don’t understand.”

“The suit’s not, but the way we control them with our minds is biotechnopathic. We control it more in a psychic way than people typically interface with tech.” She placed her chin against her chest so she could see the manually interface on her shortsleeve. She was able to activate the suit from there. “So we don’t have to crane our necks like that, whenever you change clothing, keep a wristband on, so you always have easy control over it.”

“Good idea.” Olimpia did the same to get her suit on. Then they jumped over the edge, and started walking, like animals.

Ramses woke up alone. “Hey, Thistle. Report.”

“You have been unconscious for eleven hours and twenty-four minutes. You are otherwise healthy and unharmed. Environment is hostile, and not survivable, but life support is holding.”

“It’s 2513?”

“Unknown.”

“Where are we?”

“Unknown.”

“Lifesigns?”

“No life detected within sightline. No satellite detected.”

“Why does the air taste stale?”

“Primary carbon scrubber damaged and offline. Helmet scrubber is functioning optimally, but conservatively. Ramscoop nodes require manual service.”

“What about the transdimensional backups and replacements?”

“Pocket dimensions are inaccessible.”

That wasn’t good. This looked like it could be Castlebourne, but a region of it where there were no domes in sight. His best guess was the mirror dimension version of it, though there was no way to test that hypothesis from this random vantage point. “I can’t teleport,” he noted.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Thistle replied.

“If Boyd destroyed the crystal, it would have taken him off our pattern. Though if it killed him, that doesn’t really matter. If the pocket dimensions are gone, and I can’t teleport, it must have also wiped out all excess temporal energy across the board. Time must have spit me out here by random chance. All hope is lost. I can’t get back. Even if my slingdrive were available, I couldn’t use it on my own. But what does that mean for my pattern? Am I stuck here for years?”

“I recommend you repair the ramscoop nodes for your indefinite resource management needs.”

“Thanks, Sherlock. Thank God I had my suit on at all, or it would be game over.” It was pointless to dwell on anything. “The composition of this world’s atmosphere. Analyze it. Is there enough helium and neon for meaningful lift?”

“No,” Thistle replied plainly.

“I’ll do the heavy lifting, so to speak, but I need you to run the calculations. I would like to jury-rig a fusion torch, and power it with the microreactor. Once I fix the nodes, there should be more than enough hydrogen to get me in the air.”

“I’ll start developing the models.”

Boyd Maestri woke up in the afterlife simulation. He had expected to find himself lying on the top of a mountain, or strewn halfway in a babbling brook. Instead, he was sitting in a hardback chair. A woman was standing before him coolly and trying to appear patient, but clearly itching to explain the situation. Boyd wasn’t tied to the chair, but he couldn’t move either. The computer program was just arbitrarily holding him in place. Physical restraints weren’t truly physical anyhow.

“Mister Maestri. Welcome to the afterlife.”

“You the boss around here?”

“I am,” the woman replied.

“How’d that happen?”

“I died at the exact same time that the original sim was being evacuated.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

She shrugged. “I did it on purpose.”

“You know my name,” Boyd pointed out, then let the implication sit there.

“They used to call me Pinocchio, but I didn’t like it. So when I came back here, I adopted a new identity. You can call me Proserpina. I am a unique lifeform.”

“I get it. I didn’t like my name for a time, and went by Buddha instead. That was a mistake, though. How did you take charge of this place?”

“I was responsible for the original version for a time, until Ellie Underhill sent everyone to a new universe. I just reclaimed my birthright.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I don’t care about you at all,” Proserpina explained. “Mateo Matic does. My counselors receive the names of everyone who dies, and is on their way to this world. One of them will make sure Mateo gets the message, and he’ll come here to get you.”

“Did you kill me?”

She laughed. “I’m just taking advantage of the situation. You got your own self killed. Something about lemons? I dunno, I didn’t read the whole report.”

Just then, Mateo opened the door to this room, and came in deliberately, but not hostilely. He was dragging some old man behind him. “I was told you turned off the lake, or something?” Only then did he notice the detainee. “Boyd, you’re here?”

“I died destroying the crystal.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Wait, you didn’t come for him?” Proserpina questioned. “I made sure Keilix knew about it.”

“I don’t think I told her about Boyd at all,” Mateo said. “I doubt his name means anything to her.”

“So, why are you here?” she asked. “The lake?”

“Yeah, I can’t go through. I’ve been trying for two days, which was two years ago.”

“Yeah, I turned it off for you,” Proserpina explained, confused as to why he didn’t already know this. “I need you here.”

“For what?”

“For your wife.”

“What about her?”

“She’s the one who created me last century,” Proserpina began. “I need her to do it again. I keep sending people to kill her, and she keeps surviving, I don’t understand.”

“What?” Mateo was so lost. “No one has tried to kill her. I mean, she’s faced danger, and there is that one guy, but he’s always trying to kill us, and has his own reasons.”

“Yeah, I exploited those reasons. Just like I exploited Pacey’s, and Bronach’s, and even Buddy’s here.”

“Well, you weren’t very good at it,” Boyd contended. “I didn’t want to kill her.”

“Well, I’m kind of limited under these conditions,” Proserpina argued. “I pass messages along with dead people who cross over to the other side, and I know my targets get these messages, but I think something gets lost in translation.”

“Are you trying to escape the simulation?” Mateo asked her, still not clear on what her agenda was.

“No, I’m trying to create a community of my own, but I need your wife to do what she did to me to all the other NPCs. I cannot figure it out myself.”

Mateo stared at her. Who the hell was this idiot? “Well, I need the lake to get back to her to ask her.”

“I assumed she would come for you!” Proserpina reasoned. “That’s what happened the last time you died!”

That was true, but it was still a poorly thought out plan. Even dum-dum Matt could see that. “Whatever. Let me out, and I’ll ask her what she can do. Okay?”

How do I know you won’t screw me over? she asked.

“Uh, Mateo?” Boyd piped up. “You don’t need her to let you out. You’re like how I was before. You can resurrect yourself...through dark particles.”

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2418: Paleodome

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Flow text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 2

This is a fascinating historical dome, but I think it can be better. I think they can make it more realistic, and more immersive. What’s the premise here? Well, it’s the paleolithic age, which is part of the stone age. Cavemen are working with stone tools, trying to figure out how to build societies, and engaging in the first (loose) definitions of war. I mean, it depends on how you define war. Were these organized, formal conflicts fought on distinct battlefields? No. But they were more than just two guys swinging clubs at each other during a disagreement. Their language was minimal, but they did make plans, and they did go out to fight together, so I would say that qualifies. The androids have been programmed with very low intelligence, but heightened curiosity, leading them to try all sorts of experiments, many of which don’t go too well. For now, these androids aren’t aware that you’re there. They’re literally programmed to ignore you while you watch from up close. I think they can do more with this. I think they can adjust the visitor’s intelligence as well. I know they do this with that zombie dome, where you can actually be transformed into a zombie. They seem to understand how people can bring themselves back to normal once they’re done with that. I don’t see any reason why the same principles can’t be applied here. It’s cool to watch the cavemen, but I want to be an active participant. I want to feel what it would have been like back then. In this regard, it’s an excellent reenactment. I don’t know exactly what year it’s supposed to be, but it moves in real time. I watched a guy learn how to cut a rudimentary axe-sort of thing out of stone, and that was a unique experience. That android will never do that again. He will never need to learn it again. Fifty years from now, if I go back, he will be “dead”. I’m sure his grandchildren will be starting to conduct their own tests, and learn their own lessons. That’s so cool to me, that we’re watching history unfold—albeit as a best guess based on archaeological evidence alone—and if you miss something, you miss it. There’s no going back to see what someone else saw before you. I think that’s really special. So if you’re interested in getting a glimpse of what Earth was like millions of years ago, you better come now, because it never stops changing.

Microstory 2298: With All the Snow and Ice

< > Table of Contents

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

I’m writing this on the plane. I spent all day at the airport, because my flight kept getting delayed. There’s a big snowstorm in the east that I feel shouldn’t have much impact on my flight up to Chicago, but what do I know? The purpose of leaving one day early was to get a jump in the preparations for Nick and Dutch’s memorial, but it looks like that’s not going to do me any good. Still, who knows what would have happened if I had just stuck to my original flight tomorrow. Anyway, I bought the WiFi, and have maintained contact with the publicity firm and the venue. Everything is fine, and getting set up. A word of warning, we have not set aside any hotel accommodations for this event. People have been asking about that, and I totally forgot to tell you before. You have to work through that on your own. I’m sorry, but this is so last minute, and we have no idea who is going to come. Perhaps if we had taken more time, we could have done a lot more on our end, but at some point, it would have felt like a little too much. Sure, we have money, but that doesn’t mean we’re gonna spend it on frivolity. Nick wouldn’t like that. It’s not a party, it’s not a convention, it’s a farewell. And it will be streamed online, so if you can’t make it, it’s not like you’re missing out. We actually considered that at the very beginning, holding it in a very small venue, and letting other people be part of it from the comfort of their own homes. Thinking back now, he might have preferred that, because then we’re letting it be available passively, instead of expecting a large crowd. But it’s too late now, and I don’t want to dwell on the past. This is what we’re doing, and it’s going to go great. I’ll see some of you Friday. Until then (and even afterwards), stay safe out there with all the snow and ice. Trust me, I know how dangerous it can be.

Microstory 2297: Found a Happy Medium

< > Table of Contents

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

Yesterday, I announced that the Kansas City Metro’s response to Nick and Dutch’s passing would be a sort of forum where people could come up on stage, and say whatever they were feeling. I didn’t get into the details before, but everyone who asked to do this was going to have to submit an application at least the day prior, explaining what they were going to say. Then, while each speaker was up at the mic, the next one would be experiencing a screening process to make sure that they weren’t planning on doing something inappropriate, like a striptease, or a racist rant. Of course, they could always lie and switch it up once they got their turn, but we believed that we could have made it work. Sadly, most people online did not take to this idea. They thought it was stupid, dangerous, or just totally irrelevant. We hear you, and we see you, so we’ve changed our plans. We’re not going to be doing that, but we’re not going to be doing nothing either. We’ve found a happy medium. The two of them touched many people’s lives while they were on Earth, and their positive impact could be felt everywhere. We are in the process of contacting everyone that they knew while they were here. It is only they who will be speaking at the event. I appreciate all of you speaking out for your truth, and clearing a path for a better concept than we originally had. This has not set our schedule back. We will still be holding the event on Saturday, the 21st. We’re not yet sure where it’s going to be, though. A sports stadium would have a lot of room, but both of them hated sports, so we are sure that we want to do that. Y’all are good at giving advice. Where do you think we should hold it?

Microstory 2293: Hits Some Harder

< > Table of Contents

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

New plan. Dutch has been presumed dead as well, so I’m planning a single memorial service for the both of them. They were good friends, I think they would have liked that. People have been commenting on social that it’s some sort of money-saving scheme. Trust me, we don’t need to save money. We’re millionaires, remember? Well, I am, anyway. I’ve not spoken with the lawyers yet, but I believe all the money goes to me. Yay, I’m rich! I’ve always wanted to lose my best friends so I can live alone in a big empty house. In case you can’t tell from the written word, that’s sarcasm. I hate this. This was never the plan after Dutch opened that door, and cured Nick with space magic. Nothing will be changing. Nick decided where he wanted to regularly make donations, and I have no reason to alter that plan. We invested some of it, to make it grow, so we can keep donating beyond what we already have. That’s why we didn’t just disperse the lump sum, and walk away. All right, I better get back to work. It takes me a long time to get anything done, because I often have to stop and cry. I can’t provide you with details about the memorial service right now, but I’ll make an announcement shortly on my own social media account. We need to gauge how many people will want to come. He wasn’t the kind of person who needed a lot of people to attend, but he told me that it’s not about him. If a large crowd shows up, then whatever, so I have to make sure the venue can accommodate them. We all have a different relationship with death. Most people obviously don’t like it, but it hits some harder than others. They can feel grief for those they’ve never met. Some even feel it when they learn of a person’s death who they had never even heard of before. Who are we to judge their reactions? I’m getting a lot of messages from people who are interested in being there, so I think we’re gonna have quite a large audience. I’ll let you know when I can. I’ll probably have to get our publicity firm involved since I’m sure they have experience with this stuff.

Microstory 2191: Already Proud

< > Table of Contents

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

Have you ever seen a movie about making a movie, or maybe a play, or something. They have all these headshots on a table, and they’re shuffling them around, looking to cast the perfect actors for the parts. I’ve basically been doing that today, except not with headshots, because I don’t care what the people on my team look like. I’ve read through their résumés multiple times, and consulted the notes that I took during their interviews. It’s bittersweet for me to say that I have reached a conclusion on who we would like to extend offers to. The top candidates will be receiving calls over the course of the next week, once I receive higher level approvals. I don’t expect there to be any issue with any of the people I chose, but I do need to give it a little time, just in case. If you do not receive an offer by the end of the week, it’s possible that you still might. I don’t want to make anyone feel bad about being the runner-up, but that’s the way it works. Each position can only be filled by one person, and just because that person didn’t get there by being our first choice, doesn’t mean that they don’t deserve it. Plus, that’s not even necessarily the reason. We also could have experienced other delays, like technical issues, or legal questions, so even if you do receive a late offer, don’t think you know exactly why that was. I want to thank everyone who took the time to apply. The sheer amount of interest we received serves to reinforce the fact that what we’re trying to do here is the right thing, and that we will succeed in our mission. We’re going to make the judicial system better than it ever has been, and I’m already proud of that.

Microstory 2190: Ready to Hit the Ground

< > Table of Contents

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

If you want to know what we did today, just read my posts from the last few days, because it was pretty much the same. So far, we’ve not scheduled any interviews for next week, but we anticipate doing so. Jasmine and I might have to make a few calls over the weekend to coordinate that, but we won’t be working full time by any means. It’s going to start getting interesting on Tuesday. I’m intending to spend a lot of time on Monday going over the top candidates’ résumés, and my notes about them. We’ll be beginning to extend offers throughout the week while we continue to conduct the remaining interview sessions. We’re hoping to have a full roster by this time next Friday. Of course, no plan survives contact with the real world, to paraphrase the first rule of warfare. Some will not accept the offers, either because they changed their minds—because something changed in their lives, because their idea of the job was altered by speaking with me, or just because—or because they received a better offer, or are hoping to. That’s okay, they have every right to reject us. This is a business relationship, and I’m not going to get mad if they decide that they want something else out of life. We planned around all of these little complications and hiccups, and are confident that we will still be able to start our work with a complete team by the first of August. If we were to assume that we would send out all offers by EOD Friday, that would give the typical two-week waiting period until people could start. Some may be able to come in early, and some may need more time, so there’s a three day grace period to help with that. If we’re not ready to hit the ground running by our goal date, that’s okay too. We’ll work with what we have until the rest are ready to start. Onboarding will be easier if it’s not happening for everyone all on the same day anyway. I’m excited. It’s exciting. Are you excited? Get excited.

Microstory 2120: Expect Me to Be Grateful

< > Table of Contents

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

My Rehabilitation Plan ended up being a lot longer than I thought it would be. I just kept thinking of more detail that I wanted to include, and one of my biggest weaknesses when it comes to writing is cutting out what I’ve already written. That’s why these posts are usually so short, if you can believe the irony. If I wrote everything that happened to me in a given day, then it would end up two or three pages long. The only way to produce it with only the relevant information is to make my cuts before I even start writing. I try to think about only what’s important, and ignore all the little things that readers won’t find interesting anyway. I guess I end up going overboard with this, since it’s not that hard to refrain from transcribing the unnecessary thoughts when I focus so much on just the important stuff. But, so you have an idea, my basic plan is to attend weekend jail for about the next five months until I’ve completed my thousand hours. I’m going to focus on finding and keeping a job on the weekdays, which means putting the community service off until I’m finished with jail. That will make the schedule much simpler, and less stressful. Plus, the therapy isn’t something that I can put off, because it’s crucial to my consistent progress, so I’ll be signing up for evening sessions, depending on what my work hours end up being. I don’t think that it will be that difficult to find something this time around. My readership is growing day by day, and people are already contacting me about open positions. Some are from people who are just aware that such jobs exist, but a few are actual employers with the power to fill those positions. It’s weird to see these messages. I’ve never been recruited before. In the past, companies would always expect me to be grateful just that they gave me the time of day. I don’t have time to look through them yet, so the job hunt starts first thing Monday. Until then, I’ll be in jail. In fact, my ride is waiting. See you on the other side.

Microstory 2119: A Rehabilitation Plan

< > Table of Contents

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

Without proceeding to a full trial, I’ve been sentenced to 1,000 hours of jail time, and 1,000 hours of community service. There’s a lot of flexibility with this that I did not expect. I can go to jail for 42 days straight if I want, and then start doing my community service. I can stay in jail every night, but spend my days performing acts of service. I can spend six months in weekend jail while I work during the week, which will allow me some time to volunteer in the evenings, but I can also put it off until I have more time. I could even put jail itself off completely for six whole months, which I don’t really want to do. I would rather get it over with. That doesn’t mean I’ll be serving my time straight, though. I still want to work on my blog, and keep up with the world, which I won’t be able to do if I’m stuck in there for all that time. I first have to draw up a Rehabilitation Plan, which includes these two things, plus therapy, an active search for gainful employment, and of course, a detailed strategy for nonrecidivism. It’s not like I can do it one way, and then change my mind later. I have to decide now, which is what I’ll be working on for the next couple of days before I have to report to jail for the first time. Regardless of what I end up choosing, I’ll be going inside tomorrow night at exactly 19:00. They have to process me first, and then release me on Sunday at the earliest, if I’ve opted to go for an intermittent plan, which I will. I already have some ideas involving finding a home that’s close to where I work, and not still not buying a car, which will make it difficult for me to leave town again. As you know, I didn’t have a car before, but I was able to make it work with public transportation, so this isn’t like a perfect solution, but it’s a start. The state is trusting me with a lot of freedom, and I’m not going to do anything to suggest that it was a mistake on their part. Once I’m finished with my plan, it might be fun to post it here, even if only a truncated version of it. It could be pretty long. The court is actually encouraging me to stay online, to document my journey, and to garner public support for my recovery. I certainly don’t have a problem with that. If I can gain enough followers, I can actually start making money off of this site from the advertisements, which could really help if I really struggle with finding a regular job. So, as I think I’ve said before, read my ish! Early and often.

Microstory 2111: I Did Not Kidnap The Girl

< > Table of Contents

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

It’s been a few days, so I can finally be honest with you. I did not kidnap the girl. Her so-called parents are the ones who did that, but I’m not the one who got her out of that situation. As soon as she told me what she remembered about her past, I reached out to my old social worker for guidance on my secure network. I told him that I didn’t think that she was safe, and later that local law enforcement was not doing their due diligence to help her. I can reveal to you now that this was all happening in Iowa. I’ve been to Chicago several times in my life, and more than once, I got there via train. So I couldn’t tell you when this specific instance was, but basically, I would have to pass through Iowa to get there, and one time, I stepped off the train for maybe thirty seconds when we made a stop, and then got right back on. Besides that, my only prior experiences with Iowa have involved driving behind incredibly frustratingly slow drivers. I hate Iowa, I never ever wanted to come here, and even though you didn’t know that about me, I felt like it was the best place to hide. Maybe psychic powers really do work to a very low degree, and you could sense that in me. Who knows? Anyway, when I started worrying about what would happen to this teenage girl if she had to go back to her captors, I asked my social worker for help. He has a lot of contacts, many of whom work in various government departments. He called a friend of his who works in the FBI. They have a special program for this very thing. To my knowledge, it’s not used very often, but it’s quite important when it’s needed. They are the ones who took the girl, and I agreed to pretend that it was me in order to throw the ID makers off the scent. My ability to stay secure and hidden from them was deliberately flawed, so they would follow me instead of her. And it worked. I made it all the way to Alabama, which is another state for which I don’t have a lot of love. They’re outside right now, sniffin’ around, looking for my exact location. I normally like to write these in a word processing program, and then copy it over to my blog, but I’m working right in the blog this time, so it can post automatically, even if they find me before I have a chan

Microstory 2110: That’s Fair, I Hope

< > Table of Contents

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

I took her. I intercepted transport from the group home back to where her kidnappers live, and I put her through what she’s already gone through twice now. Someone took her from her real parents, and then the ID makers took her from them, and now I’ve taken her from them. I honestly don’t know if it was the right thing to do, but I had to get her away from those people. She outed them as her abductors, and even though they’ve reportedly never abused her before, she was living in misery, so this may push them over the edge for all we know. They might kill her, and make it look like a suicide, which would make them my archnemeses. I really don’t know; the level that these people are unpredictable is ten, ya see? We’re both on the run now, and I obviously can’t tell you where, or it might get back to the Ol’ Man, and the Ol’ Miss. My little secure workstation is mobile, though, which is how I’m able to post this without being traced. She is four months from turning eighteen, at which point, she’ll be able to make her own decisions. She says that her first order of business will be to submit to a DNA test, so they can find her true family. We can only hope that she is in the system. If I have to keep her safe, and everyone at bay, then that is what I’ll do, regardless of what happens to me in the end. I can’t really say much about what we’ve been dealing with since last night, because I don’t want to leave any clues about our location. We could be in Mexico by now, or close to it. Or maybe we’re on a boat in the middle of the Atlantic ocean, or even a southern state where they like to play golf. All I’ll say is that she is safe with me in every way possible. I never thought I would do anything like this, but I will never hurt her, and I won’t let anyone else hurt her either. She is free to go whenever she wants, and she understands that. If she ends up deciding to just go back to those people, then I’ll drive her there myself, and finally just turn myself in...for everything. That’s fair, I hope.

Microstory 2109: Conflating it With Her Own Life

< > Table of Contents

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

This world is so weird. Because the girl is under eighteen, she can’t consent to a DNA test, and since the couple who claims to be her parents obviously won’t consent to it for her, the lazy coppers are just gonna send her back to them. I’m still in contact with her, and she told me that the authorities ran whatever facial recognition system they have access to. They apparently didn’t find a hit in the missing persons database, but that doesn’t mean anything. She was taken when she was a toddler, and their age progression software doesn’t sound very sophisticated. The girl doesn’t have any idea where she was born, or who her real family is, but one thing I do know is that she is backing up my story. There was a chance that she was screwing with me when she told me about her resurfaced memories, but she also insists to the police that she really does remember living with someone else in her younger years. The cops think that she just watched something on TV one time, and she’s conflating the memory with her own life, but she doesn’t think so, and neither do I. So far, no one has found me in my hiding place, but I’m about to put that all at risk yet again. I’m going to do something drastic to solve this problem. It could get me caught, or truly killed this time. I need to focus on planning everything right now, so I’m going to cut this installment short. If I’m able, I’ll detail the undertaking for you tomorrow. I’m scheduling this one to post on my blog for sometime after I start the process, so by the time you read it, I will already be on my way, and they won’t be able to prepare themselves for me. You can wish me luck, if you want, but it won’t help, even if such psychic power were possible here. Temporal psychic powers would do it, if you had those.

Microstory 2081: Half a Surprise

< > Table of Contents

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

I didn’t have to go to work today. I worked eleven days straight, so it’s time for a break. I’ve not just been sitting around, though. I got out, and did stuff. First, I walked back to the bike shop, where they let you rent for the day. The first time is free as long as you sign up for their emailing list, and promise to seriously consider buying something at a later date. They have a few used ones, so instead of exploring my options online, I think I’ll just end up choosing one of these. I’ve gotten my first deposit, but I’m not exactly a millionaire yet. I would like to get a couple more before I start making any big purchases. I did spend a little cash on some food. I am not much of a cook, but I can get by if I plan it out, and I’m very careful. My landlord happened to have the day off too, so she planned something with a friend. She’ll be home for dinner, though, so I’m making something for her. I told her that I wanted to pick something up for the two of us to thank her for everything she’s done for me, so shh, it’s still half a surprise. She’s a vegetarian too, which is great. Do you know what the most important part of cooking is...? [...] Give up? It’s eating. Eating, of course; what else would be the point. The second most important thing, however, may be timing, and it’s one of the hardest things to learn. That’s what I’m struggling with now, but I think I’m gonna be okay. Something that really helps is having a bunch of little bowls ready with the individual ingredients. This is how they do it on all the cooking shows. My landlord doesn’t cook much herself, because she’s too busy at the clinic, but she inherited a lot of kitchen stuff from her grandmother, so there’s enough here for me to be ready to go. Wish me luck, I’m making a Mediterranean bowl, which shouldn’t be too terribly hard for an unskilled, perpetual novice like me. I’ll let you know how it goes tomorrow.

Extremus: Year 71

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software

The answer was obvious. It has been right under Tinaya’s nose the whole time. It wakes up next to her every day, and it does this thing where it puts her clothes on for her in the morning. Obviously she can do that herself, but Arqut did it to be romantic and chivalrous one morning during their honeymoon, and it just sort of stuck. Now she sits there like a doll, and lets him move her around as needed. Unless she’s in a hurry, then she turns into a real girl. But the point is that he’s the one who should be Ship Superintendent. He knows just as much about the new form of government as she does, and contributed to the initial concept a great deal. She wants to leave a life of service behind, or at least take a break from it. In a few years, she may decide that she wants to go back to Park Management, or just work in the Bridger section. But soon, it will just be time for her to relax. She believes that she’s earned it.

“We don’t want to appoint a superintendent,” Council Leader Addison explains to her. “We want it to be an elected position this time.”

“I see,” Tinaya says. “What’s the term limit?”

“No term limit. The winner should expect to remain available for a lifetime. Their duties will wane in such times that they are not needed, but should they be called upon later, they will return to the conversation.”

“I see,” Tinaya repeats herself. “Well, on a personal level, how do you feel about my idea?”

“I think Arqut would do a fine job,” Addison replies.

“But what?”

“But nothing,” Addison says. “Why does there have to be a but?”

“There’s usually a but.”

“But...” Addison begins.

“Here we go.”

Addison continues, “...I think we should stop saying the word but.” She smiles. “I really mean it, that’s a great idea. I have no issues with him, and I have no conditions to place upon it. If he can secure the vote, he can have the job.”

“I figured you would have someone else in mind, like perhaps someone who would turn out to be a traitor, and then I start to suspect that you’re a traitor too, and by the time I realize that you’re not, you’re killed in a semi-heroic act of self-sacrifice?”

“You’ve been watching too many Earthan movies.”

“More like reading the historical records of this very ship.”

Council Leader Addison nods, and then it looks like she’s had a new thought.

“Oh, no, what is that face all about?” Tinaya asks.

“But...that rule against an incumbent campaigning still applies here. The Superintendent is obviously not the same thing as the First Chair, but I still think you can’t advocate for your husband. I think you must distance yourself from the whole thing. If he wants to run, he’ll have to do so without you. Or me, for that matter, because it would be almost as much of a conflict of interest.”

Tinaya nods, and then looks over at Arqut. “What do you think?”

“I think I don’t love people talking about me as if I’m not in the room,” he says.

Tinaya puts a quizzical look on her face, and turns back to Addison. “Did you hear someone say something?”

“I don’t know that I did.”

Arqut rolls his eyes.

“Seriously, what do you think? You seemed amenable to the idea last night. Were you just saying that to appease me?”

“No, I think it’s a decent idea too,” Arqut answers. “I’ve always felt like I could do more. It wouldn’t be dissimilar to what I did before, when I represented the government during discussions between two or more departments.”

“You certainly have the necessary experience,” Addison agrees.

Arqut thinks about it some more. “Okay, I’m in.”

“Great,” Addison decides. “Then you need to leave. Or I do. We have to let you fly on your own, little bird.”

Arqut nods. “I know some people who might be able to help run my campaign. I don’t have to move out of the stateroom, though, do I?”

“It’s perfectly fine to live with your wife,” Council Leader Addison clarifies. She taps on her watch, and disappears.

“I have to get to a thing, but I’ll see you tonight for dinner, okay?”

“Okay.”

She kisses him on the lips, and then teleports away too.

When Tinaya crosses over to the Bridger section, her handler, Spirit is waiting for her. “I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“Where, the entire Bridger section?”

“Yes,” Spirit says. “They’re mad at you.”

“For getting married?”

“No. Well, yes, but we’ve already talked about that. They’re mad about you dismantling the Chair system. They’re not finished with you.”

“Well, I never learned about the Three Bears War, so I guess the Bridgers and I are even.”

“It was not our responsibility to tell you that. It’s the crew’s. You know how it works. How many secrets did Captain Yenant keep from First Chair Ebner, or especially Ovan Teleres?”

“I don’t know how many. They’re a secret!”

Spirit nods. “Look. We can’t stop you from coming over to this side. Once we gave you access, you have it for life, unless you do something so bad that you’re locked up in hock for the rest of your life anyway.”

“Okay...”

“But you are no longer welcome here. I’m sorry, you’ve been kicked out of the program. You’ve been a great help to us. You’ve given us solid information, and helped protect both ships, ensuring the safest of its passengers, and the continuity of the mission. Unfortunately, your services are no longer required.”

“Good.”

“This is what you wanted,” Spirit states.

“Yes.”

“But if no one here trusts you, except for me, you won’t be able to investigate it for corruption anymore.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t be. Some of our best spies have been suspicious of our intentions. We encourage them to question authority. Ever since the Bronach Oaksent incident, we’ve been a lot more suspicious of ourselves. We don’t want people who will just blindly follow every order to the letter. You’re supposed to make your own decisions. But there is a limit to that flexibility. According to the high officers of the Bridger section, you’ve crossed beyond the boundary. Congratulations, you’re free to relax now.”

“Thank you?”

Spirit smiles, and holds up a tablet. “I think you’ll be fine. You’ve reached 101% contribution. This means that your score is the highest it could possibly be, and can never go back down. It’s locked in place, even if the government later adjusts the parameters. You’re safe...unless, again, you do something so unforgivable it lands you a life sentence in hock.”

“Cool beans. So this is it? We’ll never meet again?”

“I’m sure I’ll see you around.” Spirit steps into the corridor, and lets the hatch close behind her.

“I didn’t think you left the Bridger section. Avelino only did a few times.”

“This is true, but I’m no longer employed by them either. I quit.”

“You quit? Why?”

“I told them that I would if they let you go.”

“Why weren’t you bluffing?”

Now Spirit smirks. “A seer told me to leave. I don’t know where I’m going, but I’m never going back in there.” She jerks her head towards the hatch. Don’t cry for me, Argentina. I’m as sick of my current life as you always seem to be. I’m ready to go try something else.”

Captain Lataran Keen suddenly steps up to them from down the corridor. “Good, because I got somethin’ for you both. We have a hostage situation.”

“A hostage situation?” Tinaya questions. “Where?”

“Verdemus,” Lataran answers. She tries to take Tinaya by the hand.

Tinaya keeps her hand away just in time. “What is a Verdemus?”

“It’s the gateway planet,” Lataran says before adding, “the one where we’ve been getting all of our paper?”

Tinaya looks over at Spirit, who grimaces slightly. “I told you, there are things that the crew doesn’t let you in on. It’s tradition to leave the civilian government in the dark about things that don’t happen in the residential sectors.”

“I’m different.” Tinaya faces Lataran again. “I’m different,” she repeats. “We’re friends. You could have told me that we left people there.”

“Sorry. There’s no excuse, but you’ll have to yell at me later. I really need you right now. The hostage-taker will only speak to the First Chair.”

“Where are we going?” Tinaya demands to know, still not taking the Captain’s hand. “How do we transport back and forth from this Verdemus place?”

“The Mirror Room,” she answers. “We installed the backup mirror on the other side, so the portal is open all the time, unless we need the main one for something else.”

Tinaya never knew that there was a backup mirror either. She thought she knew pretty much everything, because of her connections. If she didn’t find out about something by being a spy, then it should have been from her time as the First Chair, and if not then, then she could have uncovered any missing information from all of her unauthorized hacking. She’s slipping...or maybe she’s never been as good as she once believed. “Fine. I’ll meet you there.”

Just before Tinaya teleports away, she hears Lataran start to ask, “Where are y—”

She’s back in her stateroom. “Arqy.”

He turns around. “Hey, hon. That wasn’t long.”

“You were right, we still have access to the planet. They call it Verdemus.”

“Because it’s green?”

“I’m about to go find out. Someone’s been taken hostage, I guess. They’re asking for me. I never thought I would go off world, but in case it ever happened, I’ve been prepared.” She walks over to her dresser to open the bottom drawer. “I swiped these from the Bridger section. I don’t think anyone noticed.” She reaches deep into the back, and unlatches the hidden panel. When her hand comes back out, she’s holding two flat fern green cases. She holds one of them tightly between her middle and ring fingers. She holds the other one loosely between her thumb and index finger, and shakes down to let the glass slip out into her other hand. “Time signal mirrors,” she explains. She hands Arqut the other mirror, so he can take it out. She holds her own in front of herself so he can get a look at her pretty face. “You can’t turn them off. It always shows you what the other mirror is seeing.”

“What is this for?” Arqut peels a thin film off of the back that Tinaya has never noticed before. She didn’t spend that much time with them. They were always meant to be used in an emergency, like this. He swings the film over, and sticks it onto the other side. The image from its partner mirror is gone. Now it’s just a regular reflection.

“Oh. I guess they can be turned off. But there’s no sound either way.” She peels her own lid off, and flips it over to the other side. “I’ll just say it’s a makeup mirror.”

“You don’t wear makeup.”

“Please.” Tinaya frames her jawline with the back of her fingers. “No one believes that about me, even though it’s true.” She starts to take her clothes off so she can put on something more durable and outdoors-worthy. She’s been to the Attic Forest a million times, but she’s never truly been outside. Almost no one on this ship has. She’s only learned survival skills academically. School teaches it because, even though no one alive today will ever reach the Extremus planet, they’ll need to be able to effectively pass this knowledge onto the next generation, and not because they will see the planet either, but because eventually, someone will.

“I love you,” Arqut says to her once she’s ready to go.

“Love you too.” They kiss. He grabs her ass for luck. She disappears.

The guard in the Mirror Room does check her for contraband. He doesn’t find the time signaler, though. Tinaya remembered that her coat has a hidden inside breast pocket dimension. The zipper is invisible to anyone unless they hold a particular shade of green light up to it, which she can generate on her watch. It’s called a spectral lock, and as soon as she gets the chance, she’ll change it to color combo, instead of singletone. No weapons, she’s good to go. The mirror technician, which is a job that didn’t need to exist before, reaches behind the mirror to activate the portal. When she gives Tinaya the go-ahead, Tinaya follows the security team through. Spirit crosses over behind her.

Extremus has lighting, of course, but it’s never brighter than it needs to be to see. Energy isn’t as precious of a resource as it was on Earth in the 20th century, or the early 21st century, but there’s no point in wasting it. Studies have shown that a lightly used corridor only needs about 100 lumens to navigate, and rooms need less than 200. Until paper was developed here, no one ever raised the brightness above that, because devices all produce their own lighting. The host star is extremely bright compared to what she’s used to. A security officer notices how much Tinaya and Spirit are struggling. He takes out a spare pair of sunglasses to give to Tinaya, and elbows his teammate, who takes out a pair for Spirit. They help her immediately, and as the group is carefully heading towards basecamp, the gradient adjusts accordingly until they’re barely dim at all. It’s probably not that bright by a normally evolved human’s standards.

The officers tense up as they approach the camp. They’ve built up the infrastructure quiet a bit. An electric fence surrounds the whole area, which a gatekeeper has to open for them. There must be dangerous animals around here. They keep going until they’re in the middle of town. The grounds are completely empty, except for one woman standing patiently in the middle distance. When Tinaya gets closer, she sees that the woman is chained up with a line that goes all the way to the building behind her, and through the doorway. “Report!” the team leader orders.

“I speak for Ilias,” the woman replies. Where has Tinaya heard that name before? The woman taps on an earpiece in her left ear. “I mean that literally. I have to say what he says, as he says it. I’m wired up.” Tinaya does see a wire threaded through the chainlinks. “I’m even saying what he’s saying right now. This woman is a stupid bitch.”

Tinaya seethes through her nose. “State your demands...Ilias.”

“First Chair Leithe. Thank you for coming. I have immense respect for you, and I regret having to involve you in this. You were always really great to my father, and he needs you now more than ever. I want a posthumous pardon for him.”

“I can’t unilaterally make pardons,” Tinaya replies. She remembers who this guy is now. Or rather, kid, because he can’t be older than twenty at this point. It’s Ilias Tamm. Disgraced former captain, Soto Tamm was his father. “Even if I could, your dad was a member of the crew. That’s a whole separate thing.”

“I understand that, but I need you to advocate for him. Please, you’re my last resort here. I have exhausted all other options.”

“Violence was a bad choice,” Tinaya warns him.

“I’ve not hurt anyone yet,” Ilias explains. “I’ve only threatened. And that’s as far as it will go unless I don’t get what I want. Soto Tamm did nothing wrong, and it’s time that the ship knows that. It doesn’t matter that he’s already dead. His good memory deserves to be restored.” Soto Tamm died in hock a couple of years ago. No one but his family went to his memorial service.

“When I give the signal,” Spirit whispers, “I need all four of you to run towards that building to the right as fast as you can, brandishing your weapons.”

“He’s in the mess hall,” the team leader argues. “We’ve confirmed that.”

“Exactly,” Spirit replies. “Three..two...one, go.”

Not knowing exactly what the plan is, but trusting Spirit Bridger, the guards run off like they’re about to attack someone who doesn’t exist.

“Where the hell are they going?” Ilias questions through the hostage’s voice.

Spirit teleports a few meters forwards holding what kind of looks like a shovel. She jams it into the chain, which hopefully cuts the electric wire. “Go get him, soldier!”

Tinaya teleports into the cafeteria, and spots Ilias. She barely recognizes him from the one time she saw him years ago, but he’s holding a gun, so it’s not that hard to tease him out of the crowd. She teleports a second time, and wraps her arms around his shoulders, then she teleports one last time. It’s a blind jump, which means she has no idea where she’s going. She’s just trying to get as far away from the building as possible. It’s far enough. In fact it’s too far. But it’s still close enough to see. A mushroom cloud rises to the sky after a huge explosion. Shit. He was on a dead man’s switch.

« < » > Table of Contents