Microstory 2472: Anadome

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Let’s talk about the Amish and the Mennonite communities. First, actually, let’s discuss what they’re not. They are not people who simply reject all forms of technology. After all, the plow is technology. It’s millennia old, but its novelty was never the concern. The only concern that these Anabaptists have is whether something supports their community, or harms it. Does it please God, or does it pull you away from Him? Vehicles, for instance, are not the issue. It’s whether that vehicle will be used to take a driver away from their family and community. If it’s being used to transport their wares to buyers, they’ve never had a problem with it, but that is why they held onto the horse and buggy for so long, because it would have been an impractical form of escape. Their way of life has changed over time, but their goals and principles have not. Work within the community, serve God. It’s a pretty simple concept. While religion has all but died out in the galaxy, the Anabaptists have persisted, and that’s because their beliefs inform their practices to a degree that other religions and sects could never have hoped to replicate. Sure, if you were Catholic, you went to service once or twice a week, and you performed your rituals. And maybe every night you prayed over your bed. That’s all well and good, but you didn’t live Catholicism. You just did things here and there, and while your convictions could inform your behavior in general, they couldn’t necessarily survive across the generations, because children come up with their own relationship to God. That was usually encouraged, but it was also the source of religion’s ultimate fading from the world, because people focused less and less on it, and it became less vital to how they lived their lives, and the choices that they made.

Anabaptists were always different, because God lives at the core of their ideals, and their daily patterns. In the past, the Anabaptists were able to maintain their practices by having a symbiotic relationship with society in general. They sold us their goods, and used our payment to support their communities. Centuries ago, however, currency disappeared from modern society, as we transitioned to a post-scarcity economy. A new relationship was developed to prevent the Anabaptists from going extinct. Instead of selling what they make to us, they barter it. In return, we give them whatever they require to survive, be it medicine, protection, transportation, etc. We don’t ask for a certain amount of goods in order for them to get a certain amount of return. It’s not simply symbolic—their customers benefit from the human touch and the craftsmanship, which is hard to find these days—but it’s not perfectly ratioed either. We take care of them regardless of the price. If one community gives us ten chairs one month, but can only make five chairs the next, we still give them whatever they need. That’s not us being generous. That’s how we operate internally anyway. We don’t ask a whole lot out of our citizens, so why would we ask anything out of these fine folk? Over a century ago, some of the Anabaptists decided that they wanted to found a new community on Castlebourne. They wanted to start from scratch. Till new lands. So Castlebourne made room for them. You can’t visit Anadome, and gawk at them. I’m here as an anthropologist, to educate you on what this community is all about. Click below for my full report.

Extremus: Year 98

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It’s been well over a year, and Audrey Husk has not reached out again regarding her mandate to secretly aid Silveon in his mission to stop Waldemar Kristiansen from growing up to become a violent tyrant. As per Extenuating Circumstances Executive Time Travel Protocol, Tinaya hasn’t reached back either. While time travel is illegal on the ship, the council recognizes that there are situations where it may be necessary. It may not be safe to report such time travel activity, and under those extreme conditions, it is up to the executive crewmember to exercise caution at their own discretion. That only goes for people like Tinaya and Lataran, though. If, say, a passenger were to discover a time travel event, it would be their responsibility to report it accordingly, and they would be just as liable for any damages if caught in the lie or conspiratorial collusion.

They’ve all seen each other regularly. Audrey has maintained her cover as Silveon and Waldemar’s friend. Despite being at wildly different places in their education, they help each other out. Silveon still doesn’t know that Audrey has the mind of an adult, so she pretends to be lacking in certain areas. Silveon, despite not being able to reveal himself as also from the future, has propped himself up to be somewhat of a prodigy. This gives him a decent excuse for being more intelligent than anyone would expect him to be. More importantly, it frees him up to focus on his real work without any questions. As for Waldemar, he’s still struggling. He went the other way by pretending to be dumber than he is because he has an almost total lack of motivation, which is something that neither Silveon nor Audrey can teach him. If he’s not listening to the apparent adults, he’s certainly not going to take advice on self-discipline from a couple of kids that he believes to be younger than him. Again, Tinaya is mostly staying out of it. Her son tells her and Arqut some anecdotes about his progress, as anyone would to confide in someone they trust, but he doesn’t deliver official reports, or anything.

Since the ship is fortunate enough to have two living admirals at the moment, only one of them is asked to attend each daily meeting. That leaves the other one back at the office with nothing to do for slightly longer than on days where she’s in the meeting instead. There’s not really any strategic reason for this. The council seemingly just doesn’t want to hear too many voices in the room. These huddles are boring, annoying, and intrusive for most, so they want to get them over with as quickly as possible. The admirals switch off every other day, and today is Tinaya’s turn to not have to be there. At least that’s how she claims to feel. In reality, she would rather be there every time. She actually misses being involved, and—if she’s being honest with herself—needed. The solution may seem like a no-brainer, but it’s not. She doesn’t want anyone to know how she feels, not even Lataran. So she goes along with the so-called fair routine.

“Sir, I’ve received a request for a visit,” Thistle says from the aether.

Who could that possibly be? Everyone authorized to see her is in that meeting. “From who?”

“Another child.” Oh, God. Not another time traveler. Thistle goes on, “he’s been assigned to write on someone he admires. He’s evidently chosen you.”

That’s flattering. “Does he seem nice?”

“I can’t answer that.”

“Have him meet me in the Attic Forest—no, the Central Sequoia, at the base.” Tinaya planted the tree at the bottom of the ship nearly forty years ago, and it has since grown around eleven meters, allowing it to pass through three decks at this point. She won’t live to see its full potential, so she likes to frequent it when she can to get the most out of her masterpiece.

She teleports directly there, expecting to have a little time to herself before the boy arrives, but someone is already there. At this time of day, it’s not very busy. Well, it’s never very busy here, but people are preoccupied with other things, so there’s not a whole lot of traffic going in and out, or sticking around.

A young man appears from the other side of the trunk. “Admiral Leithe, thanks for meeting me.”

“How did you get here so fast?” Tinaya looks down at the boy’s wristband, even though it’s impossible to know from here whether it’s teleportation-capable or not.

“Oh, I’m a Pathfinder,” he answers, both like it’s no big deal, and as if she should know what that means.

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I don’t so much as see the future as I know where to be, and when to be there. And I know when someone’s in danger, or when their luck is about to change. Things of this nature. To me, the future is more like a haze, while for everyone else, it’s a darkness.”

“You’re a choosing one. Those are rare. They’re, like, real rare.” Back on Earth, there are people who are born with the ability to manipulate time and/or space in some way or another. There aren’t a lot of them, but they can be anyone. Some of them have full control of it, and some are being controlled by this mysterious force known as the powers that be. They’re practically nonexistent on Extremus, though. Their ancestors were wayward sons and daughters, who found themselves trapped in the universe of Ansutah with all the white monsters. A baby came out stillborn, and this tragedy erased everyone’s powers, whatever they happened to be. They say that, had this baby been healthy, he would have had the ability to control other people’s powers at will, but because of the unfortunate circumstances, his meta-power was only activated once, and could not be reversed. And it had consequences for the future. Not only were the powers stripped from everyone present, but their descendants didn’t have powers. Statistically speaking, over the course of millennia, new choosers should have been born, regardless of their lineage. It’s just something that happens every once in a while. No one really knows why time travelers exist in the first place. But there are almost none on the ship. The real question is actually, why does it ever happen? Why are there any exceptions at all? What makes this boy different?

He shrugs. “Maybe my great great great great grandparent was a space traveler who secretly snuck into the Gatewood Collective, and ended up starting a mixed bloodline of Earthans and Extremusians.”

She narrows his eyes at him. She’s getting the sense that he’s telling the truth, and genuinely doesn’t know why he’s an exception. It’s not like it’s illegal anyway. Nothing is against the law that you’re born with, though if someone made it so that you were born a certain way, that may be cause for a response. Maybe it’s just that he doesn’t care. Some people are also born apathetic, and that’s not illegal either. “Maybe...”

He offers her his hand. “Pronastus Kegrigia, secondary school student at Stern Academy.”

“Secondary school?” Tinaya questions. She looks at her watch, again stupidly. She knows the date. “I figured you were in tertiary already. Shouldn’t you be taking your assessments?” That’s one of the reasons why the corridors are so empty today.

He chuckles. “I’ve known my destiny since I was a little kid. I’m going to become the ship’s first—and if the captain has his way, not only—official Pathfinder.”

“They’re expecting you to give direction, I’m guessing when it comes to personnel assignments, and general scheduling? Any policy?”

“Not there yet. Don’t know.”

“So you’re not going to tertiary school, or what?”

“I’m on the civilian admin track. I don’t need any test, I’ve been shoehorned in.”

“Why civilian, and not crew?”

He tightens his lips.

Tinaya lifts her chin, realizing the answer to her own question. “The crew are expected to listen to a civilian voice if their superior officer commands them to. It doesn’t work the other way around. You have to remain a civilian in order to maximize your power and influence.”

“I don’t make the rules, ma’am.”

“You will.”

“I’m supposed to be asking you questions.”

“For your report. Is that in lieu of the placement tests, or did you just make that up to get to me?”

“I made it up, and my instructor approved it. I didn’t tell her that I was choosing you. I did not yet know that I would. We’re encouraged to come up with our own learning tools. I’m sure you remember.”

“It was a long time ago, son. I’ll answer your questions if you answer mine.”

“Why did I choose you?” He doesn’t wait for her to confirm that he guessed right. “You’ve been through the ringer. You were kicked out of the captain’s program, for no apparent reason, except I’m thinking that I’m not the first pathfinder you’ve ever met; built a forest on a spaceship; restructured multiple departments; became First Chair; abolished the Chair system in favor of a more democratic council, even though it caused you to lose your power; disappeared for many years for a secret mission, which evidently lasted longer than the time you were away; and finally, went full circle to become captain anyway, despite the initial setback, which is how you’re an admiral now.”

“That about sums it up.” He doesn’t know the part about her being a secret spy for the Bridger Section, nor the truth about Verdemus. Which is good.

“Satisfying answer?”

“Yes?”

“Would you care to ask me anything else before we continue?”

“I reserve the right to stop the interview at any time, to ask more questions of you, or because I have to pee, or because I suddenly decide to stop making noise between 09:37 and 09:42 everyday.”

He laughs. “Fair enough.”

Pronatus goes on with the interview, asking all the questions one would expect in this situation. He asks after her feelings on all the dramatic shifts in her life, and whether any of it was planned or predicted. He’s really interested in her time in the Parks Department, and how impressive it is that she came up through there, and accomplished so much, not only afterwards, but also during. Things seem to be going okay with the interview until they start to approach the end. That’s when he throws her a curveball. “One last thing. When you die...are you going to choose to live on, or just let go, and see if there’s a true afterlife?”

Tinaya is shocked by this, and thrown totally off her game. “How do you know about that?” She’s met a number of people who are aware of this secret. She herself found out when she was a rebellious kid who was good with computers. She should be an outlier, though, not a trend. There is no protocol for what to do if someone who knows meets someone else who knows, because that’s never meant to happen. She could deny, and play dumb, but he obviously knows what he’s talking about. He’s not grasping at straws. He’s heard the details.

“I told you, I’m a pathfinder.”

“You said the future was a haze. It sounds like you get clear pictures sometimes.”

“My abilities themselves didn’t give me this knowledge. They lead me to places, and sometimes in those places, I end up overhearing things that I’m not supposed to.”

“You’re an eavesdropper.”

“Not by choice. It’s...an impulse.”

“An impulse that you should learn to control.”

“I can’t. I mean, I could. I could draw upon my willpower, and ignore it, but what if it’s leading me to save someone’s life? The very fact that the path is hazy is precisely why I have to follow-through every time. I never know how important it is. Sometimes, yeah, it’s innocuous, like seeing a guy’s towel fall off in what would have otherwise been an empty corridor, but sometimes, it’s profoundly vital. I don’t know until I get there.”

She sighs. “Have you discussed this with anyone else?”

“Of course not. I don’t even know if captains know. Something told me just now that you do, or I wouldn’t have brought it up.”

“Well, maintain that policy. Don’t tell anyone. Leave it out of your report. Don’t even hint at it with colorful language. As for me? I’m obviously not going to answer that question, and even if I did, I could always change my mind, so it’s not like it would tell you where I am after death.”

“You’re right. It was a dumb question. I should have ignored that one. I had enough information to stop myself. I can do better. See, this is why I admire you? Because you’re so...good.”

She has no response for that, so she just moves past it. She stands up from the bench, and sighs. “Is that all you need from me?”

Pronastus stands up too, and folds the cover over his tablet. “Yes, I’ll try to have the first draft of my paper to you tomorrow for approval.”

“Approval? I’m meant to approve it?” She wasn’t expecting this.

“Yes, I’m not a monster, and this isn’t a hit piece.”

“Well, I appreciate that. Give yourself enough time as you need. I don’t do much as an admiral, as we’ve discussed, so I’m sure I’ll be able to read it right away, and get it back to you.”

Everything goes fine in the beginning. Pronastus takes two days to write the paper, and Tinaya is able to approve it with only a few minor grammatical corrections in three hours. She couldn’t help herself, even though it’s not technically her job. The paper’s content is fine, and she has no problem with it being submitted. It’s the instructor who decides that the three of them should not be the only ones to read it, though. She releases it to the public. And it kind of causes an uproar.

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Microstory 2338: Vacuus, February 17, 2179

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Dear Condor,

I’m writing to you to let you know that I’m back online, and also that your father did finally send me a letter. I responded to it yesterday, so you probably already know everything by the time you receive this anyway. I don’t really think that I should say anything more; about what he said, or about what I said. I kind of want you two to have your own conversation without me being involved. That’s why I think I’m gonna cut this short. There’s nothing for me to report on this end. The stray Valkyrie blocked our signal for a week, then flew away. The rest of the Valkyries are still orbiting on their usual path. I suppose I shouldn’t say usual as changing course is sort of their whole thing. But we’re safe from them...for now. There’s a slight chance that they will veer off of the predicted orbit, and come at us all at once with a vengeance, but the astronomers are hopeful that this will not happen. I just wanted to warn you that it’s not impossible that any message could be our last. I’ll continue to respond with the non-automated read receipts, and only won’t if it becomes impossible.

Bored again,

Corinthia

Microstory 2337: Vacuus, February 16, 2179

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Dear Pascal,

Thank you for reaching out. I would say that it’s the first step towards mending our relationship. I’m sure that your son told you that I would be out of range for a period of time, so that’s why it’s taken me this long to respond. As for you and me, I can’t promise you what will become of us in the future, but I can promise that I’ll try. You’ll always be able to send me a message, and I’ll always open it. Condor and I kind of have a weekly thing going, but we don’t have to write as often, and I won’t hold it against you in terms of resolving our issues. That being said, there is no quick fix here. Forgiveness is a really strong word, and I’m afraid I’m going to need more time before I can even consider it. That may be all it takes. We could not talk to each other the whole time, but I may one day get over it just because it’s been long enough. We’ll have to see. I understand that you were in a difficult position, and having known my mother for 36 years, I don’t doubt that she forced her ideals on you. She has a way of making you live the kind of life that she wants you too. I’m not sure if it was about being vicarious, or if she just wanted control. I’ve always thought she only wanted what was best for me, but looking back now, it doesn’t really make much sense. I mean, if this was a social experiment to see how two twins grew up if they were raised separately, why did she try to make all my choices for me? It sort of taints the results, wouldn’t you say? I dunno, it just seems like a weird choice to me, or maybe she just couldn’t help herself. It strained our relationship, and I pushed back at every turn. She didn’t exactly hope that I would become a solar flare watcher. I’ve spoken to counselors here, and on the ship, but other than that, to my knowledge, I don’t undergo any tests or evaluations. No one seems to be recording my behavior in any way, unless they’re doing it from a pretty big distance. What can you tell me about Condor? Do you report in to someone about who he is, and what kinds of things he does? Is someone writing a scientific paper about it? I would prefer it if you let me know, but it’s more important that he knows, so if you only tell one of us, I would rather be the one left in the dark.

It was nice to meet you,

Effectively, a stranger,

Corinthia

Microstory 2254: Not on Our Lawn

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Nick is back home, though he’s still on bedrest. The doctors had no strong feelings about him returning to work this quickly, but I do, so I’m going to do this one more post before I let him get back to it. We have another privacy breach. We didn’t tell anyone which facility that he used for his procedures, but someone leaked the information to the media. Fortunately, our security team caught it early, and hustled us out of there before things got crazy. They weren’t able to stop the leak, but they were still able to protect us from the issues. Of course, that’s not all that was in the leak. People have finally figured out exactly where we live too, which was inevitable. They sell maps in Hollywood to celebrity houses. It’s not hard to determine such things if you really wanna know. So they’re camped out on our lawn, each reporter believing that they’ll gain some sort of access to Nick and/or Dutch. They may start to give interviews at some point in the future, but Nick won’t be talking to anyone while he’s in recovery, and at any rate, it will be on their terms. We’ve taken note of everyone on our lawn right now, and will be deliberately excluding them from any interview potential. Congratulations! You just unknowingly disqualified yourself! Anyone who follows in their footsteps will experience the same barrier. But if you’re not on our lawn, and your superiors have not authorized you to do so at some point, fear not, there are other ways to become disqualified from consideration. You could call us incessantly. You could send an inordinate number of letters to our publicist. You could harass our families, or our friends. You could attempt to infiltrate our past employers, or other places that we have frequented. You could try to hack into our security firm. You could try to kill, or otherwise harm, one of us. You could commit any other crime in pursuit of information regarding our lives and situation. Any of these things will be met with swift justice, and an immediate spot on our growing blacklist. Please note that the above is not an exhaustive list of disqualifications, and we reserve the right to amend our requirements and limitations at any time. All three of us are happy to tell you our stories, but there are appropriate ways to ask for that, and inappropriate ways. It will be up to you to choose your path, but there are consequences to every action. You would do best to not forget that.

Extremus: Year 78

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Tinaya and Aristotle are wearing their Integrated Multipurpose Suits. He’s been transporting himself, and sometimes his mother, to other celestial objects in the solar system, which is a power that his own father did not even have. Maqsud Al-Amin was a long-range teleporter. He could jump from one star system to another, but very imprecisely, and he couldn’t jump to different parts of the planet that he had landed on, or to neighboring orbitals. Aristotle, it seems, is much more powerful than his dad was in a lot of ways, but he still has his limitations. Some teleporters can, for instance, make a jump to the other side of a locked door, but that’s impossible for him. In fact, he has to be outside in order for it to work properly. He once blew the ceiling and roof off of a building when he was overcome with emotion, and uncontrollably transported himself and everyone else in the room light years away. That’s his main issue. He has very little control over it, and Lilac believes this to be a psychological problem. This means that he can learn to move past it.

Aristotle’s dream of sending everyone on Verdemus back to Extremus is loftier than it might sound. It’s certainly far enough away, but precision is non-negotiable in this case. Since the ship is currently traveling at maximum reframe speed, there is no close; only right on target. Even if they were to be all wearing suits, it could prove fatal. Perhaps they end up in the path of the ship, or halfway through a bulkhead. They can’t afford to—pardon the pun—jump hastily into this endeavor. Aristotle believes that he’s ready, but Tinaya isn’t so sure. He’s been spending a lot of time making his jumps, and coming right back, and so far, he hasn’t experienced any issues. He even went to a meteor in the next solar system over, and managed to return unscathed. And that’s all well and good, but she needs to see it for herself first. There are too many variables here, so unless Aristotle can be a lot more specific about what he’s done in his past to practice this power, he’s only going to work on her timeline. He still won’t even tell them exactly how old he is, or what he was doing before he finally found Niobe in the Goldilocks Corridor. That could be the key to solving everything.

One other major problem with Trotting, as it’s called, is the time issue. Teleportation is inherently time travel. In a vacuum, light moves at a constant speed. Temporal manipulators regularly break this speed, whether the result is that they end up backwards or forwards in time, or not. The reason a light year is called that is because that is the distance a photon of light will travel in the span of a year. So when one looks up at a star, they are not seeing it as it is in the moment, but as it was in the past. The light that is hitting their eyes first left its point of origin exactly as long ago as the distance to that origin in light years. When a Trotter pinpoints a destination in the stars, he can choose to tie himself to the original photons, or to the new ones. If a star is, say, five light years away, he can go five years backwards in time, or he can land there only moments later from when he started. But this is not a simple intuitive trick. Maqsud evidently took years to learn to master this skill. Sure, he was a free spirit with no roots keeping him from leaving, so he wasn’t deliberately trying to figure out how to do anything perfectly, but it still isn’t a simple matter. Aristotle is a long way off from achieving this as well, and even longer from proving it to Tinaya.

Today, they’re leaving their friends behind, and going on a test run. According to data that they managed to pull from a galactic mapping program called Project Topdown, there is a star within Aristotle’s range that hosts a planet with a possible breathable atmosphere. Even if the readings aren’t accurate, it’s certainly a terrestrial world. For now, Aristotle either has to see where he’s going, or know where he’s going, based on other information. In this case, he has both, because they specifically chose it for its relative proximity to their current location. It’s not in the direction of Extremus, but it’s not in the direction of the Goldilocks Corridor either, and that’s important right now, because they have no interest in running into any trouble. Again, this is just a test. Tinaya wants to see what he’s made of, and if he fails, only their own lives are in danger. Everyone else will be able to live on, even if they die of old age of Verdemus.

“Are you ready?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Am I ready?” he pushes, realizing what she means by that.

Tinaya looks over at Lilac, who nods, confident in her son’s ability. She’s already given her approval for this mission. He’s an adult now, but he still relies on her. Tinaya thinks it over for a moment. “Okay, you have a go.”

“We have a go,” he corrects. For the most part, starting in a body of water makes it easier to activate the power, but he’s been practicing without this crutch, because if he can manage without, then he can definitely manage with. He spreads his arms out before him to welcome the light from his destination star, kept in focus by the heads-up display on his helmet. “Yalla.”

They fly into the air, and then out of the air. They soar out of the Verdemusian solar system, and past dozens of stars. Their visors turn opaque as the doppler glow attempts to blind them. There’s no turning back now. He saw where he wanted to go, but now he can’t see anything, so he has either succeeded, or already failed. Either way, they’re going somewhere. A couple minutes pass, which is highly concerning. The target star is only 78 light years away, and it shouldn’t take this long to get there. Then again, they’ve not had too much time to calculate travel time for his other jumps. They don’t have a lot of data and experience yet, and neither Aristotle nor Lilac is a notable mathematician. Finally, the glow recedes, and they see the star coming at them. There’s something wrong here, though. This far out in the galaxy, it should be uninhabited. But they’re headed for what looks like a ship. Shit, the Exin Empire must have spread farther than they realized. They’re going to be landing in enemy territory, and there is nothing they can do about it.

They crash through a giant glass window, fall through the cylindrical habitat that they’ve found themselves in, and splash into what’s either a lake or a pool. No chlorine, it’s probably a lake. A crowd forms around them as robots begin to repair the damage from above. A few people hop into the water, and help them out. They ask if the two of them are okay, but they’re not surprised to see them, nor upset. That’s a good sign. Maybe not all Exins are bad. Some of them look like they’re using communication devices, probably to contact the authorities.

One of them steps forward. “Get them towels, and escort them to guest quarters.” He looks upon Tinaya and Aristotle. “There will be showers there. I’m sure that Team Keshida will want to speak with you soon, so do not waste time.”

“Of course,” Tinaya answers before Aristotle can question what the man just said to them. This is not a good place to be. Well, it’s fine, but it could be dangerous. They don’t even know what year it is.

They follow their escorts to the train, which transports them down to the far end of the cylinder. After their showers, they find new clothes waiting for them on the bed, and a note on the smartmirror that their suits have been taken in for service. When they open the door to leave, lights guide them down the hallway where they find an airlock. A small pod flies them thousands of kilometers away, to a different cylinder. When the hatch opens, none other than Captain Kestral McBride, and Lieutenant Ishida Caldwell are waiting for them. These are two of the most famous people in Extremusian history. Everyone knows Team Matic, and they’ve learned about the violent exploits of Anatol Klugman. They’re aware of the Preston family, and the powers that be. But Team Keshida is directly responsible for the successful launch of the Extremus mission in the first place. No two people are more important to it. They’re in Gatewood Collective, which is thousands of light years off course.

“Report,” Captain McBride says.

“Could you tell us the date first?”

“It’s August 24, 2269,” the Lieutenant answers.

“We’re Extremusians, from 78 years in the future,” Tinaya answers.

“Did you use the recall device to return? How come it’s just the two of you?”

“I am Aristotle Al-Amin,” he replies before Tinaya can stop him this time.

“I see,” the Captain says. “There is probably a lot that you should not tell us.”

“There is only one thing that maybe you can tell us?” Tinaya asks hopefully.

“We might be able to send you back to the ship,” Lieutenant Caldwell says, assuming this to be the question they were going to ask.

“That’s a problem,” Tinaya begins. “We weren’t on the ship. We’ve...found planets along the way. We do indeed want to return to Extremus one day, but it’s complicated. There are those we left behind on our outpost. We would have to retrieve them first, and would rather never see Extremus again if it’s the only way to reunite them.”

Captain McBride nods. “I may be able to rig up a sort of homestone that takes you back to the place you last left, rather than the place you were when you first time traveled. It will take us some time to figure out how to do that, though.”

“We would be eternally grateful,” Tinaya tells her. “In return, we would be willing to brief you on matters of the mission for the last eight decades.”

“That would not be wise,” the Lieutenant contends. “Extremus has not even launched yet from our temporal perspective.”

“Perhaps we can brief the archives, with a temporal firewall in place, which will only unlock a file once it becomes the present day for you.”

“Hmm,” Captain McBride says, considering it. “We would have to invent that too, but it would be acceptable.”

“It would be nice to be able to keep up on your progress,” the Lieutenant agrees, “even if there is nothing we can do to help you while you’re out there.”

The Captain nods. “In the meantime, you will report to the medical wing for a physical, and an adaptive quarantine.”

“Adaptive quarantine, sir?” Aristotle asks.

“It starts with eleven hours,” Lieutenant Caldwell begins to explain. “At that point, the medical staff will reassess. If the sensors detect an issue, and you need longer, it will jump up to twenty-four hours total. Then forty-two, then fifty-six, and then eighty-three. After that, we start measuring it in days, starting with eleven again. Let’s hope it doesn’t get that far.”

They end up staying in quarantine for eleven months.

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Microstory 2119: A Rehabilitation Plan

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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 2107: Freedom at Risk

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As it turns out, the people who helped me with my new identity in this mystery city are a married couple, and they have a daughter. According to them, she’s very irresponsible and hard to deal with. That’s not what I experienced when I met her, and I didn’t get the feeling that she was just manipulating me. My first thought was that the parents haven’t been giving her much attention, because they’re so busy making IDs. As a result, she doesn’t do the chores, because where they live is more her house than theirs, and she doesn’t personally care about that stuff. They basically want to come home to everything being done after spending a string of days in the city away from her. They hired forced me to supervise her, which I did, even though I really didn’t want to. I made sure that she mowed the lawn, completed the laundry cycle, vacuumed the carpet, mopped the hard floors, and made dinner. The daughter didn’t even push back. She just rolled her eyes, and completed the tasks. I helped her out, because I felt like it was too much for one person, and it felt really weird just standing there, barking orders at her. A lot of it involved things that I do for my real job, and I get enough of that stuff there, so I wasn’t ecstatic about the extra work. Here’s the first issue, and it pales in comparison to the real problem, but I’ll get to that in a minute. The first thing is that they were so pleased with my work that they now want it to be a regular thing. So after my eight-hour shift as a janitor, I have to drive out to the outskirts to this new second job? I’m going to be exhausted every day, and annoyed about the whole thing. But I could deal with that. When I was waiting for Cricket and Claire to find me in Moderaverse, I spent twenty years without much of anything to do. So I’ve had it pretty good, working a little harder now isn’t that big of a deal in the grand scheme of things. No, the real problem is that this girl isn’t even their daughter.

The first clients that they had in this business were reportedly themselves. They’re cagey about how they got started, which is understandable, but my guess is that they used to work for the DMV, or social security, or something else along those lines. You don’t just jump into this kind of thing without having any frame of reference for what people might be looking for. I don’t think they lived around here for their original lives. After they came this way, their second client was a couple who were trying to escape the law for whatever reason. They needed IDs for themselves, and their very young daughter. At some point, the ID makers came to find out that she wasn’t their daughter either. They had kidnapped her, and instead of contacting the authorities, the ID makers just essentially kidnapped her for themselves. For years, the girl didn’t know where she originally came from, and she still doesn’t have any details. After years of school counseling, and mostly introspection, she figured a few things out, and made some memories resurface. All she knows now is that the parents who she has been living with aren’t her real parents, and nor were the people they took her from. She has not yet tried to get out of this situation, or find out where she came from, but it’s made her less interested in doing these chores, or anything for these people, really. Now I’m in a real pickle. I obviously have to save her, but doing so puts my own freedom at risk. I suppose I’ve already decided to intervene, no matter what ends up happening to me. The two of them have never expressed interest in reading my blog before, but they definitely know about it, so there’s a chance that they’ll read this after it automatically posts later tonight. I’ll have to figure out what to do by then, and put a plan into action. I’ll let you know how that goes, unless I die, like I said before. But just know, whatever the supposed cause of death, it was murder.

Microstory 1972: Team Lead

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Director Washington: *from the car console video screen* Report.

Reese: My team was able to generate a map of every place the owner of the phone that the meteorologist called has been. Two teams are stationed for a stakeout. Tech support is watching a second location, in case he shows up there. I’m situated in between.

Director Washington: You got a name?

Reese: We got a blurry face from a redlight cam. He was caught twice on the same corner using a cell phone at the time of two known incoming calls that our target received. But they’re on the lookout for anything suspicious. Agent Miazga’s on it. He knows how to spot someone who’s guilty of something, whether it’s the same guy from the photo, or not. Facial recognition couldn’t find him, though, so we’re being cautious.

Director Washington: Very well. Report back in off-schedule when you have the suspect in pocket.

Reese: This call already is off-schedule. Is everything okay?

Director Washington: Has SI Eliot made any attempt to contact you?

Reese: He called the headquarters twice. Tennison handled it. I’ve maintained contact with her; everything’s going fine there. The new agents are settling in. They’re eager to meet Leonard, I’ll admit that.

Director Washington: It was more important for him to be down there with you. I made that decision, and I’ll stick by it.

Reese: Well, I wish this process had gone faster. I don’t know if this guy will ever return to where we think he lives, but he was here or something. We’re sure of it, whoever he is.

Director Washington: That’s fine.

Reese: Hey, why were you asking about SI Eliot?

Director Washington: He’s a good investigator. He knows that I sent you on an off-the-books mission, and he’s not happy about it.

Reese: You still don’t trust him?

Director Washington: I’m almost certain that he’s not a traitor, but I would feel a hell of a lot better reading him in if we had more than one enemy in custody. I’m not trying to rush you, but sooner would be better.

Reese: Madam Director, are you asking me to find a loophole in the law?

Director Washington: I’m not asking you to do anything, but if you were to unlawfully enter the premises of a suspect’s presumed residence, all I’m saying is that someone would be there to make sure that you don’t catch heat for it. So if he never shows up, and you need to get back on the trail, then do whatever it takes.

Ophelia: *through the radio* Team Lead, this is Team One. We have eyes on the target. He’s heading upstairs.

Reese: *into the radio* Team One, this is Team Lead. Hold fast. *to the screen* This could be it. I don’t think we’ll need to skirt any laws here. I’ll call you back.

Director Washington: Goodbye, Agent Parsons.

Reese: *into the radio* Team Prime, do you have a visual?

Sasho: *through the radio* Negative, Team Lead. We can’t see the front.

Reese: *thinking first* Okay, Team Alpha, go, go, go. Take him down at his door.

Microstory 1934: Fifty-Fifty

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Ochivar Captain: What is it, Lieutenant? What did you find?

Ochivar Lieutenant: *crouching* It’s a human.

Ochivar Captain: Threat class?

Ochivar Lieutenant: Presumably Class Zero. It’s dead. There’s a lower lifeform next to it. Can’t tell if it’s dead too. Could be Class Zero-Point-Five. Ochivar 1, the scanner?

Ochivar 2: I have the scanner. Here ya go.

Ochivar Lieutenant: It’s alive, and carrying no known disease. I would like to amend my previous response. Class Zero.

Ochivar 1: I’ve amended the report. Human, dead; Threat Class Unknown; presumably Zero. Animal, alive; Threat Class Zero.

Ochivar Captain: I don’t care about the animal.

Ochivar Lieutenant: Scanning the human now. [...] Bulk residue, Ochivar blood; carrying no known disease.

Ochivar 1: We did this. We killed him.

Ochivar Captain: We don’t know that yet, soldier.

Ochivar Lieutenant: Yeah, we do. *stands back up* Contusions and minor lacerations consistent with circumjacent bulk arrival.

Ochivar 2: We have to return and report.

Ochivar Captain: Now, let’s not be hasty, Ochivar 2. We’ve not run a full autopsy on the individual in question. It could have already been dead. Look around, soldiers. Do you see any signs of civilization? Now look at the body? Do you see any camping supplies, or even clothing designated for outdoor activity?

Ochivar 1: This is the first time I’ve been offworld. I don’t know how humans dress, or how they live in general.

Ochivar Captain: Well, I’ve encountered them before. This is not normal. It was probably lost, or abandoned by an enemy. Even if we did kill it, it would have died out here anyway, and either way, it would have become a threat to our mission, which automatically upgrades it to Threat Class XI.

Ochivar 2: Not everyone believes in that high of an upgrade. There are other teams that can always take up the responsibility. I don’t even personally think it would have turned into a Class X.

Ochivar Captain: That’s why I’m the captain, and you’re a soldier. You do not know how to think for yourself. It’s okay, we’ll always need people like you.

Ochivar Lieutenant: Captain, he’s right. We have to return to the homeworld and report the incident. They will send us back once it’s done, or send another team.

Ochivar Captain: Two of us will not survive that trip, Lieutenant. I was to retire in this universe; a reward for my years of service, and my many missions. The Captain I annihilated coming here was a great man, a great soldier, and in my same position. I cannot risk my retirement. Then he would have sacrificed himself for nothing.

Ochivar 1: Ochivar 2 and I will go, Captain. You’ll stay, and we’ll risk the fifty-fifty.

Ochivar Captain: You know the law better, Lieutenant. Is this acceptable?

Ochivar Lieutenant: It’s a gray area, but I think Command Central will allow it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 6, 2398

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Carlin and Moray haven’t slept in about a day. They can’t stop working on this project. They have learned so much already, it’s a wonder that no one has noticed this before. Or maybe they have noticed, and somebody disappears them. Mateo and Leona are the ones who gave them this assignment. They should be here to hear the big news.

Vearden hangs up the phone. “Okay, Mateo can’t come, and Leona can’t get away from her work in Arcadia.”

“What? How is that possible?” Carlin questions. He takes another drink of his energy drink. Someone needs to ban this stuff.

“Can’t he just teleport here?” Moray asks.

“Apparently his ability isn’t working,” Vearden informs them.

“He was just here literally yesterday.” Carlin stares into space. “It was yesterday, right? I didn’t lose time, did I?”

“No, you didn’t,” Vearden assures him. “He went back to Kansas City, and now he’s stuck. We can’t rely on that trick anymore. They don’t really know how it works. He may be able to come tomorrow, but no one can guarantee anything.”

“Then he can take the Olimpia,” Carlin suggests. “It’s not that far to fly.”

“We’re trying to be discreet here,” Vearden explains. “Our people can’t be spotted flying back and forth from a country that only a few people are allowed to visit each day.” He frowns at the two of them. “Maybe you could tell me first?”

Carlin starts to pace. Moray paces alongside him. He wants to be just like his older brother when he grows up. Carlin shakes his head. He has to get this out. He has to tell someone, and Vearden will have to do. It’s too big. “Okay.” He opens the map.

“What am I lookin’ at here?” Vearden asks invitingly.

Moray reaches over to tap on the screen of the large tablet to activate the presentation. Points bubble up in various regions around the world. Transparent colors spread from these points, and swirl around, crisscrossing each other, and mixing, dancing around the screen in an oddly organized fashion. New points and colors spring up. A slider at the bottom shows the passage of time.

Vearden tilts his head near the end. “I assume that this is showing how religions have propagated across the globe?”

“Yes. Did you see it?”

“I watched it, yes.”

Carlin rolls his eyes. “No. I’m talking about that spot right there.”

“Hmm. Yeah, there appears to be no religion there, but it’s not the only one. See there’s another one in the Philippines. And another over here, and another.”

“Those are unpopulated areas. This is a big area in the middle of Kansas. People live there, so why do they all report no religion, and why have they done that for centuries after the area was settled? I looked into it.” Carlin zooms in more. “The other cities seem normal, but there’s something weird about this bit of land exactly in the middle of it. Roads don’t go through. Satellite images don’t render. It’s weird as hell.”

“Weird as hell,” Moray echoes.

Vearden peers at the screen. “Hold on. I know this area. This is where Springfield, Kansas should be.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 28, 2398

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Ramses is doing great at his job on a professional level, but not so much personally speaking. Two people on his work team hate him: the guy whose job he apparently usurped, and the guy who had been trying to usurp it since before Ramses was even in this reality. He doesn’t even care, but this gives him access to the resources his team may need to escape to the main sequence, and barring that, survive here. First and foremost, they need to understand the laws of physics. Is there something that’s constantly suppressing their powers and patterns here, or were they stripped of these characteristics upon arrival, and now they could theoretically get them back using some other avenue? He needs to run tests, and being in charge of this department should afford him the appropriate opportunities. All he needs to do is help his people do their jobs on their own, and not bug him all the time, or try to sabotage him.

“Bruno, can you come in here, please?”

“Is he in trouble?” Stockboy asks. That’s not his real name, but he started working here as a stock associate, and worked his way up to this position. He’s just biding his time until he can climb even higher.

“He’s not,” Ramses answers. “Bruno. Double time.”

Not only does he not speed up, but he actually slows down to a snail’s pace.

“You’ll be in trouble if you don’t get in here, though. I partially wanted to talk about the fact that my paperwork finally went through, so now I have full dismissal privileges.”

Now scared for his job, Bruno hops in, and closes the door behind him. “Sir,” he says through actual gritted teeth.

“Bruno, how long have you been working here?”

“Exactly 452 times as long as you have.”

“You believe that your six-year tenure here imbues you with some kind of...entitlement?”

“Sir?”

“You think you deserve to be in charge.”

Bruno looks like he’s considering his options, and ultimately decides to stand resolute. “Yes, I do. I’ve already proven myself.”

“Mr. Castillo, I am not a leader. My best friends tell me what to do, and I do it. Repair this, build that, invent something that has never existed before. And I love it, because it means I’m useful. I haven’t been feeling very useful for the last week, does this surprise you?”

“It does not.”

“I don’t want to be in charge. I don’t even want the money. I just need to maintain my position here. And I need you to stop making that so goddamn hard.” He picks up a stack of papers from his desk, and tosses them onto the floor in front of the man who is meant to be his subordinate. It hasn’t been very long, but he’s already exhausted with this nonsense. Ramses may have had a rivalry or two back in the day, but even a group of radical capitalists generally accepted the idea that one person’s success did not inherently mean another’s failure. This world, however, considers them to be one and the same. “My job is to make sure these time reports are filled out correctly. Your job is to fill them out, not deliberately screw them up to make it look like I’m an idiot. You may have forced others to complete your work, and then taken credit for it, but I’m not like that. I’m not going to try to pass this off as my own to illustrate my value. Nowhere does it say that I have to complete them, I am perfectly within my rights to delegate. So that’s what I’m doing. I don’t have time to do them, and I don’t have time to check your mistakes. So do them right, give them to me, and I’ll file them away. That’s called trust. I can google that word for you if you need me to?”

“You can what that word?”

Ramses sighs. “If you mess these up again, I’m blaming you, and the boss will believe me, because I’ve already told him that you’re continuing to do them.”

“Sir, forgive me, but if you don’t want to be the supervisor, why are you?”

“Because I’m on assignment from the corporate office,” Ramses lies. “In one year, that assignment will be over, and I’ll step down.”

“I need the money now,” Bruno argues.

“You’ll get it.” Ramses pulls a stack of cash from the top drawer, and drops it right on top of the reports on the floor. “Like I said, I don’t need it. That’s a pittance for someone of my calibre. I’ll even let you be my lieutenant. It’s not an official position, but the team will listen to you, and I don’t give a shit. All you have to do to keep making this extra income every month is follow my orders, stay out of my way, and keep this all quiet. Are you capable of that?”

Bruno bends over, and retrieves the cash to get a rough count of it. “I was making more than this when I had your job.”

Ramses rolls his eyes. “You’re not getting all of my monthly pay. The rest is my per diem. They sent me here, expecting me to use all of it in this capacity, but I’m prepared to sacrifice half of it to keep you on my side. You’re still getting your regular wages, dummy.”

He nods. “I can do that.”

“Good. That’s not an advance, it’s a free sample, since I obviously haven’t been here all month. You’ll get another one at the end of May.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Right. Clean that up, get out, and work overtime if you must to fix them.”

Microstory 1881: Eyes Out on Stalks

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Before all this social media, if you wanted to get to know a celebrity, your only hope was to catch them in an interview on TV, or maybe see them at an awards show. You could read an interview, yes, or some other kind of article, but they always put their best foot forward, so unless it was a takedown piece, the writer would show them in the best light. That was okay, in general, but it did once place me in danger. When I had a crush on a particular leading man from decades long past—and I certainly wasn’t the only one—it was based on very little information. He was so great in his movies. He didn’t appear in many projects, mind you; he was a choosy talent, but they were all amazing, and he was amazing in all of them. I was young and naive, and I thought I was in love. Of course, I never thought I would get the opportunity to meet the man, and looking back, if only one minor thing had changed about that fateful day, I never would have. I can’t even say his name, it hurts so much to think back on it. I guess you could call it my unfinished business, even though there is nothing I can do about it now, so here it is. My local radio station was offering a promotion. Be caller number 96, and win a date with the hunk himself. They couldn’t call it a date on the official rules as it suggested some sort of romantic slant, but the crude radio personalities sure had their fun with their guesses as to what would go down. I called in, and actually won, and I was so incredibly excited. This was it, I was finally going to meet the man of my dreams. Now, don’t get me wrong, I was under no illusions about the upcoming night. I did not think he would fall in love with me, and ask me to marry him right then and there. But I didn’t care, because I felt honored enough just to be in his presence. I was so wrong.

He didn’t get down on one knee and propose to me on the night of, but he did seem to like me a lot. My mother warned me that he would probably expect sex. That was all right, I was ready, so I sat through the talk so she could make sure I understood that I could always change my mind. I did change my mind and it wasn’t really due to anything specific about him. He had a bit of a weird smell that I imagine he would call his musk, but I could have looked past that. It was just that we didn’t have any chemistry, and I guess he always wore makeup on screen, so I wasn’t all that attracted to him, so after the meet and greet, I just wanted to leave. It was a nice time, and I don’t think I would have regretted it if it had all ended, but he was not interested in ending things. He appeared totally fine that I wasn’t into have sex, but it was all an act. He was determined to get me in bed, whether I wanted it or not. He didn’t just break into my house, and attack me, though. No, that would have been too obvious. It would have been scary too, but at least I could have called the authorities if he had done that. Instead, he was what everyone around me thought was oh so romantic. They never let me call it what it was, which was stalking. He would send me flowers, and show up at my work. I found him in my kitchen once, waiting for my mother to make him some breakfast, like he was her son-in-law. It was so creepy, and I kept having to reject his advances, but he wouldn’t have it. I think he only stopped coming by because he found some new girl to fixate on. I never summed any of this up before, because as bad as it was, his actions were not reportable. I just wish people had listened to me back then, because a couple of years ago, we learned that some other girls ended up being not so lucky.