The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 13, 2526

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Pro text-to-video AI software, powered by Veo 3.1

There were some major issues with the sensor array, which delayed its activation. Aeterna promised that she had nothing to do with it, but they weren’t the dome police, so she wouldn’t have owed them an explanation either way. It was a year later now, and they were back on track. It would be turned on in a few days, when the team was out of the timestream again. It was inevitable, though, that the descendants of the Oblivios would start noticing the giant tower in the middle of their habitat. Well, they wouldn’t notice it, per se, but their instruments would claim that it was there, and if the Valerians didn’t want to damage people’s psyches, they would reveal themselves. They still didn’t know exactly how they were going to explain it, but now hoped maybe someone on the team had a good idea.

“I don’t know that we have to worry about it,” Leona claimed. They had spent the rest of yesterday in the penthouse, but now they were getting a look at the lower floors. She recognized them, and it clicked. “This is Arvazna.”

Mateo winced. “That micronation that you owned in The Third Rail?”

“That I will own,” Leona corrected. “It hasn’t happened yet, from this building’s perspective.”

“It was 130 years ago,” Marie reminded her. “I know, we’re time travelers, but if this thing ends up on an alternate Earth, thereby avoiding being detected here on Doma, it’s going to have to leave soon, and it’s going to have to go back in time, and then it’s going to have to be shunted to a parallel reality that doesn’t exist in present day.”

“The whole thing doesn’t have to end up there,” Mateo said. “This thing is, what, forty times larger than that one?”

“That’s true,” Leona agreed, examining the walls. “Tertius, how is this thing attached to the dome? Is it buried in the ground, or hanging from the apex?”

“Both, basically,” he answered. “They’re connected. It’s like a giant pillar connecting the ground to the top. Or a column? I don’t know, I’m not an engineer. I just asked Étude to build it, and she used her magicks.”

“I assume you have specifications for it, though,” Ramses said. “We would like to look at those. If we’re gonna bootstrap this tower to the Third Rail—or part of it—we will need to know how it works first.”

“Are you being serious? Are you just gonna make the tower disappear for us?” Tertius pressed.

“I think we’re fated to,” Leona said. The three of them went back upstairs, along with Aeterna and Marie, who was mostly just curious.

“I don’t know what understanding the engineering of the tower is going to do for them,” Mateo lamented. “You can’t just move a tower like this. None of us has that kind of power.”

“It doesn’t have to be one of us,” Olimpia claimed. “We already know someone who can do it. Well, we don’t know they can do it at scale, but we just met them. You partied with one of them.”

Mateo considered all the people he had met recently before landing on a guess. “The Overseers?”

“Yeah,” Olimpia confirmed. “They can just make one of their black hole portals, and send it through.”

“How’s the building going to move?” Mateo questioned.

“Gravity,” Romana suggested. “They can make the portal on the surface of the ground, and it will just fall through.”

“Is that even possible?” Mateo asked. “I’m guessing the foundation runs several kilometers deep. Could they get under it somehow?”

“You’ll have to ask them.”

“You want me to Boyd my way to them,” Mateo presumed.

“We don’t have time to get there and back using the slingdrives,” Angela reminded him. “It takes too long to recharge.”

“Plus, only you can find them through the dark particles,” Romana added.

A few hours later, Leona chuckled upon seeing Magnolia and Garland. “We were just gonna suggest that.”

“Great minds,” Romana mused.

“Can you do it?” Ramses asked the dark portal makers. “Can you make a portal wide enough to fit the tower?”

“The width alone is not really the problem,” Garland began. “Holding it long enough will be.”

“It’s not really the time either, son,” Magnolia said to him before facing Leona, “it’s the mass. I can hold a portal open for several minutes if nothing goes through in that time. But a tower? How long would you need? How long would it take to fall?”

“If we time it right,” Leona replied, “from the moment we release the clamps, to the second the roof makes it past the threshold, I would feel most comfortable with a minute and a half. With Proxima Doma’s gravity, it’s going to fall fairly fast, and get there in under that time.”

Magnolia’s eyes widened. “Whew, that’s a lot.”

“Together we can, though,” Garland said confidently.

She smiled at him. “Yeah, I’m sure we could do it. It would be a hell of a lot easier to send it somewhere with lower gravity, though, like outer space. I don’t know how to get it to another reality in the past anyway, so this would be just a stop-gap measure.”

“We just gotta get it out of the dome,” Rames said.

“I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this, everyone,” Tertius finally jumped in. “I regret asking them to build it in the first place. It was never necessary, and this isn’t the first headache I’ve gotten from it.”

Everybody filed into the elevator, and went down to the surface. The Overseers and the smart people began to survey the tower, and the surrounding area, rapidly developing their plan to make a gigantic building disappear. It was not a good plan, it was just the only one they had. Any number of things could go wrong. The Valerians could make the inhabitants forget they saw something unexplainable, but if the calculations were off by a single decimal point, memory would be the least of their problems. The apocalyptic explosion from the falling tower would send shockwaves across the surface...literally. It would decimate the dome, at best, and certainly kill everyone in it. As they were standing there, trying to consider every contingency, a tremor came through to remind them what started all this. It was a small one, but a herald of times far worse. They could see the nearest city shake in the distance. Nothing serious broke apart, but they could see tons of dust from here, and it might have been more destructive in other regions.

“We better do this now,” Magnolia decided. “If the ground begins to shake during the attempt, we could lose our balance.”

“That tremor means the big one is coming,” Leona tried to explain, “not that we won’t have another for a while.”

“Then let’s get on with it,” Aeterna contended.

“It could be minutes,” Leona warned, “and it’s not your call.”

“No, it’s ours,” Garland argued. “I say we do it, and we do it now. Ninety seconds is all we have available to us anyway.”

Just in case they needed a couple of extra hands, Angela teleported up to the control room in the penthouse with Tertius and Ramses, so they could release the clamps connecting the tower to the dome. They were coordinating on comms, relayed to Magnolia by Leona on one side of the cylinder, and Marie on the other with Garland. They were still in the middle of the process when another tremor began. “Guys, we need to abort,” Leona urged. No, she begged.

It was pretty much too late, though. Declamping the tower links wasn’t a single step. For clamps that large, it happened in stages, and they had already opened the first two stages, which placed them at more risk if they didn’t just move forward, full steam ahead.

“On my mark,” the team could hear Ramses say through comms. As he counted down, Leona and Marie’s voices synced with his, “eleven, ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, mark!” They slammed their fists down in the air, and pointed to the Overseers.

Magnolia and Garland opened a joint dark portal, slicing through the bottom floor like a hot knife through butter. The tower started to fall through. It was a magnificent sight to behold. The people in the control room appeared back down on the ground next to Mateo, Olimpia, and Romana.

“We can’t hold it anymore!” Leona cried, just about immediately, repeating what Magnolia was saying.

Marie reported a similar sentiment from Garland. “It’s worse than we thought! Best we can do is collapse the portal uncleanly, and generate an annihilating vortex!”

“I’ve never done that before!” Magnolia argued.

“Do it now!” Garland urged. There was absolutely no time to argue. After only about ten or eleven seconds, the portal fell apart, but it didn’t just evaporate into nothing. It exploded from the ground, and ate up part of the tower like a Lucius bomb. Unlike an L-bomb, though, it didn’t travel very far. Almost all of the tower was now falling towards them, preparing to crash on the surface. Leona teleported Magnolia out of the dome while Marie took Garland. Ramses hugged both Valerians, and spirited them away to safety.

Mateo was about to teleport too when he saw his wife, Olimpia take her Sangster Canopy out of her bag. She didn’t even give him the chance to protest before she jumped only a couple hundred meters away, directly underneath the falling tower. She opened it, and aimed it at the annihilator. She sent pockets of new space out of the tip. It wasn’t holding up the tower, but perpetually making the ground farther and farther away from it. She couldn’t hold on forever, though, and in fact, not for any meaningful amount of time. The Oblivios could not evacuate before she lost control. The first to escape would probably still be in the tunnel when it happened, and still be caught in the destruction. This was a desperate attempt doomed to fail.

But maybe Mateo could help instead. Both he and Romana jumped over to her, and took hold of the umbrella. “No!” he argued. “Just me! You two get out of here!”

“I know what you’re planning, dad! I can help!”

“You don’t have dark particles anymore!”

“Oh, yes, I do! Get out of here, mom!”

“Mom?” Olimpia echoed. “You’ve never called me mom before.”

“Go!” Olimpia reiterated.

“I love you!” Olimpia disappeared.

“Is this gonna work?” Mateo asked his daughter.

“Hell, yeah, it will!”

They both screamed their heads off. A massive swarm of dark particles erupted from them, through the umbrella. They were still adding space between them and the tower, but they were experiencing diminishing returns. It and the swarm met in the middle, but it was taking time for the dark particles to cover the entire thing. Meanwhile, it continued to fall, closer and closer to the surface. It might have appeared to be going rather slow from the outside, but it was actually accelerating, and would strike the planet with an even greater force than it would have had they done nothing but save themselves. The particles were nearly at full coverage and the tower was nearly upon them when the rest of the team appeared next to them. One by one, they took hold of the handle or the shaft, wherever they could find purchase.

“There’s nothing you can do to help!” Mateo shouted at them.

“We can die together!” Leona reasoned.

“That’s freaking stupid!” Romana volleyed.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that!” Olimpia scolded.

They continued to scream into the wind, as a team, and as they struggled to hold on, they started to float in the air a little. With one final push of their might, the dark particles turned all sorts of colors, and disappeared, as did the tower, and the whole team with them.

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2469: Gambledome

< > Table of Contents

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

Here’s the thing about gambling in a post-scarcity society...it’s not any fun! When money isn’t real, the stakes aren’t real, and there’s nothing interesting about it. The creators of Gambledome have managed to subvert this about as well as possible without completely shifting the paradigm of the economy. In Gambledome, money kind of is real, but only here. You start out with a modest amount of cash to spend on chips, and as you play, you win and lose those chips. If your stack starts piling up, you can cash them out, and spend it on things. You can get yourself a nice, luxurious room to stay in. You can spring for the (faux) lobster at dinner. You can give it away to your friends to make them like you. This is how it worked in other gambling communities on Earth back in the before-fore times, like Las Vegas. Here, it’s a recreation, which may make you think that your life can only get better, but that’s not true. If you run into the negative, you’re in trouble. You can’t leave the dome, and go back to the utopia that vonearthans have created since automation made fiat-based economies obsolete. You have to stick around, and pay off your debts. That’s right, there are real consequences. Some of the humans walking around as staff may be there because that is the experience that they have asked to be assigned while staying in the dome, but some are there because they have to be. Don’t come here if you don’t genuinely want to pretend to be an ancient human, because that’s the thing about gambling. You don’t know if you’re gonna win, and people lose all the time. A note on cheating: while they won’t torture you, it can land you in jail, where you’ll pay off your social debt by being locked up in a cell, unable to leave. We still have jails in the 27th century, of course, but the percentage of incarcerated individuals has never been lower, so this is rare. One woman lost her money on purpose, threw a tantrum, and tried to steal it all back, specifically so they would throw her in a cell, because it just doesn’t happen all that often anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to break any real laws. She didn’t want to go through the real justice system, and go to a real jail, where she might never get out. Overall, this place is a lot of fun, but only temporarily. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life here, and I certainly wouldn’t want to live in a world where people are sincerely desperate enough to gamble because they think they have no other choice. I don’t know if Gambledome is fostering any real addicts, but I sure would be interested to know if it’s happening, and if it is, whether the creators have any plans to do anything about it.

Microstory 2455: Flumendome

< > Table of Contents

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

If you don’t know what a flume is, it’s a waterslide. I mean, it’s a certain type of waterslide, but who am I to get bogged down in the intricacies of linguistics? Oh, that’s right, I’m a linguist. I suppose this rolls off the tongue better than Waterslidedome. Or Waterslidome. Well, hmm. Waterslidome. Yeah, it should be that, but pronounce it like slid. Whatever, it doesn’t matter what the name is, people! Waterslides is the name of the game. I don’t even know how many there are, because I did not read the prospectus. I saw that word, then saw the main picture, and I was hooked. I’ve loved waterslides ever since I was a kid. I remember going to the waterpark every summer, but just once per year. Oh, I would beg my parents to take us more than once, but they wouldn’t do it. It wasn’t about the money, it was about keeping it special, and learning delayed gratification. Parenting is a crapshoot; when I had kids, I learned that myself. I don’t fault them for their line of reasoning. I still wish I could have gone more, but we’re all immortal now, so yay, I have all the time in the universe! Back to Flumendome, this is the best park I’ve ever seen by far. Since it’s contained in this dome, its engineering limitations are a lot farther away from the ground than its Earthan equivalents. So are the slides themselves. The best one starts at the zenith, and goes all the way down to the surface. Again, I didn’t read the prospectus, so I don’t know how long it is, but I know it’s more than 41.5 kilometers. It could be double that, or more. I don’t have any friends so I shared a raft with some lovely, kind strangers. They calculated that it was probably close to 120 kilometers, which is insane to me. I grew up in the 2080s and ’90s; we didn’t have anything anywhere near this scale. It takes just an hour to get all the way down, and there is no escape. You’re moving too fast, and trying to fish you out of there would just be unsafe, for you, and anyone you’re with, or behind you. If you don’t think you can handle it, then absolutely don’t try. Fortunately, you can start small, with some regular waterslides, and work your way up. I told you, we’re immortal, baby, don’t be strict about your time. There is another that starts at the top, and goes all the way down, but it’s not as steep, and not as fast. It takes about four hours to get to the bottom, and if it’s a desperate emergency, a rescue drone can reportedly extract you, but only during lulls, so again, proceed with caution. I don’t think they’ve had to do it before, but I did hear about someone needing to get off this next one, which sounds like that wasn’t hard at all. The slide is the craziest one of all in some respects. It also starts way up there, but it’s even longer. We can’t even begin to estimate its length. It takes a full 24 hours to get down. They can extract you because you’re moving so slowly. It’s like being on a river, except if you climbed over the edge, you would fall off and die. Fortunately, that’s probably impossible, because the sides are so steep and wet, you’d have to be a tree frog, or something. And why would you? I’ve been talking a lot about extremes, but this place has a slide for everyone. Its prospectus is one of the most comprehensive (which is why I didn’t read it), but if you’re unsure, I suggest you take a look at it, and find what you’re looking for. It’s a lot of fun, for people of all ages.

Microstory 2379: Vacuus, October 28, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

I saw the letter that Velia sent you, and the photograph that she sent along with it. I knew that she was curious about you, I just didn’t realize how attached she had become to the idea of getting to know you more personally. She’s been very lonely here. As you can see, she’s quite good-looking, but she has a little trouble communicating with others. I think she jumped at the chance to correspond with you, because the medium allows her to rethink and revise her thoughts before they ever reach you. Just be careful with how you approach the situation. A long-distance love story is romantic, but not very practical. You and she will never meet in person, and even if you can accept that, it will probably eat at her over time. Be nice, and don’t just ignore her, but really try not to lead her on. She deserves to be happy with someone who is living on the same planet, and she doesn’t deserve to be distracted from such fulfillment and contentment. Okay, that’s enough of me scolding you for something that may never be a problem. That’s exciting news about your nurse, please let me know how that goes when she gets back to you. It reminds me of that book two development where Roscoe tracks down his estranged grandfather, and learns that he’s the one who protected Audie’s grandmother from that storm when they were young. It was a cool symmetrical twist, and the writer handled it well. Though, I admit, the adaptation could have done it better. I don’t like when the leads are double cast into entirely different characters for flashbacks. It’s a little cute, but mostly annoying. That’s just my opinion, I guess. Anyway, it would be great to reunite with someone who was so important in your past. I hope it goes well. She sounds lovely. I’m worried about Pascal and his trip, though. I don’t like it when you have to breach the safe confines of your floating platform at all, but I’m more worried than I was before; probably because I know you two better now than when you were first telling me your whole situation. I know he’ll have already left, but remember to tell dad to be careful. I’m sure you always say something to that effect, but a lot has changed since he last saw your neighbor. He could be dangerous, even if he had nothing to do with our separation. A part of me hopes that he’s dead, or simply can’t be found, just to avoid the risk of an encounter that does not go well. Just be safe, and get him back home quickly.

Lounging on an imaginary beach,

Corinthia

Microstory 2375: Vacuus, October 13, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

I trust that you’ve been getting my daily health updates. I think that’s all I’m going to do, just forward my morning vital stats. It’s a lot easier, and the system is already set up for it. Of course, the feature is typically meant for patients to update their doctors, but if it makes you feel better, then I can do it. Yes, I do have other people to help me when I’m having trouble, be it with my health, or anything else. Like I was saying, it takes a village, and we’re a tight-knit group here. Some are closer than others. Some have more friends than me, but overall, I feel like I could count on just about anyone on this base. I’ve been reading about it, and other colonies are facing similar issues, living in these controlled environments. People don’t ever get just a little sick, so when something happens, it runs rampant. No one knows what the solution might be, though I’m guessing that your domes make things a little safer. If you have plant life growing in them, you have bacteria growing on them. All those variables are making illness a real concern, but hopefully, a manageable one. I have been taking vitamins my whole life, which include more than one immunity booster, so that’s always helped me. It’s probably part of what staved the disease off for as long as it had been. Anyway, I’m okay now. Bray has been great, and if you don’t know how to interpret vital sign trends, I’m back to the way I used to be before all this. It was a scare, but I think I can safely say that I’m out of the woods now. You’re right, testing twins for this sort of thing could be a good idea if it weren’t horrific, and we probably weren’t the first to think of it. I’m sure our observers did too. I bet they were indeed studying the physiological differences between us, living in vastly  different environments, or at least they were trying to. We’ve mentioned that it makes little sense, trying to study anything in fraternal twins, but whatever. It’s over now, and we don’t have to worry about those people anymore. I hope you took my advice, and sent a message to Velia. I know that she’s looking forward to it.

Ta-ta for now,

Corinthia

Microstory 2374: Earth, October 7, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Velia,

My twin sister, Corinthia gave me your contact card. She’s talked about you a little. You’re the one who made the matching outfits that we all wore to our interplanetary birthday party, right? I know you read my open letter to the base, but if you want to talk and get to know each other personally, here’s how you can reach me. Tell me about yourself. I don’t have that much experience with what you do, and have never met anyone with your job. Things are a little different here on Earth these days, but I think they’re becoming more like they are on Vacuus, now that society is coming back. We have garment fabricators like you here, but it was a change for me, wearing new clothes. In the past, when we needed replacements, we had to trade for them at whatever market we came across, or even scavenge them from the ruins of the old world. It’s not really something I thought about a whole lot growing up. We were just trying to survive, and as long as you were protected from the elements, that would have to be good enough. If you were in the midst of the toxic fumes, it really didn’t matter what you were wearing unless it was a hazmat suit, because you weren’t going to make it out there for long. Also, when we were busy traveling the world, we were limited to how much we could carry, which was par for the course for a lot of people at the time, certainly everyone we were dealing with. In some instances, it was a rule based on who you were with, and in others, it was a practical necessity to stay light and unburdened by too many belongings. I’ve only recently begun to collect personal possessions. It just wasn’t worth it before, when I was on the road, and in the air. Before we came to this platform, I only had a few shirts and a couple of pairs of pants. Socks and undergarments were the most precious due to their heavy impact on hygiene. I’m sure there’s more to you than your job. You may not even like clothes. Not everyone gets to work in their preferred field. In case you are into fashion, though, here’s a picture of what I’m wearing today. What do you think?

It’s nice to kind of meet you,

Condor

Microstory 2373: Earth, October 6, 2179

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Corinthia,

I’m relieved that you’re feeling better, but I’m still worried about you. What are your message quotas? Maybe you could send me daily updates? Yeah, I’ll always be a week behind, but I’ll feel better if I can count on something coming in every day. Or maybe that would be even more stressful, because what if you’re too busy, or you forget? It might make me start freaking out. I dunno, you decide. I just want you to be okay. Who else do you have in your life besides Bray? Does Velia help too? Is she someone you can rely on when things are rough? It’s so frustrating being so far from each other. Okay, I don’t wanna be too pushy or overprotective. You live your life however you think you should. In school, we learned about the dangers of living in space. They told us how risky it is just being out in the vacuum, and how lower gravity can impact bones and muscles. But they didn’t say anything about the pathogens that do—or more important, don’t—start going around. You’re in such a controlled environment, which sounds like a good thing, but I guess there are consequences. We’re probably going to experience the same thing here on Earth, with our giant dome habitats. Or maybe the giant part is a good thing.  Perhaps they’re big enough where it’s basically like living on Earth before the poison gases. I don’t know anything about this stuff. Have they done studies on it? Do space colonists have weakened immune systems because they’re not exposed to random environmental foreign contaminants, or whatever? Perhaps someone should be comparing twins for this instead of behavioral differences. I shouldn’t say that out loud, give anybody any bright ideas. For all I know, that was part of what they were trying to study in us.

Thinking of you always,

Condor

Microstory 2324: Vacuus, November 2, 2178

< > Table of Contents

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

Dear Condor,

I know that I don’t know you very well, but please don’t try to travel out of your dome. I hope I’m not stepping over the line by asking this of you. It sounds like it’s safe enough in there, and that it’s super dangerous on most of the world. As far as I’m concerned, the answers can wait. I would probably be okay if we never knew what happened between our parents, or why they thought it would be a good idea to separate us at birth. We can’t go back in time to undo it. All we can do now is try to move forward, and become siblings from here on out. That being said, please do keep me updated on his situation. It sounds like his work comes with a lot of risks, not only from traveling through toxic zones, but from dealing with all sorts of different people who are living in different environments, and have different agendas, which may be difficult to parse. As far as what to call him goes, I’ve not even noticed, but I think I’ve used both your and our as well. You can say whatever makes you comfortable. We’re not a hundred percent sure that he’s even our birth father, are we? He may only be the one who raised you, but didn’t make you, in which case, I would hardly call him my dad at all. I think we have to get more information before we can make any judgments on that. I mean, he clearly knows something, or he would have been, like, what the hell are you talking about? when you first asked him about all this stuff. So yeah, I think it probably makes more sense if we think of him as your dad for now. I think that we can safely assume that the woman who raised me is mother to both of us in the biological sense. She has to be my mother, or some protocols here would be different. The infirmary has to have an accurate understanding of my medical history in order to treat me properly, and there would be questions about inheritance and access control. I would know if she had I weren’t related, so she must be related to you too. Unless you’re not related to either of us. You could be catfishing me, for all I know! I’m just joking. I don’t want to get into this whole epistemological argument over what we know, and what we can’t possibly know, because the answer to the second question is literally a profound nothing. What a great way to end a letter.

Happy November,

Corinthia

Microstory 2272: Tested For Compatibility

< > Table of Contents

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

People are coming in from all over the country, and maybe even beyond, hoping to donate a lobe of their liver, or a kidney, to Nick. That’s very sweet of all of you, and trust me, I wish it gave us more hope, but he’s in really bad shape. If this were the future, the hospital might be able to hook him up to machines to keep his whole body alive. They could replace every vital body part and organ temporarily until a more permanent solution could be found. I like the way you think. With all these volunteers, there’s surely a perfect match for him somewhere out there. The problem is that it will take too much time to find that person, and in the meantime, Nick’s body is shutting down. He’s being kept alive by the machines that are available today, however, they are limited in scope. I don’t want to discourage you from hope, but what do you want me to say to you? Do you want me to lie, and claim that he’s going to get out of this because he’s survived so much until now? I’m sorry, but I don’t see how we could succeed. They just took too much from him. He probably won’t survive the week, let alone major surgery. From my perspective, I am willing to try, but the donors would be risking their own health on a huge gamble. Believe me, he’ll be the first to promote living donorship. He thinks that it shouldn’t be so stigmatized, that signing up to donate should be an obvious choice that any healthy person should make. The fact of the matter is, though, that we don’t live in that world. We’re not ready for it. Perhaps one day we will. Perhaps this will galvanize society into making changes, not because we’re bad people now, but because we can always improve ourselves. Unfortunately, Nick is not going to be able to benefit from such a world. Like I was saying, the hospital is doing everything they can, and it’s not like I’m stopping people from reaching out to the administrators with their inquiries. I just feel the need to manage your expectations. If this crazy plan works out, it’ll be a miracle, and how many of those does one person get in their life. Dutch and I have already been tested for compatibility, and we’re no good, so it would be up to you. Sadly, I don’t like our odds. His luck and time are both running out.

Microstory 1985: New Direction

< > Table of Contents

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

Henley: O.

Ophelia: Yeah, is everything okay?

Henley: No, the others are getting antsy.

Ophelia: All we can do is wait. No one knows we’re here. I mean, of course the others do, but no one we need to be worried about.

Henley: They’re not worried about being discovered. But we all know that we can’t stay here forever. You have a family to get back to, don’t you?

Ophelia: Yes. And the only way I can keep them safe right now is to stay away from them. I hope you’re not thinking of contacting your family.

Henley: Of course not, but what’s going to happen afterwards? Parsons and the others are trying to fix this, but what if it can’t be fixed?

Ophelia: I don’t know. No one knows. That’s how life works.

Henley: Can you talk to them?

Ophelia: Are they all in that big room we’ve been eating out of?

Henley: Yeah, I think they’re expecting you.

Ophelia: Very well. *walks down to the room* Hello, everyone.

*they start to inundate her with questions and complaints*

Henley: All right, settle down. You can’t talk all at once.

Ophelia: Thank you. I have something to say. I know that we’re all sort of freaking out right now, but that’s not going to help. We have each been through worse. That’s how we ended up here. We’re doing something that has never been done before. We’re preparing for an alien invasion, and no matter what happens after the dust settles, that will always be true. When these damn locusts show up en masse, the world will see what we’ve seen, and they will know that you saw them first. They will learn how you fought against them, despite having no legal or moral obligation to. You could have gone home, and hidden in your bathtubs. You could have just completely ignored the risk. But you stood at the frontlines, and I commend you for that. One day, the history books will too. Now, by raising your hands, does anyone have any specific questions about what we should do, or what we can do about our situation? Yes, Yanna.

Yanna: When will we receive any news? Have you planned a call with Agent Parsons, or something? I think what’s causing the anxiety is not having any sort of timetable.

Ophelia: We have each other’s burner phone numbers. He’ll contact us when there’s an update worthy of our attention. It will come soon. We came up with a few code words in case he finds himself in mixed company. It’s best if you don’t know any more than that.

Reese: *steps in from the hallway* None of that will be necessary anyway.

Henley: Agent Parsons. Or should I call you Subdirector Parsons?

Reese: Neither. *pauses for dramatic effect* I’ve just been in meeting after meeting after meeting. It was all very boring, but your jobs are waiting for you when you’re ready to come back. I’m not the subdirector, but a full director. The Department of Exogenic Affairs is being spun out into its own full department. We’re no longer working under Special Investigations, but the executive branch of government. I answer directly to the National Commander. You can all relax. Everything’s gonna be okay.

Microstory 1984: Pancakes Come First

< > Table of Contents

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

Myka: Are we sure about this?

Reese: No, but everyone else is safe at the third location, and this is the best chance we have to getting our jobs back. I want to work with Director Washington, but we have to make sure that we can trust her.

Myka: Anaïs doesn’t think she’s a mole.

Reese: Even if she isn’t, she may lock us all up just because we ran. This is the best test I can come up with. Well...Anaïs came up with it, but I approved it, so the responsibility falls upon my shoulders. Of course, she could pass with flying colors, and then screw us over later, so maybe none of this matters.

Leonard: Today cannot be understood before tomorrow becomes yesterday.

Myka: Did you come up with that?

Leonard: It’s from a poet from my world.

Myka: *sighing after a pause* Why didn’t we give the Director the third location, and keep everyone safe here. Isn’t Micro upset about this place possibly being burned.

Micro: *walking up* This is a great lair. She’ll believe it’s where we’ve been hiding, because we have. I don’t mind it being burned. I have more copies of this in other universes. Don’t you worry your pretty little self about me.

Reese: You don’t have to be here, though. You can hide with the others.

Micro: Like she’d believe you could do any of this without me. *starts to step away*

Reese: Hey, wait. How are your sensors? Are you detecting any strike team?

Micro: A-okay, boss. We’re clear. Balls to the wall. Once more, unto the breach. That’s poetry from my world. [...] She’s here, doe.

*after a few moments, the door opens, and Director Washington comes in alone*

Reese: *clearing his throat* Madam Director, you found it.

Director Washington: It wasn’t that hard. I didn’t start out in an office, you know.

Reese: Of course, sir. Thank you for coming. Juice? Tea? Pastries?

Washington: Is this Sunday brunch, or did you wanna discuss business?

Reese: I want us to come back together.

Washington: That’s what I want too, Subdirector Parsons. You’re the ones who left. *looking around* Where is everyone else anyway?

Reese: Valentine Duval is working security. Everyone else is presently...out.

Washington: *thinking about it* This was a test. You only gave me your location to see what I would do with this information? You thought I might attack?

Micro: *coming back into the main area* Yeah, you came alone. What’s with that? Don’t you have your own bodyguards?

Washington: Like I was just saying, I was not always an administrator. I can look after myself. Now. Subdirector Parsons—

Reese: Am I still a subdirector? Am I anything to the government but a fugitive?

Washington: Yes, Subdirector Parsons. I know that we are in the midst of corruption issues, and I know that you are not one of these corrupted people. I would be glad to discuss reintegration, but first...you must tell me where the others are.

Micro: No, first...pancakes.

Microstory 1983: The Choice of Risk

< > Table of Contents

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

Reese: How are things going at headquarters?

Anaïs: They’re fine.

Reese: Do you need us to pull you out? Just say the word. Don’t feel obligated.

Anaïs: I’m not just being a big brave girl, Agent. I really am fine. I still feel safe there.

Reese: Okay. So what’s the update?

Anaïs: Washington is finished with her interrogations. She spoke with everyone, and determined that there aren’t any other moles in the department.

Reese: Well...who interrogated Director Washington?

Anaïs: I know that that’s what we’ve been worried about, but I think she cleared her own name in the process. She could have found a mole, and thrown them under the bus, which would have thrown suspicion off of herself. It wouldn’t even have to be real.

Reese: So the fact that she isn’t outwardly doing anything to try to cover her tracks is telling you that she doesn’t have any tracks to cover? I’m sorry, that’s a weak argument. She may just feel comfortable enough in her position.

Anaïs: True, but I’m not the only one working on the problem, am I? Tell me, what has Micro uncovered during her external investigation.

Reese: *nods* Washington does seem clean. We’ve found no indication that she’s making more money than she earns at the office. She’s not making any unusual phone calls. Evidently she visited the original training facility, and picked Sergeant Sachs out after watching him spar, and reading his file. They didn’t know each other before.

Anaïs: Parsons, we don’t have much reason not to trust her. I think she was duped just as much as we were. She really wants to figure this out, and she’s working really hard to do that. I really think she’s all right. She did have a sour word to say about any of you.

Reese: Are you saying that we should try to come back in?

Anaïs: *stepping away to pace a little* It may not be yet time for that, but I do have another test we could try.

Reese: What would that be?

Anaïs: *spins back around* You’re not going to like it.

Reese: Is it dangerous?

Anaïs: No, I wouldn’t say that. In fact, you might be okay with it. If it goes poorly, at least we’ll know that I’m wrong, and she’s a traitor, but if it goes well...

Reese: Yeah...?

Anaïs: If it goes well, Washington might be the one who ends up not too happy.

Reese: All right. Spit it out.

Anaïs: I can go back to her, say that I’ve been looking for you—

Reese: No, that is dangerous.

Anaïs: I’m not even done explaining it.

Reese: It doesn’t matter. If you trust her, then either you and I should stop talking, and you’ll go back there fulltime, or we’ll pull you out and protect you, but you’re not going to put yourself at such risk. The nail that sticks out gets hammered down.

Anaïs: And that would be my choice. It’s a good plan, and I’m at less risk than you think. Why don’t you just wait until you hear the rest of it, okay?

Microstory 1978: Alleged Smuggler

< > Table of Contents

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

Leonard: Are you Moenia?

Moenia: Yo, who’s askin’?

Leonard: We’re friends of Becca’s.

Moenia: Yeah, she mentioned she had a new crew. She told you about our dead drop?

Leonard: She told us you could help us. She said you were her most trusted smuggler.

Moenia: Alleged smuggler.

Leonard: Right. Well, we need to get across the border.

Moenia: How far across, copper?

Leonard: Not a cop. And it depends on how safe it is on the other side of the first one.

Moenia: Not very, I always say. You wanna be safe, you get yourself all the way into Kentucky. Or Missouri, if you’re in a bigger hurry.

Ophelia: We are...in a hurry, that is.

Moenia: *nods* She tell you my usual fee?

Ophelia: Becca said nothing, but money is no object. It may just be...a bit delayed.

Moenia: I don’t deal in money, I deal in favors. I’ll take you with me. I’ll carry you all the way to Dexter or Poplar Bluff. Once there, we’ll part ways, but one day, I’ll call upon you, and you can’t refuse me. I don’t care if I’m askin’ you to kill the National Commander of the United States, you answer that call, no questions asked.

Leonard: We’re not going to—

Moenia: It won’t be that. It won’t be anything that ridiculous. I use that as an example, because you’ll be takin’ a huge risk, accepting my help. It may be somethin’ you don’t wanna do, or it may be as simple as tying my shoes for me. Now that is a favor that I actually did call in. It’s worse than it sounds. That was four years ago, and word is, the dude is still scared out of his mind that it meant more than how it looked on the surface. He ain’t slept right since. That’s the gamble. I know within five minutes of meeting someone what kind of favor to ask them. You need to be prepared for that.

Ophelia: We’ll take it. Get us to Missouri.

Moenia: That guy’s been quiet. What’s his deal?

Ophelia: Oh, him? He’s not allowed to talk.

Vogel: Not true.

Ophelia: *slaps him in the head* Shut up. *to Moenia* Three tickets, please.

Moenia: Three tickets, three favors.

Leonard: *looks down at Vogel* Well...

Moenia: Favors are transferable. He looks to be your prisoner, which means he could be dead by the time I need to collect, so I’ll let you do whatever it is in his stead. Deal?

Vogel: I have a better deal. I’ll give you four favors, you kill these two yahoos, and take me over the border instead.

Leonard: She told you to shut up.

Moenia: Now hold on a minute, let me think about it.

Ophelia: Moenia, don’t do this. Becca will not be pleased.

Moenia: I’m just playin’ witchya. Just make sure to keep him quiet. We’re headed into dangerous territory. The Mississippi border is even worse than the rest of it.

Microstory 1929: Surrender Leonard

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Canva text-to-image AI software

Leonard: Hello. Can I help you?

Freeman 11: You need to get out of here.

Leonard: I’m sorry? Do I know you?

Freeman 11: I’m a friend of Agent Parsons. He gave me a message. Well, he didn’t give it to me. He gave it to his couple bond partner, who gave it to who knows how many of her freewomen, who passed it along to Freeman 8, who passed it to me. We had to do that because Parson and his closest associates are being watched, or may be being watched. I’m nobody though, so nobody’s expecting me to do anything important.

Leonard: That’s what makes you important. It’s good to be able to fly under the radar.

Freeman 11: *smiles*

Leonard: And the message is that I need to leave?

Freeman 11: You need to sneak out. They’re coming for you.

Leonard: Who’s coming for me, and why?

Freeman 11: They didn’t tell me much about that, probably because the secrets can’t be trusted going all over town like it did. But basically the government wants to lock you up so you’ll help...get information out of someone? You’re supposed to gain their trust, and they think you won’t be able to do that from the outside.

Leonard: *nods* I know who you’re talking about. Sneaky little devils. We had a plan, but it seems they’ve come up with a new one.

Freeman 11: I can help you. Freeman 24 is waiting in the car. We brought you in. We can get you back out.

Leonard: That won’t be necessary. I’m going to let them take me.

Freeman 11: Forgive me, but I don’t understand.

Leonard: You wouldn’t. There’s too much you’ve not been told about the situation, and bringing you up to speed would not only take too much time, when you really ought to leave this hotel as soon as possible, but it also places you in just as much danger as I am. If I try to escape, they’ll find me, and it will be worse. If they’re doing what I think they’re doing—and it’s not the worst strategy I’ve ever encountered—then all I can do is play along.

Freeman 11: I dunno man. There are certain branches of government that you can trust. Social Counseling is one of them. The rest are animals.

Leonard: I appreciate your position. I’m not trusting them. I’m just surrendering. Again, if you knew more, it would make sense. Besides, the whole reason you’re here is because Agent Parsons can’t talk to me himself without getting caught, right? Well, I imagine the circle that knows about this is pretty tight. They’ll figure out if I react this way. It was a nice gesture, but it would never work. Now go on. It’s not safe here.

Freeman 11: All right. Call me if you change your mind. Freeman 24 and I will be waiting down the block. Here’s my card.

Leonard: I’ve memorized the number, but I won’t take the card. Best not keep records of our dealings.

Freeman 11: I get it. You’re smart. Have you ever thought of doing crime? *smirks*

Leonard: Thanks, Freeman 11.

Microstory 1922: The Director’s Direction

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Canva text-to-image AI software

Director for the Office of Special Investigations: Who is this man, Special Investigator? What does he want?

Special Investigator: He’s from another universe, like the creature we’ve captured.

OSI Director: And did he tell you that?

Special Investigator: I know what you’re getting at, but we believe him. His first appearance matches that of the alien.

OSI Director: I’m not doubting that the two events are related, but you can’t go on his word simply because he claims to be a member of law enforcement where he’s from, or because he’s telling a really good story. I can’t authorize a random civilian whose identity we cannot verify to interrogate a prisoner on our behalf. We don’t know anything about either of them. They could be working together. The creature could have been sent to stop the human, who is actually a world-killer bent on destroying us. We are in uncharted territory here, and your trust in him is not reassuring. You were given this assignment months ago, and you’ve still not come up with any solid answers. That could make anyone desperate for results, be they accurate or not.

Special Investigator: You’re right, sir. I don’t know if he’s lying, but it’s as he explained it—and like you said just now—we’ve been working on this for so long with all but nothing to show for it. So far, all we’ve been able to determine is that its wings allow it to float in the air a little bit, but not fly over long distances. Something has to change. It may be a bad idea to let those two be in the same room together. I can’t honestly promise that it won’t end up being the downfall of the world. But the same is true for anything. A humanitarian visitor to a wartorn developing country could accidentally sneeze too close to the dictator, spark World War II, and decimate the human population in ten years. Life is not without risk, but without effort, it’s not anything at all. If you just want to play it safe, then I say we cut off the alien’s head, and study it through an autopsy. But if you do that, I guarantee you that you’ll never hear it speak.

OSI Director: There are those who are not only willing to accept that outcome, but are actively hoping for it. They say it would be the safest route.

Special Investigator: *shaking his head* That may teach us whether those two organs in its back are kidneys, or something else. It will not tell us whether it’s here to kill us, or if more are coming. You pushed for a non-violent start to this investigation, and you got a lot of pushback for it, but I backed you, because I believe in this course of action, and I still do. That man downstairs can help us. Let him try. It could be disastrous, or it could lead to a breakthrough. This is the greatest discovery in human history. If they can travel between universes, maybe we can too. Think how the U.S. could benefit from such tech.

OSI Director: This is beyond against protocol. I admit, however, that your idea to treat him as a spy is an intriguing workaround to the paperwork parameters.

Special Investigator: It wasn’t mine. It was Agent Parsons’.

OSI Director: Then perhaps I should speak with Agent Parsons first, and also this so-called parole officer from another Earth.

Special Investigator: I think that would be a fine idea.

OSI Director: Make it happen.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 15, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

Marie is sitting on the cot, face pressed up against the glass, not in a longing sort of way, but just because she’s bored. This isn’t the first time she’s been locked up, and if she survives, it won’t be the last. The other three are doing their own thing, but they seem just as bored.

“How long have we been here?” Kivi asks.

“At least a day,” Heath answers, just guessing.

“Are they gonna torture us, or something, or is this the torture?” There is nothing in this glass cell but eight cots, one toilet, partially covered, a sink with an extension to approximate a shower, and holes for ventilation. Under the sink is a stack of these dense granola squares for them to eat at their leisure.

They haven’t seen a single soul since they woke up here yesterday. The light is dim, and they can’t see the outside. They get the sense that this thing was built in the center of a warehouse, but it’s so dark that they can’t be certain of the scope. Surely someone is watching them on monitors somewhere, but they don’t actually see the cameras. There is no sound. Not even the light fixtures give off that familiar hum you normally wouldn’t be able to get out of your head when everything else is this silent. For now, the only noises they hear are the ones they make.

“Don’t give them any ideas,” Marie tells her, pulling her face from the wall for a minute. “They’re always listening,” she whispers.

“You don’t know that,” Heath says. “Look around. I don’t see anywhere for anybody to slip food to us. Hell, one of these bars holding the glass together is probably a door, but we don’t know which. All we have may be all we ever will. This may not be a jail cell at all, but a coffin.”

“Don’t be so morbid,” Marie urges. “They brought us here for a reason.”

“What reason?” Kivi questions.

“If I knew that...” Marie begins, going back to the glass. She stops in the middle of the sentence when she realizes that there is no way to finish it. It doesn’t matter what she knows, and doesn’t. There are no actions to take in here besides sleeping, eating, cleaning, and wasting. Her guess is as good as Kivi’s

“Does this have anything to do with A—”

Marie quickly turns from the glass again. “Shh!” Kivi was about to drop Amir’s name, which she shouldn’t, in case he has nothing to do with it. Or they, rather since there are two Amir Hussains. Swapping them, and freeing them both to different places, was their only choice. They knew it would cause problems, but they didn’t think these people would take it this far. The second Amir was so interested in getting out of Birket that he gleefully accepted the risk. Marie is glad that Leona isn’t here, but she could have helped. For one, she probably would have already figured out who these people truly are, and how to get out of here, and in two weeks, she would be running the joint.

“Sorry,” Kivi says. “I’m just hungry.”

“Go ahead, and have another square,” Marie suggests.

“I can’t, we have to ration it.”

“No, we don’t,” Heath insists. “It’s fine. I was just being dramatic.”

“Yes, we do, and no, it’s not, and no, you weren’t,” the fourth prisoner says.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 14, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

The clock strikes midnight by the time Leona makes it to the lab. She takes her phone out, and checks on the location of her friends. They’re either still at the condo, as she asked them to be, or their phones are, but they’re elsewhere. She gets out of the car, and enters the lab. She and Marie checked here after they returned to the Ponce de Leon in case Mateo, Ramses, and Angela were holed up, or left clues. The place was exactly as they left it, and the security measures they put in place proved that no one else had come into the building either. Even so, she needs to check secondary security to ensure that no one opened the vault.

Once she’s sure that everything’s okay, she opens the door herself, which she and Ramses promised not to do unless they both agreed, or if it was an emergency. She can’t achieve the first one, but the second one certainly applies. They don’t have very much of this stuff left, and what she’s about to do hasn’t been tested, let alone perfected, but she’s desperate. She doesn’t know where her people are, or what sort of state they’re in. If communication was compromised, she can’t trust anything Mateo said to her over the phone. She has to assume the worst and act accordingly. She has to go to them, even if it means placing herself in the same predicament. Leona draws the Existence water into the syringe, and injects it into her arm. Reckless, but it works. She can sense Mateo, quite distantly, but they’re out there somewhere, and she should have just enough power to make it there. She grabs the satellite phone, and teleports away.

“Leona?” Mateo asks.

They’re standing in the main cabin of The Olimpia. Nothing looks out of place. “Oh, thank God. Report.”

“No. You report. How did you get here?”

“I know how,” Ramses says, stepping up the stairs. “You injected yourself with samples from the Bermuda Triangle.”

“I had to,” Leona defends. “I had to get back to you.”

“It wasn’t ready,” Ramses counters. “It may never have been.”

“But it was ready, I’m here,” she insists.

“You couldn’t have known that,” Ramses continues. “Besides, we don’t know what kind of side effects there might be. That is not what the immortality waters were designed for.”

“They weren’t designed for anything,” Leona argues. “They’re natural.”

“Are you sure about that?” Ramses asks, kind of rhetorically.

Leona looks over at Mateo, who is looking down at the floor disappointingly. He shakes his head. He can’t believe she did that. It was so stupid and dangerous, and she should know better. He made contact. He used the proper language to let her know that they were fine. She should have trusted that. She should have trusted him.

Leona frowns at them. She hears a noise behind her, just now noticing that Angela has been sitting in the cubby. “I’m sorry, everyone. I didn’t think it through.”

“It’s okay. We’re gonna be okay now,” Angela tells her. “Let’s all go back home.”

“Where are we?” Leona asks, flipping on the nearest viewscreen to see nothing but the cold dark ocean.

“Enemy territory,” Mateo answers. “Russia.”