Microstory 1932: Building Trust

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Freewoman: Hey, are you okay? You look upset.

Agent Parsons: I can’t talk about it.

Freewoman: You can tell me anything. That’s what the couple bond means.

Agent Parsons: We made a commitment to each other, yes, but you didn’t make a commitment to the U.S. government. That’s the issue. That means I can’t tell you everything, even if I wanted to.

Freewoman: Well, how about you talk in generalizations, so you’re not giving anything away about what you’re investigating, or whatever.

Agent Parsons: I dunno...

Freewoman: When I was seven years old, my grandmother died. I didn’t want to, but my mother made me go up to her casket, and give her my goodbyes. I tried to walk away, but she made me go back and give her a kiss on her forehead. “It’s tradition, Myka,” she said. I’ll always remember that nasally tone she took with me. “It’s tradition, Myka.” Fine, I thought to myself, I’ll lean over and give her a kiss, but I’m not leaving empty-handed. I swiped the gold locket they were trying to bury with her, and later sold it at a pawn shop. That was the first crime I ever committed. I’m a graverobber, Reese.

Reese Parsons: I appreciate you trusting me with this story, but why are you telling it?

Myka: Just building trust. Your turn.

Reese: *cracking a smile* Okay. I betrayed a friend at work. I could have helped him directly. I could have protected him from my bosses, but I chose to go about it in such a way as to protect myself, and it didn’t work. He...was reprimanded, even though he didn’t do anything wrong, and now they won’t even let me talk to him.

Myka: Reese, I know what you’re talking about. I’m the one who helped try to get the word back to the escapee.

Reese: Oh yeah, I forgot.

Myka: So, he never got the message? I didn’t hear how that all turned out.

Reese: No, he got the message; he just chose to ignore it.

Myka: So it wasn’t your fault.

Reese: I can’t help but wonder if he would have listened if I had talked to him myself. I could have answered questions, and pushed harder, because I’m the one who understands what’s at stake. Who knows what information was left over once Freeman 11 got his hands on it? Maybe he warned Leonard that a pack of rabid zebras were running through the streets, instead of the true message.

Myka: Well, where is he now? Again, you don’t have to be specific, just clarify what’s stopping you from talking to him now.

Reese: He’s in a jail they built in the basement. They said they were gonna let me see him. They said that I would be able to help, but I guess they changed their minds.

Myka: What would happen if you disobeyed orders? Would they fire you?

Reese: They would remove me from the special assignment, but they wouldn’t have the authority to terminate my position with Fugitive Services. However, if she were so motivated, the Director could make a call, and make it happen.

Myka: Then I guess you’re gonna have to be sneaky about it, won’t you?

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 3, 2398

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Kivi can presumably find anyone anywhere, but it helps to have a general idea of where they are. If their targets had run off to hide in Croatia, for instance, she probably would have never found them unless someone tipped them off to this fact. Fortunately, her SD6 team is not the only interested party. Investigators from multiple departments have been looking into the bombing of the former Balance of Power studios, and they do not believe that the culprits have managed to get out of the city. They’re still in New York, and as long as she doesn’t get distracted again, Kivi can take it from there. That’s not all the other investigators found.

A small group known as the Weighers of Justices have claimed responsibility for the attack. This is a new organization; so new that organization is a strong word to use for them. They say that they’re loyal to Solomon Powers and his legacy, and were retaliating against Leona’s legal killing of him, and her takeover of his microsovereignty. They’ve not released names, or shown themselves on camera, so this could all be a red herring, but Kivi and the other members of her team don’t care. Understanding motive is not part of their job descriptions. They just have to find these assholes.

It’s called a Pyramid Whelm. In a standard square or rectangular building, two members of the tactical team will take up positions on corners diagonal from each other. This allows them to watch for escape attempts from all side doors. A third member will take up a position on the roof, in case someone has some way out via helicopter or wingsuit, or something like that. When the main door of any given building is breached by two more tack team members, anyone hoping to evade capture will usually instinctively move to the back. The final two team members will be waiting for them at that exit. This is the most efficient use of a seven-member team, but it is a scalable tactic. A group totaling fourteen can double up on each position, or spread across a larger area, depending on necessity, threat level, and resource inventory. A single-family home can probably be contained with a single team, but an abandoned bulk store, for example, may need some extra people to cover all bases, but the same vaguely pyramidal formation is used in either case.

Before the Whelm comes the recon, which is when a single person, or maybe two people, attempt to gather as much information about a target location as possible before anyone else goes in. This is especially useful in urgent cases such as this, but it’s also risky if a security system tips the targets off to the oncoming containment. That’s what Kivi is supposed to be doing right now at that abandoned bulk story. But she’s not just doing it for her team, because they’re not preparing a Pyramid Whelm today. This is called a Deluge Configuration. It’s basically when every able-bodied law enforcer in the area comes out, and dominates a target location. This has become such an important case, despite the fact that no one was severely hurt, that everyone wants a piece of it. Leona Matic has her detractors—case in point, the bombing—but for the most part, she’s become very popular. People want to see the bad guys go down for this, so every department has a strong incentive to get it done quickly, and unambiguously.

Kivi does not feel the same way that everyone else does, and she knows that neither does Leona. That’s why she’s going to secretly convert the recon mission into a capture mission. She does not have the training or experience to take on all these guys on her own, but she’s doing it anyway, because it’s the safest way to go about it. It’s also the most rational, or maybe it’s more that a Deluge Configuration is an insane tactic. First of all, these people are bombers. This whole structure could be rigged up with explosives, which would put hundreds in needless danger. Secondly, when you have this many people who don’t even know each other, it would be incredibly easy for the suspects to slip away in the chaos. She refuses to let that happen.

As Kivi is double-checking her count of the suspects, Paula crawls up to her. “What are you doing here?” Kivi whispers. “You’re supposed to be hunting for underground exit points.”

“You think I’m going to let you do this alone?”

“It’s my job. I’m the Spotter.”

“Yes, but you’re not just spotting, are you? You were just about to go in alone.”

How does she know that? “What makes you say that?”

“I could see it in your eyes. Maybe I should be the Spotter.”

Kivi frowns. “The Deluge—”

“Is the dumbest thing that some guy with a computer keyboard came up with two hundred years ago. There’s a reason that the SD6 has never employed it once, because it doesn’t work. We’re surgical, that’s the whole point of a seven-person tack team.”

The Technician, Hurst crawls up to their position on the catwalk. “Hey, are we doing this, or what?”

Right behind him are Corolla, Hartwin, Klein, and Alserda. Now the whole team is here. “Are you mad?” Kivi asks their leader.

“No, you had the right idea, just the wrong tactic,” Alserda says. “We’re doing Hermit Crab Formation,” she orders.

“I’m not familiar with that one,” Kivi says.

Lieutenant Klein looks between Kivi and Corolla. “You’re in back.”

“Because I’m the newest?”

“Because you’re the smallest,” Alserda clarifies.

Hermit crabs live in shells created by other organisms. When one specimen grows out of its shell, it has to find a new one. So what they’ll do is get in a line next to each other, and trade shells one right after the other. In this case, Hermit Crab formation dictates the largest member of the tactical team approach the targets in front, hopefully giving the impression that there is only one person about to attack them. As soon as the targets see that an enemy is coming, and the tactical advantage of the ruse is lost, the crabs in back will break formation, and begin the attack using whatever means necessary and authorized. Despite the fact that two people on the team have never done this before, their technique serves them well. All bombing suspects are apprehended without anyone firing a single shot.

Once it’s over, Alserda conducts a brief interrogation in an attempt to ascertain whether there are any impending attacks. This is when they learn the truth. These guys never cared about their former boss, Solomon Powers. There was a vault in the sub-basement, which they robbed. The explosion was just to cover their tracks. They refuse to say where the money is, though. “That isn’t our problem,” Paula advises Kivi.

Kivi turns away, realizing that she’s right, and feeling a sense of relief in this truth. She’s not responsible for detecting clues, extracting confessions, or prosecuting crimes. She finds people; that’s it. What happens afterwards is out of her hands. Then again, that was Leona’s money. Maybe Kivi is responsible for recovering it after all.

Microstory 1156: Kyle K. Stanley

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Kyle Stanley first learned that some people had special abilities when he was thirteen years old. Two men broke into his house, presumably because they thought it was empty. But Kyle was an unruly child, who never considered the consequences of his actions, and just didn’t feel like going to school that day. It was his parents’ fault for moving within walking distance of his school, he figured. At first, he hid in his parents’ closet, but then he started thinking about how he would explain that to his friends. He knew his parents, and any other adult, would commend him for staying out of sight, but his peers were harsh, and would have teased him for not having protected his territory. He would grow up to realize that they would have hid as well, and would have also grown up to recognize that that was the best call, but right now, it felt like cowardice. As he heard them approaching the bedroom, he sought a weapon nearby, and settled on this long plastic thing he would later realize belonged to his mother, and that he should not have touched it. He burst through the door with his warcry, hoping to scare them off before they got into a real fight, but it just spooked one of the intruders, who instinctively pulled a gun. Kyle heard the shot, and saw that it was pointed right towards him at pretty much point blank, but it did not hit him. The other intruder had one hand up towards him, almost protectively. He noted to his partner, the shooter, that Kyle was but a child, and they needed to get out of there. The shooter took his partner by the shoulder, and they both disappeared. A neighbor two doors down claimed to have heard the shot as well, but there was no evidence of it in Kyle’s house. They couldn’t find the bullet, or the shell, or anything. He guessed that the non-shooter had powers, and used them to teleport the bullet somewhere else. The police guessed that he was just using blanks, but they didn’t see the partner’s face. He was distraught about having nearly been an accomplice to some form of murder. They also didn’t see the two of them teleport from the room.

For the most part, temporal manipulators are hard to find. When they discover what they can do, they’re almost always alone. There’s this theory going around that, even though the powers that be don’t have control over choosing ones, they exercise as much control as they can to prevent one’s secret from getting out before they even have a chance to understand it themselves. No one suddenly appears in that moment, and hands them a guidebook, or gives them a list of time travel rules, but they usually don’t want anyone else knowing about them anyway. Most of them automatically know the unwritten rules, because they’re pretty obvious. They generally reason that they can’t logically be the only ones, but they’ve also never heard of anyone else, so it’s probably meant to remain a secret. Still. Once a human does encounter enough evidence to be sure of the existence of time travelers, it becomes easier for them to spot, because they’re making a point of looking for it. Kyle didn’t tell anyone else about what he had seen, because he wasn’t being blamed for the robbery, so it just wasn’t necessary for him to have an excuse they wouldn’t believe anyway. He started researching the phenomena, and seeking others like the burglars. He ended up stumbling upon the very man himself. He was still distraught over what happened, and confirmed Kyle’s suspicions about how he had spirited the bullet to some otherwise inaccessible dimension. Kyle was okay, especially after seeing how this guy lived. He was practically homeless. He had hooked up with his partner a month before the incident, but didn’t know him that well. He was a teleporter, and a thief, whose life was totally fine without it. The Ostracizer, on the other hand, was just trying to get by. He could banish things to this other dimension, and retrieve them later, but he was not a seasoned criminal. Kyle and the Ostracizer became friends, and years later, after the former passed the bar exam, he helped his friend with some legal trouble. Kyle realized he was in the perfect position for this; protecting people with time powers against a system that doesn’t know they exist. That was when he opened his own practice. He didn’t have to do it alone, though.

Microstory 593: Prophet Warner Clemons’ Death Ruled Murder

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This world has seen a great many Prophets over the years. They arise outside of any pattern, and they cannot be predicted. Anyone can be born a Prophet; be it a king, or a beggar, or salesman. They come with a wide variety of skills and educational background. Some are teachers, some are poets, some are musicians, some are journalists. The one thing that binds them together is their drive to spread their spiritual message to everyone willing to listen. Prophets hold the world together, providing its peoples with unconventional perspectives when they’re needed most. One of our more recent Prophets, Warner Clemons decided to take his message as high as he could by pursuing a life of politics. He started out small, as most politicians do, running for class president every year of grade school. He didn’t always win, but he always learned something new, and this was when he began to form lifelong friendships with people who believed in his words. He started out officially in local government, making sure his neighborhood’s voice was heard, and soon started to make waves on larger scales. The Council of Prophetic Scrutiny officially certified Clemons as a High Prophet amidst his first senatorial campaign, fittingly on his thirtieth birthday. This pushed him over the edge in the polls, with some detractors claiming this tactic to be unfair to his opponents. In true Prophet Clemons form, he ended up absorbing all of these opponents into his advisory board, ensuring that they retained their own voices in the government. Prophet Clemons went on to become Ambassador to the Confederacy seven years ago, but did not hold the position long, for he was soon chosen to be the organization’s Chief Mediator. He used his words to spread peace and understanding between the most unstable of enemies. His works have not been met with total support, which is to be expected. Factions of Amadesins opposed his position on world government, leading the Chief Mediator to carry with him a higher number of personal bodyguards than usual. Unfortunately, one of his own men has turned out to be the perpetrator of his murder.

Brandis Cunningham started his short life as a common criminal, robbing convenience stores with his uncles and older siblings. Over the years, his crimes became more violent, ultimately resulting in a charge of attempted murder when he was only seventeen years old. The justice system gave him a choice: go to prison, or join the Usonian military, and learn how to channel his rage productively. Interviews would later reveal him to have become a model soldier, instinctively protecting the weakest in his group. He even took the fall for misbehavior that had actually been carried out by others. But not even this was enough to keep Cunningham from going back to his old ways. He was dishonorably discharged following an altercation with a superior officer that left them both in the intensive care unit. It would have seemed that his career was over, but Prophet Clemons saw something in him. He used different tactics, and channeled Cunningham’s skills once more. He focused less on the rule-following, and more on the protector instinct, quickly fostering his aptitude for private security. It wasn’t long before Cunningham became the Prophet’s primary guard, protecting him at literally all times. They not only lived together, but slept in adjoining rooms. There were even unverified rumors that Cunningham, Clemons, and Clemons’ wife were in a polyamorous relationship with each other. Investigators do not wish to speculate, nor does this publication, as to the motives for Prophet Clemons’ murder. It has only been confirmed that Cunningham was the culprit. Shortly after inflicting fatal wounds against Clemons in front of his wife in the Chief Mediator’s office, Cunningham attempted to escape. He was met with his former comrades in arms, who apprehended him, and tried to take him into custody alive. He continued to fight, however, eventually the point of being gunned down by an unconfirmed member of his own security team. The police will be releasing further details at the appropriate time.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: May 14, 2068

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Darko threaded them through a couple of commercial aircraft all the way back to Kansas where they spent most of the day catching up with their family. Mateo, Leona, and Darko were in the bedroom together, trying to play a card game later that evening. “Can anyone else do what you do?” Leona asked, out of the blue.

“I’ve not encountered anyone else, no,” Darko said. “Not even a salmon, which I find somewhat strange.”

“Why would that be strange?” Leona asked.

“Well, it’s clearly physically possible to thread an object. And the powers that be like their time travel with as much variety as possible; portals, flash jumps, blinkouts, shuddering. It’s just weird that I appear to be the only threader. It makes me quite a bit weaker than some other choosers I know. The more specific your flavor is, the less powerful you are, as you can imagine. That’s why Meliora is such a big deal. She has very few limitations, if any.”

“That’s Melly’s full name?”

“It is. I actually think she prefers it.”

“Do you choosers all, like, know each other? You hang out at the Y and have Saturday game nights?”

Darko laughed, “we run into each other now and again. All of time and space, and our paths cross more often than you would think. I guess we just run in the same circles.”

“What makes you different than salmon? Why do the powers not control you, and how do you seem to understand it better than others we’ve met?”

“The only person who knows less than salmon is the Delegator. You people are purposefully kept in the dark, and he’s just insane. What you might find surprising is that many choosers know less than salmon. This is because they’re not bound by tasks and expectations. We jump through the timestream to our liking, and usually only do what we want. Choosers are like orphans, while salmon know who they’re parents are, because they’re living by house rules. That’s actually only half an analogy since most choosers aren’t raised by their parents, as I’m sure you’ve heard by now. I was raised differently, and so Meliora read me in personally.”

“Why is it that we were told powers and choosers were the same thing?”

“Choosers often take on the persona of powers. They’re false prophets, but salmon believe them because why wouldn’t you? They can be powerful, yes—especially the Rogue and the Cleanser—but they’re just lying.”

“What do you know about the powers that be? The actual ones.”

“Very little. Meliora says she doesn’t know much. One thing we do know is that they are not from the future. That’s usually the assumption, just because it’s a logical conclusion. That’s all I can say.”

“It’s not much, but I should expect no less from you.” A stranger had appeared in their room.

All three of them instinctively jumped into defensive positions. “Who the hell are you?” Mateo demanded to know.

“I am the new Daria.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I should clarify; I was made as Daria’s replacement. There is always a teleporter who goes around helping people, like Bruce Banner. And I’m the lucky guy.”

Mateo let his guard down a little at Daria’s name, but the other two were not so easily moved. “Do you know this man, Darko?” Leona asked.

“I do not, but what he’s saying is a real thing,” Darko admitted. “The Savior is a special position. Your father can jump around time to complete missions. There only ever needs to be one of him, and they’ll call him in when necessary. But a teleporter is fixed within their own lifespan, which means if the powers that be need something done following the Savior’s death, they’ll need a new one.”

“I was born upon Daria’s retirement, and I was activated following her death. I guess they used an interim savior in the meantime.”

Mateo outstretched his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I don’t know what you know of us, but I’m Mateo, and this is Leona and Darko.”

They were still not receptive to the stranger.

“You can call me Makarion.”

“Interesting name.”

“Taken from a character in a saga that was running around the time I was born. You missed it.”

“Well,” Mateo tried to calm his people down. “The Savior is welcome in our home.”

“Don’t be so quick to judge,” Makarion said.

“I’m sorry?”

“I was activated as the Savior, but that’s not what I am anymore.”

“What are you talking about?”

“A few years back, I met the Rogue.”

“Oh no, please no,” Leona said, shaking her head.

“He taught me how to take control of my pattern,” Makarion continued.

“This can’t be happening.” She started rubbing her head and pivoting out of frustration and general fatigue.

Mateo put his face in his palms.

Makarion went on, “I owe him my life. So I became his apprentice. Should anything happen to him, I was charged with continuing his mission. I’m here, not to introduce you to the new Savior, but to the new Rogue.”

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” Mateo cried.

“I knew this would happen,” Leona lamented. “I knew we wouldn’t be through with his games.”

“Don’t worry, there will be no tribulation today. He told you that you would have breaks in between. He was angry with how you handled the prison tribulation, which is why he prolonged the next four, but we’re going back to the original plan now.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Darko pleaded. “Just walk away...teleport away and leave us all alone.”

“I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

“He’s dead!” Mateo was still yelling. “Whatever debt you felt towards the Rogue, it’s done; it’s over! Let it go!”

“No!”

“He taught you to take control of your power,” Leona said. “So don’t waste it on us. You can go wherever you want. Rob a few banks, build a lair in the desert, fight some paladins; we don’t care! But don’t trade one master for another. If you continue the Rogue’s ambitions, then you might as well be answering to the powers that be again. Because you’re still not a freethinking individual.”

“I don’t see them as the same. The Rogue has no hold on me. This is my choice.”

“It’s not, because you hate us like he did. Which makes no sense, because you have different motivation, if he ever even had one.”

“I share his dream,” Makarion said.

“And what might that be?” Darko asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Makarion volleyed.

Mateo sort of ushered Leona and Darko to the corner, not to protect them, but so that he could foster Makarion’s undivided attention. He peered at their new enemy and waited, hoping it was possible to instill fear in him. “Do you know what happened to the last two men who opposed me?”

“Of course I do, we were just talking about the last one. They died.”

“They didn’t just die,” Mateo said. He put on his best crazy eyes. “I killed them. I murdered them.”

“The Cleanser killed Reaver. And I would hardly call what you did to the Rogue murder.”

“The Cleanser and I are good buds.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Mateo laughed sinisterly. “Horace Reaver was in prison. And he was gonna die there, before too long, I’m sure. The Cleanser wants to rid the world of time travel.” He raised his voice and started talking with his hands. “Well, Reaver was not a threat. He was just sitting there, in his little rat cage, with his little rat food. His story was over, but I was angry, and I was done with watching him suffer, so I ended it. I deployed the Cleanser, and he took care of it for me. So if you think you can come in here with your little Crowley act and scare me, then you clearly don’t know who you’re dealing with.”

Makarion was noticeably afraid, but stubborn and determined to persist. “Your eighth tribulation begins tomorrow. I suggest you watch the movie.”

“What movie?” Mateo asked, knowing the answer would be revealed soon.

Makarion disappeared in a sharp but short-lasting flash of light, leaving behind a a now very deprecated DVD. Leona picked it up. “The Martian.”

“Never heard of it.”

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Reavers Wobble: One Grave (Part III)

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Horace and Leona postponed their honeymoon following the realization that Allen never came back from looking for a party boat they knew was going to go missing. The boat never returned, and the search for it was called off a few days later. Ulinthra backed up Horace’s lie that Allen had felt the need to find it, when really he had been murdered by Horace. Convincing the authorities that this was what happened was a little harder, but the family had no reason to think that they were not being honest; especially since the two of them had been able to practice the lie during Round One of their day. The team held off on saving lives for a couple weeks, taking time to grieve for their lost loved one. But their responsibilities beckoned to them, and they all went back to the routine, minus one important member.

On the fifth of April in the year of your lord 2030, they met a salmon named Mateo Matic. His inescapable pattern was to live for one day every year. At the end of it, he would be thrown exactly one year in the future. He had heard of The Delegator, and other salmon, but had met only one other of their kind. He spent his days doing whatever he could to stay alive in a world without identity. He had left his family days ago from his perspective, no longer wanting to subject them to the torturous roller coaster that was his brief appearances. Having nothing better to do, and wanting to fulfill a purpose, Mateo joined their team as an honorary member. He successfully helped them on missions six times before the fateful seventh day.

“She’s gotten so big,” Mateo exclaimed after returning to the timestream on April 11, 2036. He had just peeked in on Leona and Horace’s daughter. “I know, people say that all the time, but for me, it works.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Horace said playfully.

“Be nice,” Leona warned him.

“Good morning, everyone. We have a busy day,” Ulinthra said, coming into the room. “But we’re playing with our full roster, so I think we can make it.” She picked up her clipboard. “A shipment of tin is coming in to Port of Wilmington from Columbia. It turns up stolen. We don’t know when this happens, but we know it’s after coming into port. I need both brains and brawn on this one, so Mateo will accompany Horace and Leona to protect and investigate, if need be. Richard, that means you’ll have to go up to Yale University alone. A small riot breaks out during a protest for...” she trailed off, looking through her notes. “...molecule teleportation. I don’t know, but a girl who was never named is injured when she gets caught in the middle of the fight. You’ll spend more time driving up there than actually helping. Fortunately, you’ll also be close enough to stop a three-car pileup on the 91, and help a little girl find her cat in Hartford. Here’s a hint, it’s in her neighbor’s basement. I know it’s not that important, but your night mission in Boston is. I’ll discuss that with you in a minute. While you’re all doing that, I have to drive all the way up to Montauk to assist with flood rescue.”

“I could do that instead, if you’d like,” Mateo offered.

“No, I should do it. Other people will be there helping, and we can’t risk exposing the fact that you’re supposed to be old and dead to the public.” She looked around the room. “No more questions or comments? Gear up, take your timelines, and head out as soon as possible.”

Leona pulled Horace into the other room. “Remember what we talked about?” she asked.

“We’re not going back in time,” Horace said. “I don’t understand why we’re discussing this.”

“It makes me nervous when we deal with other salmon. Anything could happen. I’ve heard rumors that his father can go back in time. If something happens, I need to make sure that you understand time travel protocols.”

“I do, I get it. Let’s go. The ship will be coming in soon.”

“Repeat them to me.”

“Leona, we have to go.”

“We can’t go anywhere until the babysitter gets here. Repeat the words. Quietly,” she insisted.

“Dougnanimous Brintantalus,” Horace said the magic words reluctantly. “Those are so stupid.”

“That’s exactly why I chose them. No one would think to say them. If you go back in time, say those words to me, and I’ll know that I can trust you.”

“Do you know what the odds are that I’ll go back in time and run into you sometime after you’ve come up with these silly rules?”

“I do actually know the odds. Would you like to hear them?”

Horace shook his head steadily. “Shut up, smarty pants.”

After an hour drive, it was still dark outside. They didn’t always start working so early in the day, but they liked to make full use of Mateo’s availability. He drooled a little on his shirt, sprawled out in the seat across from them as the car automatically took them to their destination. The man could fall asleep in an instant, wherever he was. Being homeless, and always on the move, this skill came in handy.

They quickly found the shipping container that they needed to protect, hoping their presence would not alert the robbers and put them in harm’s way. Mateo continued to sleep through the majority of the day while they waited on the sidelines for someone to make a move. But no one ever did. The proper owners of the tin came to pick up their shipment and left with a truck. It was a good thing Leona was there to make sure the people who came for it were authorized to do so. Convincing people to give up information to a stranger was not Horace’s strong suit, but it was hers.

“You don’t think we should still follow them?” Mateo asked.

“No, something’s changed.” Horace was very concerned. “Something’s not right. We must have proverbially stepped on a butterfly.”

“If we changed the outcome just by being around, then that seems to me like we definitely should follow them.”

“No,” Horace said. “I don’t like it here. We need to leave. We didn’t do enough to alter the timeline. Only one thing could have.”

“What?” Mateo asked.

“Another salmon,” Horace and Leona answered, practically at the same time.

“Well, great. Then we have some help. We should find out who they are; maybe even add another person to the team.”

“No,” Horace said.

“I agree,” Leona nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t understand why you two are so afraid.”

“Ulinthra?” Horace asked to his phone.

“Yes?” Ulinthra responded.

“Mission bust. Back-up mission.”

“Uh...” Ulinthra thought it over. She sounded winded. “Armed robbery in Woodstown. No one gets hurt, but the convenience store suffers some damage. That’s all I got for ya. I had planned on you sitting there awhile. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” Horace said. “It may be nothing. Send our car the details.”

While the car was driving them to their new mission, Richard called in urgently, “help!”

“What’s wrong, Richard?” Leona asked.

“The riot has become larger. I don’t know what happened. These eco-freaks just came in and started throwing things at people. And now I think people have started joining in without any idea why they’re supposed to be angry. It’s gotten way out of hand.”

“Richard,” Horace said. “No one can get to you. We’re all too far away.”

“I can get to them,” Mateo assured them. “Uh...computer? Take us to the nearest cemetery. Um, please?”

“What are you talking about? Stay out of this!” Horace redirected his words, “Richard, are you somewhere safe?”

“I don’t know. I’m hiding behind some bushes, but—oh no, a group is coming this way. I have to be quiet, they’re like zombies!” Richard whispered loudly.

“I just need to find an open grave! Hal, take us to a cemetery!”

“The car’s name isn’t Hal,” Leona said.

“Oh, forget it!” Mateo crawled over to the dashboard, and figured out how to switch the vehicle to manual.

Horace tried to pull him off, but wasn’t strong enough. “Get away from the wheel!”

“I can do this,” Mateo swore. “I just need one grave for one minute.”

“No one drives by hand anymore!” Leona yelled.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gotten a car with a steering wheel. This isn’t 2025!” Horace continued to struggle with the wheel. But it wasn’t enough. The car crashed into the pillar of the Broadway bridge.

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