Microstory 2585: Renata Has Grown Bored as They Wait for the Next Assault

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Renata has grown bored as they wait for the next assault. She and her mother successfully forced the first group of attackers off the road, and then another one once they reached the log cabin, but there hasn’t been a peep since. They’re still here, having already buried the bodies in shallow graves. The worry is not that someone else will come, but that they won’t. They are the decoy team, while Quidel and Lycander are the ones in charge of the real package. There is a procedure for meeting back up later, but that’s following 24 hours of no activity at the safehouse. It involves switching cars, and traveling to a small town farther east.

“Hey,” she says, holding her cup of tea. “Are you the strong, silent type, or can you talk?”

“I can talk,” the driver replies. “I just don’t usually say much.”

“That’s basically the definition of the strong silent type. Can I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

She sits down on the swing, still wrapped in her quilt. It’s funny, sitting here with a stranger, but she’s sick of being inside, and there is no other seating on the porch. She takes a sip. “What about your name? Is it a secret? Does my mother just call you The Driver?”

He chuckles. “It’s Polykarpos. Polykarpos Goldd. Everyone just calls me Polly.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Polly. I’m Renata, by the way. I don’t know if I ever said that.”

“Madam Granger speaks of you often.”

“She does?”

“Yes. She’s quite proud of you.”

“Did she tell you to say that?”

“I work for her, but I have my own opinions. She tells me what to do, not how to think.”

She nods, and doesn’t speak for a moment as they just enjoy the sunrise. “How long have you worked for the NSD?”

“I technically don’t. I work for a company that contracts to the NSD. Many low-level jobs like mine are like that.”

“I wouldn’t call it low-level. That was some smooth driving while we were being shot at. You didn’t flinch at the bullets. You must have some tactical training.”

Polly smiles. “Well, I wasn’t always only a driver.”

That’s when Libera interrupts. “Ren, could you help me with something? We need some more firewood from the shed.”

“I can do that, sir,” Polly says as he’s standing up.

“No, I want my daughter,” Libera discourages.

Renata knows this tone well. Libera doesn’t actually need help with anything, but wants to speak privately. She downs the rest of her tea, which has already gotten cold out here in the winter woods, and sets it precariously on the window sill. A metaphor for her and her mother’s relationship?

They head out into the shed, and Libera just stands there, not even pretending that the request was genuine. “You don’t need to be talking to him too much.”

“I’m a big girl, and I actually think he’s younger than me.”

“That’s not the point,” Libera contends. “He’s...irrelevant.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean, that he’s expendable?”

“Look, some people in this world are simply more important than others. You could call them...exemplars. I’m an exemplar, you’re an exemplar. Polly is just...background. I have no plans for him.”

“Plans? What about Lycander, is he background too? I saw the way you looked at him, like you couldn’t trust him. Do you too have bad history?”

Libera smirks. “Lycander is something else.”

“And Quidel?”

“He’s very something else.”

Renata shakes her head, and consults her watch. “Let’s go find that small town where we’re supposed to meet up.”

“It hasn’t been twenty-four hours yet,” Libera says.

“We have to wait that long to make the call,” Renata reasons, “but we may as well get there. I would rather wait by a real bathroom.” She begins to leave.

“We have a nice bathroom here.”

“Get the car!” Renata shouts up to Polly as she’s walking back to the cabin. “I wanna get some real breakfast, instead of these MREs.”

“Yes, sir.” Polly hops down the steps, and heads towards the back, where they hid the car loosely under some brush.

Renata, meanwhile, picks her teacup up to prepare to wash it.

Libera starts walking up the steps as she’s watching Polly walk away. “He followed your orders.”

“What?”

“You told him to do something, and he didn’t hesitate. He didn’t even look over at me for guidance. He just went off to do it.”

“Yeah, we bonded a little. He trusts me. I’m sure I was nicer to him in those two minutes than you ever have been, if you think he’s only background,” Renata says with airquotes.

Libera scowls at her daughter. “Go make your bed. We should leave this place looking like we’re trying to make it look like no one has been here for months.”

“Yes, sir! Commander, sir!” Renata replies sarcastically. She goes back into the cabin even though her bed is already made because she’s no longer a child. While she’s finishing the dishes, she hears the sound of gunfire. She drops the cup into the sink, letting it shatter. She grabs the pistol from the counter, and heads outside.

It’s another group of attackers, hoping to get their hands on their special device, not knowing that it isn’t really here. She sees three men a few meters from the cabin, pointing their shotguns at Polly. He’s sitting in the dirt, holding the right side of his chest with one hand, and trying to drag himself away from the shooters with his other.

“One more step, and he dies!” one of the bad guys says in a Javelotian accent. Javelot is one of their closest allies. “Gun on the ground!”

Renata drops her gun.

“Wait!” Libera is walking through the door behind Renata, her hands up in supposed surrender. In one hand, she’s holding the decoy bag. “You came for this, you can have it!”

“Drop it down the steps,” the Javelotian guy demands.

“Does that sound wise and safe?” Libera asks rhetorically. She sets it down on the porch, and begins to back away from it, as does Renata in the opposite direction.

Two of the Javelotians creep up to it, pointing their weapons at the ladies, but of course, it doesn’t matter. The bomb in the bag explodes them both when one of them tries to open it, and the surprise is enough to push the remaining Javelotian off balance. Libera pulls her own pistol out of the back of her pants, and shoots him dead. It was a short-lived attack, but they’re not out of the woods yet.

Microstory 2243: Keeping Watch Over Us

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I received a clean bill of health from the doctors, who were truthfully a little perturbed by it. It’s not that they wanted me to be unwell, but they don’t understand how I could have been cured in the first place. They want to find a reasonable explanation. They want to find evidence that something happened to me, but they’re not going to, because my brief exposure to my own immortality cleared me out entirely, and brought me back to square one. They had no choice but to approve any medical treatment with any other doctor I choose. In turn, the FBI had no choice but to let me move out of the safehouse. Kelly, Dutch, and I are in the new apartment now. It’s not technically a safehouse, but it may as well be so far, since our security guards are keeping watch over us 24/7. It’s only a temporary place, as they have all been for a while. But I’m really hoping that the next one will be permanent. It has to meet all sorts of conditions, and my new security team will have to run an inspection first. It sounds like a lot of fun. While the other two are working more on that, I’m working through the details of my upcoming surgeries. I think it’s gonna happen pretty quick now that I can make my own decisions again. I don’t see this going more than a couple weeks before we get through it. I’m pretty wiped from all the poking and prodding, so I’m gonna have a nap. I hope it’s not a symptom.

Microstory 2235: Constant Federal Supervision

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This is Nick. The FBI has developed a way for me to write my posts, and have them published on my website without actually having to access the internet myself, and risk giving away my current location. I’ve been asked not to place myself in that risk in other ways, such as describing where we’re living, or anything, but other than that, I don’t have to run anything by them. There’s no approval process here. It’s just me, printing a copy of what I want to say, and sending it to the agent who has access to the right web accounts. I will tell you that I’m granted brief, monitored, and heavily secured access to the internet to make sure it looks the way I want it, but other than that, we entertain ourselves with physical media, like books and DVDs. They’re not that interesting to me, but the other two don’t seem to have any issues with it. I’m getting back into writing, because I think this world needs more compelling stories, so that takes up a lot of my time. God knows there’s nothing else to do stuck in this safehouse at 221B Baker Street in foggy Londontown. Ha! Fooled you! That is a reference from my homeworld. It’s not really where we are, you chumps. Anyway, my new stories have given me an idea of how I might get back to my friends, but it’s going to take help from viewers like you. I’ll have the details later—I just remembered this cosmic trick yesterday—but basically, if I put on a production of a particular stage musical, there’s a chance that a universe-hopper will come and get me out of here. I know that sounds bizarre and random, but it does make sense once you know the full story. Again, these are only the early stages. I’m still in protective custody, so if I want to take it one step at a time—which I should—carving a new life out for myself without the need for constant federal supervision would be the first one. So don’t ask me when auditions are. It’s not time yet. There’s a strong chance that it wouldn’t even work. Joseph is very...critical of people’s interpretations. I’ll give you more information at a later date if I decide to move forward with this plan.

Microstory 2233: Some Semblance of a Normal Life

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People are crazed, and neither Nick nor Dutch is safe anymore. The word has gotten out about the miracle of Nick’s healing. While a ton of people around the world don’t think it’s real, that still leaves a ton who do, and they all want a piece of him. Some people believe that he can cure them of their own conditions, which is an honest mistake, I suppose. Others just want to be close to him, to varying degrees. There are even those who want to kill him, for every warped reason that you could imagine. Both of them have been taken into protective custody by the FBI. I obviously can’t tell you where they are. Since I was intimately involved in the whole situation, Nick has requested that I join them, which I will be doing soon. I truthfully didn’t think that I qualified, but the government would rather be safe than sorry. I can’t tell you if this website is going to survive all this. He’s more than any regular public figure now. Hopefully, the insanity dies down eventually, and he can have some semblance of a normal life, but we recognize that our lives will no longer be the same. I’m hoping that we can still stay connected with our mentally stable readers through some kind of technological firewall, or whatever, so no one can actually find us. We will just have to wait and see.

Microstory 1981: Defenses

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Leonard: Oh. I just came down here to shore up our defenses.

Myka: Same. I wanna make sure we know our exits. This is an interesting tunnel.

Leonard: Yeah, it is. Must have a purpose. Well, I’ll go find something else to do.

Myka: Are you avoiding me?

Leonard: Of course not. Why would I do that?

Myka: Well, the last time we spoke, you were leaving on your hush-hush mission—

Leonard: I was compelled not to tell you what we were doing. I didn’t even know much about it myself. We didn’t learn the details until we arrived, and even then there was a lot of improvisation involved.

Myka: I’m not mad at you for keeping it secret. I’m just saying...we were growing closer, and since you’ve been back, I feel like you’re a different person.

Leonard: I guess I kind of am different. I’ve been in situations like that before, but not quite like it. I’ve never been rogue. This is all very strange to me.

Myka: I’m fascinated by you, Leonard, and I want to know what you mean by that.

Leonard: What I mean by it being strange?

Myka: What you mean that you’ve been in such situations. You were a parole officer, but it sounds like you were so much more than that. You’ve told me that you’ve been on missions before, which is not in the job description on our planet. *waits for a response that doesn’t come* It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it, but I just thought...

Leonard: Thought what? Go on.

Myka: I thought that there was something between us, but maybe I’m way off base.

Leonard: You’re not, but it’s complicated. I had just finalized my divorce before I arrived here. I mean that literally. I signed the papers, then stepped outside to mail them on my way to meet a friend. I forgot something inside, so I went back in real quick, and when I opened the door again, I was here. I didn’t even notice that something was weird until I looked up and realized that I was no longer in my neighborhood. My first thought was that I lost time, but then the patrol officer started talking about the National Commander, instead of the President, and I knew that something was really wrong. I think my mail went through, but I don’t know that for sure. Maybe I’m remembering that wrong. Maybe I’m not really divorced.

Myka: Forgive me, but it sounds like you are regardless. A divorce doesn’t happen once the lawyers get the paperwork. It happens when you decide that it needs to. Of course, until those papers are signed, you can always change your mind, but you did sign them. You did make that decision, and your ex did too, didn’t they?

Leonard: Yeah, she signed them first.

Myka: I’m not asking for your love, I’m just asking what your love is gonna take.

Leonard: Those are song lyrics where I come from. Did you do that on purpose?

Myka: A man I once knew said that to me long ago. Maybe he was from your universe too. Look, I know we’re dealing with a lot right now, but we both deserve to be happy. I just want you to know that it’s okay to be a little selfish. Not everything is about DExA.

Leonard: You’re right. But let’s start slow. We can’t really go out to eat, so...wanna check out the shooting range that Micro apparently built herself?

Microstory 1980: Cover

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Reese: How are we lookin’?

Micro: Fully secure...virtually. I can’t attest to the physical component. So if they find us, it won’t be because someone traces my signals. We’re ghosts. I’ll get the ceramics.

Reese: *phone rings* So if I answer this call, I’ll be fine?

Micro: Without a doubt.

Reese: *answers the phone* Go for Parsons.

SI Eliot: *through the phone* Agent Parsons, where are you?

Reese: I’m afraid I can’t tell you that, sir.

*SI Eliot will continue to communicate via phone call for this conversation*

SI Eliot: Don’t make me laugh, calling me sir while you’re actively betraying the government. Come back in, and I’ll protect you.

Reese: That’s not going to happen. We can’t trust anyone.

SI Eliot: How do you know that you can trust each other?

Reese: I trust the freemen and women. I trust Leonard. I don’t trust anyone with current, or former, ties to the government. You’ll notice that Agents Altimari, Robles, and Flynn are not with us. They could be plants too, as could Dreyer.

SI Eliot: Washington agreed to conscript the freepersons for their low probability of being corrupt. And Robles, Flynn, and Altimari are my people. I trust them implicitly.

Reese: But we can’t trust you either, or Director Washington. She’s the one who assigned Sachs to us. It was always suspicious, and now we know why. We asked him about his loyalties. He said two things. First, he admitted to attempting to kill Vogel to protect his own identity, and second, he claimed to be a continuing patriot. That usually means he still answers to someone in the government. Until that person is found, along with all of their cohorts, we have no choice but to operate independently.

SI Eliot: It’s not me, and it’s not Washington.

Reese: Sure.

SI Eliot: Reese, if you do this, I can’t help you. You and your team will be considered enemies of the state. They’ll be branded as traitors, and hunted down with the full force of the law. Your old partner will probably ask to arrest you himself.

Reese: They’re not traitors, and neither am I. Think through this logically. The country is in trouble. Trust is in short supply, which leads to mistakes and general inefficacy.

Micro: *saluting* General Inefficacy.

Reese: *holding the mouthpiece* Shh. *to SI Eliot* More aliens are coming. I can feel it. The best thing we can do to stop them is to compartmentalize our forces. We need to learn to attack from all angles, because I can guarantee you that that’s what the Ochivari are gonna do. They’ve been found in Kansas and Wyoming. How long before it’s Indonesia? How long before Russia? What if they’re already working with the Chinese?

SI Eliot: What are you going to do for money?

Reese: *looks at Micro* We have that covered.

SI Eliot: *sighs* I’ve been asked to rein you in nonviolently. I can’t stop them from sending in the troops. How could you possibly hope to defend yourselves?

Reese: *looks at Anaïs* We have that covered too. Goodbye, Hisham. *hangs up*

Microstory 1979: From the Shadows

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Leonard: No, she’s still not here. Ophelia? Ophelia? Can you hear me?

Micro: *walking up from the shadows* I’m blocking all signals.

Leonard: Report.

Micro: *smiling* Report. You’re learning, young padawan. First off, are you okay? You, Ophelia, and the prisoner? How did you get back here?

Leonard: We used one of Anaïs’ contacts to get across the borders, and then a bus.

Micro: *nodding* I’m glad you’re okay. I wanted to help, but we couldn’t tip Sachs off. Not that it mattered. Parsons escalated things at the safehouse, and we were forced to reveal the truth in front of Sasho. We still don’t know if we can trust him. That’s why I asked you to come here. This was our only way to keep Vogel safe and alive until we can figure out how many moles there are left in the government. He is alive, isn’t he?

Leonard: He’s fine. He’s in a safehouse that I set up for myself while I was free, but before DExA began. *looking around* I assume this is yours?

Micro: All I could do was hope that your parolee told you where the Salmon Civic Center would be if we were in Salmonverse.

Leonard: We had lunch in this area once in my home universe. He pointed it out. Seemed innocuous and meaningless at the time.

Micro: I’m glad that he did.

Leonard: I’m taking Vogel to Parsons. Enough of this cloak and dagger crap. We are not equipped to hold onto the suspect on our own, and every day we spend in the cold gets us closer to being burned.

Reese: I’m pleased to hear you say that. *walks up from the shadows*

Leonard: This was all just a test?

Micro: Have you heard of Lima Syndrome where you’re from?

Leonard: No.

Reese: We don’t have it either. Apparently it’s when you start to sympathize with someone you have in captivity. I had to be sure you weren’t compromised. Or Ophelia.

Leonard: Oh, the Grapley Effect. Yeah, we have that.

Reese: *hands Leonard a folder* This is what we have on Sachs. I had a friend from my military days look into it independently to verify it. He’s been playing us the whole time.

Leonard: I assume he took a shot at Vogel to shut him up?

Micro: That’s our assumption as well. We need to find out what—and who—he knows.

Leonard: *looking over the documents* This begs the question...

Reese: Director Washington? She’s the one who assigned Sachs to our department. Yeah, I’m worried about her loyalties too. That’s not our job, though. The Internal Compliance Commission will investigate on their own.

Leonard: In the meantime, what happens to us?

Reese: We’ve been shut down. But there’s hope for us yet.

Leonard: In what way?

Myka: *coming out of the shadows with a bunch of others* We’re working out of here now. Congratulations, Miazga, you’ve just joined a rogue operation.

Leonard: Not my first.

Microstory 1968: On the Books

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Moenia: Hey, Becca. I could have come to you.

Anaïs: Nice try, Moe. This one’s on the books, but I’m not meant to know anyone here.

Moenia: I get it, you don’t want me to see where you’re camped out.

Anaïs: Are you still in the game?

Moenia: Depends on what you’re lookin’ for. Wadya need this time? I got guns. I got gizmos. I got poisons and easy paper, if you’re into that sort of thing.

Anaïs: You know I’m not. I need to find someone. Reports are that he’s in town.

Moenia: He’s from the states proper?

Anaïs: Don’t know. We don’t know his name either, but we have the phone number he calls from. He doesn’t understand that the point of a burner is to burn it before too long.

Moenia: Who’s this we you’re talking about? You got yourself a new crew?

Anaïs: Somethin’ like that. Can you help me, or what?

Moenia: Nah, man. I’ve been outta Missi for almost as long as you have. I’m not touched in anymore.

Anaïs: That’s disappointing, Moe-Moe.

Moenia: Don’t you worry your pretty little self about it, though. I may know a guy.

Anaïs: You do? What guy?

Moenia: Well...I may know a guy who knows a guy.

Anaïs: That’s reassuring.

Moenia: Word is, he can find anyone in the city. I myself have never had the displeasure of needing anyone dead, but if you’ve got the hitch, lemme hook you up...for a small finder’s fee, o’ course.

Anaïs: I don’t need ‘im dead. I just need to find ‘im.

Moenia: Right, you just wanna talk. *airquotes* I get it.

Anaïs: You’ll get your fee, don’t ask questions. Give me the contact info for your guy who knows a guy. This is time sensitive.  A lot is at stake.

Moenia: You make it sound like the whole world’s in danger.

Anaïs: [...]

Moenia: Ah, shit. You’re on a shady trip. I don’t want no part of that. When you go in, you go in hard, and I don’t wanna hear about this on the books crap. I know you lyin’.

Anaïs: I’m not lying, it’s on the books. It’s just...a different book.

Moenia: Shit, Becca. You’re gonna get me killed. You’re not even under, are you? You got yourself a whole team this time. Where are they? Sniper on the roof?

Anaïs: The sniper’s back at the safehouse. They don’t know about this. Now can you put me in touch with the finder, or not?

Moenia: Yeah, I’ll get you his number, but you didn’t get it from me. I don’t want money for this, I just wanna get the hell out of this territory.

Anaïs: We may need your services later. We brought tools, but somethin’ may come up.

Moenia: Nah, I’m not stickin’ around. Give me your new number, I’ll do one more thing, and then I’m out. I know better than to be in Mississippi when Hurricane Becca rolls in. You need help at the Canadian border, I’m your man, but not here. It’s too hot.

Anaïs: All right, Moenia. You get me what I need, and I won’t bother you again.

Microstory 1967: Recognizing the Signs

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Reese: You two set up the computers. Sasho, follow me. I need you for something. Grab that bag. No, not that one. Yes, that one. Sachs, you know which case to grab. *leaves*

Ophelia: What do you think they’re talking about up there?

Micro: Leonard knows. Don’t ya, Leonard?

Leonard: Not sure, but that was obviously a rifle case, so my guess is that they’re going to start teaching Sasho how to spot through a scope.

Ophelia: That makes sense.

Micro: You ever shot anyone in your universe, Leo? Can I call you Leo?

Leonard: Leo is fine, yeah. And yes, I have had to fire my weapon before.

Micro: One of your parolees?

Leonard: No, this was something else.

Ophelia: What did you mean, in your universe? Are you just referring to the world of law enforcement, or am I missing something?

Leonard: Uhh...

Micro: Oh, we’re not from this universe. Like, literally. I’m from Salmonverse, and I don’t think his has a name.

Ophelia: I was not aware of this.

Leonard: We didn’t tell anyone, Micro. We especially didn’t tell anyone about you, since the government already knows about me, and we can still protect you from them.

Micro: *shrugging* I don’t need to be protected. I can take care of myself. I don’t see what the big deal is. We came through Westfall, which is the least jarring way to travel. Now, if I were from Linseverse, then you would really have something to question, because then your hacker would be a talking dinosaur—

Ophelia: Is that real, or are you joking?

Leonard: She’s joking.

Micro: No, they’re real. Troodons evolved human-comparable intelligence after not being wiped out in an extinction level event, like what happened in our three respective versions of Earth. I’ve never been there, but it’s in the multiversal historical record.

Leonard: How much do you know about all this? Have you met the Superintendent?

Ophelia: Who’s the Superintendent?

Micro: *laughing* No. Ophelia, the Superintendent knows a lot about the bulkverse, because his spirit possesses psychic abilities that allow him to witness hyperdimensionally remote events, which he uses to write stories that no one reads. But he’s not the only one with such knowledge, Leonard. One day, you’ll meet others.

Leonard: You said that there was no hope that I would get back home.

Micro: I meant that there was no reason to fixate on the possibility. Don’t waste your time in pursuit of it. But once you fall into the secret underbelly of reality, it’s pretty much impossible to crawl out of it, and leave it behind. You’ll cross paths with someone new, and your conditions will change again. Ophelia will probably meet someone else too, if she hasn’t already, but she just won’t realize it. You’ll learn to recognize the signs.

Leonard: Hmm. Well, Ophelia, I hope you can keep a secret. This is sensitive stuff.

Ophelia: I promise to say nothing. As long as you teach me to recognize the signs too.

Microstory 1966: Safehouse School

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Reese: Sergeant?

Sachs: Sachs.

Reese: Sachs, right. You searched the safehouse?

Sachs: It’s secure. We can start setting up.

Reese: *into his radio* Bring the equipment on in, Sasho. *to Sachs* Sasho and Sachs. Those two names are uncomfortably close. Hey, what’s your middle name, Sasho?

Sasho: *lugging luggage down the hall* Risto.

Reese: Really?

Sachs: Reese and Risto. That’s better.

Micro: Oh, this room is fine, Sachs Reese—I mean Sasho Risto—you can just drop that stuff anywhere. I’ll sort it out.

Ophelia: What does all this stuff do?

Micro: Everythings. All the thing. Surveillance, tracking, ordering pizza.

Reese: You two set up the computers. Sasho, follow me. I need you for something. Grab that bag. No, not that one. Yes, that one. Sachs, you know which case to grab. *leads them up to the attic* Okay. There’s a lot of space up here, which is good, but you could technically do this in a bathroom. Sasho, if you’ll open that up, you’ll find a projector and screen. Go ahead and lay everything out on this table.

Sachs: Is that what I think it is?

Reese: State of the art.

Sasho: I don’t understand. What is all this stuff for?

Sachs: *picking up a small object* This goes on the trigger?

Reese: Yes. Sasho, this is a sniper training toolkit. It’s a highly advanced altered reality system, which simulates real-world conditions for targets in any environment, at a distance up to four kilometers. It’s basically a simulation game that teaches you how to shoot without firing any real bullets. We’re limited by resources and space here. We can’t teach you how to spot in the middle of downtown Memphis, Mississippi. Don’t worry, we don’t expect you to learn everything in a few days, but you have to start somewhere. The training program is generally eight months, and if you would like to do that, we can discuss at a later date, but while others on the team are trying to locate our target, I figured you might as well get a taste.

Sasho: Yeah.

Reese: You did want this, right? You told me on the plane you wanted to branch out from your experience as a jailer.

Sasho: Yeah, I do. I just didn’t expect to start anything so soon. This all looks expensive. Is it all for me?

Sachs: It’s for me too. I’ve always wanted to learn with something like this. You can do it anywhere, anytime. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that I’m out of practice, but I’ve not been in combat for a few years. This can reportedly simulate just about anything.

Reese: You wanna try it? The stakes are incredibly low. That’s why scientists and engineers designed it in the first place.

Sasho: Okay. Start at the beginning. What do I do?

Microstory 1919: Safehouse Social

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Leonard: I won’t help you find the others.

Fugitive Agent: That’s okay.

Leonard: I escaped with them, but I’m not with them. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you where they are...assuming I know that anyway. Which I may not.

Fugitive Agent: I’m not expecting you to tell me anything about them. They’re not my responsibility. I don’t even care that you broke out of jail. I wanted to speak with you for other reasons.

Leonard: And her? What does she want?

Freewoman: I’m just here to support him.

Leonard: Are you one of the street people...the ones who found me? They say you’re part of some sort of group of the formerly incarcerated.

Fugitive Agent: Freemen, they’re called. Or freewomen. I’m new, and still a lawman.

Leonard: I see. Well, anyway, what did you need from me?

Fugitive Agent: *looks at freewoman* The rest of the conversation will have to be in private. I was read in to certain things—

Freewoman: You don’t have to explain. I’ll go.

Fugitive Agent: We’ll talk later, okay?

Freewoman: If you want privacy, I’ll make sure you have it. No one will come near this room. Wait two minutes before you say whatever it is you can’t say in mixed company.

Leonard: [...] It’s been two minutes. Go ahead with your questions.

Fugitive Agent: Yeah, I know. I just don’t know how to start. I spent so much time trying to find you, I didn’t think much about what I was going to say.

Leonard: Well, what makes me so special? Why don’t you care about the other escapees? I’m nobody.

Fugitive Agent: You’re not, though, are you? Okay, I’m just going to say what the deal is. I was just informed of this the other day, but I saw footage of it. I don’t know if it’s real, but it came from the Office of Special Investigations, and they’re not known for their humor. It appeared to be—I don’t wanna say it...

Leonard: Don’t worry. I’ve learned to keep an open mind.

Fugitive Agent: It was an alien. At least I think it was. Maybe it was from another dimension, or maybe it’s been here this whole time, but invisible, so no human has ever seen it before. I don’t know, but it was weird, and it freaked me out—

Leonard: *leans forward in his chair* What did it look like?

Fugitive Agent: Like a bug. I think it had wings. It kind of had a human face, though. I think it can talk, but it has reportedly chosen not to. You don’t sound surprised. What is it? Do you know what it is? Its arrival matches science readings from your arrival. Did you come from the same place? What is it? Who are you? What is it!

Leonard: It sounds like an Ochivar.

Fugitive Agent: An Ochivar. Is that bad? What planet is it from? Where are you from? Are there others? Is this the beginning of a secret invasion?

Leonard: Look, I can tell you what I know, but you’ll have to calm down. It may be bad—it probably is—but let’s not jump to any conclusions. First...tell me everything.

Microstory 1918: Not a Wedding

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Generated by Canva text-to-image AI software

Freewoman: Are you ready to do this?

Fugitive Agent: I notice you’re wearing white. This isn’t a wedding, if I recall correctly.

Freewoman: It’s not a wedding. I just look fantastic in white.

Fugitive Agent: I would have to agree with that. What are we doing here again?

Freewoman: We’re getting couple bonded. Oh, I get it, you think you’re funny.

Fugitive Agent: Ah, had you for a second.

Freeman 2: Fugitive Agent, can we talk for a minute?

Fugitive Agent: Can it wait? We’re about to start kind of an important ceremony.

Freeman 2: That’s why we need to talk. I don’t think you have to go through with this.

Freewoman: If you wish to object to this bond, you will have your opportunity at a particular moment. Until then, I would kindly ask that you sit back down with the rest of the audience.

Freeman 2: Pardon me, miss. I meant no disrespect. It’s just that the fugitive; the one he’s been looking for? We have him.

Fugitive Agent: What do you mean, you have him? You know where he is?

Freeman 2: Yeah, but it’s more than that. He’s in pocket.

Fugitive Agent: You didn’t hurt him, did you?

Freeman 2: Of course not. We put our ears to the ground, and our spies on the skies. I guess one of our contacts screwed up, and let slip what we were doing. The dude found out we were looking for him, which could have sent him underground, but I guess he was curious, so he approached us willingly. He’s in a safehouse right now. I don’t know if you wanna go there, or if you wanna continue...

Fugitive Agent: *looks at Freewoman*

Freewoman: Go. It’s why we were doing this, and now the point is moot.

Fugitive Agent: [...] No. I made a commitment, I’m following through.

Freewoman: You’ve not made the commitment yet; that’s what I’m saying. The others will be disappointed, but they’ll understand.

Fugitive Agent: I gave you my word. The point of the bond is to be part of something bigger than yourself. This is in the best interests of everyone here, including me. I was looking forward to this for other reasons.

Freewoman: Are you sure?

Fugitive Agent: The escapee. He’s safe, right? He’s not getting antsy, and the other authorities don’t know where he is, I hope.

Freeman 2: He’s fine, last I checked. I can call the guys that are watching over him.

Fugitive Agent: That would make me feel better. If it’s urgent, we’ll postpone this, but if it’s not, we’re doing it now. One thing we’re not gonna do is cancel, Freewoman.

Freeman 2: *on the phone* Freeman 3, what’s up? Yeah, he still there?—Is he doing okay?—Okay, remind him that we’re on his side, and we’re not gonna hurt him. He’s not a prisoner. If he wants to leave, let him go, but follow him cautiously.—All right, thanks. We’ll be there soon. *hangs up* He’s all right.

Fugitive Agent: Great. Then on with the show!

Freewoman: Okay. You may proceed, Parole Counselor.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 18, 2399

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Ramses purged the version of Constance that he had uploaded to The Bridgette. They don’t know if it’s been compromised, but they can’t take any chances. The AI served them well for a long time without giving them any issues, or giving them any reason to doubt it. It’s only when the one from the Fifth Division showed up that they started having issues. The question is, is it even from the Fifth Division? Was that all a lie? Did Impostor!Mateo give them a partial truth? Could it have been an anti-Alyssa who was just using their illusion powers to pretend to be Mateo, while having a backup plan of prompting the wrong investigation if they were even discovered to be an impostor?

Leona, Ramses, and the McIvers are in an SD6 safehouse right now. It’s not completely devoid of electronics, but there aren’t any microphones that could listen in on their conversation, which they are having in the kitchen while the boys play a card game in the one and only bedroom. “Any ideas?” Leona asks. She waits for a response that never comes. “We were all meant to sleep on it.”

“I doubt anyone slept well under these conditions,” Alyssa notes.

“You’re the one who had the bed,” Ramses points out.

“With two smelly boys in puberty,” she counters.

“We heard that!” Carlin shouts from the room.

“I wasn’t trying to be quiet!” she shouts right back.

“All right,” Leona says. “Are we all in agreement?”

“Agreement of what?” Ramses questions, confused.

“We all agree that we don’t know what the fuck we’re doing, and we don’t have any idea how to proceed?

“Heard that too!” young Moray exclaims.

“First we have to decide whether we think that was Mateo, infected by a psychic, or someone else entirely?” Alyssa says. “If it’s the latter, we need to find the real Mateo.”

“It’s not really something we can decide, but yes. I’m not sure how we go about doing that. It’s not like we can look for a scar underneath his right eye, or something. It’s entirely reasonable that he would get himself into a pristine body. The impostor’s story about Mateo going to the Fifth Division was not unbelievable.”

“You think that really happened, but Constance!Five somehow transformed herself into him, and left him somewhere?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time. Fax!Mateo did it so he could sacrifice himself in Alt!Mateo’s body.”

“This is getting confusing,” Alyssa admits. “Has your life always been like this?”

“It hasn’t,” Leona begins. “Back in the day, when Mateo and I were just jumping forward in time, we met a lot of time travelers, but we never had to wonder whether they were the wrong version of someone we already knew. I mean, there was The Rogue, and then Makarion after that, but it didn’t happen nearly as much as it does now. For a reality that doesn’t allow temporal manipulation, there do seem to be a lot of wibbly wobbly, timey-wimey shit. Sorry,” she adds in reference to the children.

“It’s fine,” Alyssa promises.

Young Moray comes down the hallway, pulling away from every attempt of Carlin’s to keep him back. “What about the error detector?”

“What do you mean?” Leona asks.

“That thing you had in the sky. It told you where all the weird time people were, right? If the real Mr. Matic is somewhere else, that should be able to find him, right?”

Leona looks over at Ramses. “We need to replace that anyway to find the remaining errors, don’t we, since the AOC is gone?”

“Oh my God, the AOC!” Ramses laments. The error detector was on that, and now it’s gone. He feels so stupid. It would have been so easy to deploy a nanosatellite from the AOC, and it’s a lot more difficult now that they have to rely on this antiquated Third Rail technology. Months of living here, and he has still not gotten used to that. He keeps making these mistakes, and it’s really starting to piss him off. “The detector isn’t up there anymore. I’m such an idiot.”

“Now hold on,” Alyssa says. “Maybe we don’t need it. If Mateo isn’t dead—which, I’m guessing the detector wouldn’t detect anyway—and our theory is correct, then Constance!Five is keeping him somewhere relatively safe. He would need food, water, shelter. She hasn’t been here long, so she doesn’t know of a whole lot of places.”

“It would appear that she knows everything that Mateo does,” Leona replies. “He has a lot of places in his head.”

“How many of those places are isolated or hidden, so no one will stumble upon him?” Alyssa asks.

“Where was he last time,” Carlin offers, “the first time this happened?”

“The bunker,” Leona answers. She gets out of her chair, then just stands there.

“What’s happening?” Ramses asks her.

“I can’t jump,” she replies. “This body metabolizes temporal energy too quickly.”

“I don’t have any left either,” Ramses says apologetically. “I’ve had to use a lot recently, and I’m in no position to synthesize more.”

“I can still feel the power in this body. If that’s okay with you?”

“No, go, please.” Leona urges. “No one else will go with you to conserve the power you have left. I’ll show you where it is on the map, then we’ll catch up with you by car.”

Alyssa teleports to the middle of the forest, and can instantly feel that it was her last trip. She either gets her hands on more temporal energy, or she never jumps again. Her mother taught her how to read a map without satnav, so she can also tell that she’s a little off the mark, but not too far away. She carefully climbs down the hill, and finds the secret entrance to the underground bunker. She slides down the ladder to find Mateo on the opposite wall. He’s nearly naked, strapped to what seems to be a wire bed frame. He looks dehydrated and exhausted. “Oh my God! What happened to you!”

“Fuh...” he’s really struggling to speak. “Cons...conste...”

“Constance!Five, yeah, we know. She was impersonating you.”

“No.” He shakes his head while she tries to get the restraints off. He musters what little energy he has left. “Constellation.” He passes out.

“What?”

One more push. “Constellation. Phoenix. We have to go there.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 17, 2398

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Marie has gotten a lot of steps today, already more than she had yesterday, and it’s not even evening yet. With every orbital pass, the map of the brain scanner errors updates, providing them with a new location of their current target in Paris, France. Whoever it is has been moving around a lot, and they cannot catch up to them. There is no pattern to their movements. Some of the places are good tourist traps, but others are just a random alley, and people’s homes. They appear to be on the move with great purpose. The distance from one location to the next is always short enough to reach within the timeframe, but in some cases, only if they’re being evasive. They never spend too much time in one place, suggesting that they know someone is on their trail, and they’re trying to stay one step ahead. The team is exhausted, and everyone agrees that they need a new tactic. Marie has come up with a plan, but it’s best done after nightfall, so they ignore the next two pings, and wait it out in their small Parisian safehouse.

Three hours later, Marie takes the auto-injector out of her pack. Ramses was embarrassed that they were still using regular syringes up until this point for emergency jolts of temporal energy, but it’s fine. She has it now, and it’s time to use it, even though it’s not technically an emergency. For some reason, she feels like this is going to be a bigger deal than the other times she’s used the stuff. It’s not. She jams it into her leg, presses the button, and feels the usually temperate surge of electricity all over her body.

“Tell me again why you can’t just give us one of those too?” Esmé asks. She just won’t let it go. She’s not a very good diplomat, which is annoying, but Marie isn’t in charge of choosing her own team. Perhaps if she had stayed with the organization fulltime, she might have more pull.

“This doesn’t give me the ability to teleport,” Marie explains once more. “My body was designed with the power. This injector reactivates what’s already there. If I gave you one, it would do nothing. At best, it would add a whopping one hour to your lifespan.”

“I’ll...take it,” Esmé declares. She pretends to not notice Marie rolling her eyes.

“It’s almost time.” Agent Filipowski holds the tablet in front of Marie’s face.

Specialist Cleary and Officer Sharrow take their positions on either side of Marie. “Keep an eye on our realtime pins,” she instructs Doric. She can only carry two other people with her. “I may have to transport our target to a third location.”

“Understood.”

The tablet beeps. “Shit.” They’re at the Eiffel tower. Ramses’ scanner can’t accurately distinguish elevation. They could be on the ground, at the top, or anywhere in between. Plus, even this late, there are going to be tons of people there. They can’t just jump around a few times to look for them. Marie has to make a split second decision, and the rest of her team isn’t going to like it. “I’ll stay in contact, I promise.”

“What are you going to do?” Esmé questions.

“It’s too risky to move in a group.” Marie pulls herself away from the other two, and makes the jump. She’s on the ground underneath the tower. It’s one of the many unusual things about this reality, which is strikingly similar to the main sequence, even with a profoundly altered historical timeline. The primary difference here is that the beams are made of steel, rather than iron. She calls Ramses. “Hey, are ya busy?”

“No, what’s up?” Ramses replies.

“Can you see where I am?”

“Gotcha right here.” The scanner has always picked up on the rest of the time travelers in the group, as they qualify as temporal errors. They have always filtered out and ignored each other, but it’s useful now. “Who’s that with you, Leona? We can’t get a hold of her.”

“No one is with me. The second dot is our target. I lost access to the map. How far away are they?”

“About twenty meters southwest. You better hurry. They’ll go out of range again within ten minutes at the most.”

Marie starts to run. There’s a larger group of people over there, so she could really do with an investigator, but she’s alone, and that was her choice.

“Stop!” Ramses warns. “Two hundred meters directly south of you.”

“They’re a teleporter.”

“Yes.”

“Just like me.” Marie focuses on visualizing the distance, then covers it with another jump. There are fewer people around here, but she still has no idea who she’s looking for. She starts to scan them, hoping to see someone suspicious. She does in a man who’s staring right back at here. Now she has a face. If she doesn’t get him today, she will later. He can’t hide forever.

He teleports away again.

“Jump to the ship,” Ramses tells her.

Marie looks up to the sky, and jumps to the main level of the AOC.

Ramses is waiting for her. He tosses her a handheld device. “He jumped another five hundred meters. Go get him.”

Five hundred meters. That’s an increase, but still not very far as teleporters go. He clearly realizes that he’s being tracked, and he doesn’t want to be caught. That’s fair, he doesn’t know that she could be a friendly. She doesn’t know that either, but she hopes she is. If he’s so worried, though, there must be a reason he’s not bailing to Madagascar or Argentina, or something. Either something is keeping him in the city, or his power has limited range. Regardless, they have to find him. If Ramses can learn why this reality isn’t suppressing his abilities, it will take them one step closer to solving the problem for everyone. She looks at the map, and focuses on the dot. She jumps down to him, and without giving him any chance to react, wraps her arms around him. She then makes one final jump, back to the AOC.

“Curtis Duvall.” Arcadia smiles at him.

“Oh, Leona.” The man goes over and gives her a big hug. “If I had known that you were involved, I never would have kept running.”

“Yes, Leona is involved,” Arcadia confirms, “but I’m not her. I was accidentally placed in this body. I’m Arcadia Preston.”

He nods like that makes total sense. “I don’t know who that is.”

Arcadia narrows her eyes at him. “Which timeline are you from?”

“I don’t know,” Curtis argues. “Why would I know that? What do you want me to do, give it a random designation, like Six-One-Six or Earth-X? I’m from the timeline where I’m from!” That’s a fair point.

“I don’t care about that,” Ramses says dismissively. “I wanna know how you can teleport when no one else in the world still has their time powers.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 15, 2398

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In the woods of northern Mongolia, outside a border city called Hiran, is a camping resort run by a family that has no love for Russia. They are not officially an agency safehouse, but this is the closest the team can get to Russia without being in Russia. They will cross here, and assume their new identities, which Winona’s people were able to create for them at surprising speed. The resort tried to house them for free, but Winona insisted on paying. There is no such thing as a free lunch, and in a capitalistic society, transactional relationships tend to last longer, and remain stronger, than ones without strings, and up-in-the-air exit clauses.

Alyssa is no longer nervous. She’s done well with her training, and at this point, the longer they wait, the more difficult it will be. She’s had to memorize a lot of cultural and political information to complete this mission, so she doesn’t want to forget. Mateo, Marie, and their new associate, Timofey Putin have learned their roles too. They feel like real secret spies now, working for the government, and managing assets. Leona would be better at this, but she’s a woman, and a female in a position of power doesn’t fly in this reality’s version of Russia. Marie has to pretend to be a submissive secretary, and Alyssa will literally look like a man. She’s not the President, though. She’s just a dvoryanin, which is a sort of nobleman in soviet nations. The story is that his daughter wants a new summer cottage for her and her dogs, and she wants it in a very specific place. Vissarion Chaykovsky loves his daughter, and would give her the world if he could, so he’s willing to spend whatever it takes. The best part is that the name should ring a bell in Mirny, but not be surprising enough for people to try to confirm his identity or presence.

The backup team is going to be staying right here on this side of the border, waiting to welcome them back at the end of a successful mission, or to extract them if it turns out not so successful. It’s cute that they think they could help. Mongolia is hours away by aircraft, over enemy territory. If something goes wrong, they’re pretty much on their own, which is why Ramses packed them a little present. It’s an in case of emergency kind of thing. Why did Russia have to be the largest country in the world, and why did the mine have to be so close to the center of it? That’s a problem for tomorrow. Tonight, they’ll get some sleep, and try to cross the border in the morning, hopefully without issue.