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 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 1977: Deflection

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Reese: No. No. You’re not going anywhere. I want everyone in this room right now.

Sachs: This isn’t everyone. Where’s the paroler, and his partner? And where did the agent just run off to?

Reese: I sent Agent Altimari to the rendezvous point to find the other two you mentioned. She’s the only one here who I trust. The three of you, however, have some explaining to do. Let’s start with you, Sergeant. Why did you fire your weapon?

Sachs: You ordered me to.

Reese: No, I did not.

Sachs: Yes, you did. My spotter told me that I had a shot, and then you said to shoot. I distinctly remember it.

Reese: I told you to only shoot upon my order. If I had wanted you to actually shoot, I would have said fire. That’s why we use two different words; for contextual clarity.

Sachs: Well, that’s not how  I was trained. Something must have gone wrong with the comms. *scowls at Micro* That’s not my department.

Micro: There was nothing wrong with the equipment. I heard his orders just fine. He said, and I quote, shoot only on my command.

Sachs: I’m telling you, I didn’t hear that part. I thought he was telling me to shoot.

Reese: Mr. Dreyer?

Sasho: *looks over at Sachs*

Reese: No, don’t look at him. I’m your superior, you answer to me. Did you hear my complete sentence?

Sasho: *relenting with a sigh* Yes, I heard it. He told you to wait.

Sachs: This is bullshit. I don’t understand why you’re interrogating me when it’s obvious that your buddy and the ex-con are the problem here. They were headed up the stairs, probably to rescue their friend, and now all three of them are gone. They didn’t reach out to you. They didn’t leave a note.

Reese: They’re probably at the rendezvous spot, like I said.

Sachs: And if they aren’t? Are you going to keep trusting them, or are you going to start listening to reason?

*a mug on the table suddenly explodes*

Reese: *sidearm in hand* We’re under attack. Defensive positions!

Sachs: *stands up, and turns around* I told you! *stiffens up, and falls to the floor*

Micro: Tell me, Agent Parsons, do they have psychology in your universe? *turns Sachs to his stomach* And did your psychologists ever come up with the idea of deflection?

Reese: *pointing the gun at her* Explain yourself.

Anaïs: *coming in from the back* He’s the traitor. We have proof. *holds the tranquilizer gun at Sasho* We don’t know anything about this guy, though.

Sasho: I didn’t do anything. *drops his own gun*

Reese: Everyone, drop your weapon. Micro, once you’re done tying him up, do the same to your partner, then Dreyer, and then yourself. I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I detected your private channel during the stakeout. What did you say to Leonard?

Micro: I’ll explain everything, but only in a whisper...and you have to be naked.

Microstory 1976: Nuts or Chips

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Leonard: Did anyone follow you?

Ophelia: Yes. The Mississippian Militia is right behind me, as are all of this guy’s friends, and my sixth grade math teacher.

Leonard: Okay, good.

Ophelia: I know how to lose a tail...which I didn’t have. Nobody is looking for us.

Leonard: Yeah, I’m not seeing anything on the news, but I don’t know enough about this territory to say if that’s typical. This feels a bit like a police state.

Ophelia: Not really. It’s just that, as far as anyone is concerned, nothing happened in that apartment hallway yesterday. There’s a hole in the brick, but I doubt anyone’s gonna notice. Our team may have even literally covered it up by now.

Leonard: We have to get the hell out of this place, and back to the U.S.

Vogel: I can get us all someplace safe, and smuggle us out of the city.

Leonard and Ophelia: *simultaneously* Shut up.

Vogel: Look, you’re gonna have to trust me at some point. I know Mississippi, and I know Memphis. You both are obviously highly capable, but still untrained. Let me help.

Leonard: We can’t trust you. We weren’t in that hallway accidentally. We’ve been looking for you for over a week.

Vogel: I’m not surprised, but you haven’t asked me any questions, except for who shot at us, and why, so whatever you think I did, you’re obviously not certain I’m guilty.

Leonard: We’re certain enough. *to Ophelia* What did you get?

Ophelia: Mostly nuts and chips. There wasn’t a great selection at the inconvenience store. All of the sandwiches looked bad.

Leonard: *tosses Vogel a bag* I prefer nuts. Eat your chips in the bathtub. Turn on the sink faucet. My partner and I need to have a private conversation.

Vogel: *reluctantly heads for the bathroom*

Ophelia: The window?

Leonard: Doesn’t exist. *turns on the TV, and raises the volume*

Ophelia: What the hell are we gonna do?

Leonard: I may have an idea, but it’s risky. I can find us a guy.

Ophelia: You know someone? Aren’t you from, like, another planet, or something?

Leonard: Agent Altimari has contacts here. *points to the bathroom* She found him when the rest of us couldn’t, which made Reese suspicious, so she had to explain where she got the information. I have the name of her supplier here. It’s no guarantee. The last we heard, he was trying to get out of the state himself, so he may already be gone.

Ophelia: Worth a shot, I guess. We don’t have a lot of options. Who is this supplier, and do you have his phone number, or something?

Leonard: I have a dead drop location. Someone is gonna have to stay with our detainee while the other goes out. You got the burner phones too, right?

Ophelia: *tosses him one of them* You sure we can’t reach out to anyone else on the team? Not even Agent Parsons?

Leonard: It’s not that we can’t trust him. We can’t be sure he hasn’t been compromised in some other way, like a tapped phone. Now, how do you work this thing?

Microstory 1975: Team Head

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Investigator Blass: Sir, do you have a minute?

Myka: Sure. Agent Blass, right? What can I do for you?

Blass: Investigator, but just call me Blass. I have some sensitive information, and I’m not sure who I should share it with. I’m hopeful that you’re that person, but...

Myka: You need me to prove myself, which you never expected to ask of a superior.

Blass: Sir.

Myka: I’m not your superior, Agent. I’m just in charge of the building until Agent Parsons returns from assignment. Unfortunately, we have some bad timing, so I’ve had to cover, but I’m mostly only qualified to make sure there’s enough soap in the bathrooms, and pickles in the fridge.

Blass: I don’t like pickles sir, and we can’t wait for Subdirector Parsons.

Myka: Subdirector? Is that his new title?

Blass: He leads the subdepartment of a major government department, so yes.

Myka: I see. Go ahead and tell me what you need to get off your chest. If it turns out you can’t trust me, you probably wouldn’t have had much luck finding someone better. I’m not at the top, but I’m also an outsider, which means I don’t have any interest or experience in internal organizational politics.

Blass: That’s some interesting logic there. *hesitates still* We’ve been training for months. As soon as that first alien showed up in our world, the government started preparing for the second one, and a possible oncoming invasion. We were pulled from all relevant walks of life. We’ve got people with military backgrounds, law enforcement; we even have our own former parole officer, if you can believe it. She’s anxious to meet Supervisory Agent Miazga. As far as I know, I was the only one relocated from the ICC.

Myka: I’m afraid I’ve never heard of that one.

Blass: Internal Compliance Commission.

Myka: Oh.

Blass: While the others were training to fight, I was there to spy on them.

Myka: Did you find something?

Blass: I found someone. Only one, I believe, but it’s a big deal. He has ties to Russia, North Korea...and Mississippi.

Myka: *shaking her head* Don’t say what I think you’re gonna say.

Blass: I didn’t realize before, because we’ve been arriving at these headquarters in waves, but now that everyone else is accounted for, I was able to jump to two possible conclusions. Either the mole was caught by someone else, and extracted, or... 

Myka: Or he was already here. And now he’s out there.

Blass: Yes, there were rumors that someone was put on assignment early.

Myka: Thank you, Blass. I need to make a call. *dials on the computer*

Blass: Sir. *leaves*

Reese: *on the video screen* I can’t talk right now, Mykey. We’re operational. *into the radio* Shoot only on my command!

Myka: Don’t let him shoot anyone, Reese! He’s dirty!

Sachs: *fires rifle*

Microstory 1974: Team Alpha

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Micro: What do you think of these names? Team One? Team Prime? Team Alpha?

Anaïs: Not the most common practice. They usually just use colors, but I’ve heard of this technique before, to prevent anyone from feeling subordinate or inferior.

Micro: I think we all know who the B-team is here. We’re stuck at the second location.

Anaïs: I’m stuck at the second location. Parsons is still mad at me for being cagey about my past. You’re here, because I need a babysitter.

Micro: I would have been at the computer either way, poring over all this data, looking for anything that might help us catch this guy, and whoever he may be working for.

Anaïs: Do you want to be in the field?

Micro: It’s not all it’s cracked up to be. I just think these equality names are funny. Being part of a group doesn’t mean that everyone is the same, and being equal doesn’t mean that either. It’s okay to just call it like it is. Someone ought to always be in charge.

Anaïs: Well, many would agree with you. Hold up, what is this?

Micro: What? *looking over at Anaïs’ screen* Let me check what it says here.

Anaïs: [...] Does that mean what I think it means?

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

Reese: *through the radio* Team One, this is Team Lead. Hold fast. [...] Team Prime, do you have a visual?

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

Reese: *through the radio* Okay, Team Alpha, go, go, go. Take him down at his door.

Anaïs: What do we do? We don’t have time to verify any of this?

Micro: Better safe than sorry. If we’re wrong, we have a better image of this guy now, so if he gets away today, we’ll get him again. Make the call.

Anaïs: You do it. Parsons may have told everyone not to trust me.

Micro: *into the radio* Team One, if you can hear me, male, clear your throat, and female, smack your lips. *the sounds come through* I’ve switched us to a private channel. When I give the word, tackle the suspect, and pull him to the floor. All three of you need to get to your stomachs, but not too soon.

Anaïs: Is this going to work?

Sasho: *through the radio* You’re clear, Prime A. You’re pointed right at ‘im.

Reese: *through the radio* Shoot only on my command.

Micro: *into the radio* Team One, DROP! NOW!

Sachs: *fires rifle*

Sasho: *through the radio* I lost visual! There’s too much dust!

Micro: *into the radio* Team One, we’re still on private. Please respond.

Ophelia: *through the radio* We’re here. We’re okay.

Micro: *into the radio* Apprehend the suspect, and run. Lose all trackable tech. Do not proceed to the agreed upon rendezvous point.

Leonard: *through the radio* What’s this about?

Anaïs: Are you gonna tell them?

Micro: That Sachs is a traitor? *into the radio* Wait for me at the Salmon Civic Center.

Microstory 1973: Team Prime

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Sachs: This one?

Sasho: Magazine latch...

Sachs: And this one?

Sasho: Band axle pin...trigger rod...pusher spring.

Sachs: Ehh...?

Sasho: No! Return spring.

Sachs: There you go. You’re getting better, faster.

Sasho: God, I haven’t used flashcards since the ninth grade. *chuckles* I probably should have used them in college. Maybe then I wouldn’t have flunked out. Hey, you don’t need a degree to be a spotter, do you?

Sachs: Not where we work. If you were to join the military as an officer, then yes, but not just to be a spotter. That’s just a requirement for everybody. I suppose you could be a member of the enlisted forces, but I wouldn’t recommend it. That’s how I started it, and it took a lot of hard work for me to become a sergeant.

Sasho: I’m not seriously thinking about it. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I mean, I’m too old to join the military, right?

Sachs: You have a knack for this. Look, a spotter in the military isn’t the same as it is on a tack team. You’ll have a lot more responsibilities out here. In the army, my spotter just spotted. This is an elite squad, and you gotta be able to make up your own rules. You’ll always have a leader, of course, but it’s a far cry from the chain of command.

Sasho: I dunno. Maybe I should just go back to the jail.

Sachs: I can’t tell you what to do, but if I were you, I would pursue this.

Sasho: *nodding* Hey, so I was wondering...

Sachs: You can’t ask me that.

Sasho: No, okay. Sorry.

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

Reese: *through the radio* Team One, this is Team Lead. Hold fast. [...] Team Prime, do you have a visual?

Sachs: No. We can see into the apartment, but not the storefront, or the stairs.

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

Reese: *through the radio* Okay, Team Alpha, go, go, go. Take him down at his door.

Sasho: What do we do?

Sachs: *closing the bipod* Follow me. We need to get a better vantage point. They’re not gonna make it into the apartment. *leads him down the roof* Wait. You stay here. You’ll see them through that window in five seconds.

Sasho: Team One will be blocking the shot. We have to get across to the other roof.

Sachs: That’s where I’m going. Spot from there.

Sasho: I don’t know how to do that!

Sachs: I believe in you. Just tell me what you see, and where you see it. These rounds can break through the brick. *Hops over the alleyway*

Sasho: He’s gonna shoot through the wall?

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 1954: Concerning Strength

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Reese: That’s some good shootin’ there, friend.

Leonard: You don’t have to sugar-coat it. I can see my own shots. I’m doing terribly. I’m sure if you stood up here, there would only be one hole on the target after you emptied the mag.

Reese: I don’t know about that, but I imagine parole officers don’t get much target training, and don’t have to keep up with the same standards.

Leonard: No, not conventionally. That’s why I’m here. If I’m going to lead the trainees and agents, I need to be better. I doubt I’ll be as good as them, but if I turn out to not be a great leader, I can’t also be terrible at everything else at the same time.

Reese: I’m certain you’ll do great. SI Eliot isn’t a decent shot either, which is why he’s a leader, and he got to where he is today because he’s a good judge of character.

Leonard: I wouldn’t know.

Reese: He chose you, didn’t he? And Myka?

Leonard: That’s true...on the second part.

Reese: I know you’re nervous. I am too. I’ve never been in this position before. Sure, I’ve spoken to crowds, and I’ve coordinated with local law enforcement, but I’ve never been fully in charge. I still don’t know what we’re gonna be doing. Nobody does. Is this an invasion? Are we fostering allies? Will we never see another new alien again?

Leonard: I suppose all we can do is start at the beginning, and take it one day at a time.

Reese: *chuckling a little* Well, the range looks great. You clean this all up yourself? 

Leonard: Yeah, I guess the remodelers weren’t told that we would need it, but I’m thinking we will.

Reese: We definitely will. Is there anything you need for it, or for anything else? Have you noticed a lightbulb out, or whatever?

Leonard: Not that I’ve seen, but I’ve not been on the lookout for that kind of stuff. I can do that now, though; walk through the space, and take note of issues.

Reese: Nah, you don’t have to. Myka is responsible for that. One of the detainees has already been assigned to her team. We’ll send him on that scavenger hunt. Speaking of Myka, what do you think of her?

Leonard: Myka? Oh, she’s great. She’s mentioned her plans for this building; it sounds like she’s ready to turn it into a real workplace.

Reese: That’s not what I mean.

Leonard: I don’t know what you mean.

Reese: Evidently you asked about interoffice relationships?

Leonard: I don’t know what you’re talking about.

Reese: It’s okay. I’ve seen the way you two are with each other. Anyway, that’s irrelevant. Even if you were only asking to better understand the laws of our world in general, I’ll give you the answer. The government encourages finding partners within the same organization. It’s easier to deal with confidential information. Even if you’re not allowed to tell your partner something, they’re better at knowing not to ask.

Leonard: *nodding* If we’re talking in generalizations, then I should ask...how do you feel about Myka? I guess that’s not that general.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 20, 2399

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“Thank you, Tom. I’m sure those squirrels appreciated all those pillows, even though they can’t speak any human languages, and generally don’t care. Well, bizarre and frightening news out of Germany today. The shell of a High-Orbit Ballistic Missile, also known as an HOBM, landed in the middle of the Obstgarten in front of the capitol building in Berlin last night. The Obstgarten was closed for the day at the time, so no one was injured in the incident. Sources close to Festung Privatsphäre have revealed that the HOBM is of Germany’s own design, sparking conspiracy theories regarding the government’s plans to bomb their own people. However, the missile was not carrying an explosive payload, and was not capable of causing any mass destruction in the area. It is almost as if it was placed there intentionally to send some kind of statement, rather than any physical harm. As of yet, no individual or organization is taking responsibility for the possible attack, and authorities are actively investigating the matter.

“In other news, the number of sightings of unexplained seasteads in various locations around the world’s oceans has grown to nearly four thousand reports in the last two weeks. No confirmation of the existence of any of these mysterious structures has been made, and assorted national governments have denied the validity of these wild claims.”

Vearden mutes the TV, and turns his head towards Arcadia. “How much you wanna bet Team Matic is neck-deep involved in both of those things?” He acts like he’s waiting for an answer. “Yeah, I wouldn’t bet against it either.” He sighs when his phone rings. “I just saw the news,” he says after answering. “About the missile and those ocean bases, or whatever.” He waits for a fairly long response. “You want me to what?” He waits some more. “Can’t you teleport or something?” He sighs again. “I kind of have to stay here, and it’s not really my job. It’s—” She interrupts him. “I know, but—” She interrupts him again. “No. Just.” He has to interrupt her now. “No, just say it. Just say that she’s never gonna wake up. It’s fine, you don’t have to tiptoe around me.” He sits through her rebuttal. “Well, the next time you wanna ask someone for help, try to be a little nicer, okay?” He hangs up the phone.

Arcadia is still in the coma, and unable to speak, but that alone says enough.

“Argh!” He picks up the phone again. “Leona? I’ll do it. Give me twenty minutes to get down there.” She thanks him. “You’re welcome.” He kisses Arcadia on the forehead. “I have to go do a thing, but I’ll be back soon, I promise. I’ll have Nurse Chenda come in to sit with you, okay?”

When he leaves the room, Chenda is sitting at the nurse’s station on her computer. “Going out for supplies?”

“No, they gave me a mission.”

Chenda nods. “I understand. I need to finish this class assignment, then I’ll be right in, okay?”

“Class assignment? Are you...not a real nurse yet?”

She laughs. “No, I am. This is part of my continuing education. Medicine is always changing, and this course is required for me to maintain my license. I’m almost done, I’m just not allowed to work on it in a patient’s room.”

“Okay, thanks.” He heads out, worried about how he’s being received lately. He’s never been this acerbic, but what happened to Arcadia has changed him. He was going to ask her to marry him soon, but he never got the chance. Now he may never will. He gets out of his head, and into the car that’s waiting for him.

“Good morning, sir,” the driver greets.

“Do you know where we’re going?” Vearden asks.

“Absolutely, Mr. Haywood.”

They leave the hospital, and drive to that parking lot in Crown Center where time travelers come through. That’s why he’s being sent there. Someone new has arrived, and he’s the only one still in Kansas City. He doesn’t even consider himself part of Team Matic, but he’s the closest they have, and the government wants someone who’s actually traveled through time to be a liaison in this matter. It hasn’t happened in a while. They erected a gigantic white tent that covers the entire lot. He can’t remember what cover story they told the public, but for the longest time, the soldiers and agents assigned to guard it have had nothing to do. They’re probably pretty excited today.

The driver parks across the street, and insists on opening the door for him. Vearden walks over alone, and tries to present his badge, but the entrance guard waves him through without looking at it. Time travelers are famous now, at least in certain circles. He’s not sure how he feels about that. He takes his coat off, and hands it to the clerk at the front table, because the heat from the space heaters hits him fast, and it hits him hard. If he were in charge, he would turn them down.

The clerk notices him tugging at his collar. “We can turn the temperature down, if you would prefer.”

Vearden is looking around to find whoever has just arrived. “How does the visitor want it?”

“I wouldn’t know.”

“I’ll find out. This may be too cold. We don’t know who they are, or where they came from. Their comfort is most important right now.”

“Of course, sir. Right over there is the quarantine section. You’ll need one of these.” She hands him a respirator mask.

He takes it, and puts it on. It’s not comfortable, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. He walks over to the back corner, where a clear plastic room has been set up to contain the visitor-slash-refugee-slash-invader-slash-whatever. A middle-aged man is sitting on his cot. He’s wearing all white, and doesn’t look outwardly perturbed, suggesting that he’s been cooperating, and the government hasn’t been driven to force him to follow the new rules. This could have been Vearden. He came through this temporal anomaly months ago, and things could have looked very much like this for him. So he’s going to try to be as empathetic as possible.

The man stands up, and approaches. “You look like you’re the man in charge.”

“Not even close,” Vearden replies. “I’m the liaison. I happen to be the only time traveler still living in the area. Far more qualified people are busy with other things.”

“I’m hurt,” he jokes.

“They also live far away.”

“I see.”

“Have you given them your name?”

“They didn’t ask.”

“I’m asking now. What’s your name?”

“Humbert Messer.”

“It’s nice to meet you, I’m Vearden Haywood.”

“Hm. I’ve heard of you. Didn’t know what you looked like.”

“Now you do.”

He nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Your people think I’m dangerous.” He gestures to the two soldiers chatting with each other with their arms resting on the guns that are hanging from their shoulders.

“No, I mean why you’re in this reality. This is a new reality, by the way. It’s called the Third Rail. Where are you from?”

He doesn’t answer right away. “Lawyer.”

“This isn’t an interrogation. We just need some information.”

“That’s what an interrogation is for. Lawyer.”

All right, if he wants to play it that way... “Main sequence, Parallel, Fourth Quadrant, Fifth Division.”

No reaction.

“Sixth Key.”

There’s a reaction.

“So you’re from the future.”

“It’s more complicated than that, but yeah.”

“In our experience, people from the Sixth Key come here on purpose, unlike people like me.”

Humbert keeps quiet.

“Were you traveling alone?” Vearden continues.

“Technically.”

“What does that mean?”

He pauses again. “More are coming.”

“How many more?”

He pauses yet again. “Millions.”

“Are they coming here?” He points to the ground. “Specifically here?”

“Specifically yes.”

“Are you running from the war?”

Humbert smiles. “You know more than I was told you would.”

“We cannot accommodate millions.”

“That is why I came here as vanguard, to clear a path.”

“You mean you’re going to attack us? How are ya gonna do that alone?”

“I already have. You think that mask will save you?” He looks at the plastic wall between them. “You think this...crude polymer can hold me?”

Vearden glowers at him. “You’re diseased.”

“The portal moves. It doesn’t move much, but I knew that I wouldn’t appear already inside of quarantine unless I got very unlucky. You shoulda built a bigger tent.”

Vearden gets the attention of the soldiers. “Shoot him. Now.”

“It’s too late,” are Humbert’s final words before a dozen bullets hit him in the chest, killing him in seconds.

Vearden didn’t want to do that, but the love of his life is in this reality. She’s in this very city. If one man has to die to save her, he’ll accept that sacrifice. If everyone else in here has to die, including himself, he’ll accept that too. “Seal the place up,” he orders. “No one in or out. This whole tent is under quarantine now.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 17, 2398

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It has now been well over three days, and they have yet to see any sign of their captors, besides the fact that someone had to break into their condo, knock them out, and transport them to this fishbowl cell. Marie, Heath, and Kivi occasionally exchange looks. The fourth prisoner may not be a prisoner at all, but be here to observe them in some way. She doesn’t ask questions, or do anything else to complicate matters. She’s been answering simple questions simply, and generally gives off a vibe of trustworthiness. But perhaps that’s just what she wants them to think. Maybe it’s all a grand act.

The food is running out. Soon, they will have nothing to ration, and will have to subsist on water alone, but eventually, even that won’t be enough. They’ll waste away and die in this box, just as Heath predicted. Marie is regretting some of the choices she made, and she’s about to fess up to them when they hear a noise. It came and went so quickly, none of them is sure it ever happened at all. Based on each other’s faces, something had to have happened, though. It couldn’t just have been in their heads. Another sound; a pop, really. More pops, some closer than others. They’re gunshots, mostly handguns and a few automatic weapons. They can hear screams and maybe war cries too. They’re muffled and still distant, but they’re definitely human voices.

“This is it,” Andile says in a defeatist tone. “They’re coming for us.”

“No, they can’t be,” Kivi contends. “They wouldn’t be shooting if they were just gonna come and kill us. This is a rescue.”

“Is it Leona, maybe with all of our other friends?” Heath hopes.

“No.” It can’t be their friends. After all of her experiences in war simulations, Marie can tell that at least two opposing sides are shooting at each other, and that’s not something that Leona would tolerate. She would come in surgically and rather quietly. It’s not an execution either. What is it? “This is something else.”

The firefight grows either louder, or closer, or both. They hear a pounding on a wall or door that must be just a few meters away in the darkness. Another pounding is followed by a heavy click, and then a second click, which is immediately followed by blinding lights. The rest of the room is illuminated, besides just their cell. A man in black is holding a gun. He is covered in blood, and grimacing at them. He looks around until he finds what he’s searching for. On the other side of the door is another one of those huge power levers, but this one has a cage around it so it can’t be pulled. He shoots the lock off, and opens it. He doesn’t pull the lever down, though. Instead, he pops the panel open, and presses a blue button. They start to hear rushing water, and quickly realize that it’s coming from under the sink. The room is flooding.

“What about the air holes?” Heath questions, assuming that the guy is trying to drown them.

“Get on top of the cots,” Marie orders.

The other prisoner, Andile follows the suggestion.

“No, he’s right,” Kivi says. “The water will drain before it reaches our waists.”

As the man is pivoting over to the other side of the box on the wall, Marie repeats herself, but more earnestly this time, “get on top of the cots!”

Kivi and Heath finally do as they’re told, but the man just chuckles. He knows that the water is going to get high enough to electrocute them anyway. Marie desperately looks around for something to grab onto, or maybe something to hang the sheets over like a hammock. There’s nothing. If they don’t find a way out of here, this guy is going to get his way. The water keeps rising and rising, until it does spill over the cots, and kisses their feet. Marie tries to balance on the frame, which is just a tiny bit higher, but the water gets high enough to cover that too. The man reaches up and takes hold of the lever. He’s about to pull it down when they hear one more gunshot. His head jerks over to the side, and he falls down to his face.

Winona Honeycutt walks all the way through the door, and presses the green button on the panel. The water begins to drain away. She shoots their attacker in the head one more time for good measure. She too is covered in blood.

“Thanks for saving us,” Heath tells Winona as she approaches the glass. “Could you open the door now?

She examines the cell, particularly in one spot, which must sport a keypad that the prisoners can’t see. “I don’t have the code.”

“Of anyone, I would think you would be entrusted with the code,” Marie muses.

Winona winces. She looks back at the dead guy on the floor. “Wait, do you think we’re the ones who locked you up?”

“Who else would?” Kivi asks.

“There are things that you do not know,” Winona begins. “We have been searching for you for the past three days. Once we realized that you freed the wrong Amir Hussain—which, by the way, my father and I don’t care about; he wasn’t our objective—we thought you may be in danger. We knew that the people who actually wanted the right Amir would not be happy about it. Unfortunately, we couldn’t get to you in time, and it’s taken us this long to figure out the location of this black site.”

“Who? Who did this to us?” Heath demands to know.

Winona puts her watch up to her lips. “Bring me the highest clearance you can find.” She returns her attention to the prisoners. “You’re not allowed to know that. You’ll have to commit to us to be read in.”

“Commit to who?” Heath asks impolitely.

She smiles, then looks behind her as they’re dragging a bloodied man up to them. “Senator Morton? What luck that you just so happened to be on site during our siege.”

“Go screw yourself, Honeybutt,” he spits. Then he spits some blood at her.

“Like I haven’t heard that one before,” Winona spits back. “Give me the code, or your daughter and I are gonna have a playdate, like we did in the old days. Except the guns won’t be imaginary this time.”

Scowling, Senator Morton recites, “Zero-nine-one-one.”

“Her birthday?” Winona asks rhetorically. “How typical of your generation.” She punches in the code, and lets the prisoners out.

Morton looks up at Marie as she’s stepping out. “I finally remember how I knew you. Did you ever get your dress fixed, Madam Milf—” He can’t finish his sentence when Winona shoots him in the head, like she did with the other guy.

“Daddy’s not gonna like that, but secretly...he will.”

The other three are horrified, but Marie is grateful. She thinks that she can explain away what he managed to say before his death, but she wouldn’t have been able to if he had been allowed to keep talking. She signs thank you to Winona as she’s backing away, hoping that no one else notices.

Microstory 1792: Reverse Karma

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I was a terrible human being, and I don’t regret anything I did, except maybe the choices I made on my last day on Earth. I learned to become the man I am from my father, but not in the way you’re probably assuming. Dad was the greatest guy ever, who literally wouldn’t hurt a fly. I had to take care of the pests myself, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. I wish his parents had encouraged him to deal with things like that, if only to teach him how to stand up for himself. His wife—my father—cheated on him, chronically, and openly. She just kept doing it, but never left him, because he made good money, and she didn’t think the court would make him pay alimony if she was clearly the bad egg in the relationship. He continued to give her anything she wanted, and didn’t divorce her, because he was just too nice. He was fired for costing the company too much in accumulated raises, just before he would be able to receive full pension. He got shot in the gut once, trying to mediate a street fight. He survived the attack, only to die in his hospital room a few days later after a nurse screwed up his medication. It was an ongoing issue too; something that had to build up in his system. We’re all pretty sure that he noticed the mistake, but didn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to bother her. I knew that I couldn’t live my life like he did his. He was forced to do his best to hide how miserable he was, and I realized that the only way to be happy is to take what you need, and not worry about how it makes other people feel. People hated me, but never fought against my selfishness, because they were worried about how I would react if they called me out on my shit. I’m sure things would have worked out just fine, but I found that letting them be afraid of me served me better than being kind and honest.

I was right to be the way that I was, all the way up to the day that I died...but not through the day that I died. I suppose you would tell me that that’s proof my lifestyle didn’t work, but it was really just one fluke, and had I survived it, I doubt I would have changed my ways, and I doubt it would have come back to bite me in the ass later. My dad suffered from reverse karma. The more good he put into the universe, the more the universe took, and it never gave back. I, on the other hand, had a wonderful life, filled with booze, broads, and buttloads of money. I had a high-paying job, and I didn’t listen to people who told me I didn’t deserve to be happy. It was only this one time that I guess I should have opened my ears a little bit. So I was walking down into the subway, trying to enjoy my audiocast when this smug asshole wearing all hemp assaults my senses with his mediocre—but loud—rendition of some dumb pop song I didn’t care about. As I was walking by, I kicked his guitar case closed. I didn’t padlock it, or anything. All he had to do was reopen it, but suddenly I was attacked by a bunch of social justice workers who thought I was starting a war on the poor. I didn’t care that he was poor, I just didn’t want him to interrupt the latest episode of Sexy Serial Killers. I defended myself, as one does, but they just kept screaming at me for being a bad person. Whatever, it wasn’t like any of these people mattered. Except, apparently, they did. While I was trying to stand as far from the crowd as possible, I ended up slipping over the edge, and down onto the tracks, twisting my ankle, and possibly breaking my hand. The injuries turned out to be the least of my concerns when I realized that no one was going to help me back up. Death by subway train. At least you can’t say it was boring.

Microstory 1756: Bee of Paradise

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I’ve moved past the most traumatic experience of my life, and I’ve been able to reach some semblance of normalcy. I can’t say that it no longer affects me, but it at least no longer consumes me. I have prosthetic feet now, and while I can’t feel sensations down there anymore, I can walk just fine. I don’t even tell people my situation anymore, because it’s not relevant, and they can’t tell. I’m happy now. I have a better job than before, with better benefits. My boss calls me her busy bee, so she forced me to take a vacation, which is why I’ve agreed to this island getaway. I still find it rather difficult to trust others, which is one reason I’ve come alone, but I decided that I’m okay with that. This is about recharging my batteries, and remembering what I want out of life. It goes well at first, but then I start to get a bad feeling as I’m walking around the resort, and my excursions. I can’t point to an actual reason for my spidey senses sounding sirens, but I don’t think I’m imagining it. There is an evolutionary advantage to detecting the presence of a potential threat even when you can’t pin it down. Something or someone is out there who doesn’t want to be seen.  They’re watching me, and making me nervous. I keep telling myself that I might just be paranoid, but the sirens don’t go away. I really don’t think I’m making this up. I can’t ask for help, of course, because what is who going to do? The staff isn’t qualified to suss out a hypothetical stalker, and the police never help. I have no proof, just my instincts. I try to shrug it off, but the feeling grows worse, and I catch a glimpse of a shadow every once in a while. Finally, I cancel all of the activities I had planned for one day, and lock myself in the room. It’s not enough.

Presumably having decided he’s ready to show himself, my stalker breaks down the door, and enters my room. I didn’t come with pepper spray, or anything, so I’m helpless to fight him off. I head for the balcony, but I’m on the eleventh floor, so I don’t know where I thought I was going with that. It’s him. It’s the one who abducted me from my own home, and burned my feet so badly that they had to amputate both of them. They said they caught him, and he committed suicide by cop. How could they have been so wrong? Did they not look for evidence after the incident? Did they just assume they shot the right guy, and let it go? Who did they actually shoot? Obviously I shouldn’t be worrying about any of this right now; I just need to get away from him. I don’t know how he found me. I don’t even know what he wants with me, or how he knows me. But I know it’s the same man, and I know I can’t just run away. I won’t let him hurt me again, though. I’m going to fight back. I’m going to fight back hard. Not doing that before has been my greatest regret, and while I can’t go back in time and change it, I can do better this time. First, I scream. No one comes running before he manages to cover my mouth with his gloved hand, but that doesn’t mean they never will. It’s the off-season, but there are plenty of other guests here, and hopefully they’re not all at the bonfire. My attacker is stronger, so it’s not hard for him to overpower me, gag me, and start dragging me down the emergency stairs. My right foot gets caught on the edge of a step, and falls off, which gives me an idea. When we’re on a landing, I swing my left leg up, and take hold of my remaining foot. Hitting him once in the face is enough to get him to let go. Then I start bashing him over and over again until he stops moving. Only then does someone come to my rescue, but it’s too late. This time, I’m here to make sure he’s dead.

Microstory 1712: Crabby Cancer

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According to one wild theory of evolution, the crab is the ultimate physical form. Every species that is destined to survive will eventually transform into some kind of crab. Of course, being intelligent humans, we have always dismissed such bizarre arguments, which have no basis in scientific fact. This truth didn’t stop us all from turning into crabs, it just wasn’t due to evolution. Our first hint that an alien race was upon us was subtler than we would have assumed. We saw no great ships appear in the sky. No portal from another world opened up on the ocean floor, or in a secret underground military base. It began as faint images in the wind, as if the air were opaque, and blocking beings on the other side until moved. The images grew clearer, and were joined by whispers. It was obvious that something existed beyond our normal range of perception, and was finally coming to light. The world’s governments tried to step in, but there was nothing they could do. The beings were spread out all over the globe, and could not yet interact with us, so there was no way to contain them, or even prepare to. Some areas were denser than others, so we huddled around the safe zones—mostly deserts—only to discover this to be a fruitless endeavor. The aliens could move, of course, because why wouldn’t they? After a few months of watching...waiting, the first Karkinel proved itself to be physically present when it took hold of a child, and ran away with it. That kid was never seen again, and that’s when the military went to work. They handed weapons to everyone they could, and gave us permission to shoot any crabbo on sight. Many human deaths resulted from this mandate. If the Karkinel wasn’t completely corporeal, the bullets could pass right through it, and land in someone innocent. This period of limbo did not last long, but it was the first of many failures.

Once the rest of the aliens had arrived, the war began. They tried to take people, while the people fought back with everything they had. It was the greatest threat our species had ever encountered, and we weren’t going down easy. Even so, it was an impossible dream. Whenever one crabbo was killed, another was waiting to take its place. That was when we realized what they were doing. They weren’t trying to kill us. They were trying to make us like them. They were infecting us with their crabbiness, and letting a cancerous disease spread throughout our bodies, turning us into them. The process was sometimes gradual, but sometimes incredibly rapid. Children, in particular, took too well to the process. There was every chance that a human fighter ended up killing a Karkinel who was once that first young boy to be taken. Now the war shifted. No longer were we using guns and bombs. The only way we were going to win was if we managed to undo the Karkinel transition, and restore our brethren to their rightful human state. Barring that, maybe we could prevent survivors from suffering the same fate. This was yet another failure. Scientists worked on the problem for years, but were never able to come up with a vaccine, let alone a cure. This was not surprising since we had already been trying to cure cancer for decades to no real luck. It is not without hope, however. We may not be able to stop the carcinization, but we can do something about how it effects the brain. I’m not sure if you can understand me yet, but you will be our first test subjects. With this treatment, your minds will become human again. Your bodies will still look like crabs, but you’ll think more like us. And you’ll fight...for us.

Microstory 1708: Auriga Itineraries

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When I graduated from college, the first thing I wanted to do was reward myself with a trip to Europe. I wanted the full experience; the hostels, the backpacking, the food. I wanted to be surprised, and have an adventure. It was one of the most expensive mistakes of my life. The hostel was disgusting, and I felt unsafe at every second. As it turns out, I’m not much of a hiker. And I seemed to always get bad advice about where to eat. I was listening to the wrong people, and making the wrong decisions. What I didn’t use better was the internet. I didn’t look up reviews of places, and find out where exactly I should go. I didn’t learn enough about customs and conventions, and I was totally lost the whole time. I never want that to happen to you, and while you could go off and look up all this information yourself, why bother? Hi, my name is Malone Lamb, and I would like to be your next trip planner. At Auriga Itineraries, we know that when you’re on vacation, all you want is to relax and have fun. You shouldn’t worry about being overcharged, underserviced, or mistreated. So, what is it we do here? Well, we help you get to where you’re going, and have the best experience possible...for your budget. You pick the place, we handle everything else. Want to go to Asia? We can do that. We’ll find the best flight with the best airline. Africa more your speed? We book flights there too. Europe? South America? Even Antarctica. For us, nothing is off the map. We know where all the happening spots are. We know where you can enjoy the most delectable local pleasures. (Or the usual tastes of home, if you just want a break.) So come on down to Auriga Itineraries, where we...roll you to your destiny.

How was that? No, I don’t think it’s racist to have African people doing their traditional dances behind me. Well, it’s a watermark, because I can’t afford to buy the stock footage. Do you have any idea how much that costs? If it were illegal, then they wouldn’t use a watermark at all, the video just wouldn’t be available until you click purchase. Obviously the idea was to shoot on location, but I’m just starting out, so I can only afford this green blanket. What do you mean, you don’t know what the business does? I told you the other day. I can’t fit all that in the commercial, it’s only thirty seconds long. I think I said everything that needs to be in there. We plan people’s vacations; booking flights and hotels, finding attractions and activities the client would like. We tailor every trip to their particular proclivities. I don’t know how we’ll find out, I suppose we’ll ask them questions. Yeah, I guess I could come up with a questionnaire, but I don’t know how to do that, do you? They should make a company that does what I do, except they help you write questionnaires and stuff. Look, I don’t pay you to poke holes in my advertisements. I pay you to get me on TV so I can start drumming up some business. Yeah, the check’s gonna bounce, because I don’t have any customers yet! That’s why I told you to wait a month! Of course other companies do what I do, I never claimed to have invented the industry. What sets me apart is that I handle every case personally. Yes, you’re right, I shouldn’t say that they’ll come down to us since we operate only online. See? This is good, these are good notes. I could do without the criticisms and judgments, though. I’m trying to do something with my life, and help people who might need it. If I could just get one client, I know that word will spread, and they’ll start showing up by the bucketful. Now help me tweak this commercial.