Microstory 2401: The Terminal

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You know what? This place is big. They call it the Terminal because everyone who quantum casts their consciousness to this planet runs through here. It’s mind-boggling how large it is. I think I heard someone say that every cast-capable individual could upload their mind to a new substrate here at pretty much the same time, and there would be enough room for everyone. I don’t know about that, but I saw this thing from the outside, and I think I believe it. But in the end, the principle remains the same. You get in an egress pod wherever you’re coming from, hook yourself up to the machine, and zip across the interstellar void. You wake up about an hour later, and start moving around in your new body. You’re a little shaky at first, because I admit, it was a new experience. The technology they use to transfer your consciousness is a little different. They have to worry more about things like interference and signal degradation. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t afraid, and I don’t regret it. I just mean, the end result may be a bit different than what you’re used to. It’s just a little harder to acclimate, even if you’re a seasoned caster. Fortunately, they were prepared. They have nearby acclimation rooms that are designed to help you figure things out. They have bars to hold onto and treadmills; basically everything you would find in a physical therapy gym. I was told that they do offer mech subs, if you want that instead of an organic. I’ve never personally used one of those kinds of bodies, so I can’t speak to that experience, but if you choose that route, you may be able to move around just fine right away. Anyway, I didn’t need to use any of the equipment. It was helpful just to have a place to sit and relax. They also had an orientation theatre. Some of it was in person, surely from an android of some kind, while other parts were on the holo-screen. There are way too many domes for them to go through them all, but they do teach you how to search through the catalog, so you can find the exact experience that you’re looking for. But I won’t get into specifics here. I’m sure once I start going to the domes, I’ll review those too. This is just about The Terminal. You should know, they do have medical facilities here, and hygiene stations. I didn’t use any of those, but they’re there if you need them, and they looked nice. I set my trip up ahead of time, so I pretty much received my orientation packet, and bounced. It looked like some people were hanging out there for a little while, though there are plenty of domes that offer relaxation options.

Microstory 2396: Vacuus, April 28, 2182

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Dear Pascal,

It has been over two years since we have been able to contact Earth. Vacuus as a whole has been able to make contact for the last couple of weeks, but due to restrictions, the common man was unable to send any messages. Basically, it was a waste of time for us to try to send any signal out, so it was temporarily against the law, and that law had to be repealed, which took a little time. Once capabilities were finally restored for me and my own equipment, I immediately tried to send a letter to Condor. I actually had it all written up already. I wrote in a few months after the blackout started, and every few months, I would rework it to include more updated information. I was so excited, and so happy, but ultimately disappointed. Two weeks after my message, I received a bounceback. Condor’s server could not be reached. That is so weird, because even if he couldn’t check it himself, it should still be online somewhere. I tried again, and two weeks later (today) it bounced back again. I’m really hoping that nothing terrible happened, but I’m so afraid. Nothing happened to the Earth overall—that much I know—so please, is there anything you can tell me? How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him? Do you know where he could be? If he’s dead, then just be honest. If it’s time to grieve, then I need to know it, and I need to tell Velia... Oh, I don’t want to be so negative, but that’s the only answer that I can think of for why he wouldn’t be able to receive my message. I mean, I don’t know for sure that you terminate people’s comms credentials when they die, but that’s part of protocol here, so there’s no confusion. If you can think of a better explanation, but still don’t know the truth yourself, please tell me that instead. Basically, just tell me what you know, and we’ll sort it out later. I hope you are doing okay, and I’m going to be waiting for two whole weeks for the other shoe to drop. That’s assuming you receive me, and respond to me right away. What if something happened to you or your credentials too? Well, if that’s what happened, then I guess no one will ever read my frantic and desperate words, and start to question my sanity.

Impatiently waiting for your reply, and hoping for only good news, but prepared for the truth either way,

Corinthia

Microstory 2392: Vacuus, December 26, 2179

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Dear Condor,

No, I don’t know which one of us is older than the other. We could have been born hours apart, for all I know. Well, that’s probably too long of a difference. You would think that Pascal would say something about it if that were the case. Unless, I guess, if he was out of town, or something. Was he even there? Has he never told you anything about what it was like when you were born? Probably not since his story would have been shaky from having no choice but to leave me out of it entirely. Let me get right into what happened. I’m glad that I talked to Elek sooner rather than later, because I might not have had another chance to tell you about it. Our scientists believe that the Valkyrie long-cycle is imminent. Unless something major happens to change their current projected trajectory, they’re coming for us, and they’ll be blocking transmissions for a really long time. Theoretically, the only thing that could affect them enough for them to change their path would be a gravitational body of significant mass-density. That would be even worse, because it would probably cross the Roche limit, and collide into Vacuus. I told you that I would be getting into what happened, then went off on a tangent. Sorry. Elek. When I approached him earlier today, he seemed very scared. I don’t think he read our messages, or anything, but I think he knew that this conversation would be coming at some point. We were bound to put the pieces together eventually. He actually seemed relieved when I demanded answers about the study. Attached is the full transcript of our conversation. Our laws say that I can record audio on the base with everyone’s permission,  but I can’t record video. It’s a little weird, but it would be a lot to compress anyway. Here are the highlights. The program had been going on for a hell of a lot longer than we realized. Madalena was only hired for its most recent iteration. They tried this with other missions prior to this, including lunar bases and Martian outposts. They have always wanted to know how one person would fare across contradictory realities, and twins are the closest thing they can come to gaining any insight on that. The thing about us being fraternal twins was the result of a series of concessions they had to make over the years. It started out as one would think, with the ideal conditions, and no legal qualms. They just kept changing it and changing it until it became all but pointless. Elek observed me as I grew up, and took some notes, which he showed me, and they’re all attached too. They weren’t very detailed, and his heart wasn’t in. It was just stupid from the beginning, but they sunk so much money into it, they didn’t want to let it go. They since have, disbanding entirely, and the various players no longer communicate with each other. He thought that Madalena was dead, but he’s pretty sure most of the others on Earth are indeed gone. After this I think it’s time we put this whole thing to rest. It sounds like it’s all over, and nothing really came of it. Now let’s just be. Let’s be twins who talk via weekly letters.

Until the Valkyries descend upon us,

Corinthia

Microstory 2338: Vacuus, February 17, 2179

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Dear Condor,

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

Bored again,

Corinthia

Microstory 2335: Vacuus, January 31, 2179

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Dear Condor,

Father has not yet written to me. It’s fine, I’m not disappointed. I don’t know him at all, so I can’t know what I should expect out of him. I just wanted to give you an update before it happens that I’m going to be out of communication range again. It won’t be too long, but it’s out of my hands. You see, when researchers first discovered Vacuus, they thought to send probes here before they sent people. Unfortunately, they lost contact with these probes, and were never able to gather much information about the planet. They obviously decided to just send a manned-mission without enough information, and that’s because the ship they were using was self-sustaining. If, for some reason, it wasn’t possible to reach or land on the surface, it wasn’t like a death sentence. We could have been living on it this whole time. It’s still orbiting us right now, and people regularly go back and forth. I could have gotten a job up there instead. In fact, I told you that I’m the only one doing what I do, but that’s not technically true. Someone is up there right now, using their own instruments to track nearby cosmic events. They just don’t do it for the same reasons, and have other responsibilities. It’s not for safety, they’re mostly studying the effects of deep space survival as it pertains to remoteness from the host star. I kind of forget about them, because we don’t really interact. Anyway, that’s not really important. The point is that, once we arrived here, we discovered why communication with the probes stopped working. It’s because of a periodic meteoroid shower called the Valkyries, which causes a blackout. These meteoroids are very close to one another, and interconnected via weak, yet still impactfully disruptive, electromagnetic fields. It has to do with the ferromagnetic composition of them, and the occasional electrostatic charge that builds up when they scrape against one another. This can last for years, but it’s a relatively rare event, and has only happened twice since Earth sent the probes. What’s not all that rare is when one of these meteors becomes dislodged from the shower, and we end up between it and all its friends. If we’re in the right position, it’s pretty as it’s streaking across the sky, but it’s problematic too. We don’t always know when it’s going to happen, and we don’t always know when it’s going to affect us, but it too knocks out signal transmission, though for a much shorter period of time. Our astronomers have devoted most of their careers to studying these phenomena. At first they thought that the shower was falling apart, but they now believe that the stray meteoroids eventually find their way back to the shower. Earth is aware that this is going to happen, and have upgraded their protocols to account for it. So if you send a message, it will end up being stored in a nearby buffer until the relay station receives word that signal transmission has been restored. I’m sorry to spring this on you so last minute, but if you reply, I doubt that I’ll receive you for a while. Please let your father know as well, thanks.

Hopefully not for long,

Corinthia

Microstory 2327: Earth, November 25, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

Yeah, I think it would be a great idea to be able to send quick acknowledgements to each other after each message. It does need to be more than just an automated read receipt. My friend is a coder, and he’s written us a quick program for that, if you’re interested. It’s nothing crazy. It just integrates with the messaging application, and lets you pull from a list of canned responses. You can have one that says, got it, I’ll get back to you soon, and another that says, it will be a few days before I can respond. You can even write one that goes, I’m being attacked by a horde of sad zombie aliens from the future of a parallel dimension. I can’t believe this isn’t already a feature, but we have it now. The file is attached for you to download, or tell me no, if that’s the case. In other news, my dad is coming home soon. My next letter to you should be a recap of what we end up discussing. He’s been fumfering when I’ve managed to get him on a call, so I know that he wasn’t innocent. We’ll finally get some answers, Corinthia. I’m sure I’ll have a lot to say in that letter, so I’ll cut this one short here.

Sharpening my zombie alien weapons,

Condor

Microstory 2326: Vacuus, November 18, 2178

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Dear Condor,

I’m sorry to hear that you were having so much trouble sleeping. If you ever need to take a few days to respond, that’s okay. You’ve already extended me the same courtesy when I was gone for weeks. It would be crazy of me to not give you a little bit of extra time if you need it. I mean, if there’s nothing to say, then there’s nothing to say. When I first wrote to you, I didn’t think that you would respond in the first place, let alone that we would start conversing on any sort or regular basis. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that you’re waiting for something interesting to happen, or that you just don’t feel like talking. Yes, I will worry about you, and wonder if something’s happened to you, but that’s just the nature of interplanetary correspondence. I spoke with an expert on this side of the void who says that the FTL communication research has stalled, despite what some might be trying to convince the public. He’s not as hopeful as people may be making it out to be. He can’t say for sure that it’s impossible, but it’s unlikely to work any time soon, if ever. For now, we’re stuck with the light lag. Back in the old days, it was not unheard of for a letter to take weeks to get from one place to another. They were riding in carriages, and directly on horses, and even in some cases, just walking on their own two feet! Can you imagine? There was no way for them to know if their messages were being received unless and until they received a reply. At least we have the option of read receipts for our digital signals. I like when that comes in. It makes me feel a little bit better, because it would know if the message had been intercepted, which of course, it hasn’t so far. What it doesn’t tell us is whether the other twin is doing okay, but maybe there’s a way for us to handle that ourselves. I suppose that we could come up with a protocol where we reply right away with a very brief acknowledgement as a sort of manual read receipt. That way, we know that the other is still alive, but can’t reply fully yet. What do you think of that idea? Please respond at faster than light speeds so I don’t have to wait too long for your input.

From the other side of darkness,

Corinthia

Microstory 2156: Whoopdee-Friggin-Do For You

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The power is out. It’s out all over the metro. It was that way in jail, which made things pretty miserable in there for several hours, but it’s no picnic out here either. First, I lost a day of jail time, which I will have to make up for at some point. They had to release us, because of the air conditioning problem. It’s particularly hot these days, so leaving us in there would have constituted cruel and unusual punishment. This post will be really short, because I had to go so far to find phone service. It’s pretty bad, hopefully it will be fixed later today. I flirted with just letting it go, and waiting until later, because that would have been easier. It’s taking a lot, just to get this out. Still, I didn’t want to leave you totally hanging, especially since I have a schedule to keep, so I drove clear to the other side of Kansas City to post this one little thing. Don’t worry, I’m not breaking the law. My parole officer, Leonard is with me. He had some of his own work to conduct, so it wasn’t a complete waste. We can’t spend much time out here, though, because he has to get back to check in with his other parolees, and I have to figure out what I’m gonna do for dinner tonight. Everything in my fridge is spoiling as we speak, because I had to open it for one bottle of water, and that let a whole bunch of warm air in, which won’t ever be cooled until the power comes back on. If you’re in the area, stay safe, and try to find a shelter nearby. They set them up in such events, and they are powered by generators. They’re not only for the unhoused. If you don’t live in the area, and your life is a-okay right now, then whoopdee-friggin-do for you!

Microstory 1959: My Funny Valentine

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Leonard Miazga: *lowered voice* Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? In private?

Valentine Duval: Sure, what’s up, dude?

Leonard: Here, over here. So, Reese introduced me earlier, but I should reintroduce myself. I’m Leonard Miazga, but you can just call me Leonard. Do you go by Valentine? Or do you have, like, a hacker name that you prefer?

Valentine: It’s Micro, but Val is fine IRL.

Leonard: Okay, Val. I just wanted to ask—and I don’t wanna be presumptuous. I mean, I don’t know what you were going for. Maybe it was random. Maybe it wasn’t anything. I don’t know. Maybe I just completely misread what you did, and actually nothing happened at all. So I’ll sound like an idiot when I finally get this out. Though I suppose, since it’s taken me so long to get through it, I already do sound like an idiot.

Val: Is this about the wink?

Leonard: Yes, it is. You winked at me, right? I wasn’t imagining that.

Val: You weren’t imagining it. Where I’m from, winking is a way to convey emotional information without words, and—if done correctly—without others knowing that any information is being shared in the first place, let alone what it is.

Leonard: Okay, but...why would we be sharing information? We couldn’t possibly have met before today. Let’s just say that I’m...

Val: A traveler? Yeah, Leonard, I know where you’re from.

Leonard: Because you’re a hacker.

Val: Yes, but there are other signs. You sort of...smell a certain way.

Leonard: Oh.

Val: Not a literal smell. The way you hold yourself, and the way you walk. I knew that you were from another universe. I realized that you were cognizant of this fact after observing you myself for all of five seconds. You act like a stranger in a strange place.

Leonard: So you were just winking because you know my secret. Though, it’s not really a secret. It just hasn’t come up yet. I suppose we’ll have to tell the others sometime.

Val: Yeah. And also I’m like you. I thought you realized that.

Leonard: What? You are? Are you from my world?

Val: *shaking her head* No, I’m from Salmonverse.

Leonard: Oh, I’ve heard of that. I can only specifically recall hearing about two universes, and that’s one of them. How long have you been here?

Val: I got here a couple years ago.

Leonard: How? Did you always know you were on the wrong Earth?

Val: Westfall, just like you. I’m aware of it because I already knew about time travel and stuff, so my mind couldn’t be rewired to account for the strange differences, of which there are many. Did you know they don’t even have a word for toads?

Leonard: *doesn’t care* Huh?

Val: They call them creepfrogs. That’s so stupid. They’re a different species!

Leonard: Val, I don’t care about any of that. I want to know about you. You seem very unsurprised by any of this, and I have a million questions, starting with—

Val: How to get home? You can’t. This is your life now. Y’all best get used to it.

Microstory 1933: Idiot Dies in Desert

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Idiot: Are you serious? What the hell is this damn thing? Is it supposed to look like that? I don’t even know why I popped the hood. I don’t understand any of this stuff. I should have paid attention when my uncle tried to teach me. Ugh! It’s so freaking hot; I hate this freaking place. If I had only just—argh! Great, it’s not like I keep a first aid kit in the car. Oh wait, I do. This just isn’t my car! *sighs* No one’s gonna stop. I’m gonna die out here. This is it. I can see the headline now: Idiot Dies in Desert. They’ll make a movie about me. Someone much hotter and younger than I am will play me. It’ll win awards, and people will say, that was based on a true story? Nah, it was so contrived. No one’s gonna stop. I haven’t seen anyone for miles. Where the hell am I? [...] There’s a slight hill up there. Maybe I can find a signal. I’m certainly not doing any good trying to fix this piece of crap. Oh, hello. Finally, someone to talk to. Are you lost too?

Turtle: *growls* *hisses*

Idiot: Yeah, I hear ya. I was minding my own business, just like you. I even carry my house everywhere I go. Well, it’s my second house. No, actually, it’s my first house now, isn’t it? I have a real house, but I was sick of being in one place all the time. Is that why turtles are always walking around? Do they just get tired of their surroundings? Probably not. You’re probably always just lookin’ for food. Do you have any I can spare? Do you keep it in your shell? Is that a thing? If I had a shell, that’s where I would keep my food. Whatever, what was I saying? Oh yeah, my house. So it belonged to my parents, so it’s all paid off. I thought it would be a great idea to move in, but after a year, I just couldn’t take it anymore. It reminded me of my childhood, and...well, I won’t get into that, but basically my parents hated me. They didn’t hate me, but I’m such a screw up. Case in point, right here. Oh wow, that hill looks a lot slighter the closer I get. It’s probably not going to be any better. Still no signal. So anyway, I sold the house. That was this whole thing. They wanted me to spend all this money to fix it up first, and I’m like, I don’t wanna do that. So I did some math—I’m not good at math, but I spent time on it. I did the math, and really, what I got for it without renovations was barely less that I would have gotten with the renovations. So I just skipped it, and accepted the lower bid. Like I said, it was paid off, so it was pure profit. But it fell through. It was a done deal, and now it’s dead. But I didn’t know that when I bought a new RV. I was gonna explore the continent, but then I get a notification that my smoke alarm is going off. I have these speakers—whatever, it doesn’t matter. But I have to go back and see what the problem is, but there is no problem. It was literally a false alarm. So I left again, and two days later, I’m halfway across the country when another notification comes through. So I just ignore it. As it turns out, there was a fire, and the house practically burnt down. Can you believe it? I mean, it’s not as bad as it would be for you. If it were you, you’d be dead. So I turn around and head back, then my RV breaks down, and also catches on fire. FML, right? I’m in a small town, and the rental selection is for crap, so I take what I can get, and you can guess what happens next. I ain’t stopped on the side of the road for my health. I ain’t holdin’ a desert turtle, walking to a hill in the hopes of getting one bar so I can order pizza. What? What the hell is that? Oh my God! Aaaarrrrrgggghhhh!!!

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 13, 2398

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Rescue is a strong word. The two people who Alyssa brought through the barrier between Kansas City and the rest of the Fourth Quadrant didn’t need to be rescued. There is nothing inherently problematic about living in the bubble. They did want to take that bubble down, though, so they sent two scientists to start tackling the issue from another angle. They had been studying the dimensional barrier for centuries, but always from within, so this was an opportunity to gain some insight that they couldn’t pass up. They might never get another. They will live on the ambassadorial ship that Great Britain sent there for communication, and stay until the job is complete, if that should ever happen. The team, meanwhile, has teleported to Stonehenge in the hope of finding a way back to their friends in the Third Rail.

Erlendr Preston has remained quiet. He hasn’t caused trouble, or tried to get in their heads. He’s just watching and waiting. The opportunity to free himself from their grasp is coming, and he has to be patient. He doesn’t even smirk as he watches these little ants struggle to figure out what’s going on here, and how they can get back to where they want.

“These four portals are the ones that didn’t work,” Mateo says, pointing them out. “My hypothesis is that they would lead to the other realities, if they were unlocked. How we might go about unlocking the, I wouldn’t know. If the Traversa bracelet doesn’t work, then I really don’t know. Maybe they need more power?”

“Go ahead and try,” Leona says to Alyssa.

“Not alone,” Alyssa replies. “You come with me. I don’t want to be over there alone if it works, but I can’t find a way back, and I don’t want you to be the one left alone with Erlendr.”

“That’s fair.” Leona takes Alyssa’s hand, and they attempt to walk through. They just end up on the other side of the rocks. They step back and forth a few times, but don’t get anywhere. Either these are just rocks or they don’t have the secret ingredient. They do the same for the other three mystery openings, but those don’t work either. “Mateo, are you getting the sense that they should work? Like with your hands?”

Mateo looks over at their audience. Of course, a team of scientists, military officers, and other experts have been stationed at this location since its power was first discovered, and have been trying to unlock its secrets the whole time. It hasn’t worked for anybody but Mateo with his unreliable temporal energy reserves. “I’m not getting the sense that they work, no. The other seven, on the other hand, are in perfect working condition. So is that.” He points up to the sky. In the Third Rail, the once-portal on Easter Island has solidified. Down here, it looks like there’s nothing special there. It appears to have disappeared, except it hasn’t. Mateo’s hands feel a draw towards it.

Leona narrows her eyes, and steps through the portal to Muskoka. Just before she disappears, they see her tilt her head funny. When she returns, she’s holding her hand several centimeters from her ear. “Yeah, that’s Huntsville, Ontario all right.”

“What’s wrong?”

“My earpiece,” Leona says. “It was squealing from feedback. Did yours do that?”

“Yeah, when we came through the barrier,” Alyssa confirms. “You didn’t expect that to happen?”

“I suppose it makes some sense. You were making a call from somewhere, and then you were suddenly at a different, distant somewhere. That’s bound to mess with the signal.” Leona keeps the earpiece at a safe distance as she tries to step through one of the mystery openings. She shakes her head. “Nothing. No feedback.”

Alyssa tries the same with another as she’s still the one wearing the bracelet, but doesn’t hear any squealing either, though she does when she steps through to El-Sheikh Zayed on her own.

Leona thinks on it a moment. “I watched a movie once where a man was running with a case of vials containing a deadly plague. The detective shot him dead, only to discover there to be seven vials in eight slots. What ensued was a pursuit of any lead that the investigators could find to figure out where the eighth vial was, and do you know where they found it?”

“Umm...in his stomach at the morgue, like a drug mule,” Mateo guesses.

She laughs. “No. Nowhere. The vial didn’t exist. There were seven total, but the case came with eight slots. They couldn’t find a case with seven. We’ve been assuming that all the openings should be portals. Maybe they’re not. Maybe they never were.”

“That’s fair,” Mateo decides. “What can we do then? How do we get back?”

“Well, you’re feeling something up there, aren’t ya?”

“I’m feeling like I don’t have wings,” Mateo returns.

Leona puts on her diplomacy face, and walks over to the research team. She spends a lot of time with them, no doubt negotiating for an aircraft of some kind, or maybe a crane capable of reaching that sky portal. Finally, she waves them over. Mateo takes Erlendr by the arm, and ushers him to the helicopter that he predicted. Knowing what these people are going to do next is almost too easy. He sits patiently in the craft as the pilot begins the preflight check, and teaches Leona what she needs to know to navigate it up and down. The Brits are probably never gonna get it back. At least the Matics are smart enough to recognize this. If Erlendr were in need of it, though, he wouldn’t have told the military that. He would have let the pilot take him home, and then just let her be trapped on the other side. He wouldn’t care about her. He doesn’t.

Erlendr turns out to be right, as per usual. Simply by having the Traversa Bracelet on her wrist, Alysa gets them through that sky portal, and over to Easter Island on Third Rail. What she doesn’t notice right away is that the bracelet falls apart, and off of her wrist. This is no surprise to him. Leona and Mateo talk a lot when they think that no one can hear them. They were particularly chatty while they were waiting for Alyssa to say goodbye to her sister. They were concerned that she wouldn’t be able to cross back over. Apparently, they didn’t come to this concern on their own. A friend of theirs from space did. Kestral thought that using the bracelet to transport their entire ship could destroy it, and she was probably right since this is just a regular helicopter. Ramses may be able to fix or reverse engineer it, though, so he gathers every hair he can find. He can use them as leverage. Again, he just needs to find the right opportunity.

When Leona lands to regroup, that’s when they discover the bracelet to be missing. There is no known way to return to the Fourth Quadrant, which from Erlendr’s perspective, is either a good thing, or a whatever thing. Having planned for this, everyone gets out to prepare to teleport. This bird can’t make it all the way to the mainland, so they’re just going to donate it to the Rapa Nui people. Erlendr would have instead crashed it in the ocean just for fun, but he’s not the one in charge...not yet.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 5, 2398

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Mateo handed the headset back to Alyssa, because she was the one who needed to hear the message about her sister, Trina. After confirming that it wasn’t a prank, she hung up, and asked him how this was possible. It’s a complicated relay system they have. They discovered that certain signals can pass through the bubble that separates the duplicate of Kansas City Metro Island from the rest of the Fourth Quadrant. Radio waves don’t penetrate the barrier, but light can, which means that they can use a laser communication system rigged up on a ship that Great Britain has stationed nearby. Details are scarce, but Trina apparently survived the trip to the past, made her way back to present day, but since she had no way of entering the Third Rail, she crossed over into the Fourth Quadrant. She obviously had help, because she didn’t know about the portals. She and the other travelers weren’t even still around when the team discovered the truth about Easter Island and Stonehenge. They got lucky, really.

“Why can’t we go back?” Alyssa asks. She keeps expecting a different answer.

After Leona came to rescue Mateo, Winona, and Tarboda using the Easter Island portal, that portal closed up behind them. It was almost as if it were sentient, and decided that no one else needed to pass through. It’s not gone completely, though. The connection remains intact, just not on a physical level. It now resembles the Kansas City Island barrier, however, in this case, they don’t need lasers. Just before the rescue team departed, Ramses had finished the prototype for an interdimensional communications booster capable of exchanging transmissions between realities. He had hoped to use it to reach out to someone in the main sequence, but that hasn’t worked so far. The sealed off portal is impossible to traverse, but on a hyperdimensional level, it’s closer than other realities are to each other. “We can’t get over there anymore,” Leona explained.

“But Mateo can teleport at will. Maybe he can teleport though the barrier,” Alyssa suggests. “You haven’t tried that, have you?”

That’s not a crazy idea. If anyone can do it, it’s him. He’s maintained the strongest connection to what little temporal energy they have been able to find in the Third Rail, though they still don’t know why. He was unable to reopen the portal before, but he should try again. He has his fancy new timonite skin now. “Okay, I’ll do it.”

Leona sighs, not because she doesn’t want to help, but because she knows that this isn’t going to turn out as they hope. Their plans never do. They may make small wins that add up over time, but big swings like this don’t go well. She knows that she can’t stop them from trying it, or wanting to. When a problem arises, they’ll rise above it. They always do. “Okay, I’ll run the pre-flight check on the Olimpia.”

“We don’t need that anymore,” Mateo reminds her. He reaches out and takes Alyssa’s hand.

“We don’t know the limitations of your power,” Leona warns him. “You may only get a few jumps before you run out.”

“Only one way to find out.” Mateo jumps the two of them away, but they don’t make it to Easter Island. They don’t make it very far at all. They’re in Ramses and Leona’s lab, locked in a cell, turrets pointed at them from above. “What the hell?”

Ramses perks up, and takes his headphones off as he’s spinning around in his chair. He starts laughing at them like a kid at the zoo when the simians start to throw feces at people. “What are ya in for?”

“Ramses, what the hell is this?” Mateo demands to know.

“This is a failsafe,” he explains. “If you try to teleport in or out of this building, or within a hundred meters of it, you’re gonna end up in the boo-boo cage.”

“And are we married to that name?”

Ramses pretends to think about it. “Umm...yeah, it’s perfect.”

“Listen, I know you’re paranoid after what happened with Erlendr, but is this really necessary?” He looks up at the guns.

“Oh, those aren’t real. They’re just there to look menacing,” Ramses explains.

Leona enters the lab. “I didn’t know that thing was online yet.”

“I just activated it twenty minutes ago,” Ramses tells her before redirecting his attention to Mateo. “I was going to ask you to test it, but then I got this great idea for something else, and you know how I get sometimes. I had to write it down right away.”

“I do know you,” Mateo agrees, “and you know me, so you know that when I’m ready to do something, I’m ready. Can you let us out?”

“Depends,” Ramses says. “Where are you gonna go?”

“Easter Island,” Alyssa replies. “I want to speak to Trina myself.”

Ramses nods. “I understand that. I hope it works.” He accesses the app on his handheld device, and shuts down the power dampener that’s been keeping Mateo’s teleportation powers from working.

“Be careful,” Leona instructs. “Were I you.”

“Were I you,” Mateo echoes. He takes Alyssa’s hand once more, but something goes wrong. Technicolor bulk energy begins to run up her hands, towards the rest of her body. “Oh, no. What happened?” He steps away from her, but the damage has been done. The best thing he can do now is hold on tight, and try to go with her.

“Turn it back on!” Leona runs over to the cabinets on her side of the lab.

“What?” Ramses asks.

“Just do it!”

Leona opens one of the cabinets, and takes out a huge bag, which she straps to her shoulders. “Is it on?”

“Yes,” Ramses answers.

Just before Alyssa and Mateo disappear, Leona presses her own emergency teleporter, which reroutes her into the cage. She wraps her arms around the both of them, and hitches a ride into the bulk.

They land in a dark forest. Random junk is all around them. A few things they recognize, but others Mateo never banished. Either he chooses to banish them in the future, or he loses control of his power of suck. Or maybe he’s not the only one with the banishment ability. Leona reaches behind her back, and pulls out a shotgun. She scans the area, looking for signs of danger. She tenses up when they see a figure approaching.

It’s Ramses. It’s actually Ramses’ body. Time is a funny thing, so it may or not be him. It could be Erlendr, or even someone else. “I’m not here to cause problems.”

“Who are you?” Leona asks forcefully.

“I’m who you think I am. I’m Erlendr Preston.”

“Get on your knees.”

“Are you going to kill me!”

“On your knees! Hands on your head!” She drops her bag and finds a set of zip cuffs, which she gives to Mateo. “Tie him up. We’re taking him with us.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 3, 2398

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Leona did a double take as she was driving last night on her way back from date night. She and Mateo were meant to have dinner downtown, but they got in a fight on the ride out there, and ended up just skipping it. He got out of the car to walk alone, so she decided to drive around a little bit to clear her head. It’s not everyday that he has the upper hand in an argument, so she wasn’t exactly excited to get back home and face her friends. She wasn’t too far away when she spotted one of them walking along the path in the park across from their building. “Hey!” she called out to him. He looked around for the source of the voice, and smiled when he found it. Before they could exchange one more word with each other, a dark van pulled up between them, and stopped for a few seconds. When it drove away, Ramses was gone.

She held for a second to go over the possibilities. He could have been taken against his will, sure. It wouldn’t be the first time for any of them. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he clearly saw her on the other side of the road. He wouldn’t have smiled if he didn’t realize in time that it was her. Given that, he would have made an effort to say something to her if he was intending to get into that van. He wouldn’t have just shrugged off the awkward timing, and went about his secret business. No, even though she didn’t know why he would be taken, it was the only logical hypothesis. So she moved over to the right lane, put on her hazard lights, and impatiently waited for the traffic to clear. Then she made an illegal u-turn, and begin to pursue the van.

She called his phone, just in case there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. After three rings, the driver of the van tossed something relatively small out the window. She was pretty sure she knew what it was, but she stopped anyway, and quickly opened her door to pick the phone off the road, and bring it in. Hopefully they didn’t just see her do that, because they might become suspicious. Fortunately, the car behind her still had a ways to go before catching up, so nobody honked their horn. Now it was pretty obvious that something nefarious was going on here, and she needed help. She tried to call Marie, and then Angela, but neither of them answered their phone. She called Mateo, even though he was surely still on foot, but his phone rang inside the car. Damn, he left it here when he hopped out in a huff. She was going to have to fix this on her own.

Twenty-five minutes later, they were into the rural outskirts of the metropolitan area, and the van was showing no signs of slowing. That was when the route started to become all kinds of crazy. They turned down one road, and then down another, and then another, until they were all the way back to where they started from. They winded around, and occasionally spent a little too long at a stop sign. Oh no, they must have realized that she was following them, and were just testing her. She tried to call her friends again, but this time couldn’t even get through to voicemail. She couldn’t find a signal at all. What were these people doing? And what were they going to do to Ramses once they confirmed that Leona was behind them. It was dark, though, and despite the fact that they were out in the country, there were still quite a few other cars around. She just hung back a little farther, and prayed that they couldn’t prove any suspicions. 

They played this game for hours, and now it’s after midnight. There’s still no cell service, and Heath’s car is running out of gas. The van probably is too, but she has no choice but to keep trying. All she can do is continue to follow, three cars back, and hope that they stop soon. They don’t, though. In fact, they turn off on a single lane road; that’s one lane, full stop. It would look mighty suspicious if she happened to be going that way too. But it doesn’t matter, because Ramses needs rescuing, and she’s the rescuer. They keep going until they reach this isolated little farmhouse.

Leona switches off her lights, and turns into the driveway, because if they haven’t noticed her by now, they probably never will. They go all the way up to the porch, but she stops near the road to watch. She sees them drag a Ramses-sized burlap sack, up the steps, and into the house. If he’s dead, she’s going to kill them. One of them leans against the van and lights up a cigarette while the others are starting to do whatever it is they plan on doing. That’s when she gets out of her car, and approaches without caution.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here! Who are you?” he cries.

“This your van?” she asks, nodding to it like a gangsta.

“What of it?”

“How did you not detect my pursuit?”

“Hell you talkin’ ‘bout?”

She pops him in the nose with her forearm, spilling blood out like a beer can at a college party. As he’s crying like a baby, and trying to shove the blood back into his body, she slams the back of his head against the passenger window, cracking it slightly. Lastly, she situates the inside of her ankle against his, and pulls the back of his neck away from the car. He trips on her leg, and crashes to the ground. She stomps on his back before casually walking up the steps, where she finds the other two men trying to get Ramses into a chair. They stop and stare at her of course, not sure what the hell is going on.

“Hey, wait, I know you. You’re just a floor worker.”

“No,” Leona contends. “I’m the lead floor worker.” She fights them both. They have knives, which is adorable, and they’re rolling on the floor in a matter of seconds. Those three years she spent training with the Crucia Heavy really paid off. These electronic repair idiots are no match for her, but it’s better to be overqualified than underqualified.

Once it’s all over, Ramses finally comes to. He takes a moment to assess the situation. “Thanks for coming after me.”

Leona starts to untie him. “What do these guys what?”

He chuckles. “Honor. You see, I quit, which apparently didn’t mean that the number two worker was promoted to supervisor, or as a thought, repromoted. They had to be tested again, and evidently, Bruno over there cheated the first time, so they fired him. And the other guy, Stockboy, just sort of does whatever Bruno says.

“We were driving for, like, four hours, but we’re probably less than an hour away,” she tells him, questioning the rationale.

“Yeah, they were worried about being followed or traced, so they thought going around in circles would prevent that. I guess they figured that would be good enough, and they wouldn’t have to actually look out for someone like you. True morons, if you ask me.”

“I would have asked,” Leona begins, “if I didn’t surmise that myself.” She tenses up when the front door opens, but relaxes when she sees that it’s the rest of the team. They’re in no hurry either, presumably after seeing the driver writhing on the ground.

“Okay,” Heath says, “next time you go into the Great Dead Zone, drop a message. We barely found you.”

Microstory 864: Hostage to Fortune

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There was a time when bad things would always happen to anyone else, but never to you. Nowadays, being touched by violence of some sort is assumed, and there’s something strange about hearing of someone who came out of life unscathed. I was petrified when a gunman came into our school cafeteria, and took us all hostage. I was actually more surprised that he seemed to want something other than to hurt people. He didn’t look frazzled or pissed off at the world. It was more like a job to him. We did what he said, crouching under the tables, facing inwards, heads curled in, like it was a pointless a Cuban Missile Crisis drill. I wondered why he didn’t confiscate our cell phones, but when I saw several students fail to find a signal, I guessed that he was using some kind of jammer. That felt like overkill—pardon the insensitive pun—but again, he never told us what he wanted. He kept us there for two hours, asking nothing of us but to be quiet, and stay put. Eventually fear subsided, and kids started playing offline games. We could hear other students walking around the hallways, but no stomps of Federal agents, or cries of shock. When he was done with us, he removed the chains from the doors, and let us go. I stayed behind out of morbid curiosity, waiting to see him kidnap one of my classmates, or plant a bomb, but he just sat down at one of the tables, and started watching security feeds on his laptop. We slowly moved towards class, wondering if we had just experienced some mass hallucination. Our teacher marked us as tardy when we finally arrived, and had no idea what we were talking about. One girl I knew for a fact was there with us also acted unaware. I couldn’t tell if she was covering her ass, or had legitimately lost her memories. Our persistent claims that we were just in a hostage situation only made our teacher madder, and we were given detention. When the bell rang, I went back to the cafeteria. The hostage-taker was still there, not at all concerned that he would get in trouble. I snuck up behind him, and listened to his conversation on the phone. “Yessir, the field test worked perfectly. The artificial spatio-temporal dimension will allow us to operate surveillance facilities completely undetected. The rest of the school was totally oblivious to what was happening, and the hostages ultimately forgot as well...except for one. I agree, he would be a perfect candidate for running this region’s program.” He twisted around, and gave me a wink.

Clean Sweep: Dreams (Part I)

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Dreams. What are dreams? Most experts believe that dreams are essentially a side effect of the brain’s attempt to consolidate and organize all of the information that it received during the day before. This is true, to some extent, but it is not the whole story. Time and thought are not as disparate of concepts as we think. They are bound to, and intertwined with, each other. Time is more complex than simply the ever-continuing process of causality. The essence of time moves throughout everything and everyone, leaving an imprint of itself across the dimensions. Why does it do this? Well, because true time is all about perception and perspective. We observe time by what we see and hear, but we understand time because of what it does to us on a quantum level. Time uses us as computational servers, powering reality by utilizing the strength of mind, body, and soul.

When one dreams about something, they are not merely using narratives to render their own memories. They are also experiencing the memories of other people; sometimes at different times, sometimes even on different worlds. This happens because, in order for time to process events, it must utilize the power from any number of people. And it doesn’t do this by reaching out to the nearest people, because that’s a concept that doesn’t really exist in terms of time. Temporal information passes from server to server in a web of interconnectivity rivaling that of the data network we call the internet.

This is all fine on its own, because it doesn’t really have anything to do with how we live our lives. Understanding that we are walking temporal servers isn’t all that useful, because we can’t do anything about. Except that some people can. Most of us, as temporal computers, are only capable of input and processing. We don’t have any actual control over what time does, or how it operates. All we can do is accept reality as we perceive it. There are those, however, who are somehow able to break through these limitations, process time in original ways, and deliver input to the temporal network. We call these people the choosing ones. They have their own limitations, but are still more powerful than the average person.

Some choosers can travel across great distances in the blink of an eye. Others can move backwards or forwards along the timestream. Some are powerful enough to alter reality, while others can merely predict the future to great accuracy. We are not entirely sure what creates a chooser’s personal limitations, or if it’s possible for them to learn new ways of manipulating time, for it has only happened once. Meliora Rutherford Delaney-Reaver was born with no specialty. That is, she does not have any limitations. She can travel through the timestream, merge two points in spacetime together, alter memories, and accomplish just about anything else she wants. Zeferino Preston, however, had limitations at first that he was only later able to transcend.

Zeferino’s original title was The Cleaner, and his original job was to clean up the timeline after alterations made by other choosers. If only one party of choosers were manipulating time, there would be no problem. The timeline would adjust itself to account for any changes they made, and no one outside of the party would have any idea that anything had changed at all. It’s important to remember, however, that we are all temporal servers, working to process reality in tandem. When a choosing one sends out unplanned signals, other servers are capable of receiving it, even though they were not programmed to process it entirely. For example, let’s say that two choosers are unhappy with what United States President A is doing with the country. They each go back in time and select a different president, changing the outcome of the future election. This causes problems, because now there are two different presidents; President B, and President C. This conflict in the timeline creates what we know as a paradox. Unless corrected, it’s possible that the office of the president will erratically shift between B and C, and it is this condition that threatens reality as a whole.

Most people won’t actually be able to see that the Office of the President keeps changing, but they will be able to feel it. As mentioned, the observation of time is not the same thing as the comprehension of it. As The Cleaner, Zeferino was responsible for poring through the timeline from an outsider’s perspective. He would use this power to adjust reality so that inconsistencies like the double president paradox could be erased, like one would restore a painting. This is less of an analogy, and more of a description, for Zeferino Preston once worked in a special place called The Gallery.

“Hey, Zef, how’s it going?” Erlendr asks.

“I’m all right,” Zeferino says. “I’m just not sure if I want this teapot to be black or a sort of red with white and green stripes.”

“What?”

Zeferino sits back in his chair to give Erlendr a better view of the painting. “The teapot.” He waves his hand over the image of the teapot to switch between designs. “I’m also thinking about making it a little taller.”

“What are you talking about? Who the hell tried to change the design of some random teapot?”

“I am, that’s what I’m telling you.”

Erlendr is confused. “You’re making manual changes to the timeline?”

“Yeah, it’s a nice break from the tedium.”

“Zef, you can’t just do that.”

“Why not?”

“You take care of the timeline; protect it from the choosers. You’re not supposed to become one of them.”

“Again. Why not?”

“Because...because that’s not your job.”

“Erlendr, look around. This is The Gallery. We are surrounded by art, so why should I not create some masterpieces of my own.”

Erlendr pulls up a chair and takes a deep breath. “The Gallery is just a metaphor. The Constructor built it for us so that we could make sense of the timestream. You’re not actually painting, Zeferino. You just perceive a painting.” He places his hand on Zeferino’s heart. “Everything you’re doing comes from within.”

Zeferino stands up in defiance. “The Gallery was not built so that we could interpret the world. It appears in the form of a gallery because the world already is art. It already is beautiful.”

Erlendr stands back up as well. “It doesn’t matter. Correct paradoxes. That’s what you do. That’s all you do. Leave the changes up to Arcadia.”

“Arcadia,” Zeferino repeats in disgust. “She doesn’t create art. She doesn’t make changes. She just reverts it back. She wouldn’t know beauty if she looked in a mirror.”

“That may be,” Erlendr began, “but it doesn’t change the fact that you are not allowed to change the color of teapots. We are the keepers of time. It is our duty to manage the choosing ones. That is our only purpose.”

“I do not accept that.”

“You must. Or I will call in Fury, and you will possess no further choice on the matter. You are conscious because of him, but if you do not follow the rules, we will remove your free will.”

Zeferino had his own fury to unleash, but he bit his tongue.

“Good,” Erlendr says, picking up on Zeferino’s body language. He adds, while walking away, “destroy the teapot. They can drink coffee. I believe you have a windmill to restore.”

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