The Advancement of Mateo Matic: January 1, 2399

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Mateo, Leona, and Marie were asked to stay in quarantine for 24 hours following their return to the right time period in the Third Rail. It was the New Year, and they could hear the celebrations from inside the tent. The government erected it weeks ago, after Marie no longer had to pretend to not be working for them. So far, no other time travelers have appeared. At least none has been reported to Team Matic. No legally binding document was signed that would force them to divulge such information. Any concessions and transparency the government affords them is done in good faith, and can be stopped or modified at any time without warning. In return, Team Matic reserves the right to do the same. Even so, it’s best not to rock the boat, so the three travelers agreed to follow protocol. They were just released, and are now heading towards the SD6 black site, where Alyssa is suffering from an unknown medical issue.

“How long has she been like this?” Leona asks.

“Four days,” Ramses replies.

“She’s been shaking for four days straight?” Mateo asks.

“Well, it started off worse, but then relaxed into this.”

“You call this relaxed?” Marie questions.

“It’s more relaxed than it was,” Ramses says. “It was a full on seizure. Now it’s a lot of constant twitching. The doctors have her on their version of an EEG. She’s in a state of deep sleep, so they’re categorizing her movements as a form of somnambulism.”

Mateo looks to Leona. “Sleepwalking,” she translates. She looks over at Alyssa’s real body, in its own bed now, hooked up to its own machines. “Have you tried—?”

“Putting her back?” Ramses finishes for her. “Of course I have. My best guess is that the Livewire needs a conscious, or semi-conscious, subject. Slow-wave sleep is the furthest from that you can get from that. We don’t need someone’s permission to force them into the wire, but we need them to be at least vaguely aware that something is happening.”

“Assuming that you’re not all total morons,” Leona begins, “and you’ve exhausted every possible strategy to revive her, then perhaps our only option is to go in and get her out in a more direct approach.”

“My thoughts exactly,” Ramses agrees. “I just couldn’t do it all alone out here. Kivi is on a huge mission, and Arcadia really needs to focus on the baby.”

“Well, you know more about this time tech than I do,” Leona says, removing her jacket. “I need you to stay out here. I’ll be the one to go in.”

Ramses clearly wants to do it instead, probably because he feels responsible for her, and because the two of them surely grew close all this time that the rest of the team was MIA. He’s this close to arguing, but decides to concede and let her have it. “All right, I’ll keep an eye on you both.”

Mateo watches as they get situated. He’s tired of all this body switching. And this whole idea about faking Leona’s death so the world will stop hunting her? It’s so stupid, and it’s never gonna work. There are too many moving parts—too many variables. He can’t say anything, though, because they’re all much smarter than him, and he’s not one of the people in danger here. Ramses connects Leona to her own EEG-like machine. She’s sitting in a hospital chair between Alyssa’s vacant body, and Leona Reaver’s failing body. Maybe that’s the problem. An unknown individual or group placed Alt!Mateo and Leona Reaver in the extraction mirror loop. Theoretically, they can take it away. Maybe they chose a maximum number of times that it would happen, and that limit has been reached. Nerakali only had nine steps before she ultimately had to accept her fate. How many has Leona Reaver had? No, it’s too dangerous. Leona can help get Alyssa out of the doomed body, but then no one else is going into it. They’re not going to do it, even if it means that Mateo has to figure out how to destroy the Livewire himself.

Using insulating gloves, Ramses tucks one end of the Livewire between the two Leonas’ hands. He prepares the other end to be plugged into the wall. Leona Matic is also holding Alyssa’s hand, with the idea that Alyssa’s consciousness should pass from the Leona Reaver body, into the wire, then into Leona Matic, and finally into her own body. That sounds dumb too, it probably isn’t going to work either, but again, Mateo can’t say anything. This is Ramses’ plan. “Now, you may find yourselves connected psychically for a moment. I could see the problem being that Alyssa’s mind is trapped in her subconscious, or somewhere else. In that case, you’ll have to find her, and pull her to the surface. We still don’t know how this stuff works, so be ready to improvise.”

“Understood,” Leona says with a nod. “Do it.”

Ramses plugs it in and sends her off. Now it’s just a waiting game to see if it works, and how well.

A whole fifteen minutes later, Leona wakes up with a start. She lets go of everything and everyone, and jumps out of her seat. Like an unbroken wildhorse, she backs away from her friends, and instinctually keeps them at bay with outstretched arms. But she’s just confused. She doesn’t actually think that they’re going to hurt her. It looks like she’s starting to calm down and get her bearings when suddenly she jerks her head to the side, and disappears.

“What the hell was that?” Marie asks as she’s checking Leona Reaver for a pulse.

“I can sense her, and I still have a ton of temporal energy from my time in the past,” Mateo says. He teleports to her location.

“How did I get here?” Leona asks when he arrives.

“You teleported. Are you trying to get back down to the Constant?” They’re standing on the edge of Danica Lake.

“No, this is home.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I remember now. I remember everything. I’m not Leona, I’m Alyssa. This is my farm. I was scared, and I think I came here to feel safe.” She places a hand on her chest. “But my heart rate seems to be going back down now.”

“Where’s Leona? Is she in there with you?” Mateo asks, hopeful.

Alyssa shakes Leona’s head. “No, she’s still back there. She...she got stuck. She stayed behind to save me. Someone had to stay inside that brain.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s a trap. That body is a trap. You can’t just empty it out, and send it back to its fate in that old timeline. Someone has to be occupying it, and that someone is Leona Matic. Mateo, if she dies, she’s not coming back to that parking lot. The extraction loop is over. She’s going to die for real, and for good. It’s what they wanted all along.”

“It’s what who wanted all along?” Mateo questions.

She shakes her head again. “I don’t know, but they’re bad news. Leona is the only thing standing their way. At least that’s what she said. She didn’t have time to explain.”

Microstory 1836: Sleepkiller

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Sleep and I have always had a very volatile relationship. It’s constantly hiding from me, even though I try to be nice, and always treat it well. I’ve tried everything to connect with it, from not watching TV within a few hours of bedtime, to meditation, to of course pills. Nothing seemed to do me any good. The doctors I talked to said it was insomnia. No der, what do I do about it? Nothing I haven’t tried, just keep trying those things. But stay away from the pills, because they can really mess you up. So I did, and I kept failing. I was miserable, and insufferable. I was fired from my job, not just because they caught me sleeping a time or two, but because I was agitated and ill-mannered to my co-workers. I had had enough. Something had to be done, and I didn’t care any more what the consequences were. So I went back to the pills, but I’m not talking about melatonin, or a tiny little sedative. I went for the big stuff. I was going to fall unconscious every night, whether my body wanted to or not. And if that shaved time off my lifespan, then so be it. It wasn’t like I had much to live for anyway, especially if I couldn’t even function during the day. I knew it was going to be rough, particularly at the start, so I carefully prepared for it. I set three different alarms. My regular alarm clock was set to the highest volume. A friend of mine tinkered with it so it would play the noise and the radio at the same time. My smartwatch vibrated simultaneously, which I always found jarring and annoying. Five minutes later, the television in the living room was programmed to flip on, again at the highest volume. I knew this would piss off my neighbors, which would motivate me to actually get the hell out of bed to unplug it quickly before then. I thought it was a foolproof plan, but I was wrong.

A new personality sometimes took over at night. At first, I didn’t know what was going on. Things were moved around, the refrigerator was open, the floor mat was upside down. I realized that I was sleepwalking. I had heard of that being a side effect, but never thought it would happen to me. Okay, that was okay, I could deal with it. Place a lock on the bedroom door, and line the floor against the walls with pillows. I could still hurt myself, but at least I would land softly if I fell. It didn’t work, as you might imagine. I still found weird things the next morning. Nothing truly bad had happened, though. I didn’t have any stairs, and I never once got in my car, or left the house. I would wake up feeling a little weird and dizzy, but I was otherwise better rested than ever in my life. So I kept taking the drugs, careful not to overdose, and kept just cleaning up my place when I came home from work. I did go through a lot of knives, though. My sleepwalking self had a habit of throwing them away, and always on trash pick-up day, like he periodically felt that it was time to refresh the collection. Again, fortunately, I never hurt myself with them. Then it happened. After all this goofiness, I did something truly terrible, and I still can’t explain it. I did get in my car, and I did leave the house, and I drove onto the highway. Evidently, I came across a horrible car accident, a victim of which I managed to pull from the wreckage. For whatever reason, I scooped her up, drove her to an industrial park, and threw her off the roof of a two-story building. I read about it in the paper the next day, and used my GPS history to put the pieces together. She didn’t die, but she was seriously hurt, and it was all my fault. I can’t live with myself anymore. So I’m back on that roof, but by myself this time, and completely awake. Goodbye forever.

Microstory 1717: Carina

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Carina Silver awoke face up on a diving board. She had grown so used to sleepwalking that she no longer freaked out about it. Regularly, she returned to the world of the living in awkward, or even dangerous, positions. It was best to remain as still as possible until she could assess the situation. She saw a waterslide in the middle distance, but it was still difficult to tell how far up she was. She had to move to figure that out. She sat up slowly, and braced herself on the edges. Swinging her legs down to straddle the board, she now realized she was on the high dive, and also that the pool was empty. It wasn’t covered, or anything. Judging by the leaves and trash below her, it was abandoned long ago. Falling from this height could be fatal, and even if she survived impact, it could potentially be years before anyone else came round here. The two ladders still remaining appeared to be in bad shape, as was the board. The more she moved, the more she could hear it slide against the bolts that once held onto it tight. It was a wonder she hadn’t fallen to her head while she was still asleep. Obviously the more she approached the steps to safety, the more stable the surface would become, but getting far enough away from the far end was going to be hard. It might be impossible. She made one move towards the steps, and the entire thing came up like a seesaw, tipping her over towards an early death. Carina exhaled as it teetered, hoping the release of air made her light enough to keep from going over. She didn’t know if that had anything to do with it, but the board did end up tottering back, and returning to its rightful place. Moving was not an option. She had to keep it in balance, so if she was ever going to get off this thing, it was going to take a miracle, or maybe just some assistance.

Carina was a quiet person, both literally and socially. She spoke in low volumes, and said unprovocative things. She didn’t like to disturb people, and even now, when calling out for help could save her life, she struggled to speak beyond a whisper. She kept trying to raise her voice, so others would know she was in trouble, but she just couldn’t do it. Part of it was fear that her voice alone could tip her back towards the concrete below, but most of it was because of how unnatural and unfamiliar it felt. Before too long, she gave up, and lay back down on the board to watch the stars. She could not see them well when the tears welled in her eyes, and rolled down her temples. She fell back asleep, knowing that she could end up falling over because of it, but also calculating there to be a remote chance that her sleepwalking self would figure out the problem for her. When she awoke yet again, the stars were gone, and the sun was blinding her eyes. The sound of joyful cries and laughter overwhelmed her ears. A few drops of water made it all the way up to her, and danced upon her shoulders. She sat up and looked around. Yes, she was still above the pool, but it was no longer abandoned. It was full of patrons, mostly children, and also water. They were jumping off the two lower boards, and chasing each other around, and swimming laps in the lanes. Had she traveled through time, or filled the pool with her own tears, or had she simply imagined the state of the place last night, and it was actually all fine all along? They were having all sorts of fun, and appeared to be unperturbed by her presence. A child was standing at the top of the steps, waiting to take his turn on the high dive. Below them, Carina could see a line of others. They weren’t complaining, or yelling at her. They were just waiting patiently, and letting her take all the time she needed. Even so, she didn’t want to keep them waiting, so Carina smiled and waved at everyone. Then she rolled over, and dove into the water.

Microstory 875: Forensic Countermeasures

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The first thing I see when I get back home is yellow tape blocking my way in. I slip under it, and open my door, only to find a huge mess. At first I think someone broke into my house while I was gone, but I also see bloodstains on the floor, so it’s even worse than I thought. I was gone for a whole month, but I don’t have any pets or plants, so there was no need for anyone to be in here. I’ve been trying to sell the place, but I’m not using an agent, so I paused my listing while I was in Japan. Worried about disturbing a crime scene, I step right back out onto the porch, and call the police. After some waiting, they finally connect me with the detective assigned to a recent murder. She tells me to stay put, then drives up a half hour later to give me the details. No one was killed on the premises, it would seem, but the killer did dump the remains, and all the other evidence, inside my home for two separate murders. I have a hard time expressing my concern for the matter. I watch a lot of violence on TV, and while it’s not made me violent myself, it has desensitized me to death and destruction. I’m upset that this is going to make it harder to sell the place, but I don’t have the same look of horror on my face as I gather this detective is used to. Even without contacting me while I was on my trip, though, they ruled me put as a suspect, so she doesn’t push me too hard. She leaves, and I try to move on with my life. I hire cleaners, and put the house back up on the website.

Two weeks later, I’m still struggling with the sale, when it happens again. No bodies this time, but I wake up to find bloody rags, frightening sharp instruments that I can’t name, and jars of what I guess to be highly corrosive acid. I review the footage on my door cams, and see the perp. I actually know him, he lives two blocks over. But I also see myself, sleepwalking down the stairs. I pass right by the guy as he’s planting the evidence. He just stops and watches me, but gets back to work when he realizes I’m no threat to him. I can’t show this tape to the cops; they’ll never believe that I wasn’t awake. It’s something that happened to me more often when I was a child, but it hasn’t been a problem for a long time, and I can’t prove it. Like a fool, I just gather the evidence that night, and drive it back to his place, planting it in his kitchen, with plans to call in an anonymous tip from a payphone the next day. Out of caution, I sit guard on the stairs all night, in case he gets any bright ideas, I must have dozed off at some point, because I wake up to it all again, but this time he’s left the stuff next inside my backdoor. I try again that night, but he sneaks in yet again. That does it. I drive right over to the guy’s house, and bang on the door. After he answers, he looks around the neighborhood to make sure no one’s watching, then he ushers me inside. “Why do you keep doing that?” he asks me. “We agreed to keep all our stuff at your place since my old parole officer moved to town. You’ve already been cleared, dude...don’t ruin what we have. And why the hell are you trying to sell your house?”

Microstory 870: The Scoots

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Name a sleeping disorder, and I got it. Sleep apnea? Yeah. Insomnia? Sure. Kleine–Levin syndrome? Not sure what that is, but I bet I have it too. So it was no surprise when I woke up this morning, and headed straight for the fudge emporium, for no reason. I don’t even like fudge, so I wouldn’t have gone there if I were in right mind. I wasn’t sleep-walking, but I wasn’t fully awake either. It was more like someone was driving my body and all I could do was watch. When I got there, I was still tired as hell, so even though this mind intruder wanted to explore, I wasn’t capable of taking two more steps. Fortunately a fleet of those disabled-person scooters was sitting there by the entrance, beckoning to me. I sat down in one of them and started driving around. People looked at me and laughed, and I couldn’t figure out how they knew I didn’t really need this. Sure, some of them saw me walk in, but this place is giant, there was no way that everyone knew. I ignored them, and tried to get to the other side of this ordeal in one piece. I spent about an hour there, going through every single aisle at least twice; once one way, and once the other. Finally my mind driver let us head to the exit, no fudge in hand. When I got home, I tried to tell my roommate what had happened, but he just laughed too. “That wasn’t a fudge emporium, dumbass,” he said. “That was a sewage treatment facility, and you were on a forklift. They weren’t laughing at you, they were trying to get you to stop. I think the only reason you got out of there without being arrested was because you didn’t end up hurting anyone.” When I asked him how he knew all this, he gave me this weird look. “You’re not wearing clothes, dude. My uncle, Rob works there, and he livestreamed that shit. You need to get some help.”

Microstory 376: Calm

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Luxury

I know I said I wasn’t going to change the titles for any of these last couple dozen stories, but something happened to me last night (at the time of writing). I’ve always had a sleepwalking problem. I’ve gotten out of bed and tried to do things that don’t make any sense like turning the light on a poster, or looking for markers to write a greeting card I didn’t need. I’ve battled flying monsters and swiped imaginary spiders off my body. This particular episode was the worst it’s ever been, though. I was dreaming that I was sleeping in army barracks. An enemy snuck into my room and attacked. Your brain has this feature that basically paralyzes your body so that when you dream of running, your legs don’t actually move. Sleep paralysis is when your brain walks up without deactivating this feature. Sleepwalking is when the feature deactivates without waking you. This meant that I started fighting back against the attacker. I shoved my little nightstand and TV tray to the floor. On it were my glasses, remotes, jewelry, and this little glass toothpick holder my great grandmother left me, along with a few other things. During the fight, I tried to run out the exit to gather reinforcements. On my way, I knocked my television off the cart, into the wall, and down on my foot. One strange thing about my sleepwalking is that I can’t open doors. I guess it’s good that I’m not likely to end up in walking through traffic, but in this case, it made things worse because I couldn’t escape my enemy. I started slapping the walls, looking for the doorknob, and running into other things. Fortunately I recently moved my bookcase to the other room, because I probably would have thought it was a staircase. I finally woke up to cuts, bruises, and a shooting pain in my shoulder that’s still here. Sleepwalking has many causes, but in my case, it comes out of stress. I have a lot of responsibilities, and I’ve made a lot of mistakes that I’m trying to correct now. I’m feeling rather overwhelmed about it. A truly happy person is not completely free from stress, but they also know what calm is.

Life Extension

Microstory 6: True Story (so...NOT microfiction)

So, I have this sleeping disorder that causes me to sleepwalk, but it's really intense. I never think I'm in a different place, or anything. I always think that I've woken up. But the truth is that the dream I was just having bleeds into reality. I will spend a minute or two compelled to do whatever while gradually realizing what's going on. Last time, whatever I was dreaming about gave me the impression that there was something painful on my face. I don't know what it was, but it caused a burning sensation. I jumped out of bed, stumbled into the bathroom, and even turned on the light so that I could rub off the mysterious substance. Then I woke up and went back to bed.

Today, I drove a palette over from the warehouse to assembly. There is a gap between the truck and the dock, so we drop this dock plate to connect them. It's super heavy and cumbersome. Once I was done unloading, I lifted the dock plate by myself and ended up stepping right through that gap. I lost control of the plate and ended up smashing my face into it as I fell. But not just anywhere on my face. No. It was the exact same spot that I was trying to get the mysterious acid off of while I was sleepwalking the night before. Who says I can't tell the future?