The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 8, 2490

« < » > Table of Contents

Generated by Google ImageFX text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 3

Everything had changed about Castlebourne when the team came back to the timeline in 2490, and it was pretty much what Mateo had predicted years ago. Team Kadiar started going on their rescue missions about three weeks after Team Matic disappeared. They started out slowly and strategically. They spoke with the people of New Welrios to see if they would be interested in relocating yet again. While most of them didn’t want to leave as their new home had since been established, they weren’t combative, and understood what the crew of the Vellani Ambassador was trying to do. Some of them did ask to leave, particularly the older ones who were more used to not getting attached. A few asked to join the operation, and some of them were even taken up on their offers, following some training that Darko, Mirage, and others devised. The core five that made up the executive crew were still running the show, but the new people had their own responsibilities. If nothing else, being able to give their next prospects real evidence that rescue was possible was more valuable than nothing.

Things started out slow as they struggled to convince enough people that this was the right thing to do. One reason for this was that they didn’t know if there was anything to fix. People living in the Goldilocks were oppressed, but that didn’t mean they were unhappy. They were indoctrinated from birth to believe that this was as good as life could get. The Exin Empire didn’t even have to use force to gaslight them into thinking this way. It was how their parents lived, and how their parents’ parents lived, and so on. The whole of society, on each world, and across the worlds, was built around Bronach Oaksent’s vision. Showing them a better way was no easy feat. The pitch was by far the hardest part of each job. Loading them into the ship wasn’t easy either, nor was Tertius’ work controlling everyone’s memories, but they were simple and easy compared to the social aspect. The new pocket dimension that Ramses designed could fit almost 500 without untenable power drain, but they were only ever able to get about 300 to 400 people each time they tried to reach out to a new population. That still added up to around 130,000 people over the course of the last year, accounting for much-needed breaks, and other delays, but they wanted to do more. They wanted to save more.

The pitch speeches and videos were constantly being refined and reworked, however, and the data showed that these changes improved effectiveness. The most recent missions returned with higher capacity than the first ones. By the end of the 25th century, the total population of Castlebourne could number in the millions, even before visitors from the stellar neighborhood were brought in to enjoy the domes. Mateo was so very proud of his daughters, and wished that he could see them in action. Unfortunately, he was still a liability. His solid holograms were not yet powerful, nor reliable, nor understood well enough. And the new emergent suit that Ramses injected into his body added a new variable that Leona surely wouldn’t be pleased with...once they were ready to tell her about it.

As far as those domes went, Hrockas seemed pleased when he walked into the yearly briefing that he always had with Team Matic. “Is it safe to say that gamma testing is going well?” Leona asked.

“Not as well as I had hoped, but I can’t make them do it, even if I wanted to,” Hrockas replied.

“They’re not going to the recreational domes?” Leona pressed.

“They are, but a lot of domes remain untested. The South Pole is the most popular attraction. Apparently, the despot who runs the empire didn’t make oceans on very many of the worlds that he created. Honestly, I can’t blame him for that; it was not easy for me. Still, I would like them to try out some of the other domes, so I get some feedback on them too. I know what the problem is, though. They don’t really have any sense of pop culture, so the scenarios don’t mean much to them.” Hrockas dismissed his own remarks. “But that’s my problem; not yours, and certainly not theirs. I didn’t agree to host them for that. I just thought it would be a nice bonus. They’re all welcome to stay, even if they never leave the residences. I didn’t start this project a hundred years ago thinking that any of this would be easy.”

Before Hrockas could continue on—if that was what he was planning on doing—Aeolia placed a hand on his thigh. She leaned over, and whispered something in his ear. After he nodded, she stood up, and left the room. Before Aeolia’s past and future were erased from the timeline, she did office work for a number of employers. She was using the skills she picked up in those roles now as Hrockas’ personal assistant. Most of what he needed done could be automated, because this was the late 25th century, but he still liked to have another person there to bounce ideas off of. He couldn’t be in two places at once, so she also often served as his eyes and ears.

“What about the central archives?” Mateo suggested. “Have they been granted access to the vonearthan databases, particularly the grand repository of entertainment?”

“They absolutely have,” Lita answered. She was placed in charge of helping the refugees figure out how to live outside of the Exin Empire, which was all they had ever known up until this point. It was her husband, Mario who came up with her title, Director of Transition, acting as head of the Department for Cultural Transition Assistance. “I’m not—” She paused, looking for the right words. “I’m not discouraging them from browsing the repository, but I generally nudge them towards the aggregate records. They’ve never heard of Earth, and I want them to know where they ultimately come from, even if we don’t technically consider them vonearthans. I want them to see that oppressive governments are wrong, and that they all fall...eventually.”

“That’s understandable,” Leona said. “You know what they say about those who cannot remember the past. They’ve been deliberately shielded from theirs as a means of control. They need to see the truth, or they’ll never really be free.”

They moved onto other business, discussing the general state of the planet. The numbers had shifted since they were last here, as they always did. At this point, roughly 30% of the domes were completely unused. They were sealed up, but still nothing but desert. About 45% of the domes were themed to some degree, but still working through alpha testing, which robots performed due to the potential danger. Around 15% were in the beta testing phase. Some of the more enthusiastic refugees signed all the necessary paperwork, and were helping by exploring these recreational and leisure spots. The remaining 10% of domes were currently being gamma tested by the rest of the refugees, some of which were probably ready for delta testing by the early adopters during and after the grand opening.

Aeolia came back in, and whispered something to Hrockas while Samsonite was pitching his idea of a formal educational institution. “Sorry, Mr. Bellamy, I’m gonna have to pause you for a moment. I’m afraid that Team Matic will have to leave us.” He looked up at Aeolia. “You can handle it, right?”

Aeolia nodded.

“All right, go on,” he requested of Samsonite as most of the members of the meeting were exiting.

“What’s goin’ on?” Leona asked.

“An unauthorized visitor appeared in one of the pods,” Aeolia began to explain. “We don’t know how she broke through our firewalls, but she’s asking to speak to you. Specifically, the...uh...”

“The smart ones?” Mateo suggested.

“Great,” Angela said. “I need to get back in there. This presentation is important.” Without waiting for someone to give her permission, or argue, she stepped back into the conference room, followed by her sister and Olimpia.

Mateo shrugged when Aeolia looked at him. “I’m curious. I’m sure I’ll follow the conversation well enough.”

Leona took Aeolia’s hand, and they all teleported to the only operational acclimation room of The Terminal. Hogarth Pudeyonavic was sitting in an armchair. Leona walked over to her. “Madam Pudeyonavic, it’s nice to see you again.” They shook hands after Hogarth stood up.

“You got my message?” Ramses asked.

“I did, but I was not planning on answering. I’m only here now to get some distance from my own problems before I tackle them.”

“What problems are these?” Leona asked with concern.

“Not yours,” Hogarth answered with kindness in her voice, not dismissiveness.

Leona nodded respectfully, then looked back at her engineer. “You asked her about our interference with the slingdrive?”

“I did,” he confirmed. “I can’t crack it. I know The Vellani Ambassador is not our ship anymore. Another team has been using it for longer than we ever did. But I still think it’s something that we should understand. It’s a unique form of space travel, and I want to remain the foremost expert on it, if possible.”

“Take me to it,” Hogarth asked.

They teleported again, right into the engineering section.

“Welcome,” Mirage’s voice said through the intercom.

Hogarth took a brief look around, narrowing in one component in particular. She reached for the coherence gauge, and unscrewed it. After looking into the data port, she said, “give me an hour. But I’ll need a couple of guinea pigs.”

“That’s my job,” Mateo volunteered proudly.

“It would help if you could procure a human too,” Hogarth clarified.

“Jericho?” Ramses suggested.

“His body doesn’t metabolize temporal energy, but he was once exposed to dark particles. Does that matter?” Leona asked.

“Shouldn’t,” Hogarth replied. “Those don’t travel through the qualium realm. Bring him to me.”

“What’s the qualium realm?” Ramses questioned.

“I’ll explain in an hour.” Hogarth was frustrated with having to repeat herself all of one time.

An hour on the dot after Jericho was brought here reluctantly, Hogarth was ready to give her answer. She had extracted a little bit of blood from them, but otherwise left the guinea pigs to just stand around and wait. She spent most of the time taking the slingdrive apart, and putting it back together, as if the task alone was enough to provide her with answers. She didn’t even really seem to examine the parts, or anything. She only needed to go through the motions. They were sitting around the table in Delegation Hall now. Hogarth was twirling some kind of plastic tube between her fingers.

“Is that the issue?” Ramses asked.

“Oh, this? Nah, this is just an erroneous part. I cut it out, because it was slowing down the quintessence transmission function, and making the drive less efficient. It didn’t have to be this long.”

“That was there to prevent bottlenecking,” Ramses tried to explain.

“You already have two redundant regulators in each intake valve. Trust me, you don’t need this.” She carelessly dropped it on the table.

“Is that valuable?” Mateo asked.

“It’s only tubing,” Ramses assured him. “The containment comes from the specialized pocket dimension, which can be housed in just about anything. But it must be housed in something,” he reiterated to Hogarth, “not nothing.”

Hogarth brushed off his claims. “I’m here to tell you that you were right.”

“About us being the problem?” Leona figured.

“There’s a workaround, but it comes with a limitation,” Hogarth went on. “Earlier, you asked about the qualium realm. I’m honestly astonished you’ve never heard of it, because based on the specifications of this ship, and the upgraded substrates you built for yourself and your friends, you’ve been working with it for years.”

“I know what qualia are,” Ramses said, “and I’ve heard of the quantum realm, but I’ve never combined them.”

“You have. You just didn’t know it.” Hogarth threw a hologram into the space over the table. It was a silhouette of a human being. There appeared to be some kind of aura pulsating from it. Animations utilizing this diagram changed by her narration. “Humans are composed of three major components: mind, body, and soul. The body is the physical material that interacts with reality in four dimensions. We’re all looking at each other’s right now. Information is interpreted through the brain, which is of course, also a physical entity, but that’s not where data is processed. That happens in the quantum realm. This was part of a number of related, but competing, hypotheses, regarding the nature of consciousness. It was only after we figured it out that we were able to manipulate the properties of the quantum mind, and allow for technologies such as mind uploading, and memory retrieval. What present-day researchers still don’t understand is that there is a third aspect. The soul, if you will, exists within the qualium realm. It is how we process personal thoughts, emotions. It’s where we come up with original ideas, and our worldviews. More to the point, it’s also how time travelers metabolize temporal energy.

“We are connected to the universe in a way that normal people, like my new friend, Jericho here, aren’t. This is how different flavors of time travelers come about. The nature of an individual’s qualium realm—their connection to the cosmos—dictates what they can do, and what they can’t. You, Ramses, were not born with a qualium realm sufficient for time travel. You replicated it using someone else’s connection. None of you could teleport until you figured out how to adjust your qualia accordingly. I could go on and on about the study of qualium realms, and how to change your perceptions of time by accessing this special dimension, but that’s not what this meeting is about. The issue is that your connection to the qualium realm is indeed interacting with your slingdrive, which necessarily also has access to this realm in order to function. There are two options here; you can manipulate your own connection, and alter how this interdimensional interaction occurs, or you can modify the machine to block it.”

“What’s the downside to the second one?” Leona asked her.

“No more time travel,” Hogarth answered. “The machine is shockingly versatile, but it has its quirks. As it stands, it accesses all four dimensions, and it is the fourth dimension that is getting screwy. You’re interfering with it because of your inherent connection to time, which is nonlinear. You can’t program it to travel through the fourth dimension, but somehow ignore you, because people like us are an extension of time, not simply living in it. You would still be able to go anywhere you want in the universe, but you would have to stay in the present.”

“We don’t really want to travel through time,” Leona determined. “But it’s not our ship anymore. How hard would it be to adjust our qualia, for those situations where we may need to use the ship?”

“Very hard,” Hogarth replied, “and unpredictable. There would be a lot of trial and error, and you would probably end up as regular humans. I don’t know if that’s what you want, or...”

“You mean we could control our own pattern?” Olimpia asked. “We would stop jumping forwards every day?

“I guess,” Hogarth said. “I would have to study you more, and invasively, but technically anything is impossible. With enough time and energy, I could turn anyone into a traveler, or take it away.”

“Thank you, Madam P,” Leona said, standing up. “We will need to discuss our options amongst ourselves. Can you stay a year?”

“I’ll tell you what,” Hogarth said, also standing up, “At the very least, I’ll be back in a year.”

She ended up staying the year.

« < » > Table of Contents

Microstory 2222: Magical Light of Some Higher Being

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Gemini Advanced text-to-image AI software, powered by Imagen 2, and by Pixlr AI image editor

Yes, it’s true, I’m back. Hello, my name is Nick Fisherman IV, and I am not from this world. I came here against my will, but I have since given up on any attempt to escape. I’ve suffered from infections, infections, and more infections. I’ve been homeless, on the run, in jail, set free, and hired for a huge job. I’ve gained everything I ever wanted out of my career only to watch it slip from my hands as my tremors got worse by the day. I’m not even typing this out myself. My lifecare assistant, Kelly has to do it for me. Some might not believe it, because she could theoretically write whatever she wants, and I wouldn’t be able to stop her, but I assure you that this is really and truly me. She’s been instructed to transcribe everything that I say, word for word, whether it makes sense to her or not. One day, this disease might start taking over my higher cognitive functions, but for now, my symptoms are all irrelevant. Well, they’re not irrelevant, of course, but they don’t prevent me from thinking, and my thoughts are all that I have ever been. So as long as I still think like me, I’m me, and as long as there is a chance that some part of me is still in there—even everything else is dead—then I still consider myself to be alive. I’m full code, so keep my heart beating until the money runs out. I’ve always felt this way, even before I had heard of DNRs, and all that stuff. My life is defined by a resting state of suffering and discomfort, with a little bit of happiness sprinkled in occasionally. So don’t worry about how I’ll feel about it when I’m hooked up and reliant upon life support machines, and hanging by a thread. I still want to stay in this world, even though it’s the wrong one. I’ve never believed in the afterlife, because honestly, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of. Death is about the most ridiculous method you could use to be transported from one plane of existence to another, and anyone who believes in life after death is only fooling themselves. When we die, our bodies decompose, our consciousnesses lose coherence, and our souls recede. We don’t “go” somewhere else to start over, or even more absurdly, to live for eternity in the magical light of some higher being. You only think that that’s possible because someone with a grand imagination dreamt it up, not because we have any evidence that anything like that exists anywhere. The arrogance you must have to not be able to tell the difference between reality and your headcanon. I better end it here. Kelly is scolding me for not being nice. I’m told that people are entitled to their beliefs, as if stupid beliefs only affect the people who are clinging onto them, and haven’t caused all kinds of violence and pain in the world. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell you about what I’ve been up to, instead of depressing you with my unglamorous philosophical position.

Microstory 2070: Godlings All The Way Down

< > Table of Contents

Generated by Google Workspace Labs text-to-image Duet AI software

I’m sorry about bummin’ you all out yesterday. I’ve just been thinking a lot about my past, and my life. Why don’t I tell you a little bit about it? ‘Kay? You can read it or not. Like Superman, I grew up in Kansas. And like Superman, I had superpowers. But unlike Superman, these powers weren’t useful for flying around, rescuing people. They gave me glimpses into other worlds, which allowed me to write their stories down, and pass them off as fiction. I eventually realized that some of these stories were taking place in a universe that was located inside of my very soul. You see, that’s what all inhabited universes are; the complex development of a person’s soul, who you might call a god. We are all gods with godlings, and all godlings are gods. It’s godlings all the way down. No one knows where it ends, and no one knows where it begins. Some may want to answer such profound philosophical questions, but I am not one of them, because it would not change the way I live my life, which has always been a little less than the best I can. I’m not what you would call responsible or productive. I’ve not written any stories for a long time, because that’s not me anymore. I no longer have access to those worlds. If I did, I would be able to find Cricket and Claire. My alternate self could. He probably knows exactly where they are, and I bet he’s telling their continued story without me. He used to be able to send me messages, which we called updates, but your boring planet locks all those out. My own story is still getting out to him, but I’m lost. Alone. With all of you.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 26, 2398

« < » > Table of Contents

Palmeria is the smallest country in the world, and is known as a micronation, though a few major countries do not recognize it as a sovereign state. Located on the border of the Minnesota, United States and Canada, and comprising two lacustrine islands, Palmeria is the home to an unknown very few people. To qualify as an independent nation, a population must interact with others in some significant way, and fulfill several other reasonable requirements. As an isolationist political region, the whole point is to not interact with anyone, but the founder—whoever they were or are—found a loophole, and of course, it has to do with religious freedom. Most of the time, declaring yourself independent of your host nation would be more difficult, because they might pose a threat to peace in the world, but Palmeria is so small and insignificant that most governments accept it because they don’t really give a crap. It’s not like the U.S. and Canada were clamoring to hold onto all of maybe fifty acres of land. The Palmerians stick to their islands, and don’t bother anyone.

There is a small economy. For one day and one night, a minimal party of guests are allowed to stay at a resort on the small island, which is only about fifty meters wide. It reportedly costs a buttload of money, and there are no extensions or repeat visits; no exceptions. The waitlist is several years long, and while no details have emerged regarding what a night stay actually entails, it enjoys a five star rating from one hundred percent of vacationers. Mateo, Marie, and Angela have arrived uninvited and unannounced via teleportation. They simply do not have time to do this the ethical way. Hopefully the Palmerians won’t be too angry about it to help. Who could be upset in a place like this? They find clear, unpolluted waters; crisp, clean air; beautiful greenery all around. Many would call this paradise. The only people who wouldn’t like it surely don’t like nature of any kind. It is so calm here, they hope not to ruin it with conflict.

They decided not to land directly on the island, because they don’t know what kind of security measures might have been put in place. Once Mateo finishes blowing up the raft, he and Angela paddle the half kilometer leg to their destination. At first they think they see a man standing on the bank, but the figure isn’t moving, so they decide that it’s an optical illusion. As they draw even closer, it becomes pretty surreal. It must be a person, right? No, it’s still not moving. Maybe a statue? It looks so real. It’s real. As soon as the raft touches land, he relaxes his Queen’s Guard stance to help pull it ashore.

“Thank you. We’re sorry to intrude,” Marie says to him diplomatically.

“Bring the boat up under here before today’s real guests see it,” the man says, helping carry it to a pile of brush and other debris.

“We were hoping to speak with the one in charge,” Marie continues.

“Follow me before today’s real guests see you,” he paraphrases himself.

As they’re following the stranger into the woods, Angela leans over to whisper, “this is a good sign. He might have access to a seer who foresaw our coming.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Marie agrees halfheartedly.

They don’t have to go far before they reach what the greeter calls the main house. He motions for them to approach the door, but doesn’t come with them. He must need to get back to greet today’s real guests. Mateo knocks.

Another man opens. “Ah, there you are.”

“You knew we were coming didn’t you?”

“Of course I did,” he says with a chuckle. “I have cameras all over the island.”

“No,” Marie says, “you knew we were coming today, even though you’ve never even met us.”

“No, I had no idea. You’re supposed to make a reservation online.”

“Why did you let us in then?” Mateo asks.

“I have cameras all over the island,” he repeats, “and a few off of it. I saw you three appear out of nowhere. I’m curious, what universe are you from?”

That makes it sound like he’s directly connected to Chase Palmer. “We’re from this one,” Angela explains. “We’re just from a different reality, where things like teleportation are slightly more common.”

He nods. “I see. “Well, what did you want to speak with me about?”

“Do you know a man by the name of Chase Palmer?” Mateo asks. “He was from another universe.”

The man in charge tilts his head back, surprised by the question. “Did you come here after hearing the name of the island? Did you think you would find him here?”

“We thought maybe we would find one of his descendents, or acolytes maybe?”

“I’m the former. I’m his son, Keaton.” He outstretches his arm. “Keaton Palmer.” After they take turns shaking his hands, he opens his arms wide. I grew up on Earth, where such is the custom. On my mother’s side of the family, however, it’s tradition to hug upon meeting friends, both new and old.

They hug him too.

“Your mother is not from Earth as well?”

Keaton smiles proudly. “No, I’m a successful hybrid. We’re quite rare.”

“I should say so,” Marie determines, “half human, half something else.”

“I’m fully human,” Keaton contradicts. “My mom was just born on a different planet. Technically a different universe too, but it’s a biverse, so we’re very close.”

“How did you end up here?” Mateo asks.

“That is a long story that’s not as interesting as you’re probably imagining. Essentially, I’m on vacation. I wanted to go somewhere without all the fuss and bother. I was just going to retire on my own Earth, but I kind of got detoured.”

“Does that mean you have a way to return?” Marie asks, hopeful.

“In about four or five months, yes,” Keaton answers. “Until then, I can’t so much as contact anyone beyond the membrane. Do you want a ride?”

“Four months is the shortest estimate we’ve heard so far, so...if you’ll have us...”

“Sure, there’s more than enough room for you.”

“Actually, we have many others back home,” Angela warns.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Keaton says, unfazed.

“We appreciate it.”

Mateo nods, glad for the progress. He hands Keaton his notebook of names. “Whenever I meet someone new, I like to find out if we have any mutual acquaintances. Would you mind?”

“No problem.” Keaton takes the notebook, and begins flipping through the list. He’s taken aback. “My mother’s name is in here. How do you know Amber Fossward?”

“Uh, she literally saved my soul once,” Mateo answers.

He considers the news fondly. “That sure sounds like her. Now I definitely feel obligated to help you.”

Microstory 1843: Granddaughter

< > Table of Contents

I don’t want to talk about my life, nor my death. I would rather gush about my granddaughter. That is a grandmother’s job. Thack Natalie Collins was born in 1988 in Tāmaki Makaurau, as was her mother, as was I, and as was my mother. We didn’t know about the voldisil back then, but we all felt it that day in the maternity ward. The whole hospital, in fact, felt something change. When she came into this world, she brought with her a light that no one had ever seen before. Most kept to themselves about it, but people reported gaining new perspective on the universe, and their place in it. They could sense how we were all connected, and how everything mattered. There was no purpose to our reality, but there was an order, and it all fit together. As she grew older, she proved herself to be quite the storyteller. Before she could write, she was telling us about a young man fighting for peace on a chain of islands, and a pair of dolphins who tried to help humans survive a pandemic. We were so enamored with her, we didn’t understand where she was coming up with these stories. If pressed, she could answer nearly any question we threw at her. Where was this character born, and what was their middle name? What was their favorite school subject? She responded immediately, not like she knew we would ask it, but like she already knew everything about this person, so it didn’t matter what we asked. Occasionally, a follow up question would give her pause, but she didn’t look like she was trying to come up with an answer. You know what I mean, that look that people have when they’re contemplating something. No, her eyes looked more like she had to find the information from a book laid before her, except there was no book. She was getting the answers from somewhere, though, and we realized later how literal this was. All of her stories were actually true.

She witnesses events across time, space, and dimensional barriers. She can see the entire multiverse. I don’t claim to know how her ability works, or how she came to possess it. The way she tells it, she has three parents. My daughter and her husband share her with a third entity, who keeps themselves hidden from the rest of us. Thack’s father felt violated by this, but sex seems to have nothing to do with it. Evidently, a human being is normally given their soul by their god, but for some reason, voldisil receive theirs from someone living on a lower plane of existence; one that is closer to ours. Thack doesn’t know much more than that, but she knows just about everything else. Except about our universe. That appears to be rather hazy for her, which is probably for the best. Knowing what’s going to happen in the future for people around you would be an incredible burden that I can’t fathom. It’s much safer to stay distant from them, and just let them do their thing. Thack doesn’t live like that, however. She injects herself into the stories, guiding the right people to the right decisions to make the cosmic puzzle look the best that it can. She doesn’t interfere too much, bolstering herself up to be a god herself, or anything. She just communicates with those who need her the most, and she knows who these particular people are, because they stand out, and their paths aren’t completely clear to her. When I was young, our teacher asked us to write a paper about a person who we admire the most. Most chose historical figures; scientists and leaders. I think I did mine on a protester who died in prison. If I could start that all over again, I would choose my granddaughter, because she’s that amazing.

Microstory 1801: Jellyfish Cycle

< > Table of Contents

I have been around for centuries, but I’ve not been young the entire time, or even most of the time. A few species of jellyfish are capable of something similar, through by different means. They use their genetics to be immortal. I use my soul. Before they can die, they will revert to an earlier stage of development, and begin anew. These creatures have evolved to do this, but the same can’t be said for me, because humans are not like that. The majority of us aren’t, anyway. I belong to a subspecies of humans called voldisil. We did not technically evolve out of the other either, though. You see, there are three genders. Normal people are only conceived by two, but a third can get involved, often without their knowledge. They’ll inject something else into the process. It’s a spiritual experience, which those like me would consider a gift. Back in the early second century, I was created, and unfortunately, I never had the pleasure of meeting my third parent. My mother and father died shortly after I came into the world, when you think about it, because it was only a few decades. I felt like I was able to spend a lot of time with my family back then, but I now realize how precious those moments were, and how I should not have taken them for granted. When I was 36, I contracted malaria, and I assumed that was it for me. There was no cure, no vaccine. It was pretty much a death sentence in my region in that time period. One night, I felt myself drifting away, and had to make peace with the end. I was surprised to find myself waking up the next morning as a toddler. All of my memories were intact, and I was cured. I couldn’t explain it. A new couple adopted me, thinking I was the child of a victim, and not even considering the possibility that I was the patient. They just thought of me as their little miracle.

I continued to go through this cycle lifetime after lifetime. Though, I probably shouldn’t call them lifetimes. I would be older when the transition happened every time, but I was also coming back older. The second time it happened, for instance, I looked more like an eight-year-old. By the fifth cycle, I no longer had to worry about someone trying to take care of me. I appeared to be old enough to handle myself. Each time, I would have to pack up, and move to a new land, so no one would become suspicious. I felt like I was in my early forties the last time I cycled, but that was only sixteen years ago. I’ve not known what it was like to die of age-related causes in a very long time. If I keep this up, I’ll probably only have days to live at a time, and I don’t want that. My soul’s ability to rejuvenate my body was never destined to last forever, and I always knew this about myself. What I needed to do was find some way to make my legacy last. I, of all people, understood what it looked like when someone just faded away. That’s what happens to most, in the end. Barring great fame, perhaps someone’s great great grandchildren will recall stories of their ancestors, but they won’t likely pass these on to their own descendants. I didn’t have any myself, because I didn’t know what their lives would have been like. It wasn’t worth the risk. As I lie here on my bed, prepared to go through this once more, and come back as another middle aged woman, I see now. I see that my third parent must have been in my same position all those years ago. This must be how it works; we pass the torch. I may simply be the latest in a line going back to the dawn of man. My final thoughts are of a newborn baby crying with the others two floors down, who receives my spirit ability, and has no choice but to accept the burden.

Microstory 1761: Pavo Matic

< > Table of Contents

Sanela Kolar and Marko Matic met in The Kingdom of Yugoslavia in the 1930s. Their relationship blossomed after their families immigrated to the United States together, and they were married in 1948. They had their first son immediately, and decided to name him Pavo. He was a good boy, who followed the rules, and cared deeply about the people around him. Perhaps he cared too much. He didn’t like seeing anyone hurt, and he especially hated the concept of death. He always knew about his father’s temporal condition, which caused him to sense the moment of people’s deaths upon looking into their eyes. He was glad to have not inherited the same characteristic. When his younger siblings were still young, Pavo was approached by a man who appeared to be standing on a different continent entirely. He would turn out to be The Delegator, whose responsibilities included delegated assignments to those entrusted with maintaining, or perfecting, the timeline. The Delegator was actually in Stonehenge, in the past, and could transport himself to any time period, anywhere in the universe. He told Pavo that he was born with his own power, and was, in fact, unique. He had the ability to reincarnate people at will. It would be his job to bring people back to life that the Delgator’s bosses, the aptly named powers that be decided were worthy of the gift. Pavo didn’t like that someone else would be making these decisions, but he learned that it was a lot more complicated than that once he began his new job. He was free to facilitate the reincarnation process for anyone he wished, to any mother he chose, but he was expected to drop everything, and go work for the PTB whenever they summoned him. They were pretty good about making sure he wasn’t in the middle of a freelance job.

As far as the jobs went, they weren’t as simple as snapping his fingers, and conceiving an immaculate child. It was a long process that required both lead in, and follow through. In order to bring someone back to life, Pavo had to first learn about who they were before they died. Once he had all of this information, he had to spend all nine months with the new mother, visiting and caring for her during the entire pregnancy. Transferring someone’s consciousness to a new body was simple enough. People in the future did it all the time. Making sure that their soul followed them there was an entirely different story. In that future, it just sort of happened, because clone bodies, and other artificial substrates, contained the barebones ingredients for life, but weren’t actually alive. To reincarnate someone into a new body, with new parents, was a lot more complex, and something researchers never thought to do. Verily, they would not be able to if they tried; not like Pavo could. He coaxed the soul from the aether, and transplanted it into the womb of its new mother, precisely as the egg was being fertilized. It couldn’t just be any ol’ egg, or any sperm. They had to be genetically similar to the original subject, meaning that Pavo would have to search for parents first. This was not an impossible task, and it didn’t require any technological intervention, but it was time consuming, and entailed a shocking amount of meditation. His was a powerful ability, and a rare one, but difficult and tiring, so he could only do it so many times, for so many people. He would never be capable of sustaining an entire population of immortals in this manner. He had to find the right candidates, who deserved to return, due to a set of criteria that he could not come up with himself. For that, he needed help.

Microstory 1639: Smart Plants

< > Table of Contents

Aliens are rare. They exist for a few different reasons, the main one being that they were genetically engineered from humans, or evolved from a branch of genetically engineered humans. Or they were humans raised on something called a source variant, which basically means that something in the way they were developed—with every intention of keeping them human—altered them enough to make them a different species. Radiation is often a factor. There’s one other method of creating a non-human intelligent species, and it goes back to a multiversal maxim which states that God is human, and therefore God’s godlings are also human. This is vague, and doesn’t explain anything, so I’ll break it down. My people and I come from a god, who houses us in a special subdimension in his soul. But that god also has his own god, and he’s housed in her soul, and so is everyone else in my god’s universe. So too do they have their own godlings, running around, being human. Nothing can evolve that isn’t technically human, because they are all ultimately sourced from one theoretical universe that stands above all others. The people in this universe have no god, so they are not godlings; only gods. And from them, we all come into being. That doesn’t mean there aren’t other lifeforms; just not ones that are sufficiently evolved. These other lifeforms are often known as pets, and if one forms a strong enough bond with its human, it actually has an impact on the genetic evolution of the godlings that belong to that person. That’s what sometimes results in an alien species that is not very human. Something different has been introduced into the system. On at least one occasion, a God actually bonded with a plant, and ended up creating plant-based godlings in their subdimensional soul. So they’re aliens, and they’re not fully human, but they have to be a little human, because we’re the only species with complex souls, as opposed to the simplex souls that animals have, as well as apparently, this plant. The plant in the higher universe will not create godlings on its own.

This doesn’t mean that the hyperintelligent plant species will suddenly spring into existence either. Evolution still takes place, no matter what. It usually follows an inevitable path that will eventually lead to a version of humans, but even with this exception, it still has to follow evolutionary logic, or it won’t happen. Evolution takes place over the course of billions of years, and that remains true for Sapioplantaverse, so I’ll just go over the highlights. There was a species of plant that lived on a planet in the Milky Way galaxy. This plant struggled to perform photosynthesis, and get enough energy to survive. Trees towered above them, and blocked much of the sunlight, but it wasn’t just the lack of light itself. It takes a lot of energy to create the components necessary for photosynthesis in the first place. It’s a cycle, where the sunlight powers the plant, which allows it to build itself up, and gather more sunlight...to power the plant. This cycle was strenuous, and taxing, so this plant evolved to lower the cost of energy. It did this by eating nearby plants, and stealing their photosynthetic pigments. The individual plants who were better at leaning towards these prey plants were better at surviving, for they were able to steal more pigment. The leaners slowly got even better at this when they figured out how to uproot themselves, inch closer to their prey, and reroot themselves at this new location. Their descendants became better and better at this, until they were pretty much walking. Then eventually, they were walking. The rerooting process became so quick that they essentially had legs, and from there, the evolution was obvious. The mobile plants were able to move to areas of stronger sunlight, and better nutrients, making them larger, and stronger. The better the individual’s external sensors were, the better it was at detecting where it was going, and overcoming obstacles, so that genetic trait was passed down to its descendants. This led to them evolving eyes, noses, and appendages. They developed knees to move faster, tongues to gather nutrients more efficiently, and brains to navigate easier. After a whole lot of time, they attained human level intelligence, which made them just as skillful, and fully capable of conquering their world.

Microstory 1604: White Savior

< > Table of Contents

This next one is a very sensitive topic, the answers to which I do not claim to know. I hesitated to tell this story, but have determined it’s better to let the truth be out there, than to pretend that it didn’t happen. Like I’ve explained, I am a voldisisil, which makes me a spirit type of human subspecies. I was born this way, due to the existence of a third parent that participated in my conception unbeknownst to my biological parents. But there are other spirits, in other universes, with different reasons for being. Some would be considered good, while others are pretty clearly bad, but most end up in a gray area. Unlike mutants and witches, spirits sometimes don’t take sides. They let their soul guide them, and don’t necessarily try to rationalize against their impulses. This doesn’t mean that they’re evil, but they don’t always think things through, and they actively repulse any attempt at criticism. There’s one man in particular that I believe we should discuss. His given name was Wyatt Bradley, but once he discovered what he could do, he started going by the moniker White Savior. Different versions of Earth have different historical experiences with race and nationality. Some are undeniably worse than others. Wyatt Bradley was born to one of these. Racism was prevalent, insidious, institutional, systemic, and seemingly insurmountable. He saw it all over the place. Everyone saw it, and anyone who didn’t see it was lying. Do not think that Wyatt discovered his abilities, immediately threw on a white suit, and started running around. He wrestled with the idea, and ultimately succumbed to his urges, which is what I was talking about. He surrendered to his soul, and did not heed the lessons that the wise people around him taught him as he was growing up. There is a reason that humans are a trinity of mind, body, and soul. All three are required to make a person. A mind alone is a computer, a body alone is a pile of viscera, and a soul alone is a ghost. None of them is meant to be without the other two.

Wyatt wanted to do something about the racism in his country, and perhaps the world, and it felt to him like his soul powers were the best way for him to accomplish his goals. He was an aidsman, meaning that he was called to action against injustice, but in a literal sense. He possessed a general psychic connection to the human collective, and could let himself be drawn to pockets of extreme civil unrest. On the surface, he simply appeared to be a teleporter, but he couldn’t just go wherever he wanted. He could only go to these places of turmoil, or back home. Like I was saying, he put on a white suit, and wore a steel mask. Basically, he wore a fencing uniform. But he was not a fencer. The weapons he carried were all blunt instruments, and tasers. He used these to attack people who were attacking minorities, and this regularly meant attacking the police. Wyatt’s public identity was extremely controversial, but he paid no attention to his critics, even members of the black community who saw it as wildly offensive, and altogether unhelpful. He didn’t think that he could conquer racism with his methods, but he believed he could deter some of the more violent components. “If the white cop is worried about getting a dose of his own medicine, he’ll stop giving it to his victims. If he does it anyway, he answers to me,” White Savior was once recorded saying in a rare case of him saying anything to anyone. He was predominantly quiet, though not mute, instead allowing his baton to do the talking for him. They eventually got the message. Whether or not any given individual respected this message was another story, but Wyatt’s actions were not without a little progress. Instances of police brutality against minorities dropped within months of White Savior’s arrival. It would seem that law enforcement was taking notice, and changing tactics. Unfortunately, this meant that they learned to be more subtle with their racism, because he was only drawn to the violence, not general mistreatment or abuse, and definitely not systemic oppression. After a few years, his activity took a toll on his body, and his sanity. I’m not sure if he ever admitted to himself that he wasn’t really helping, but he retired just the same, and withdrew from society completely. Within the year, everything was back to normal.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, August 10, 2156

« < » > Table of Contents

Obviously the Mateo standing here was not the one who reached out to Olimpia, and told her to join this team. It could have been a future version of him, or an alternate version, or just someone masquerading as him. Either way, she seemed like good people, so they decided to keep her around, and assume that everything was totally cool. They put her through a little orientation, explaining what The Parallel was all about, how it was created, and why the team existed. She accepted all information without judgment, and no questions. She assumed everything they told her was everything they needed to tell her. They would expect this kind of relaxed behavior from someone who knew and trusted them, but a stranger should have been more cautious. Presumably, until now not being able to communicate with anyone without giving away her temporal condition just made her feel lucky to be around people who understood her. They ate, they went to bed, and they woke up three years later.

Mateo, said Amber while they were in the middle of breakfast.

“Back so soon?” Mateo asked out loud.

“I’m sorry?” Leona questioned.

“I’m on the phone,” he said, a little rudely. He didn’t need to talk to carry on a psychic conversation, but a side effect of being carefree was that Mateo was sometimes careless. “How long has it been for you, Amber?”

I’m here to serve as a psychic booster, Amber said, bypassing his question. Someone wants to talk to you, and while she’s capable of communicating across the bulkverse, I can help maintain the signal, since you and I are already bonded. She wants the whole group to hear what she has to say, so please make physical contact with your people. You can release once she’s made contact.

Mateo nodded, and held his hands out.

“You know we can’t hear whatever she’s saying to you, right?” Angela reminded him.

“Take my hands,” and unfazed Mateo clarified.

An image appeared before them, maybe a hologram, of a young woman. “My name is Thack Natalie Collins, and I live in a brane called Voldisilaverse. To give you a little background, there are three types of people with abilities. These are mutants, witches, and spirits. Mutants are the kinds you generally see on TV. Their bodies are genetically dissimilar to regular people, and this gives them some way of manipulating energies, matter, and other forces. People like you are witches in that you tap into the physical properties of the universe. It has less to do with your bodies, and is more about your minds, though there is a definite substrate component that sometimes prevents you from maintaining your abilities upon consciousness transference. I am a spirit. I possess a less defined connection to the world around me, and its peoples. My power comes from my soul. There is some chance for overlap. For instance—due to an interesting bloodline—Amber is a mutant witch spirit. But these are the three classifications, and understanding this is important in regards to what I am about to tell you.

“The Superintendent is another spirit. The reason the people in yours and my universes have free will is because, while he enjoys a great deal of influence over our worlds, he does not control them. To do that, he would need to be a witch. He also has almost zero control over his own life, for he is not a mutant. He is weak, and it is this weakness that forces him to exert as much control over the worlds he creates as possible. He is only a spirit, and he wields this power to manipulate the events across a number of branes. That number, from his perspective, is about to grow. And the more it grows, the more power he gains, and the more at risk people like you are. You’ll still have free will, but there will be some question as to how you encounter your circumstances, which determine the cards you’re dealt.

“To explain, the Superintendent did not rip you from reality so that no one you loved could remember that you existed. He altered your universe itself, making it so that you can’t exist within it during that time period. And you only returned at his behest, after Leona and her friends suffered through a series of arbitrary obstacles that he believes made for an interesting story.”

“I think I know where this is going,” Leona interjected politely. “This corrupted universe is destined to exist two years from now. Our next jump will take us seven years into it.”

“That’s right,” Thack confirmed. “Mateo, you can’t exist during that time period, and this team will move on, completely unawares. They’ll do this just as they did before, but this time, you may not come back.”

“Why wouldn’t he?” Jeremy questioned, almost upset with the messenger, but knowing that it wasn’t her fault. “Why won’t he come when we jump to...”

“Twenty-two nineteen,” Leona finished his sentence for him. “That’s after the end of the corruption.”

“Why would he?” Thack posed. “That’s not his pattern. He’s not designed to jump sixty-three years into the future. He wasn’t born that way, and those cuffs don’t make him that way. He will disappear when the clock strikes midnight, and you will forget him, and this time, you won’t have twin babies to provide the spiritual connection you’ll need to fight for his return. Because like I said, the Superintendent can’t bring him back. That, Leona, is something you did on your own, and it wasn’t his intention. He planned on removing Mateo entirely, and essentially starting a new story that focused on you. Your babies, and your freewill moved the circumstances beyond his control. You went against him, and that won’t work a second time.”

“So, what do we do?” Angela asked. “We understand the problem, now what’s the solution?”

Thack sighed, and they waited patiently for her response. “Have you ever heard of Westfall?”

“Someone mentioned that once,” Mateo said. “She didn’t say what it was. Uh...Emma.”

“I don’t want to get into the details, but there’s this theory floating around that practically every television series exists in the same universe. Due to one character crossing over to another, and then a character from that appearing in a third, and this huge complex web of crossovers and mentions, and whathaveyou, people believe they’re all connected. Well, they’re not, and Westfall explains why they’re not. Sometimes a character is just randomly dropped from one universe to another, and it’s due to a malfunction in The Crossover. The individual is transmitted, has an adventure, and goes back without ever knowing they weren’t on their same world that whole time. While the Superintendent actually has a little bit of access to Westfall—meaning he knows when it’s happened, not that he can make it happen—he doesn’t have any control over most of the universes that it’s interfered with. He’s not a writer on any of the Law and Order shows, so he can’t do anything with those characters, or those worlds.

“Mateo could survive in one of these universes, and then he could slip back. But there’s an issue. Like I said, the Superintendent can’t move him over there, or it would defeat the purpose. Plus, Westfall isn’t a consciousness, or at least it’s not in the same way you, or even I, define it. It’s probably not random, but it certainly seems that way. If Mateo wants to crossover...someone has to invite him. This someone would have to be unconnected to Mateo, or any of his universes.”

“Why would they do that?” Jeremy asked. “You’re saying a writer on a TV show has to conjure a character named Mateo, and say that he’s the Mateo from this universe?”

“It doesn’t have to be a TV show, and they don’t have to explicitly say where he’s from. They just have to strongly suggest it. And again, the Superintendent can’t write that story. There are lots of people who can cross universes, like The Prototype crew, and Meliora Rutherford, but those people can’t help here. It must be someone else.”

“Bottom line,” Leona began, “what do we do? How do we make this happen?”

Thack waited another moment. “I can reach out to other branes, like I’m doing right now. There are other storytellers who...let’s say, treat their characters as a little more real than others do. They surrender to the direction of the story, and don’t try to decide everything that happens. The character can make a suggestion to the storyteller that Mateo should show up. Keep in mind that we’re still dealing with time travel, and universes whose respective timelines are independent from each other, so nothing has to happen right away from anyone’s perspective but yours. Mateo has to disappear at the end of the day, but Westfall can drop him off wherever and whenever it wants.”

“Are you asking us for something?” Leona asked. “It seems you don’t need us to make this happen.”

“I’m a spirit,” Thack tried to explain with a smile. “I need consent. That’s what sets us apart. Mateo can choose to step aside, and let the story continue without him. I can’t make him do anything he doesn’t want to. I reached out to give you the facts, but you have to ask me for help.”

“We want your help,” Leona said clearly.

Thack chuckled. “I meant that Mateo has to ask me for help.”

They looked at him with a certain assumption. The obvious response was to let her do it, but it wasn’t necessarily the wisest choice. He wanted to survive, and to exist, and to be remembered, but there was a chance the sentiment was only a gut reaction. If there was anything that the last few weeks had taught him, it was that a rush to any decision was never better than a thoughtful reflection, and as long of a discussion as necessary. “I need to speak with my counselor.”

Leona opened her mouth to argue.

“Please...” he stopped her before she could say a word, “respect my wishes.”

Mateo went off to another level to consult Amber in private. A grumpy Leona sat at the table impatiently. She asked Thack what her husband and the soul psychic were talking about, but Thack reiterated the part about consent, and refused to eavesdrop. She didn’t say whether she could eavesdrop anyway. Mateo had his decision ready ten minutes later, but spoke only to Thack, and never revealed it to Leona, or his team. They would either find out in sixty-three years...or never worry about it again.

« < » > Table of Contents

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Tuesday, August 7, 2153

« < » > Table of Contents

Mateo went on a memory-wiping spree after saving Lucius from having to kill Ambrosios with his time power. He went after everyone who was even remotely involved in the occasion, including Leona, The Warden, and Lucius himself. He even did it to Nerakali, who fought back, but lost in the end. Sure, it was a violation, but things would be much worse if they knew what Mateo really did with Ambrosios. No one could know. No one could remember. It was better this way; safer.

There were an infinite number of realities, but that didn’t mean anything that could happen would happen somewhere. This was the fallacy of the many-worlds interpretation of multiverse theory. There was no reality, for instance, where Angela took one of Beaver Haven’s remaining lethal weapons, and started shooting people with it randomly. Sure, it was possible, but nothing would logically have led her to do that, because they would not to this moment have allowed her to stick around if she was the type of person to do something so horrendous. They would have noticed earlier if she was. Nerakali would say that this sort of possibility had near zero realistic potential, which was a term that always embodied its most literal interpretation. Her brain blending ability worked by allowing her to transfer memories from a potential reality to the real one—or theoretically from some other point in space time to the present—which meant that the memories had to have reasonable realistic potential. The higher the potential, the closer to actual reality, the easier the transfer.

Finding the right lie to tell his people was no easy feat for Mateo. Sure, he could have simply removed their memory of what really happened with Ambrosios, but then they would be left with a void in their memories, and wonder what they had done for all of August 4, 2150. The only way to prevent these questions was to replace the memories with alternatives. He was getting really good at finding these alternatives. As far as they knew, Ambrosios really did die on Lorania years ago, and was never in Beaver Haven. Instead of dealing with him, the transition team reportedly helped an alternate version of Darko Matic start a new life in The Parallel, since he was not capable of quantum assimilating with his past self. This sort of thing happened all the time with him, so if it were true in this case, they wouldn’t be liable to ever see him again anyway, so they would never see a discrepancy.

Now that the four of them had made their jump three years into the future, Mateo knew he needed to leave the past where it belonged. If he acted all sullen or guilty, it would raise suspicion, and defeat the whole purpose. It was time to get back to his old new self. He just didn’t know how he was going to accomplish that.

I can help, came Amber Fossward’s voice from his head.

How long have you been there? he asked back telepathically. He was in mixed company, so he couldn’t say it all out loud, even though it would be easier.

I come and go, Amber replied. Don’t be embarrassed, though. I’ve seen a lot of terrible things over the years, both in person, and through other people’s thoughts and experiences. What you’re going through isn’t that bad, and I can help.

You can fix me? he questioned.

Well, no, you can’t fix what ain’t broken. People can’t be broken. They can just be imbalanced, and then treated.

In that case, how would you treat me?

I would start by walking you through breathing exercises, like you did with Angela the other day. Once you’re more open and accepting, I would put you through a soul cleanse.

Is that like a juice cleanse in that it’s not real, but a hoax?

No, it’s very real. I can’t make you forget your bad memories, or erase your dark thoughts, but I can fill your heart with enough joy to sort of dilute such things.

Oh, I’ve done that before, Mateo said, by myself. I recalled good memories to the surface.

Well, that will make it that much easier, Amber said happily. But I don’t want you to just remember good things that you experienced. You’re soul already knows about them, and while it can be a temporary solution, it won’t last long. I’m sure those memories have since faded again, haven’t they?

I suppose they have, yes. I can’t just keep doing that?

You could, of course, and it would probably keep working, but that’s a lot of effort to expend when you got me. I can just add you to the mailing list.

That’s obviously a metaphor, what does it mean?

You’re not the only person I’ve created a psychic bond with. We share some of our experiences. We’re not a hive mind, though; you only share what you choose, and you even get to choose what you receive from others. There are two lists. One is for good memories, and the other for bad. The latter are for the support group, which I don’t think you really need right now, because it’s filled with negativity. It can be really helpful when you have an external obstacle to overcome, to hear what others have had to deal with. But you’re dealing with an internal conflict, and you’re struggling with accepting your past, which—even though you’re a time traveler—doesn’t seem to be something you can change. If you can’t change it, then you need to change your mind, and for that, we want all positivity.

How does it work? Mateo asked. Is it a one time thing, or a periodic appointment...?

It’s an extended session, Amber clarified. You’ll want a quiet place to be alone, where no one will disturb you. If we do this again, you’ll need less of this solitude, but first timers should dedicate all of their attention to it, and it’s not instantaneous; not if you want to do it the healthy way.

I think I can take the day off.

Good.

Thank you ahead of time.

Leona, Angela, and Jeremy were going to have to take the next transition on their own. Mateo needed some time to be alone. They didn’t specifically know what it was he was going through, and the last challenge with Darko wasn’t all that difficult, but they didn’t question it. They happily left him in the Imzadi, and went off to find the window, which was on top of a fairly low mountain on Earth. They used Nerakali’s teleporting ability to jump right there and wait. Even though most transitioners didn’t literally fall out of the windows, they did kind of get startled, because they didn’t know it was going to happen. As the transition flickered, they could see a woman casually hiking along the crest, hands on the straps of her backpack, enjoying the day. Once it was over she kept walking, and approached the three of them like she knew exactly what was going on. “Okay, I’m ready—I’m ready.”

“Did you just repeat yourself?” Jeremy questioned.

“Not technically, I’m The Echo—I’m the Echo.” They stared at her, not understanding, so she went on, “I developed a time affliction, where every sound I make is sent a second or two into the future, so I always sound like an echo—always sound like an echo.” Now that they were hearing her speak a more extended sentence, they could tell what she was talking about. She sounded like she was making her voice vibrate, like The Flash sometimes did just to mask his identity. It was actually pretty soothing, and not irritating, but maybe because her voice was beautiful on its own.

“We’ve never heard of you,” Leona pointed out.

“I’m not a time traveler—time traveler. I’ve just been wandering around in the wilderness, because I have no control over it, and there’s no decent way to explain it to normal people—to normal people.”

“Do you want us to make it stop?” Angela offered.

“I was to understand that that’s why I was here—why I was here. The first reason, anyway—first reason, anyway.”

Angela retrieved a Cassidy cuff, and handed it to the Echo. “Put this on. It won’t fix you right away, but Leona knows how to suppress it, don’t you?”

Leona started tapping on her cuff. “Yes, Nerakali gave me control over people’s powers and patterns. Only me, though.”

The Echo smiled and placed it around her wrist, but she waited to test it until Leona gave her the go ahead. “My name is Olimpia Sangster, and I have a normal voice!” she spoke a little loud for emphasis. Then she waited to hear back from herself, but there was nothing but silence. “I don’t have an echo,” she said, testing it another time to make sure it really was working. “Oh my God.” She started tearing up, and then couldn’t help herself. She reached over, and took Leona in a bear hug. “I’ve been so alone, like you don’t even know.”

Leona waited patiently, then pulled back a little. “I’m glad we could help, but there’s a catch. It’s not a permanent solution; you’ll have to leave the cuff on at all times. You can take it off for a few minutes probably, but if you leave it off too long, it will reset, which means I’ll have to reengage the suppression for you again. Which is fine, it’s not like that bothers me, but it means you can’t just go off wherever you want. We are time travelers, so you’ll have to stick by us. And if all of us remove our own cuffs, you’ll lose your suppression, because it’s tied to our ability to not echo. I don’t see us doing that, but it’s something you should know.”

“I wasn’t just told to come here for the cure,” Olimpia explained. “I was told I was meant to join your team. I’m supposed to, umm...transition people?”

“Yeah, that’s what we do,” Angela confirmed.

Olimpia looked around. “I was also told I would be the fifth player. He made some sort of basketball analogy, which I don’t know why he did, I don’t care for sports.”

“He?” Leona echoed. “He who? Jupiter?”

“No, I know Jupiter. He’s a historical figure where I’m from. No, this guy never said his name.”

Leona would have expected her to have been recruited by Nerakali, or maybe Jupiter Fury before he moved on, so who was this mysterious man, and was that a good thing or a bad thing? Olimpia seemed like a perfectly lovely person, but the chances her pleasant demeanor was just a façade were nowhere near zero. This was something they were going to have to worry about soon, if not right away. If there was another player in the game, they needed to know who he was, and what he wanted. Perhaps she would be able to describe him for them, but that would have to wait until they returned to the Imzadi. Mateo still needed his alone time to meditate, so out of respect for that, they decided to go on a hike, and enjoy the great outdoors. It was a really nice day, so it felt like a vacation.

Hours later, they teleported back, and Leona went in to make sure Mateo was okay. He was apparently fully recovered, and enjoying a snack. He was glad for their return, and eager to meet this new member of their team. Olimpia climbed in, and tilted her head quizzically. “Oh, it’s you.”

“You know this man?” Jeremy pressed.

“Yeah, that’s him. That’s the guy who told me to come here.”

Hmm.

« < » > Table of Contents