Microstory 2265: Be One Small Part of It

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I’m glad that I waited, because what I’ve learned is that I’m not really allowed to tell you hardly anything about what’s happening with my upcoming interview. I can’t even tell you the date that it’s happening. All I can say is that the local part of the local talk show is going to be stretched pretty thin for just the one episode. Well, stretch is a bit of a stretch. (Ha, that’s funny.) They’re just not going to be local at all. Apparently, the whole station is part of some kind of group of dozens of other local stations. They call it a Regional Network Cooperative, and while I can’t totally explain what they do, it’s not that they’re owned by a parent company, but they do enjoy some kind of collaborative relationship. I think the biggest benefit of this is that, if one region comes up with a certain segment—say a fun game for their guests—another region can use it too, and even call it the same thing, without worrying about a legal issue. They may negotiate advertising deals too, though don’t quote me on that. Anyway, they would like to try something new with the episode that I’ll be on, which involves simulcasting it in other, or maybe even all, regions in the cooperative. If this pans out, it’s going to take some time to coordinate, because other regions may have special segments that they’ll want to include. It’s not like I’ll be on there for several hours on end. I’ll still only be one small part of it. Obviously, this only puts more pressure on me, but who am I to decline? I’ll just keep practicing with my interview specialist, and hope that I don’t screw this up. Or if I do, hope that I can leave this world eventually, and escape from the humiliation. Whew, that kind of sounds a little like suicide. Sorry, I meant that I might literally leave this world, and travel to another, which I’ve done before. No violence here. Carry on. I’ll tell you more about the thing when the legal department says that I can.

Microstory 2259: Hello, KC Metro

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If you’re a national or international reader, you may not have heard of a TV show called Hello, KC Metro. In this region, we have a local television station that focuses on local programming. It includes the weather, news, documentaries, and syndicated scripted series that feature known Kansas City natives. For five hours from 7:00 to 12:00 every weekday morning, a talk show featuring a variety of hosts and guests discuss all sorts of topics. If you’ve ever done anything noteworthy in the area, or are from the area, chances are you’ve made an appearance in one form or another. They’ve asked me to be on many times, but I’m not great in front of the camera, so I’ve always respectfully declined. Even local content creators have their stuff shown sometimes without them actually being present in the studio, and they’ve read my social posts on there without me having to be involved directly. If you want your story to be seen by the highest number of people, you’re gonna want to get yourself on the program between 7:30 and 8:30 central. This is after people have woken up for work, but before they’ve actually left for work. Of course, people work at different times, but 9:00 to 15:00 is kind of standard. For the show, 11:30 to noon is a decent time to be on too, because people might watch it during their lunch break, but that’s a lot less standardized. You probably see where I’m going with this. Dutch isn’t much for writing, so he doesn’t have his own blog, but people are really interested in hearing his tales of interdimensional travel, so he agreed to go on Hello, KC Metro, where he spoke with host, Cosmina Branković for nearly forty-five minutes this morning. He talked about what he was up to in Stoutverse, even the things he did that he wasn’t super proud of. I won’t get into that here, because it’s 2024, so you can watch the whole thing online. I know that it was hard for him to go into all that. He wasn’t being tormented or abused, but it wasn’t all fun and games either. I’m very proud of him for being honest about his part in what those people wanted to do with something that he could not control. I know none of that makes any sense if you didn’t see it, so I guess you’re just going to have to go hear for yourselves.

Microstory 2019: Arkansas

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It makes sense that papa lived in Texas, because it’s next to the ocean. He worked on a submarine, so Corpus Christi was the perfect location. That’s why it’s so weird that he was later moved by the Navy to Arkansas. Arkansas is what’s called a landlocked state, because it doesn’t border the ocean. Most of the states in the United States are like this. But that doesn’t mean there’s no water, of course. It has lakes, and the really long Mississippi River, which is between it and Mississippi. We don’t have much information, because like I said, the military has to be really secretive, but after papa died, my dad and I were looking through his things when we found something interesting. It was a photo of him and some of his Navy buddies when they were young. They were smiling in front of the river, and what looked like a boat behind them. Except that the boat wasn’t above the water very much. It actually looked like a submarine! The Mississippi River is pretty deep, but not really deep enough for a normal sub. Again, no one can tell us anything, so shh, be quiet, but we think that he was testing special technology. They might have come up with a submarine that can move in shallower waters. It would be interesting to know if they could get something like that to work. *winky face*

Microstory 2018: Texas

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After my papa was finished with his education at the Naval academy, he didn’t go back home. He was stationed in Corpus Christi, Texas. He couldn’t tell me exactly what he did while he was there, because the military keeps all of that secret, so this is going to be another really short slide. He was able to say that he lived there for only a year before he was moved somewhere else, which he said was unusual in the Navy. I don’t think that he was always on a submarine. I think that maybe he spent a lot of time carrying out missions on dry land. I even think they sometimes sent him out of the country, but he hadn’t met his husband yet, so he didn’t have to lie to anyone about it, since his parents still lived in Idaho anyway.

Microstory 1998: Vastly Irresponsible Plan

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Leonard: Where is she? She’s not in a jail cell still, is she?

Street Proctor: No, no, no, no, no. She’s in the VIP quarters. She’s perfectly fine.

Leonard: The law station has a VIP room?

Street Proctor: Of course. They don’t on your world? [...] Oh, don’t look so surprised. You told me that you were in the wrong world when we first met, and now you’re some big shot secret agent. It wasn’t hard to figure out that you were actually telling the truth the whole time. I really wanna apologize for how I treated you back then. I was going through some stuff that had nothing to do with you, but it was no excuse for being unprofessional and unhelpful. And I’m not just saying that because you super outrank me now. I’ve been to some seminars, one workshop, and counseling every week.

Leonard: Well, I appreciate you saying that. It’s...very big of you.

Street Proctor: Yeah. Well anyway, your wife is right through here.

Leonard: *steps into the room* Keziah.

Keziah: Leonard. What the hell is happening? Where are we?

Leonard: What is the last thing you remember?

Keziah: I was going to Yuuna’s baby shower. I was driving around, thinking that I was very lost, until I realized that I was actually very, very lost. None of this is familiar. They call this place a law station, instead of a police station. The guy who helped me said he was a proctor, which is nothing I’ve ever heard of either. What is this room all about?

Leonard: Yuuna’s baby shower? That was months ago. That was...that was the day that I disappeared. You and I left our Earth on the same day, but I’ve been here since June.

Keziah: Time travel? We traveled through time? Wait, does this have something to do with your little friend? Where is he? He has to send us back home.

Leonard: It’s not really time travel. It’s that—let’s see, how did he put it—the timestreams for two separate universes have nothing to do with each other. And anyway, I’ve not seen him. I don’t think he had anything to do with it. It’s just something that happens sometimes. In fact, I believe that our link to him is the only reason either of us realizes that there’s something different about this world. There could be others here who  are from different versions of Earth, but don’t even know it.

Keziah: Either way, I wanna go home. Do you have a plan? It’s been months, right?

Leonard: Hold on... *starts to wave a little device all over the room*

Keziah: *turns the sink on* Is that a bug detector?

Leonard: Yes. We’re in the clear, but let’s whisper anyway. I have indeed been working on a plan, but I’ve had trouble enacting it. Number one, if we use the only tools we have at our disposal, we could be dooming our world to profound destruction, so if we try it, I’ll have to kill the alien who transported us right away, but that’s assuming he even took us to the right brane in the first place. And now that you’re here, I’m not sure we can both fit in the portal. Plus...I’ve sort of...built a new little life here.

Keziah: The ink on the divorce papers you texted me to say you signed, sealed, and sent out for delivery isn’t even dry yet. But you met someone, didn’t you?

Leonard: Yes, I did. You would like her.

Keziah: I don’t doubt it. But I still wanna go home. Tell me about this alien.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: August 30, 2398

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There is a rumor that Earth possesses two Nexa, one of which is hidden on an island in the South Pacific Ocean. If anyone has ever found it, its whereabouts have never made it to Leona. The only one she knows for sure exists is the one in Antarctica, and they only have a rough estimate of where specifically, and that’s just where it is in the main sequence. If it’s anywhere in the Third Rail, it could be just that; anywhere. This is why they weren’t in a big hurry to look for it before. Antarctica is best accessed during its summer months, which begin with October, but even then, it’s better deeper into it. No matter, it’s not like the continent is impossible to traverse in winter, especially not now that The Olimpia has been repaired. Rames managed to equip it with some upgrades, which will allow it to survive under harsher conditions than original specifications ensured.

Marie volunteered to be Mateo’s caretaker. She insisted, since she still feels bad about lying to everybody, and wants to feel useful in a less secret agenty sort of way. He agreed to let her do it without too much reluctance now that there actually is hope in finding a way to let him use his hands again. Cheyenne, meanwhile, has grown tired of sitting around and doing nothing, so she asked to accompany Leona on the Antarctica mission. And of course, wherever Cheyenne goes, so shall Bridgette. Ramses wishes he could be there too, but it’s been decided that one of them had to remain local. The home team might need something invented, fixed, or just explained, so it’s safer to not put all of their smart eggs in one basket.

“I wanted to thank you.” Cheyenne is up with Leona on the bridge, looking at the endless white before them as the Olimpia’s sensors scan the area.

“For letting you come along? No problem. It should be pretty safe.”

“No, I mean for trusting us with everything, and not asking where I came from, or why I need the Insulator of Life.”

“Does your world have the concept innocent until proven guilty?” Leona asks.

“I’ve never heard those exact words, but I think I understand the meaning.”

“You and Bridgette have given us no reason not to trust you, but we have upended your lives. You don’t ever have to tell us where you’re from. We’re used to that being a potential risk. If you’re my daughter from the future, for instance, we shouldn’t know.”

Cheyenne bites her lower lip, and averts her gaze slightly.

Leona doesn’t say anything more about it. The conversation would not have continued anyway. The computer gets a ping.

Bridgette comes down from the back. “I heard a beep. Did we find something?”

“Something is a good word for it,” Leona answers, looking at the datapoint. “We should be coming up on something big in three...two...one. Just over the ridge, they find a manmade structure, built up against the side of a mountain. It looks huge. This should be surprising, but nothing really is to them anymore. They could wake up tomorrow to find the sun has been transformed into a big ball of water, and they wouldn’t even bat an eye. They have seen too much already. It is interesting, though. “This is the most remote region of Antarctica that’s also close to the ocean. Nothing should be here, except for the Nexus. It’s not even populated in the main sequence.”

“Unidentified Flying Aircraft, you have entered a secure area. Please recite your landing codes,” comes a voice on the radio.

“Rule Number Seventeen, when in doubt, be honest.” Leona opens a channel. “Unknown Antarctica base, this is Leona Matic, Captain of the Stateless Private Vehicle Olimpia. We request diplomatic visitor landing authorization. We’re here in search of something known as the Nexus.” She shrugs, hoping they don’t shoot her out of the sky.

There’s a long pause before the voice returns, “authorization granted, please land on the big yellow circle.”

Part of the ground retracts, and reveals the landing pad. Leona instructs the Olimpia to land on it, and as soon as it touches down, the ground begins to lower. It goes down and down and down until reaching the bottom, which is a giant cell. The opening they just came through closes up. People with guns are standing all around them. And by all around them, I mean all around. This cell must be 8,000 cubic meters in volume, but the uniform guards are shoulder to shoulder around the whole perimeter on the other side of the bars. They look highly organized, and well trained.

“What do we do now?” Cheyenne asks.

Leona reaches for the PA system, which she never thought they would ever have to use. “Permission to disembark?”

One of the guards lifts her steady hand from her weapon, and motions them out. The three of them exit the vehicle, and head in that general direction. They all look the same, they can’t even tell which one of them gave them the go-ahead. It doesn’t matter when an old man in a uniform steps into the light. “I am Coronel Zacarias of the Mozambique Naval Fleet. This is my facility, where we research only one thing...the Nexus. How did you hear about it?”

“We’re travelers from a different world. That may get us home.”

Coronel Zacarias regards them with doubt, but he’s willing to entertain them with a leash. He turns to his soldiers. “Open the gate.”

They do as they’re asked without question or hesitation. Leona locks the Olimpia down with her gene-coded remote, and tentatively steps out of the cell. Bridgette and Cheyenne do the same. They begin to follow Zacarias down the passageways, heavily guarded by a dozen of the soldiers, none of whom needed any direction to do this. They apparently just know who has been assigned to their detail, and who must go off and do other things.

“I was this close to shooting you out of the sky,” Zacarias explains on the way. “No one in the world knows that we are here, let alone what we have found. We have been looking for a way to turn the machine on, but have had no luck. That is why I am taking you to it, because if you are telling the truth, you will be able to help us, but if you are lying, nothing will happen, and we will not have to worry. There is a computer in the control room, but it does nothing. We suspect it suffers from a depleted power source, but we have been unable to verify that.”

“I’ll try to help,” Leona replies. They come to a large expanse, like the one where they landed, but instead of a cell in the center, it is the Nexus building. Leona stops. “I should ask you kindly to let my associates remain here, at this distance.”

“Why?” Zacarias questions.

“The Nexus is truly as dangerous as you must suspect it to be, or you would not keep it such a secret. I cannot guarantee what will happen when we walk over there, but I recommend you evacuate the room, and leave only essential personnel.” That’s not really what she’s worried about. The Nexa are alive—or conscious, as it were. They respond differently to different people. She has used them before, and the machine likely knows this. There is a strong chance that it will power up simply by her arrival. She doesn’t want them thinking Bridgette and Cheyenne have anything to do with that.

He scowls just a little. “If this is a trick to overpower my soldiers, I’m afraid you will find yourself severely outmatched.” Zacarias eyes the high walls around them. Turrets line the perimeter. There is no advantage to lowering the number of people over there.”

Leona nods, prompting Zacarias to evacuate most of the scientists. A contingency of four soldiers accompanies them while the other eight escort Cheyenne and Bridgette back out of the great hall. She’s worried about them being separated, but all three of them are at these people’s mercy, whether they’re together, or not. She continues across the floor, and to the Nexus building. They step inside. It looks the same as they always do, but this one has been retrofitted with lights powered from a normal external source. He’s right, nothing turns on for them. They do for her, though. All of the retrofitted lights switch off on their own, only to be replaced by the ones that are built in. They’re not really built-in though, so much as the walls themselves illuminate.

“My Gods,” Zacarias utters in a breathy exclamation. “What did you do?”

“These machines are networked, so they communicate with one another, which means if one recognizes someone, they all do.”

Zacarias can’t stop looking around, even though it’s really just a room with the house lights on. The real interesting stuff is in the control room. “You mean there are others? What do they do?”

“They transport people from one place to the next. You didn’t know that?” A little rude on her part.

He looks at her now, still smiling like a kid in a candy store. “Please. show me.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 7, 2398

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Leona opens the door without knocking, a little surprised to find it unlocked, but not showing it. The forger has security cameras around the outside, so she always knows when someone is coming. That’s not what it is this time, though. She’s not here at all. The whole place has been completely cleaned out, and cleaned up. Leona rubs her index finger on the counter. Not a single mote of dust, grease, or anything else has been left behind. It smells of bleach, implying that the one who once called this her office has left, whether it be because she was getting too involved with their team, or for other reasons. Perhaps the authorities are on to her, or she’s paranoid about the possibility. Or maybe this is just something she does every now and then. Either way, it suggests that she’s out of their lives forever, and Mateo won’t have to pretend to be a federal agent, or find a way out of it. Leona is about to leave when something catches her eye.

A gray something or other is peeking out from around the corner on one of the lockers towards the back. More curious than anything, she goes over to check it out. It’s a pantsuit, fit for a woman of her measurements. Developing the sickening feeling that she’s going to regret it, she opens the locker to find six more like it, of various designs. On the little shelf above is a badge and gun. Cardinal Agent Miriam Salinas of the National Intelligence Authority. There’s an oddly intimidating logo in the corner that looks like a numeral six, with a line against the right side, and a curve flowing the opposite direction on the bottom.

Leona stares at her picture on the left side of the ID. She glances to the sidearm occasionally, and also the wardrobe. This is what she wanted. She wanted to keep Mateo out of it, and take on the burden. The problem is, how did the forger know that? As she’s staring, she thinks about all the people they have been in contact with since they came to this reality. She hasn’t found herself with the ability to trust even one of them. Even Heath is suspect. He just happened to catch wind of Marie’s supernatural arrival, and chose to keep it secret, and now they’re married? She hasn’t said anything, because they seem happy, but who is this guy, and why is he so cool about all this? If anyone’s a mole, it has to be him, because no one knew that Leona was planning to take Mateo’s place except for him, and the team. Ramses hasn’t stopped checking the condo for bugs since he first freaked out about the possibility.

This is okay. It’s going to be okay. While three of them are off on their special mission, Leona can keep an eye on this Heath Walton fellow, and decide whether he could have some kind of ulterior motive. She sticks the badge in her pocket, hooks the holster to her belt, conceals it with a blazer, and gathers the rest of the suits. In her first timeline, she would play secret agent with a neighbor kid. This experience is evidently about to become useful.

What she didn’t know as she was having that last thought is just how right she was. As she’s walking back to Heath’s car, another car pulls up. She catches the glint of red and blue in the grill, which tells her that it’s an unmarked law enforcement vehicle of some kind. She has enough time to pop the trunk, and toss the wad of clothes in, but if she tries to do the same for the gun, they’ll just see it. It’s much better if she leaves it hidden, and hopes that they don’t find a reason to search her person. A woman gets out of the driver’s side, and a man gets out of the passenger seat. They’re both wearing suits, and approaching like cops who aren’t presently afraid of their situation.

“Agent Collar. This is my local police liaison, Detective Horton. Mind telling me what division you’re with?”

Now, Leona knows what division she’s with. Her badge says so. The problem is, she doesn’t know how a real agent would say that, or really what she would say in this situation, full stop. Would a real agent say the whole thing, or would she just say NIA? Would she throw around a proverbial ruler, or be all nice about it? Maybe she ought to just let the badge itself do the talking. She pulls it out, which reveals the gun on her belt, which is probably not secured according to regulations.

The agent’s eyes widen in—is that horror, or deference? “Oh, SD6. Sorry, sir. I had no idea. We got a tip about this spot. What would you like us to do?” Deference.

Recalling the mumbo jumbo she’s heard on TV, and hoping this reality uses the same nomenclature, Leona nods once. “Get forensics down here. It’s been scrubbed, but maybe there’s something here that they missed.”

“Right away, sir.” She clears her throat suggestively to her liaison.

He’s a little slow, but gets the idea, and goes back to the car to radio the station.

“Any leads?” Agent Collar asks.

When Leona first put on this blazer, she noticed something rather light tap against her chest. She kind of ignored it, because it didn’t seem too important. Now she realizes that it’s just a pair of sunglasses in the inside pocket. Still thinking about how someone in her position might act given the circumstances—as seen through the lens of a highly stylized and melodramatic police procedural—she suavely places them on her face, and jerks her lapels down in a commanding sort of way. “I’ll run them down myself. Just secure the scene. I’ll call you if I need backup.”

Agent Collar nods respectfully, and lets Leona get in her car, but then realizes something. “Oh, wait. Let me give you my card.”

“I can find your number if I want it,” Leona tells her coolly just before slamming the door shut. She drives off under the speed limit. Shit, did that just work?

Microstory 1754: Under the Microscope

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I slam the microscope down against his head. He doesn’t even apologize now, but smiles at me, and tells me that she belongs to him, and he’ll never let her go. I hold it over him, waiting for him to give me a reason to set it back down carefully. I pick it up. I look around the room for anything to use as a weapon, but only find a microscope. Now that I have the upperhand, I take my opportunity to place my heel against his, and force him to the ground by the chest. He gets one more good shot in, but it seems to wear him out, at least for a moment. We struggle with each other, neither one strong enough to gain some kind of advantage. He thinks that will be the end of it, but he just sent me into fight or flight mode, and I always choose fight. Deciding that he would rather make the first move, he punches me in the stomach with both fists, knocking the wind out of me. Both of us realize that this argument is going nowhere, and that it’s about to get violent. We continue to argue. He doesn’t care. He won’t even admit that what he did was wrong. He won’t apologize for what he’s done. We begin to argue. I accuse him of sexual assault, and he doesn’t seem concerned. I approach him with obvious aggression, but he just sits there calmly, confident that all will turn out okay. I walk up to his lab, and open the door without asking, glad that it’s Saturday and the place is empty except for him. I step out, and try to remember why I’m here, what I’m hoping to accomplish, and how I can avoid this all getting out of hand. I stay in the car for a few minutes, afraid to actually go up there, but knowing that it’s unavoidable. I arrive at the science building.

I know that if I don’t, no one else will. I take the scenic route back, because I’m still not sure that I want to do this. Not really, but it feels like I could. I almost tear the car door off its hinges, I’m so mad. I walk out of the police station, having just been proven that justice isn’t simply blind, but actively hides from the truth. That would be ironic. I turn away in a huff, worried that I’ll be the one behind bars if I say what I really want to say to them. They say that can’t compel her. They keep their voices low, explaining that she’s old enough to answer for herself. I’m nearly at a scream now, begging them to see that she’s too young to make her own decisions. They tell me they’ll look into it if anything changes, but until then, this is how it has to be. They ignore the conjecture, and tell me that there’s nothing they can do. I tell them it shouldn’t matter; that she’s obviously just too scared of him. They tell me she’s changed her statement, and that she had every right to do so. I relay what she said to me, but they’ve already heard it. I walk in and ask to speak to someone important. I walk out of the dorm, and drive to the police station, feeling useless to do anything else. I respect her wishes, and leave her room. She asks me to leave, and I realize it’s because I’m a man, and she doesn’t need that kind of energy right now. I assure her it is, and she did the right thing. She says she wasn’t even going to tell anybody, because she isn’t certain it’s illegal. She says he didn’t touch her once. She says it was over quickly. She says she didn’t feel safe trying to get away. She says he made her watch. She says he touched himself. She says her much older ex-boyfriend came by yesterday, and locked the door behind him. She breaks down crying, not wanting to tell me, but needing to unburden herself. She doesn’t seem okay. She says she’s okay. I ask her if she’s okay. Something seems off. I drive out to visit my seventeen-year-old cousin, who is at a weeklong music camp at the college.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 2212

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Mateo was able to see his past self unceremoniously disappear while the mirror portal was still active. Leona and Horace moved on like nothing had happened, because to them, it hadn’t. The portal closed, revealing a normal door. Someone opened it up, and looked perturbed. “I believe this is the ladies room. I don’t care how you identify,” she said with airquotes, “but anyone who has ever had a penis..does not belong in here.”

“Thanks for the tip, Karen.”

“Um, it’s Jan.”

Mateo rolled his eyes, and passed her. “Sure, Jan. It’s 2212, by the way. Get with the times. Transphobia is so 20th century.”

“It’s only two thousand twelve, McFly.”

Mateo looked over his shoulder at her. Then he surveyed the scene. Cases of plastic water, cash registers on the counter, gasoline-powered cars through the window. This was 2012, wasn’t it? “Shit.” He jogged over the the clerk. “Is this Lebanon, Kansas?”

“It sure is,” he answered.

“Can you direct me to the center of the country, please?”

He pointed to the front corner of the store. When Mateo tried to leave, the clerk said, “hey. Bathrooms are for customers only.”

Mateo took an ancient hundred-dollar bill out of his quantum duplicating wallet, and slapped it on the counter. “I would like to pay for the next however many customers it takes to drain my tab.” When the clerk tried to take the money, he held onto it. “If this just ends up in your pocket, I will know.” He eyed the security camera that was pointing at the register. “My Field Supervisor will know.” Yes, it was illegal to impersonate a law enforcement agent, but he had to do something to make sure this money went to good use.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” the clerk replied.

Mateo released the money, put on a sweet pair of sunglasses, and left the store. Then he walked about a mile and a half, all the way to US Center Chapel, where his cousin lived. He expected to walk in, and then maybe—maybe—be lowered down to The Constant, but the door opened right into the foyer underground, as if Danica was expecting him. She very well might have been.

She greeted him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “You’re a bit off target.”

“By 200 hundred years, yes,” Mateo said. “Is there anything you can do to help? I have to skip over some time. I can’t just wait.”

“Yeah, now that you’re free and patternless, I can send you wherever you want.”

“Do you have a machine, errr...?”

Danica laughed. “No, it’s done.”

“How do you mean?”

“I just jumped you 200 hundred years, before you even asked your question about the machine. I’ve been waiting for you this whole time. Made sure to where the same clothes I was when we were talking, and everything. You blinked, and you missed it.”

Mateo smiled. “Thank you. Why do you think Darrow sent me to the wrong time period?”

Danica smiled too, but for a different reason. “It wasn’t the wrong time period, it just wasn’t the one you were expecting. Eleven people went into the convenience store after you who benefited from the money you donated to their purchases. Most of them just wanted a sports drink or a bag of chips, and most of those people moved on without much thought. A few actually subconsciously changed their lives because of the kind gesture; not by a whole lot, but you moved the needle. One teenager in particular was inspired by you. He gave the clerk sixty bucks of his own, which ultimately went to a woman who was desperately trying to get away from her ex-fiancé in Santa Fe. She was out of money, and 2012 suffered from the highest gas prices in the history of the country, not accounting for inflation. That paid for her whole tank, which was enough to get her nearly all the way to Chicago, where she was able to start a new life. You did that. You did it, and you didn’t even know it. You just wanted the clerk off your ass about the bathroom.”

“Well, it wasn’t really my money. I have this wallet, see?”

“Yes,” Danica said dismissively. “Your wallet literally copies the money you need, from any time period, from several select regions. The teenager didn’t know that, and neither did anyone else. The result remains. That woman is still alive today. In another timeline, she isn’t.”

He nodded, and waited an appropriate amount of time before segueing. “Leona’s not alive, nor is one version of Kivi. Rather, neither of them exists at the moment—not the ones I need anyway.”

She nodded. “Right. Well, Past!Leona activated the weird temporal object contraption yesterday. Unfortunately, it’s missing a component.”

“Yes,” he understood, “the Insulator of Life. I’m hoping to actually use it before her, as she won’t make it to the base on Proxima Doma until next year.”

“I don’t think that would be wise,” Danica decided. “Best not to cross paths with any of your past selves at all, or hers, or butterfly affect their futures.”

“I need that insulator,” Mateo argued. “I don’t know why The Superintendent brings us back dead, but as far as I know, this is the only way to fix it.”

“I’m not saying you can’t use it. You just can’t use it today. You would have to go to Proxima Doma, so getting back to Earth would be this whole thing. Plus, the timeline is going to change, and I don’t think it should. I think it’s best for everyone if you find the Insulator  in 2338. I know where it will be.”

“Twenty-three thirty-eight? But that’s...”

“Yes.” Danica knew everything. “It’s time to finish this.”

“No, it’s too early. She’s not ready.”

Danica placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s been ready for a long time. She’s just been waiting for you to accept it.”

“So you want me to bring them back to reality using the contraption that you built for Past!Leona, and then jump all three of us to finally retrieve the Insulator of Life? Then you want us to go through with the challenge?”

“That sounds like a decent plan,” Danica said.

“You’re telling me this because you already know that it happens,” he figured.

Danica opened her mouth to explain, but had to think about it for a moment. “I know everything that has happened up to this moment right now, as long as it pertains to my job as The Concierge. I don’t know the name of some rando eating a turkey wrap in Toronto, or my old neighbor’s porn site password. I know some things about the future, but again, only when knowing it is necessary for me to help my clients. I know enough to urge you to go to 2338. I’ve had to guess as to why, based on evidence from the past. Make sense?”

“Actually,” Mateo began, “yes. I’m just so worried about her. Coming back to life and then having to jump into the battle right away. It’s not fair.”

“I promise you, it will be all right. Now sit. Let’s have a meal together.”

“I would really rather get Leona back right away,” Mateo requested.

“Oh, you can’t do it today.”

“No?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Let me show you.” Danica led him into the other room where the reintegration contraption was still up on a table. The LIR map was taped to the opposite wall, but there was something wrong with it. A hole was burned in the center.

“Can it be fixed?” Mateo questioned.

“It’s fixing itself. Or should I say, it’s healing. It’s taking its own sweet time, but it’ll get there eventually.”

“How long, do you suppose?”

“At this rate, I’ve calculated...three weeks?”

“Is that a question?”

“It’s barely started, so it’s pretty hard to measure, but that’s my current estimate, based on one day of observation.”

“Danica, that’s not going to work. I have to save two people. If it only brings back one at a time, Leona will start to decay by the time I’m ready to retrieve Kivi.”

“I can jump you both a month into the future,” she explains. “Hell, I could jump you to the end of this month right now, if you would prefer not to wait.”

“When you think about it, you and I don’t know each other very well. If you’re confident that your wards will keep out any nefarious characters, like the Warrior, then I don’t see why we can’t just wait until the LIR map is finished healing. But then I will want to skip to the end of November to get Kivi back.”

“Sounds like yet another decent plan.”

Two weeks later, the map was fully healed. They couldn’t tell that it was ever damaged. Even so, they decided to wait one more day just to make sure every atom was back where it was meant to be. Danica rechecked the instructions on the page from the Book of Hogarth, and verified that the contraption was set up correctly. According to what she saw at the beginning of the month, Past!Leona didn’t do anything to make it work except spin the Incorruptible Astrolabe. She presumably sent it some kind of psychic message, which let it know who she was trying to bring back from nonexistence. That would probably not be so hard for Mateo to replicate, since she and Kivi were the only people he knew who had been taken out of reality. If there was anyone else, then he probably wouldn’t remember them. He concentrated on what he wanted to happen, and spun the astrolabe.

It happened just as Leona had described it. The astrolabe turned the Rothko torch, which sent a beam of light towards the Jayde Spyglass, and then the Cosmic Sextant, which split the beam in two, which each passed through the HG Goggles, which recombined the light into a laser, which passed through the Muster Lighter. This burned another hole into the map, large enough to attach the Escher Knob. When Mateo pulled on it, however, it did not open a morgue drawer. An entire door broke from the wall, and out of it came Leona. She was followed by Kivi. And Kivi, and Kivi, and Kivi, and Kivi, and Kivi. They just kept coming through, one after the other, after the other. All told, likely over a hundred different versions of her appeared. The last two people were none other than Kallias Bran, and Aeolia Sarai. The truth was that Mateo knew a lot more people who had been taken out of reality than he realized.

Surprisingly, the Constant was large enough to accommodate everyone. They proceeded to the recreational area, where a football pitch and basketball court had been constructed. The five non-Kivis stood before the Kivis, who were sitting in the bleachers. “Which one of you is ours?” Mateo asked.

A couple dozen of them raised their hands.

“Which one of you was last with us on August 12, 2338?” Mateo amended.

All of them lowered their hands, except for two.”

“Uhhhh...” was all he could say at this point.

“Which one was dealing with Anatol Klugman, a.k.a. The Warrior?” Leona clarified for him.

Both of the remaining Kivis lowered their hands, but one of them stood up and joined the group.

“Thank you,” Mateo said. “I’m sure you’re all very great Kivis. I think we’re just going to...uh, stick with...who we know...for now.”

None of the others seemed the least bit offended.

“What is going to happen to them?” Kivi!Current asked Danica.

Danica was watching the crowd, and reacted fairly slowly to the question. “I don’t know. I can certainly...keep them all here. Or they could go to the Sanctuary, or to different time periods. There aren’t any rules about this sort of thing.”

Mateo couldn’t help but interject and change the subject. “Hey, man, did we just cure you?”

“I think you did,” Kallias replied.

“What happened to that homicidal madman, and his homicidal alternate self?”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Aeolia warned.

“Okay.”

Danica chuckled. “It looks like you five need to regroup and strategize. When you’re ready, take the elevator back up to the surface. It will be 2338 when you get up there.”

“What of my alternates?” Kivi!Current asked again.

“We’ll discuss it, and reach some kind of consensus,” Danica promised. “You belong with your friends...for now.”

They found a room and got the other two up to speed with what had happened since they were gone. Leona confirmed that she was ready to finish this thing once and for all, and Mateo had to be okay with that. As they were walking to the elevator, Kivi!Current suddenly disappeared on them. They could still remember she was once there, unlike other times when their memories had been erased along with her.

Shockingly, but also fittingly, one of the Kivis was waiting for them at the entrance to the chapel. “Which one are you?” Leona asked.

Kivi smiled. “I’m all of them.”

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Microstory 1558: Bladder

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Prompt

I was walking my dog last night when a stranger came out of nowhere and offered to help me with my problem. I asked him what he was talking about, and he said...

Botner

“Let me see your bladder, I can tell if you have a problem.” My first reaction was “Do I have a problem?” But I’m not a doctor, and I also wondered if he just had a strong intuition about this and wanted to have a look for himself. But what came next almost made me pee myself with fear. He touched my bladder, and when he pulled back, he said “you have a lot of pressure there, you need to see your doctor, your bladder is only designed for 10 – 12 CCs.” I don’t even know what that means, but I said OK, and started walking away, and he repeated, “don’t forget your appointment, come back.” I want to say that it was a case of free will, but really...he had already touched my bladder, I was scared. I didn’t have the time to think about what I was going to do. I ran home as fast as I could and didn’t stop for a breath until I was in my bedroom. I’m so angry at myself that I didn’t do anything, that I let a total stranger touch me without my consent, without my knowledge... It’s almost as if the air around me changed...or the gravity. I wanted to get rid of the stress and anxiety I had, so I took a nice hot bath, but this man was stuck in my head, there was no peace in my body. I know...

Conclusion

...that it wasn’t not my fault, but I couldn’t help but feel guilty. I started to wonder if the man had some way of implanting a thought in my brain, or if these were truly my feelings. I needed to find some kind of distraction. I had had a really stressful day of work, so the dog walk was meant to be that distraction, but that totally backfired. What could I do? I could try to watch some TV, but I was sure that everything that happened would remind me of the incident. That guy on that one show kind of looks like him. Oh, she mentioned having to use the toilet. No, that wouldn’t work at all. I didn’t want to hear words, or see people, or be anywhere near here. The car. It’s like a sanctuary. I’m still in the world, but I can separate myself from it at the same time. I loaded my dog into the back, and got myself on the road. It was the middle of the night, so there weren’t many others around. The further I got from the city, the more isolated I felt. I even listened to classical music, so as to make believe I was the only person in the whole world. I drove all through the night, until I was so far away that I didn’t even know what state I was in. I didn’t pay attention to highway signs, or anything. I just focused on the pavement. I’m running out of gas now, though, so I start to look for the nearest place to stop. It’s in the middle of nowhere, with only a tiny little convenience store for drinks and smokes. I walk up to the counter and find that I recognize the clerk. It’s the man from before. He’s grinning at me, and then he asks if he can touch my bladder.

Microstory 1364: Budge

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Co-Anchor: Thank you for tuning in this morning. I hope you’re already having a great day. Our first guest lives just outside of Hillside, and she has a special treat for us. Why don’t you introduce yourself, and your little friend?

Budgie Owner: Hello, I’m Budgie Owner, and this is my budgie, Kaleidoscope. I call him Kale for short, though. Say good morning, Kale!

Kale: [...]

Co-Anchor: Aww, is he shy?

Budgie Owner: I guess he is. I’m sorry, he’s not usually like this. Say hi, Kale!

Kale: Hi, Kale!

Budgie Owner: There we go. Good bird, Kale. Here, have a treat.

Kale: Thank you!

Co-Anchor: Aw, that’s adorable. Now, I understand that Kale does a lot more than just say a few words, right?

Budgie Owner: That’s right. I’m a retired engineer, and I rigged my house with a bunch of pulleys, levers, and other simple machines. The mechanisms are really sensitive, and easy to maneuver, so Kale here can actually do a lot of things for me. He can open doors, and crack the window. He can turn off the lights, and even start the coffee before I wake up.

Co-Anchor: And does he? Does he do that unprompted?

Budgie Owner: He has his own little alarm clock next to where he sleeps that chirps at him. It gives him enough time to start my coffee, yes. Don’t worry, though. He’s not my slave. He’s my best friend. I don’t make him do anything that’s too hard for him, or that he doesn’t like.

Co-Anchor: That’s lovely. So, he doesn’t live in a cage?

Budgie Owner: Oh no, birds aren’t meant to live in cages. He flies freely in and out of the house.

Co-Anchor: He always comes back, though, right?

Budgie Owner: Well, when I say he flies out of the house, I really just mean around the house. He doesn’t go exploring in the woods, or anything. There are a lot of predators out there, so neither of us wants him going too far. He just likes to feel the sun in his face sometimes. He always waits for me to open the door for him, and makes sure to stay in my line of sight.

Co-Anchor: I imagine clean up is quite a bit of work, if he can do his business wherever, instead of in a cage.

Budgie Owner: He has a special area for that. I’ve trained him to return to what I call his throne when he needs to do that. He’s very intelligent, as all parakeets are.

Co-Anchor: Are parakeets and budgies the same thing?

Budgie Owner: They are, it’s just a different name. I use them interchangeably.

Co-Anchor: Great. So, you have a demonstration for us?

Budgie Owner: Yes, the station has been kind enough to recreate the bare bones of my living room, and I’m gonna have Kale do a few tricks for you.

Co-Anchor: That’s wonderful. Whenever you’re ready.

Budgie Owner: Okay. I’m setting you down now, Kale. Go ahead. Breezy. Kale, breezy! Breezy!

Co-Anchor: And that’s a codeword?

Budgie Owner: Yes, that’s supposed to prompt him to open the window, to let some air in.

Co-Anchor: Perhaps he knows this isn’t really his house.

Budgie Owner: Oh, he definitely does, but we were just practicing before you went on the air. I’m not sure what’s made him so shy. He loves to perform, even for strangers. I just can’t get him to budge.

Co-Anchor: Ah, budge. I get it. Well, we’re going to go to a commercial break, and when we come back, I’m sure Kale will be more than ready to show us what he’s made of.

Microstory 1064: Nellie

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His blood wasn’t black; it was greenish...and a little black. And it wasn’t that thick. And it only lasted a couple days. He must have been poisoned with something. Hi, I’m Nellie MacGuinness, and this...is the news on my father’s co-worker. Salvatore Gallo woke up one morning thinking it was just like any other day. But things took a dark turn...literally, when he started bleeding a blackish liquid. Medical professionals from here to Jordan were baffled by the phenomenon, and could not explain what had caused it. Scientists attempted to study the fluid, but could only conclude that there was otherwise nothing different about it than regular blood. It still contained platelets, white blood cells, and even red blood cells. It would seem only the plasma had been contaminated by an unknown, and unisolated foreign substance. After forty-eight hours of being kept under observation, Mister Gallo’s plasma naturally replenished itself, and returned to a typical red color, given to it by the iron that’s used to transport oxygen throughout the body. Miraculously, the samples taken by researchers also returned to the normal color, calling into question whether science was capable of explaining this at all. Mister Gallo’s health did not seem to be negatively impact by this, beyond the superficial papercut he suffered while preparing to deliver the weather for the ten o’clock news. He only sought medical attention, because he thought black blood seemed strange. I have reached out to Mister Gallo’s publicist, but was told by the receptionist at the news station that he does not have a publicist, nor is he speaking with the media. My attempts to question the medical staff at Mineral County Hospital have come up fruitless as well, as they responded only with the canned answer, no comment. That was that, and this is me. With NNM, I’m Nellie MacGuinness, and you have been watching...Nellie’s News Minute.

I was raised by two news anchor parents who met at, I dunno...like, news school, or whatever. We’ve been traveling the country as they keep getting new jobs at different stations. Mineral County may sound like a really small market, and according to ratings, it is, but it’s also home to one of the most interesting news teams this side of the Atlantic. We’re proud of boast the highest online video viewership in the nation. People from all over the world watch the our news, which includes my power-couple parents. The news itself isn’t that interesting, but they make it interesting with colorful comments, and entertaining spotlight segments. Hopeful stars from all over the state, and a few from neighboring states, come to be promoted on the programs, because they know a huge audience is ultimately going to see them. We were actually one of the first stations to simulcast live online, if you can believe it. I’m sure you would have assumed New York, or L.A. We’re pretty progressive here, so I’m happy we finally found a good home. It’s only now getting to be so crazy, though, right? First Viola, then Salvatore, and now this tire falls from the freaking sky? And how did it land on the roof so gently? That’s another thing scientists can’t explain, and they probably never will. I know you wanted to know about me and Viola, but we weren’t all that close. We were on the volleyball team together, so I guess there’s that. Nothing exciting happened between us, if that’s what you’re looking for. She had her good samaritan stuff, and I have black blood to deal with. The fun never ends.

Microstory 980: Disco

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I just have one question for you: why does everyone seem to hate disco so much? It’s not like everyone who listened to it when it was first popular is dead, so why is disco itself dead? We still listen to all kinds of music that isn’t trending right now; wasn’t created just a year or two ago, so why is this one genre so largely despised? Well, I’ve done a bit of research on the matter, and learned that it all stems from people’s hatred of it back when it was first being created. Or rather it comes from people being convinced that there was something wrong with it. Evidently, radio station personalities began a national campaign to combat the genre; a coordinated strike against what they perceived to be a threat to real music. Disco was catchy, but often overproduced. It gave rise to discotheques, which replaced live bands, souring people’s perception of it. Basically, all the complaints we had about disco are the same ones we’re seeing today with pop. There is a markèd difference between a band who writes and performs their own music—who believes in what they’re making, and has something to say—and a pop singer who hires a lyricist and composer to make something for them, and essentially absorb all the credit. But not all art is the same, and performers and audience members don’t all get the same thing out of that art. It’s okay that Miley Cyrus doesn’t have any strong feelings about Jay-Z or Britney Spears, yet they were both included in her song Party in the USA, because her fans like the sound, and that’s really all that matters. While art is always in competition with other art for your attention, it’s not designed to be better than anything else. I love disco, and I won’t apologize for that, just like I don’t expect you to apologize for listening to crap, like The 1975, or The Lumineers.

Microstory 782: Sax

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One of my favorite bands growing up was Sunday Think About It, in no small part because of their variety of instruments that they used. I listened to their debut album, I Miss U!! I don’t know how many times. You can imagine how excited I was when I won tickets on the radio to see their Hudson City show, which would be their only Usonian stop during their international tour. The package included, not only two backstage passes, but also the opportunity to hang out with the band after the show. My best friend, Daleka and I were so incredibly excited, but there was just one problem: we lived thousands of miles away, and we had no money, and no vehicle. Our parents were supportive of us going, but since we had no way of getting there, they obviously didn’t think it would be a problem, so maybe that wasn’t so genuine. Well, we sure showed them. Keep in mind that this was a time before cell phones and security camera facial recognition. Back in these days, if you were caught on a train without a ticket, the conductor would send a message to the next station, where a law enforcement officer would be waiting for you. Of course, if you had enough cash on you, you could just pay for a ticket without dealing with the authorities, but if you had the money in the first place, you probably wouldn’t have had to sneak on at all. We played it right, though. He came by to check tickets, and we pretended like we were looking for them, freaking out about having lost them. There were real tears, and everything. We put on a good show. Fortunately, we are on the express line, which meant the stops were few and far between, so it would be awhile before he could let us off. He took pity on us, and agreed not to involve the law, I kind of always felt bad about us manipulating him.

As far as we had gotten, we hadn’t gotten far enough. We were able to hitchhike a few more legs, but that soon got tiring, and people weren’t willing to take us very far without being paid. We needed better options, so we thought up a new approach. Daleka had brought with her a saxophone, hoping that the band’s saxophonist at the time, Lochana McGiddy would sign it for, oblivious to the fact that nothing writes well on brass. Neither of us actually played the saxophone, but I was a decent flautist, so I knew I could figure it out. Every city we went to, we would find parks with the most number of visitors, and perform for them. We realized our shtick was better off with humorous undertones, with me “purposely” playing poorly, and Daleka dancing ridiculously. Well, we made it to the concert on time, and it was great. Unfortunately, we never did get to meet the band, though, as there were some failures to communicate that were beyond our control. As it turns out, the radio people didn’t have everything in order. Then about ten years later, someone on the internet invented a website where you could post short videos. Someone else, in one of the cities that paid our way to Hudson uploaded some footage from our performance. In response to this, others realized they had seen the same act in their own cities, and uploaded our other performances. Somehow, the band members of Sunday Think About It at the time caught wind of this, and saw our morning show interview about it. Feeling bad for having failed to meet us those many years ago, they invited us to Austin; paid our way, and everything. We started a jam session, and well, granddaughter of mine, you can guess the rest. I spent the next twenty-four years as their saxophonist.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: August 16, 2162

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“Wait,” Leona said, “start over. Why is the new Savior on Durus?”

“And what’s Durus again?” Serif asked.

“Durus is a rogue planet,” Xearea began. “It was ejected from its star system millions of years ago, and has been flying through interstellar space ever since. It carries with it unusual temporal properties, kind of like all of Kansas. Speaking of Kansas, it somehow formed a random connection to a city that used to exist called Springfield. Over the course of decades, it slowly started leaking into the new planet, until it was all gone. A society formed there, of people struggling to live on their new world, fighting monsters, and each other.”

“If it’s a rogue planet,” Leona asked, “how are they even able to breathe?”

“It maintains its connection to Earth. Air moves freely between the two worlds. There’s a region called Watershed where it literally always rains, and is their only water source. Over time, people developed powers, which allowed them to even share the light and warmth of our sun. Unfortunately, these days, the air is thin, Watershed is drier than ever, and the sun is all but gone. They’re stuck in perpetual twilight, but the people are still there. Hell, even some Earthans were sucked up into it when it passed within miles of us, including Saga Einarsson.”

“Saga?”

“Yes. She is currently on a path to mothering The Last Savior in 2169.”

“Wait a minute,” Missy jumped in. “She’s on the path towards it? Meaning her child hasn’t even been born yet? But we’re going to get her now?”

“It will take many years to reach her,” Xearea explained.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Serif argued. “We have powers. Can’t you just teleport someone there to grab her? I know some people can travel to other worlds. The Trotter just did that for us, and we were in another galaxy!”

“I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that, not with the Savior. Saviors can’t travel any other way beyond orbital teleportation, or, like, on a ship.”

“How far away is it?” Leona questioned.

“Right now?” She looked at her notes. “About point-one-eight lightyears away. Now that it’s overcome the effects of our system’s gravitational disturbances, it’s moving at a steady rate of point-one-eight lightyears every year.”

“Holy crap, that’s fast!” Leona asked to clarify.

“It is. I believe they’re working on a way to stop that, slow themselves down, or even reverse course, but for now, that’s how it is.”

Leona stood in silence while she calculated some extremely high level math in her head. The others stared at her, except for Serif, who was smiling at her genius.

“Hello?” Curtis asked, not understanding what was happening.

“It’ll work. We have to leave today, but I believe it’ll work. I assume we have a ship available, and that it’s capable of traveling by present-day standards?”

“Point-two-two-c, yes,” Xearea confirmed. “That’s right.”

“It will take the vessel just under eight years to get there,” Leona confessed to them, like the leader of a new heist team that's ready to find out what they signed up for. “Which is fine for us…that’s only eight days. I imagine it’s all automated?”

Xearea laughed. “Sorry, you’re not that lucky. You’ll need a crew.”

“Crew who?”

Xearea turned her head.

“Missy?”

“Me?” Missy asked. “Why me?”

“You’re an engineer, ain’t ya?”

“Well...yeah, but.”

“It’s perfect. You’ve spent the last couple years catching up with today’s technology, and now it’s time to put them to the test. Do you accept, or are you going to be difficult about it?”

“No need to get snippy. I’ve done things for the powers that be from time to time. Believe me, I know the drill. I’m in.”

“Who else?” Serif asked.

“The other three are waiting for you on The Warren.”

“The Warren? That’s the name of the ship?” Leona asked. “As in...”

“Yes,” Xearea answered. “It was named after her.”

“Hold on,” Serif stopped. “Why aren’t we using the ship Leona brought here from Dardius? Doesn’t that go faster than light, or something?”

“It could approach lightspeed,” Leona corrected. “And it was destroyed, because...never mind.”

“Only Earthan technology for you,” Xearea said. “We should get going to meet up with the rest of the team.”

“Am I part of the team?” Curtis asked enthusiastically. “What can I do?”

Xearea half-frowned at him. “You can teleport one of these three to the elevator.”

He sported a full frown. “I can only teleport by line of sight.”

Xearea shrugged. “Then sky jump it.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ve never sky jumped?”

He obviously hadn’t.

She stepped over and pointed out of the window. “You can see the sky. So teleport up there, then before you fall to your death, teleport back down to the surface, but somewhere else.”

He looked scared out of his mind.

Xearea continued, “or you can stay home while the womenfolk go to work.”

He didn’t say anything, but that was exactly what he wanted.

Xearea formed a small warp bubble around the four of them after everyone was finished packing the essentials. This was something a Savior needed to be able to do to save a group of people all at once, but it required a lot of energy, so they didn’t do it often. She transported them right inside the egress station for the Balikpapan Space Elevator. No one noticed their actual arrival, but workers didn’t seem surprised to see them, and never asked for any credentials. “We’ve been working on this operation for months,” Xearea explained to them. “Well, by we, I mean a small team of cleverly placed salmon charged with protecting the whole of our species space program. They’ve been expecting us, and are prepared to ascend whenever you are. This is where I leave you.”

Unlike the space elevator Leona used with Darko to ultimately travel all the way to Mars in 2076, this one was designed to only take a few hours to reach station orbit. Interstellar ships were built exclusively on Luna, even ones designated for Mars, or the outer orbitals. Shipyard architect Kristiana Freese is quoted on a plaque in the carriage as saying, the moon is responsible for tides, and really that’s it. It has some water, but no hope of forming a sustainable atmosphere, like Mars ultimately will. It is thusly only good for two other things: deep space telemetry, and building ships. It simply wasn’t practical to build them on Earth, and have to waste fuel fighting through the atmosphere. Vacuum departure was the only logical technique. They would not have to go all the way to Luna, though, since the Warren was docked on the Seager Elevator Station.

They walked up the ramp to see a few familiar faces, each running through their respective preflight checklists. Of course Brooke Prieto-Matic was their pilot. Her experiences as a child when Leona was tasked with transporting her from ancient Tribulation Island, to Earth, had inspired her to go into the field. She had spent the last several decades learning and practicing her trade. Dar’cy, with martial arts blood running through her veins, was their security officer. Their crew was small, and they were all friends, so they did not foresee any internal conflicts warranting security intervention, but her skills could come in handy. Paige, with her many years of experience as a leader, was the captain of the Warren. She greeted them warmly, but not too warmly. She regarded them professionally, knowing they needed to understand the chain of command. As recently decided, Missy was their engineer, so she started her own checklist, so they could get going, letting the unassigned newbies get to know where they were going to be living for the next couple weeks.

“You’ve come a long way since we last saw you,” Leona said.

It’s been longer for me than for you,” Paige said. “Longer than even Brooke, or Dar’cy. I’ve done some time traveling in the meantime. I’m not even sure how old I am now. At least three hundred years.”

“How long have you known you were going to do this?” Serif asked. “How long have any of you?”

“A few months. Warren was built in only that amount of time. You would be surprised how fast nanoconstructors can make something these days. The design is actually rather old, though, so they just needed to be programmed. Let me give you a tour.” She turned and started pointing at things while they followed. “This is the cargo bay. We shouldn’t need it, but again, it was easier to use a preexisting design, than to create a new one. In here are half of the stasis pods. The other half are on the other side, since we didn’t want to put all our eggs in one basket.”

“I thought this was a real-time ship.”

“It is,” Paige agreed. “The pods come with great danger at this point in history, so we won’t use them unless we absolutely have to.” She continued with the tour. “Here’s the med bay, canteen, and kitchen. And the lounge area, and bathrooms for the humans.”

“How long can our supplies last?”

“We have enough meal bars for everyone who eats for twenty-eight years. Medical supplies are another story.”

“What other story?”

“Let’s just say...don’t get hurt.”

“Aye aye, sir,” Serif said.

“One aye is sufficient acknowledgment, Ensign,” Paige said. She could’ve been joking...or not. She went on, “quarters are upstairs. You two will be sharing a room with Dar’cy. She probably just won’t sleep one day out of the year.”

“How few rooms are there?”

“Only two. Brooke and I don’t sleep, so more would have just needlessly taken up space. We’ll spend most of our time on the bridge.” She opened a door to reveal the primary controls.

Though a lot of the ship reminded Leona of Serenity, or the 6-1-6 Globemaster, the bridge looked more like a cleaner version of the cockpit from the Eureka Maru. It was very minimalistic, with two chairs, and three computer interfaces. “It seems like it would take more than this without an artificial intelligence.”

“It has AI,” Paige contended. “It’s just not deep enough to make decisions. That’s what we’re here for. Don’t look at me like that, Leona. This isn’t a you thing. This is a sanctioned mission from the powers that be. We were all chosen independently.”

“We see that,” Serif said. “The question is not why you’re here, but why we’re here. As smart and badass as Leona is, she can’t help you most of the time. And I can’t help you at all.”

Paige spun around in her chair, and started tapping on the screen. “That I could not tell you. We’re happy to have you, though. Go ahead and get settled in. We’ll probably take off in an hour.”

“Are we certain we won’t appear in the middle of space come midnight central?” Serif wanted to clarify.

“We are,” Leona assured her, distracted. There was something Paige wasn’t telling them, and she had the feeling it had everything to do with the one room in the ship she pretended wasn’t even there.

Three hours later, they separated from Seager Station, and started accelerating out of the system. They were in bed when their time jump sent them to 2163. Alarms were blaring.

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