The Third Rail: Rock the House (Part II)

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They have TV here. They’re able to watch the broadcast of their Rock Meetings, if they so choose. Each episode is about an hour long, and one episode streams per day. At this rate, they’re going to be stuck on this prison world for about eight months. Fortunately for the representatives of the five realities, they’re not in any of the prison facilities. It’s a big planet, and an entire small continent has been devoted to witness protection instead of incarceration. It’s a little odd, to protect people on the same planet as the people they may need to be protected from, but it’s not a completely wild idea. Back in the Third Rail, there was only one inhabited planet, so witness relocation programs always worked like this. In fact, witnesses were rarely ever moved outside of their respective countries. There are no boats here. Any prisoner who wanted to reach a witness would have to first break out of wherever they’re being kept, then build themselves a raft. It would take them months to make it across the ocean, assuming they didn’t get caught anywhere. On the other hand, if they have access to a spaceship, it probably doesn’t matter anymore whether they have to go to a different planet or not.

Some witnesses in the program are a little more dangerous than others, so the continent has been further broken up into cities. The representatives are in the most luxurious of them all, designed for VIPs, leaders under grave threat, and in hiding, and others who need a little more consideration. Ramses was right, the accommodations are pretty good here, but Cosette doesn’t regret insisting on bringing her personal pocket dimension with her. This is her home, and it’s where she feels the most comfortable. She has installed it over the door of one of the closets in her realspace penthouse. Ayata is the one living out there instead, serving as a gatekeeper for visitors or attackers, but otherwise taking a vacation from her duties as an assistant. That’s what she’s meant to be doing anyway. “Tea and seaweed crackers? It’s a local delicacy.”

They’re by the water, about 300 meters above the surface. Each tower sits on top of the base, which grants access to a dedicated elevator and emergency stairwell. Only the structure at the top contains living space. The towers are structurally connected to one another, but there is no passage between them. You would have to go down to the first floor, and walk across the lobby, to get to another tower. “Ayata, I brought you here so you could have a break, not so you could keep working for me,” Cosette tries to explain for the umpteenth time. I thought it was a pretty good excuse, since there’s always work to be done back on Earth, so we’re always so busy. There is no business to take care of for the time being. Just relax.”

“I don’t...like doing nothing,” Ayata admits.

“Have you ever tried it?”

“Not really.”

Cosette sighs. “Do you know where that seaweed comes from?”

“The ocean?” Ayata asks in a half-question, unsure if she’s taking the full meaning here, or not.

“That ocean right there.” Cosette points through the windows. They’re not exactly real windows. They are viewscreens which are showing what the real windows see from the penthouse. They would have to leave the pocket dimension to look through them for real. “Why don’t you synthesize a sexy bikini, go down there, and sun yourself on the beach? Maybe meet someone new.”

“Ambassador DuFour,” Ayata scolds.

“Not to breach sexual harassment policy, but I remember wishing that I had shown my body off more when I was your age.”

Ayata was born in the Sixth Key. She doesn’t know what the world was like before the Reconvergence. “You can be my age if you want,” she reminds her boss.

Cosette leans her head against the backrest, and tilts her chin to the side. “I think I’m done age-shifting. I deal with people from the Parallel and the Fourth Quadrant so much, and they cured aging ages ago. It’s just not really much of an advantage anymore. Maybe it never was.”

“So which age are you going to choose? This one?”

She’s presently expressing the mid- to late thirties, which is still a bit older than how Nuadu appears. “I think so. It’s a good middle ground. I’m old enough to be respected, but young enough to be accessible.”

“And you’re not unattractive,” Ayata says with a smile. “Not to breach sexual harassment policy.”

Cosette smiles back.

“This wouldn’t happen to do with a certain military man who lives next door, would it? The one who’s always coming over to do his rounds?”

“He’s checking the perimeter,” Cosette reasons. “He’s been trained to be a protector.”

“No, he’s been trained as a killer. Those are the kind of soldiers who rank up to high leadership positions. He only comes over to see you.”

Cosette scoffs quietly, and shakes her head.

“How about this? How about you age yourself to seventy or eighty, and ask him to stay for dinner. Cook him a real meal; not synthesized, and give the room some ambiance. If he’s responsive, and engaged in conversation, he’s interested in you as a person, not just for your looks.”

“Maybe he’ll just say no, and I won’t learn anything. It won’t even necessarily be because of my apparent age.”

“He can’t say no,” Ayata reasons. “You’re going to cook for him to say thank you for all he’s done. He’s on vacation, so he doesn’t have anything to do. If he comes up with an excuse, I guess that’s your answer.”

“I haven’t cooked in a long time,” Cosette reveals.

“Well, I’ll help you. I like doing things the old way sometimes. I’ll probably be in charge of ambiance too since your taste is a little...”

“Bland? Is that the word you’re looking for?”

“Hey, you said it.” There’s a ring at the elevator downstairs. They look over at the security monitor to see Nuadu waiting patiently in the lobby. Ayata smirks. “Heh, it’s kismet.”

“House, let ‘im up,” Cosette instructs. They continue to watch as the doors open, and let Nuadu inside. He rides up to the top, walks inside, and is about to knock on the closet door when it opens. “Nice to see you, Harbinger.”

“Ambassador-at-Large,” he replies cordially.

“Would you like to come in for some tea and seaweed crackers?” She’s suddenly struck with a sense of relief that she and Ayata stopped to talk about the crackers first, before diving into them. They still look all nice and untouched.

“I really shouldn’t stay too long,” Nuadu says apologetically. “I’m afraid I woke up too late this morning, and I’m a little behind schedule.”

This looks like a pretty good opening. “Well, perhaps you can return this evening for dinner? I’ve been looking for a good excuse to cook.”

“Yeah, that sounds great.” He says it with a bit too much enthusiasm, but he knows if he tries to backpedal now, the drastic shift in tone will only make him look even more eager. So he widens his eyes, freezes up, and waits for Cosette to continue the conversation instead.

“Great! No pressure, but think about what you like to eat, and text me a message later. Include your dietary restrictions, of course. Maybe within the hour?”

“I can do that, thanks.” He looks over at Ayata. “And will the lovely Miss Seegers be joining us?”

Ayata stammers a bit. “I have a date with the, uhh...God of the Sea...tonight.” She smiles awkwardly. “I’m going on a walk. My boss says I work too hard, and she’s making me take a break. Away from here.” Nice save.

Cosette hopes that her comment doesn’t make Nuadu uncomfortable. Perhaps he missed Ayata’s emphasis on the word I. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” she says to Ayata, under her breath, but obviously loud enough for everyone in the room to hear.

“I believe that you will enjoy the beach at night,” Nuadu adds. “There are some bioluminescent sea creatures that come out after dusk. I don’t know what they are, but Andrei Orlov of the Fourth Quadrant likes to watch them. Perhaps you could meet up with him.”

“Thanks, I’ll give him a call.” Ayata points over her own shoulder. “I gotta go into the other room now.” She points at Cosette. “Unless you need something first.”

“No, that will be all, Ayata. Thanks.”

Ayata nods reverently, then walks away.

Cosette waits until she’s gone before admitting, “I’ve been trying to get her to slow down for a while now. We just kind of had a tiff about it. She doesn’t really understand that she’s not here to work.”

“I get where she’s comin’ from,” Nuadu replies. “I’m still workin’.”

“But you know you don’t have to, right? The Tanadama installed automated sentries all over the place. You passed at least two of them on your way here from your tower.”

“I know, but I just kind of...like to see the people.”

Cosette nods. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” She points towards the door as if he’s just about to leave.

“Yeah, I’m gonna—” He motions to the side of him.

“Right, right. You always start in the...parlor.” Her voice softens in a gradient as the sentence goes on. She steps a little to the side so he can do his made up job.

He does what he needs to do, inside the pocket and out, and then he leaves to run a security sweep of the other towers. Or maybe he never does that, and he only ever comes here. Cosette has never asked any of the others about it, and they’ve not brought it up on their own. They don’t interact all that much. If they didn’t grow up accustomed to the isolation of self-sufficient living, the last week they’ve been here has given them the requisite experience. That was evidently a major issue in the Parallel and the Fifth Division. Avoiding congregating in large groups was easy in the former, and in some cases, vital to survival in the latter. As the more seasoned diplomat of them all, perhaps she ought to take it upon herself to make changes to that. They’re going to be here for so long, they should get to know each other better.

Night has fallen, and the hour of the date—or non-date—is quickly approaching. Cosette is putting the finishing touches on her decorations, which she decided to do in realspace, instead of her pocket dimension. She didn’t end up accepting help from Ayata, save for a few minor tasks, and some constructive criticism. If this was going to mean anything, it had to come from Cosette, or he may as well be on a date with Ayata. Was this a date? Would he say as much? She’s about to have her opportunity to gauge his feelings based on his reaction to all this. The mood lighting alone will be hard to ignore. There’s an elevator notification. He’s early, so she’s not quite ready. Instead of wasting more time on more matches, she uses one of the lit ones to light the rest, and it occurs to her that this is how she should have done it the entire time, and she’s kind of an idiot. How did people live like this in the past? She was going for a classic, rustic feel, but it has been a lot of work. Will he appreciate the retro look, or will he be super confused since his civilization has just about always had robots and spaceships. Oh my God, she’s thinking about this too much. Answer the door. Answer the door!

She races to the security panel. “Come on up!” She tries to hit the elevator button, but she fumbles. Then she fumbles again. “Goddammit.” She finally hits her target, then taps the intercom button again. “Okay, now! Sorry.” As she’s watching the graphic of the elevator fly upwards, she remembers that Ayata suggested she look like an elderly woman to see if he’s here for her, or for her looks. Now she’s not so sure if she wants to go through with that. He’s almost here, she has to make a decision. Will it just throw him off? Will it be too distracting? Her age-shifting is a choice, she’ll look like an asshole if she’s all wrinkly and gross. He’s getting closer. She’ll have no excuse, or will she? Can she come up with some believable reason? Can she do it in the next five seconds? Four, three, two, one.

The elevator doors open, and Nuadu steps into the penthouse looking at a 55 or 56 year old woman. He’s shocked, but maybe not bothered? He looks her up and down. “Wow, you look gorgeous tonight.”

“Do you really think so?” Though she compromised on the aging, she’s not come up with a plausible explanation for not being thirty at the oldest. She ought to make herself look as hot as possible.

“Yeah, that dress is beautiful.”

“Thanks, it’s conventionally made, not synthesized.”

“I can tell. It doesn’t look...too ordered; cold. If that makes any sense.”

She smiles. “Come on in. Can I take your coat?”

“Yes, thank you.”

They have a nice dinner together. Though the food is not synthesized, as she promised it wouldn’t be, she didn’t exactly churn her own butter either. The penthouse came equipped with a number of advanced cooking tools and machines which her people never invented in the Third Rail. Though it’s certainly too early to say that the two of them are in love, it feels safe to acknowledge that it was indeed a date. The way he was looking at her, he’s definitely interested in something more. At one point, she gradually started aging herself up, and he didn’t bat an eye. After they were done eating, they retired to the sitting room for tea, at which point she caught her reflection in a decorative mirror, and asked whether he even noticed that she was 75 at this point. She explained that it happens on its own when she’s not being careful, and he told her that he didn’t care. There’s definitely something between them, they just need time to explore it. Luckily, they have eight months for that.

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 7, 2399

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About a week ago, a building in the middle of Manhattan, New York City, New York appeared out of nowhere that the people are calling The Superscraper. It was national news, but no one on the team—nor anyone affiliated with them—was paying attention to anything going on in the world. Their own concerns overshadowed anything in the public view. Not even Winona was apprised of the situation, though her father has been closely monitoring this development. The government is not allowed to go in, though, because while the building is located within the borders of the United States, it’s not technically a part of it. It is a Microsovereignty. It is Leona’s Microsovereignty.

The building is unlike any other in the world. It’s more like something one might find in the main sequence, or the Parallel. The Fifth Division doesn’t really do planetary structure as most everyone lives in space, but they would be capable of such an architectural feat. It’s a thousand meters high, and 180 meters wide, which is about half the size of a standard main sequence arcology. Depending on how high the floors are, you could serve hundreds of thousands of people here, or more. Who built this, and why? Leona had the idea to do something like it at some point, but a whole lot of other stuff got in the way, particularly all of her death threats, so she abandoned the idea, and the Microsovereignty itself.

Mateo and Leona only know now that anything happened to this place because it’s where Alyssa wants to meet. The whole area has been cordoned off by the International Relations Bureau, which normally wouldn’t be responsible for such matters, but it’s one of few exceptions. The two of them were placed on a list, because Leona no longer looks like herself. If she had access to temporal energy, she might be able to create the illusion of her real face, but as it stands, Alyssa appears to be the only one with such power. That’s why she didn’t need to put herself on the list, because she’s made herself look like Leona.

The outside is incredibly impressive, and the inside is just as, though still barebones, unfurnished. Alyssa, who still looks like Leona, greets them in the lobby. “Thank you for coming.”

“Hm.” Leona has interacted with people who look exactly like her before. One of them, Arcadia isn’t even an alternate version of her. She’s not sure why she’s so unsettled by it, but she would prefer it if Alyssa turned it off.

Alyssa seems to sense this. “Oh, sorry about that.” She drops the illusion, and goes back to her own face, which is weird too, what with Leona also looking like that. Everything and everyone needs to go back to the way they were.

“Are you feeling any better, or are you still against us?” Mateo asks her.

“I was never against you,” Alyssa tries to argue. “I’m brainwashed. Now, I know what you’re gonna say, if I’m aware of that, why can’t I just counteract it?”

“Neither of us thinks it should be so easy,” Leona tells her. “The mind is complicated, and space and time travel adds an extra dimension to it, because who knows where the technology that did this to you comes from?”

“I certainly don’t,” Alyssa promises.

“What’s changed then? Why are we here?”

“I would like to make a proposal,” Alyssa begins. “If you agree to cease all attempts at bringing temporal energy back to this world, I will bestow one of you access to your bodily alterations so that you may use them at your discretion. I don’t care which, though I know which one of you I would choose.”

“We weren’t trying to bring back temporal energy,” Mateo contends. I had to get out of range so I could bring my wife back.”

“Yes, I understand that,” Alyssa says. “I sensed your escape, and I sensed the bubble rushing out to keep up with you. Before you get mad, I did not personally make that happen. I am the Gyroscope’s caretaker, not its master. It works as long as I don’t leave for 50,000 years. No, I’m not talking about that, you were poking at the bubble before, and you still are. It has nothing to do with your little space excursion.”

Mateo and Leona exchange a look to see if the other has any idea. “We have no clue what you’re talking about. All we’re doing is observing it.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Alyssa requests.

“We’re not lying. We came to this world without powers. Our only concerns are Angela and Marie, and what happens to them when they get back.”

“They will be afforded exceptions as well,” Alyssa says. “I want them both to live as much as you do.”

“If you can make an exception for them—” Mateo begins before Leona hushes him up with a short shake of her head.

“So you are poking the bubble?” Alyssa presses.

“No, we are not,” Leona explains. “He just likes to poke holes in people’s arguments. If you’ll make an exception for Angela and Marie, and do whatever you could to help Arcadia, we would be grateful.”

“What’s wrong with Arcadia has nothing to do with me,” Alyssa reveals. “I’m afraid I can’t help her, though I would. You’re all my friends. I still want to be part of the team. I just have other loyalties now.”

“We understand.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, we do. We’ve been doing this a lot longer.”

Alyssa nods, agreeing to disagree. “Have you decided which of you will get their abilities back?”

“You’re still going to give that to us, even though we’re not...poking the bubble?”

Alyssa laughs. “I promised a gift, I’ll give you a gift. I suppose I should ask you to not poke the bubble, whether you have been doing it already or not.”

“Give it to her,” Mateo says of his wife. “She needs to look like herself.”

Alyssa regards Leona. “Is this amenable to you? You won’t be able to teleport.”

“I want this building,” Leona clarifies. Powers are great, but something tells her that this tiny little nation will soon be far more valuable than being able to jump around the globe a few hours faster. “Give me back my face.”

“Very well.” Alyssa reaches behind her back, and pulls out a cane with a giant-ass diamond at the top. It’s the Dilara Cane.

“Where the hell did you get that?” Leona questions.

“Dalton Hawke let me borrow it.”

“That is what sent us to this reality, did you know that?” Mateo asks.

“Hmm.” Alyssa examines the object. “He taught me how to make exceptions with it, and to maintain myself as an exception. He didn’t say anything about other realities.” She points it at Mateo. “Do you want I should send you back?”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 6, 2399

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Mateo brought one of Ramses and Leona’s little leechcraft up into space, thinking that it could be of some use to them, and he turned out to be right. Leona deployed it from the vacuum tent, leaving it in their then-orbit before they went back towards Earth in Mangrove Rocket Eleven. It is capable of a little station-keeping on its own, but it works best when latched onto some other satellite. It immediately fell into a decaying orbit, which means that it will eventually burn up in the atmosphere, but it will probably be years before that happens. They don’t need it to stay up there forever. They just want to get an idea of how this mysterious Omega bubble works.

“Anything?” Mateo asks. It’s late, and they’re back in the Kansas City lab with Tarboda and Heath, who are both asleep.

Leona takes a sip of her tea. “So far, so good. The bubble has not yet reached the leechcraft.”

“What does that mean?” he presses. “Did it shrink, or just stay where it is?”

She takes another sip. “There’s no way to know. If and when the bubble reaches it, there will be a split second before it shuts off where I might be able to tell that the bubble is the reason that this happened, and I didn’t just lose contact with it because of a micrometeoroid, or interference, or something. We may never be sure where the bubble is, and where it isn’t. By its very nature, it blocks such observation.” She takes another sip, and doesn’t even give herself enough time to set the cup down before she needs yet another.

“What I’m observing right now,” Mateo begins, “is that you need to go to bed.”

“No, I’m fine. I’m working.”

He points at one of the other screens. “What does this mean here?”

Leona peers at it. “Well, that—that means the big satellite we have up there is detecting temporal energy. The bubble must be receding. How did I miss that?”

“Because it’s like I said, you’re too tired.” He kind of paws at her.

“Bzzz!” she exclaims, trying to swat him away like a fly, then takes another sip.

“What exactly is this you’re drinking?” Mateo picks it up himself, and takes a tiny sip. “Whoa, this is black tea. If you take any more of this, you’ll be up all night. Come on.” He gently tries to pull her away from the machine. “It's time for bed.” He pulls a little harder when she resists.

“Mateo, this development means that I have to stay!”

“The computer is monitoring the bubble’s progress, right? You don’t have to be here to watch it. You’ve had a long day, and a long few weeks before that, and a long few months before that, and I could go back to the beginning of the first timeline you remember, couldn’t I? I know you want to keep on this, but you could make more mistakes. You don’t want that, do you?”

“No,” she replies in a nervous little girl voice.

“Go on upstairs,” Mateo urges softly. He starts waving his hand at the computer like a philistine. “I’ll call you if I see something happen on the thing.”

Leona nods, and turns away. Just then, the computer beeps. She spins right back around. “What was that?”

Mateo leans in to read it. “It’s a message...from Alyssa. She wants to meet.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 26, 2399

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Leona woke up yesterday, but she only spoke with Winona and Aldona. She wasn’t ready to speak with her future self, even if it meant staying away from her husband too. She’s still not ready for that today, so she’s focusing on the prisoners. Mangrove Rocket Three is orbiting Earth now, but they have no current plans to land on the surface until all of these loose ends are resolved. Right now, she’s sitting with Senator Morton. “We’ve never met. My name is Leona Matic.”

“I met a Leona Reaver.”

“Did you meet her, or did you lock her up and study her?”

“We mostly just kept her locked up,” Morton replies.

Leona nods. “Well...” She’s about to tell him that this is Reaver’s body, but he doesn’t need to know that. He doesn’t need to know anything.

“If we were to return you to Earth, what would you do? How would you handle the situation?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been dead for over eight months. They had a funeral. Some of your shady and corrupt dealings were later made public in a posthumous scandal that made headlines nationwide.”

He’s seething.

“Oh, don’t be mad at us. When you died, we moved on with our lives, and barely gave you another thought. You locked up our friends, but you were gone, so you couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. We had no need to soil your purported good name. We didn’t care. Other people found the skeletons in your closet, because they were there to be found, and those investigators cared. But that changes nothing, at least as far as I and my team are concerned. Good, bad, it doesn’t matter to us. We’re only worried about what you’ll tell the public. How will you explain your absence? Did you fake your death? Did someone else fake it?”

“Yes,” he interrupts her. “That one, ‘cause it’s true.”

“All they would have to do is exhume your body, and call that into question.”

“We’ll say I have a twin brother, who died in my place, and I tried to run for help, but they caught up to me.”

“Why did the people who murdered this twin brother because they thought he was you let you live once they realized their mistake?”

“Their boss changed their mind,” Morton suggests. He’s scared.

“You’re worried we’ll kill you, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“You think that we’ll solve the problem of your highly exaggerated death, as reported by the news, by turning it into a real death.”

“Well, is that so crazy? You killed me before.”

“Winona killed you, and I think she’s grown a lot since then. She was trying to protect her asset anyway, who you had unlawfully abducted.”

“I just wanted to understand who you people are. I still do!”

“Your daughter died too, did you know that? Did you see her in the cafeteria while you were learning how to be alive again?”

He was seething before, but now he’s fuming. “No. I could barely see a thing before the hock you just escorted me out of. The lights were so bright, and everything was blurry. Did Winona kill her too?”

“Absolutely not. It was an enemy, who we managed to destroy, and I’ll have you know that if I hadn’t sacrificed my own life, he may have been brought back too.”

“You look fine to me.”

“I’m on borrowed time,” Leona explains. She’s not going to get into the fact that her future self does end up returning too, especially because of the body deficit caveat.

“I don’t know what you want me to say. I wanna live, and honestly, I’ll do whatever you want to make that happen.”

Leona nods, and takes out her tablet. She starts flipping through photos of men with various hairstyles for Morton to see. He thinks nothing of it yet, but he’s going to be shocked, and probably afraid, when she tells him what these have to do with him. “I noticed that you have a full head of hair, which is impressive for a man of your age.”

“Yeah...”

“What if I told you that you may be able to look like a whole new person, but you would have to shave your head, and replace it with hair transplants?”

“Why would I do that? I mean, why would that be a thing?”

“We have a friend with the ability to make herself look like anyone. If we transplant some of her hair onto your head, you may gain that ability, except it won’t be an ability. You’ll only be able to choose your form once, and have to stick with it for the rest of your life. This will allow you to blend in with the public without anyone knowing who you really are. Even if you try to tell them the truth, they obviously won’t believe you. We’ll send you into the witness relocation program, and get you set up with a new place to live. You’ll have to stay out of the spotlight, though.”

“That sounds absurd.”

“Is it worse than being in hock? Because that’s what you’re facing if you don’t take this deal. We can’t have someone running around the planet, revealing all of our secrets to anyone willing to bend an ear.”

Morton sighs, shakes his head, and massages his temples. “Can I think about it?”

“You’ll have until the end of the week to decide.” She looks over to the door, and nods at Winona through the window. This conversation is over.

“Wait, how long until the end of the week? What day is it?”

“It’s February 26, 2399. Friday.”

“Dammit!” He’s frustrated, but the average person doesn’t ever need more than one day to make a decision. That’s plenty of time to weigh the pros and cons, and just get on with it. He lets himself be taken away.

Leona gets herself another cup of tea before the next subject comes in. He’s already sitting when she comes back in. She doesn’t bother joining him. She takes a slow sip by the door as she’s having a staring contest with him. “Lock ‘im up,” she orders decisively. “We’ll send him back to the main sequence whenever the opportunity arises.

Winona takes Erlendr away, and returns with Fairpoint. He doesn’t even get over the threshold before Leona dismisses him too. He’s going right back to the black site, just in a shiny new body.

Winona brings in the vengeful Fifth Divisioner.

Leona tries to rub some dead skin off of her cuticles, and pretty much ignores him for a few minutes. “What’s your name?” she finally asks impassively.

“Business.”

She rolls her eyes. “Did you mean to say Nunya?”

“No,” he insists, embarrassed. “Hold on, ask me again.”

She consults her watch. “I don’t care what your name is. I just can’t decide if I want to let the government interrogate you, or if I should send you to Antarctica. I’m hesitant to do either, because I don’t trust either party with this task, but I also don’t want to waste my own breath on it. I’m not sure you have anything valuable to say to me, but I worry that you might know something you don’t realize is important, particularly about Constance!Five.”

“I won’t tell you anything, and I won’t tell anyone else anything either.”

“You won’t? Why not?”

“Because I hate you with every molecule in my body.”

“How do you train new molecules to share this hate?”

“Huh?”

Leona narrows her eyes to try to read him. “Nah, you don’t know anything. You were just a tool. A new ally of mine killed you, and he did it to save me, but he also had his own reasons, and I don’t want to take that away from him.”

“So you’re going to kill me again?” he figures.

She stands up. “Go float yourself, whatever your name was.” She leaves the room, and manages to run into Mateo-slash-Future!Leona. “Wanna do me a favor?”

“Anything,” they promise.

“Teleport the prisoner in the interrogation room to the edge of the atmosphere.”

“Are you sure?” Meona asks.

“Yes,” she confirms as she passes by. Winona has been following her. “Did you put the next one where I asked?” she asks her.

“He’s on the bridge,” Winona says. “Vearden is watching him. Well...Tarboda is watching him, and Vearden is watching Tarboda.”

“Thanks.” Leona enters the bridge. “Computer, open the sunshields.” The viewports rise, allowing them to see the Earth above them. She steps up to one of them and looks out. “Have you ever seen such a thing?” she asks her grandfather.

“Such beauty,” Labhrás responds in his cool Irish accent.

“Do you ever wanna see it again? Not this view, of course, but something more than the inside of a prison cell?”

“I would. Very much, I would. I sincerely regret my life choices, and I’m ready to start making better ones. My death has been an eye-opener.”

“Parole rules,” Leona begins. “No contact with old associates, no firearms, no breaking the law. I’ll assign someone for you to check in with. You’ll be taking drug tests, and getting yourself a real job so you can contribute positively to society.”

“That all sounds quite reasonable. I appreciate the opportunity...granddaughter. I would also like to get to know you better, and find out what happens to me.”

She ignores his personal remark. “We’ll discuss the details of your responsibilities later. Vearden will take you to your new temporary cabin. Get some rest in a real bed.”

“Thank you.”

The vengeful Fifth Divisioner appears out of nowhere, and collapses to the floor.

Leona looks over to see him through the security mirror. “I knew it. I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.” She sighs. “Take him back to hock please.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 17, 2398

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Technically, this next error that they’re investigating is a lot closer than Wyoming. It’s right in the heart of the Plaza in Kansas City, but Ramses chose to put it off, because he was pretty sure that Erlendr was on Brooks Lake, and that seemed more urgent. Interestingly, they’re in the shopping block where they first searched for the Salmon Civic Center, which doesn’t exist in this reality. Alyssa has been spending her free time monitoring the cameras that they have set up in the parking lot where everyone seems to appear, and no one has come through since Vearden several weeks ago. If someone is looking for the Civic Center, they’ve been looking for a real long time. Mateo has made up a story in his headcanon to explain that as they’re wandering around the block. He thinks that maybe a traveler showed up for the predictable reason, inadvertently drawing attention to themselves. Someone who runs one of these businesses noticed him, and they got to chatting, which eventually led to a job. The traveler is still around, because they work somewhere close now.

“That would be a decent story, and it may yet prove true, but there’s something different about this one.” Ramses is wielding a portable brain scanner, and is waving it around, hoping to detect their target.

“What’s that?” Mateo asks.

“The satellite orbited two dozen times before it stopped—or disappeared, as it were. In that time, ten brains produced ten errors two dozen times. One brain, however, produced an error only once.”

“Where was it during all the other scans?” Mateo questions, pretty sure that Ramses doesn’t know for sure.

“I can’t say for sure,” Ramses answers, “but funny enough, the orbital pass where it appeared happened at exactly midnight central Saturday night.”

“The club,” Mateo realizes. “The Salmonday Club only exists in an extra temporal dimension. I can’t remember what it’s called.”

“The Facsimile,” Ramses replies. “If my calculations are correct, it should be right around...here.” He stops at a dirty off-white wall.”

“That’s why we’re here so late.”

Ramses checks his watch. “We’re here just in time.” He pulls out a syringe, and prepares to inject himself with it.

“You’re going to teleport us in?”

“If our target is in there, they may not be able to get out, which implies the door that’s supposed to be in this spot doesn’t magically appear at 23:59:30. Ours may be the only way in or out.”

Mateo nods.

Ramses injects himself with the temporal energy-infused water. He lets it run through his bloodstream, then checks his watch again. “Are you ready?”

“You warned Leona where we might go, right?”’

“Of course.” Ramses winks, and takes Mateo by the shoulders. Once his watch beeps, he teleports them both through the temporal window.

They end up in the club, or what used to be the club. Now it’s a dirty and abandoned empty space with light trickling in from a collapsed roof, and mold growing on the walls. Ramses holds up his scanner, and tries to find the signal. Once he catches it, they exit the building, and head down the street. It too has been abandoned. Entire buildings have collapsed, vines have taken over. Cars have been burnt up. This is a post-apocalypse world. If anyone is living here, it’s not easy for them, and it’s not fun. Ramses continues to follow the signal only a short distance to the Ponce de Leon. It’s the only thing left standing in all its former glory. Someone is performing maintenance for it, and they likely live in this dimension’s version of the Bran safehouse.

They walk up the stairs, and knock on the door. They hear shuffling on the other side. A  very old man answers, and peers at them. He stares for quite a while, barely able to hold his own weight up. “I’m afraid there’s no way out.” He turns, and begins to walk towards the kitchen. “But there’s still tea, if you want it.” He sets a pot on a gas burner, and lights it. There’s no electricity, so he’s living like a camper in many ways. The unit is clean, though, and tidy. He takes pride in his space, even if no one else could ever have seen it until today.

“My name is Ramses Abdulrashid, and this is my associate, Mateo Matic. How long have you been trapped in this dimension?”

He looks up and to the left as he checks his memory archives. “Since Christmas Eve, 2022. The Cleanser trapped me here. He didn’t take too kindly to me helping one of his victims get her life back. Maybe you know her, Siria Webb?”

“We do,” Mateo answers.

“How was she doing?” the old man asks.

“She was all right when we left her,” Ramses replies, “but she never mentioned you, so you may have seen her more recently than we.”

The man nods. “Well, I’m Mackenzie Dodge, former proprietor of the Salmonday Club, and current sole occupier of this world. I wish we could have met under better circumstances.”

“We think we can get you out,” Mateo tells him. “We came here intentionally, strongly suspecting that someone was trapped. I can’t imagine being alone for over 370 years. It must have been hard.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Mackenzie says with a laugh as he’s preparing the tea bags. “This place only exists on the eighth day of the week.”

“Right.” Mateo looks over to Ramses.

He does the math in his head. “More than fifty-three years.”

“That’s still a lot, sir,” Mateo says.

Mackenzie smiles. “It is, but—” He suddenly grasps his head, and hisses in pain.

“Oh, no,” Mateo laments.

Before they can do anything, the patch of timonite on Mackenzie’s head spreads throughout his body, and spirits him away to the Sargan Forest. The two of them just stare at the kitchen counter in horror.

“Come on,” Ramses says. “I have to get back to my lab.”

“Are we not going to talk about what just happened?”

“Only so that I can say that it’s not your fault.

“Yes, it is.” Once is an occurrence, twice is a coincidence, and thrice is a pattern. From Mateo’s perspective, twice is evidence enough. Even if he’s not the cause of this issue, he’s certainly not helping. This investigation is going to have to move on without him. His connection to timonite and the bulkverse is too strong to let him just run around free, ruining people’s lives.

Microstory 1785: Through the Vela

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I reach out and shake the baby bear’s little paw. He smiles wider, and looks a bit relieved. The old man tells me as much. People are often so reluctant and unsympathetic when they meet him. They’re too afraid. They just came through something called the Vela, and still think they’re about to wake up from a bad dream. It’s not a dream. It’s all real. The man built this cabin near Big Bear Lake deliberately because it happens to be some kind of focal point of instantaneous travel. People from all over the world spontaneously wake up here having never transited the space in between. Every night someone new arrives somewhere in a kilometer radius of this cabin. For some reason, I showed up earlier than usual, which is why mama bear wasn’t ready for me. She’s normally tasked with going out, and nudging the arrivals to the cabin. She’s not as smart as her son, but she knows that she can convince people to go this direction simply by placing herself on the other side of them. She was probably pretty surprised that I wasn’t scared of her, and was able to pass by her with none of her usual form of coercion. Very rarely, two people will show up on one night, so she continues to patrol until morning. That’s why she didn’t come back with me. When I ask the man what happens next, he tells me that the Vela chooses people using whatever parameters it’s decided upon, if it’s even sentient. He doesn’t know. He only knows it’s my job to find my own exit, but only after new clothes and hot tea. I’m not sure I’m going to go look for an exit point. It might be nice, renting a car, and driving back myself. It’s not like I have anywhere better to be. I don’t have to work until Monday, and my parents will be okay on their own for now. Anyway, I don’t have to decide anything right away. I’ll just sit and enjoy my tea.

A half hour later, the mother returns, but she’s not alone. A woman about my age is accompanying her. She doesn’t appear to be scared of the beast either, nor worried about where she is, or what the hell is going on. She too is naked, and isn’t even shivering. I didn’t think there was anyone else in the world who likes the cold as much as I do. She asks the same questions, and the man answers them again. She asks a couple more, like how the bears are so smart. The mom had her own Vela experience while she was pregnant, and it changed the both of them. Brown bears aren’t even native to this area, but they chose to stick around so they could help the humans. This calling has been passed down the old man’s family for generations, but the incidents became more and more frequent, and he never found the time to meet someone, so the bloodline ends with him. When he dies, people are just going to have to deal with their situation themselves. The woman and I exchange a look. Little bear nuzzles her knee, so she pets him. All my life I’ve been trying to figure out whether I had some kind of purpose. Folding clothes, and returning them to their tables surely isn’t it. I’m sure my sister can take care of our parents on her own. She prefers it, and I’ve never been much help anyway. Perhaps this is what I’ve been looking for this whole time. This old man needs to retire, and the lost souls who pass through here need a way to return home. I tell him this, and he thanks me. He doesn’t even try to argue, or talk me out of it. He’s obviously been hoping for a replacement for awhile now, but he’s never known how to go about asking. The woman stands and informs him that now he has two to take his place. We all smile, even me.

Microstory 1003: Louise

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I would like to thank you for doing this at my home. Ever since it happened, I have just been unable to return to school. Mommy and daddy says I have anxiety, so I’m taking these pills, which make me a little loopy. Would you like something to drink? I have tea, or just hot water. What did you want to ask me? Viola, right. Well, you know I always felt quite close to her, even though she probably wouldn’t have called us friends. I suppose you could say we were kindred spirits. She had an excellent sense of style, just like me. We listened to all the same music, and. [...] Sorry, was I saying something? Viola, yes. What a lovely young woman. Daddy always wanted me to end up with someone like her, but I admit, I’m more into the edgy girls. Don’t get me wrong, she was a wild one, when she let her inhibitions go. I saw her at a party once. Dancing all over the couches and coffee table, pretending that the floor was lava. Granted, this was at a sleepover when we were in first grade, but she hasn’t lost that spark, ya know? Or I guess, she hadn’t, until...ya know. Oh, tea’s ready. Where was I? Viola, of course. Her death had a really big impact on me. When something like that happens, it just really makes you take stork [sic] of your life. We’re all gonna die one day, and there’s nothing we can do about it. She was a lovely young woman, though, and didn’t deserve to leave this plane of existence so young, and so gruesomely.

Did you hear the rumors about how they found her? This abandoned building on the edge of town, covered in—oh, I tremble at the thought. If you ever find my body like that, please clean me up, and move me somewhere more proper, like The Alston. That’s such a nice place; both my parents are members, as are Viola’s. I saw her there a few times, and we would play this game where I would try to talk with her, and she would pretend I wasn’t there. Just like at that party, she was always using her imagination. We can all learn a lot from Viola; from her life, not her death. She was kind to everyone, except maybe me. How’s your tea? What was I talking about? Viola, indeed. Why, that sounds like the title of a television show. Viola, Indeed. Wednesdays at nine. Or perhaps Indeed, Viola. I’m still working on it. I’m afraid I lost myself again. These pills have really done a number on me. Sometimes I dream that I’ve flushed them all down the toilet, but then I wake up and realize that would be impossible, so I take another two and forget about it. I’m really only meant to take one a day, but I’m twice as anxious as my doctor thinks. Back on track, Louise, get back on track. I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead, but she wasn’t as nice of a person as everyone makes her out to be. She was cold and dismissive of me, for no reason. We had so much in common—we were both rich—so we should have been friends. I never did understand what she didn’t like about me. Don’t get any bad ideas, I didn’t kill her, if that’s what you’re thinking. Unlike some of my more...suspicious classmates—no offense—I believe they caught the murtherer. Murther most foul, that was. Or is it fowl? Which is birds, and which is bad things. I can never remember. How’s your tea? Where is your tea? Did I not give you tea? Where’s my tea? The whole pot is missing. Another mystery for Blast City’s finest.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: Circa 1921

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It was blistering cold once Arcadia apported them through time, to a new date, theoretically in the past. The group huddled together and looked around, seeing only snow, clouds, and the hint of civilization a ways away. They were all bundled in several layers, with the men wearing tall fluffy hats, and the women hoods and scarves. They couldn’t remember changing into their new clothes, which made them uncomfortable, but they all agreed to just let it go. Surely they changed themselves, and only later had their memories erased.

They started trudging through the snow, towards the part of some building they could see in the distance. It would get larger and smaller as trees blocked their view. Only once they were nearly inside it could they tell that it was some kind of village. The houses were built of logs, often with stone foundations. They were crude and deteriorating, but it was unclear what year this one. None of them knew what kind of time period to assume when looking at this kind of architecture. It was possible for these structures to exist in Mateo’s original time in the early 21st century. They didn’t even know what part of the world they were in.

People milled about in either misery or depression, or both. As destitute as they were living from the perspective of privileged people from what was likely the future, this didn’t seem like a normal day. There was an air of unusual calamity that the residents weren’t used to going through. They tried asking a few people what was happening, but they just ignored them and moved on, not wanting to stir up trouble.

“Perhaps they don’t speak English,” Serif proposed.

“We just have to try harder,” Lincoln said. “We have to figure out what we’re meant to be doing here; who it is we’re being asked to save.”

They kept walking slowly, careful to not make any sudden movements. This didn’t seem like all that small of a village, but it also looked like it was larger than its current population. People must have been moving away in recent times. At least that was what Mateo presumed, but what did he know? They saw a few signs on the buildings, and they were all in English, so that didn’t explain why no one was responding to them. No, it was because everybody probably knew everybody, and they were very obviously strangers. Finally, an elderly woman didn’t wait to be asked any questions. She offered to help them spontaneously.

“We have traveled a long way by foot,” Darko said to her. “We were hoping for a place to rest, and a warm meal, though we cannot pay.”

“But we could work for it,” Leona said. “We do not wish to take what we do not deserve.”

“The synagogue will have food,” the old woman replied. “You can help with the children there.”

“What is wrong with the children?” Serif asked.

She turned to lead them to the synagogue. “They’re dying.”

The group looked at each other in horror. Arcadia had not prepared them for the sight of dead children.

They entered the synagogue to find several children lying in cots, each with similar symptoms. They were sweaty and shaky. Some were coughing, others were vomiting, and others were doing both. It was an even more frightful to see than they thought it would be. Most were toddler age, with the youngest probably having been born in the last couple months, and the oldest being around eight.

“What disease it this?” Lincoln asked.

The old woman was gone. A younger woman was nearby, though. “Double pneumonia,” she said. “It can be treated, but we do not have the medicine for it. Not here. We have sent word, but I fear help may not come in time. Unless, that is, you are who we have been expecting.”

“No,” Leona said with a determined look on her face. “But we can help just the same.”

She reached into her bag and took out what she referred to as her second aid kit. It had all the basic of a first aid kit, plus a few things that didn’t generally come with it. Not everyone was educated enough to carry needles and antibiotics, but Leona was, so she always wanted to be prepared. Her kit had seen a boost in inventory after she recovered from having to cut off both of her legs during the Legolas tribulation. “Pneumonia is easy to treat where we come from,” she whispered to the group while inspecting her supplies. “Unfortunately, these children may be too far gone. I can quell all of their symptoms, but I can only cure one, maybe two.” She took out one of those plastic pill organizers and opened up every slot. Then she started dropping medicines into the slots to create individualized cocktails. She stopped in the middle of it and started thinking. “Serif, go find a mortar and pestle. Lincoln, ask someone for everything required to make tea. Darko, start helping keep the children comfortable. Give them water—boil more if you have to—ask them if they want more pillows, or more blankets, or whathaveyou.”

They all sped off to complete their tasks, leaving Mateo wondering what he could do to help.

“You have the worst job of all,” she said to him.

“What?”

“Like I said, I can only cure one for certain. The rest will have to pull through on their own, which they may not be able to do. It will be your responsibility to find out who it is we’re here to save.”

“Are we sure there is only one? Maybe we’re here for everybody.”

“Mateo, have you ever heard of a group of dozen and a half historical figures who all grew up in the same tiny village?”

“Well, no...but—”

“Your father was The Kingmaker, right? He saved famous people. There’s only one famous person here, and you have to figure which one of these children that is.”

“But we need to—”

“I’d like to save them all too, but Arcadia didn’t put us here to do that. If you want your father back, you have to do what’s being asked of you. Learn all of their names, and report them to the group. Hopefully, between the five of us, someone will recognize the right name.”

He hesitated.

“Go,” she ordered. “The faster I administer the medicine, the greater the chances we have that it works.”

Mateo did as he was told, and started asking the children’s parents’ their names. They weren’t particularly expressive, but they saw no harm in telling them this information. They could see that the newcomers were here to help, even if they didn’t understand how. Based on the names he was being given, everybody here was Russian, or something. He asked a couple of their birthdays as a sneaky way of finding out that it was probably around the year 1921. Why they were able to understand each other, Mateo didn’t know. They certainly didn’t know any Russian, and the villagers likely didn’t all speak English at the time. Arcadia must have put in place some kind of universal translator for them that also made signs legible, and made it so that no one realized people’s mouths as they spoke weren’t matching up with the translation listeners were magically hearing. None of the names sounded familiar until he reached the last one. A two-, maybe three-year-old was lying in his little cot. He was experiencing the same things as all the others, but wasn’t in near as much distress. He was a strong child, with an iron will who couldn’t be broken by phlegm or vomit. His name was Isaac Asimov.

Mateo had never read any of Asimov’s stories, but Leona absolutely adored him. As saddened as this ordeal was making her, she would be happy to learn that she would be the one to save his young life.

He went back to the group, and found them putting together the tea medicine the children would be given. When he told them the name, Leona stopped for a second, but then got back to work. “No sensible decision can be made any longer without taking into account not only the world as it is...but the world as it will be,” she quoted. “I believe he would be pleased that a group of time travelers gave him the life I know he lives following today.”

“Would you like to meet him?” Mateo asked.

“And say what? Goo goo, ga ga?”

“He can speak now,” Mateo responded with laughter.

“Never meet your heroes,” Leona said.

“You met Juan Ponce de León,” Darko pointed out before heading out with two cups of tea for the first two kids to be treated.

“Wait,” Leona said, noticing something peeking out of her bag. “What is this?” She pulled out a manilla envelope. Little somethings slid back and forth as she turned it around. She opened it up and took out a note from Arcadia.

You can either save only the one, or all of them. You choose, the note read.

“What’s the catch?” Leona asked out loud.

“There’s writing on the back,” Lincoln noticed.

Leona flipped it over and read it out loud. “The catch is there is no catch. Save ‘em all, Leona Matic.” She reached into the envelope and retrieved a small brown pill, which she held up in front of the light. After some thought, she dropped it into one of the cups that Darko was holding. She then reached in again and took out a second pill for the second cup. “Go on,” she instructed him.

“Are we sure this isn’t a trick?” Serif asked. “She might just be messing with us.”

“I can’t help them,” Leona said. “Maybe this little pill can.”

They gave each of the children their tea with the brown pill, except of Isaac Asimov. He received a regimen of antibiotics. As the day went on, the children started dying off, and it was looking like they would all be gone by the end of the week. Apparently Arcadia really was messing with them. Out of seventeen afflicted children, only Isaac Asimov survived.

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