The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 4, 2456

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What they didn’t know before was that Kineret had a young daughter. She had been living in a remote bunker in the south with a nanny, but her mother’s relocation request finally went through. Kineret and Primus Mihajlović were busy with work off-site today, so Olimpia had agreed to babysit. Shay was sitting on the floor right now, playing with the model-sized Vellani Ambassador. Ramses was actually inside of it, in the middle of testing the habitability of the dimensional miniaturization technology that he had reverse-engineered from the box in the Goldilocks Corridor. The air was breathable, and the inertial dampeners were reportedly working okay. Propulsion was another thing, but given that it was literally a million times smaller than it would be in full form, that probably wasn’t necessary anyway.

Olimpia was sitting on an undersized chair in the playroom, elbow on her knee, and chin in her palm, watching the little girl play. But there was another reason for this game. “How you doin’ in there, bud?”

Communications were tricky too. It was garbled and weak, but they could still hear each other, and that was better than nothing. “Little nausea, but the dampeners are compensating. They don’t work perfectly great for any ship while it’s in gravity, so I’m not surprised. Nothing has fallen off my desk yet. Is she still swirling it around?”

“Jzhhoooooo! Jzhhoom!” Shay was exploring space with the toy ship.

“Sure is,” Olimpia replied.

“Great,” he said.

“Listen, I’m hoping that you can make a replica of the VA for her to keep. She seems to like it quite a bit.”

“That will not be difficult,” he answered.

There were three doors in this room. One led to the hallway, one to the bathroom, and the last to a closet. All of these opened at exactly the same time. A different man was on each side, and they were all very confused. Olimpia instinctively grabbed little Shay, and pulled her to the only wall that didn’t have any doors attached to it. She dropped the Ambassador as a result.

“What just happened?” Ramses questioned.

“Get out here immediately,” she demanded. Olimpia didn’t know everyone who lived in this bunker, so maybe someone might open the entrance, but not the bathroom door, and not the closet. Those were both empty. She had checked them, because she was a good babysitter who knew that Shay was in particular danger of a political attack.

Ramses appeared, and spun around when Olimpia pointed. “Who the hell are you people?”

The one who somehow ended up in the bathroom tightened the towel around his waist, held his hands up nonconfrontationally, and took a step forward.

“Don’t move,” Ramses insisted.

“Okay.” He breathed deeply. “I believe that you and I have met. My name is Elder Caverness, and I am currently training under the Transit Army. Is this a test?”

Ramses held up a finger. “Stay there.” He swung around so the other two men could see the finger. “All of you.” He then reached into his pocket to retrieve his handheld device. He was looking through the little database that the team had curated over the years, detailing everyone they could remember meeting, even before becoming time travelers. “Elder Caverness. Right, yes. I saw you get on the train, I was there.”

“You’re Mateo’s friend.”

Ramses was still suspicious. He held the device up to his ear after dialing a number. “Yes, this is Ramses Abdulrashid?” He waited for a response. “Yeah, one of the visiting alien people. Listen, did a giant spacetrain appear anywhere? Today, I mean?” Short pause. “Okay, thank you.” He hung up. “The Transit didn’t show up today. How are you here?”

“I don’t know.” Elder looked over his own shoulder. “I was in a bathroom, but not this bathroom.”

“I know you as well,” said the man standing in the closet doorway. “You were both there the first time this happened to me. It was just a minute ago, but we were somewhere else.”

Ramses eyed him. “Of course. You were in the Nexus. “You’re a long way from home too, unless this is your universe. Was the world ending when you left?”

“No.”

“Then maybe not. What about you? I don’t know you.”

The third man, the one by the main door, was also holding his hands up. “Hey, man, I’m just a gardener. I work at a nursery. I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, with the Nexus, and the universes, and all that.”

“This sounds like Westfall,” Olimpia pointed out.

“Yeah, you called it that last time,” closet guy said.

“Is that a band, errr...?” the guy they had never met at all before asked. Maybe he too was from Salmonverse, but just didn’t know about time travel.

“Okay. Elder Caverness, and...Bay...”

“Baylor Alexanderson,” he reminded him.

“Yeah. Baylor Alexanderson. And you are?”

“Late for work.”

“What is your name, sir?” Ramses was not in the mood to joke at the moment.

“I’m Dutch Haines.”

“Dutch Haines,” Ramses began, “you’re from another world. I don’t know why you’re here, or who brought you, but you can’t go home unless whoever it was decides to send you. I’m sorry. We have zero control over it.”

Dutch looked down the hallway that he decidedly had not come from. He looked back at Ramses and shrugged. “Okay, cool.”

Ramses looked over at Olimpia. “I don’t think these guys mean us any harm, but your job is to protect the girl, so go somewhere else to do it. This room has been compromised. Take the ship, please.”

Olimpia knelt down to retrieve the Ambassador. She handed it back to Shay, then lifted her up against her hip, and teleported away.

“Whoa, shit!” Dutch exclaimed. Baylor was surprised too, but Elder wasn’t.

“Yeah. We can do that.” Ramses tried to think about what to do next. Protecting the girls was as far as he could figure out, but without Leona to make decisions, the decisions fell upon his shoulders. He wasn’t sure that he was up to the task. Ochivari were bad guys, this much was clear. He knew to fight them off if they ever showed up, but humans? How would he deal with this? What would the Captain do? He tilted his head to think, acutely aware that the men were still watching him, awaiting the answer to that question. What would she do? She would test them. He pointed. “Stand in a line, facing me.”

The three of them looked amongst each other, and agreed in their respective heads that Ramses was indeed the man in charge. Even if he wasn’t qualified, they didn’t know that. So they got in the line, and stood there patiently.

Ramses cleared his throat, and stared at them, focusing on their eyes. He wasn’t trained to study microexpressions, but maybe his intuition would show him the light. “Ochivari,” he stated plainly.

Elder furrowed his brow, disgusted by the name of their enemy. This was not surprising as the last time they saw him, he was going off to learn how to fight them. Plus, he even said that he was supposed to be training with the Transit Army. The other two didn’t react at all. He may as well have spouted a nonsense word to them. Either that, or they were sociopaths who he couldn’t read. Olimpia had confided in him that the Ochivari were using human allies to infiltrate this world so their plans could be carried out undetected. It felt wrong that this should be the case with these other two men. The way they showed up here, it probably was Westfall. The Ochivari had a weird and violent way to travel the bulkverse. It was noticeable; conspicuous. They couldn’t just quietly appear in a closet. They could, however, walk down a hallway, having arrived in this world at some other point. Elder and Baylor were probably okay dudes, especially the former, who Mateo would vouch for as a friend. Dutch, on the other hand, could be the enemy. This was why Leona didn’t want to tell anyone about the human infiltrators, because they did not know how to handle them yet. The only possible way probably involved getting one of them to confess, and using them as a baseline to suss out any others. Then again, the odds that they would show up at the same time were low if they were here for the same reason.

“All right, we’re gonna go on a little trip,” Ramses decided. He offered his hand to Dutch, who took it more out of curiosity, not knowing that he was about to be teleported to the wrong side of a set of metal bars. He came back for Baylor and Elder, relocating them to their own cells, right next to each other. They didn’t complain or question it. It was the only logical course of action, even considering what Ramses knew of them. He told the jail guards to treat them with respect, but to not let them out without authorization directly from the Primus. Then he left to relay the information to her.

“Why would you be worried about them if they’re human?” Naraschone questioned.

“Some humans are bad,” Ramses answered. “You know that as much as I. The reason you have jail cells in the bunker is because you sometimes have to lock people up. We’ve not been able to verify this information, but according to the Ochivar that Leona and Angela interviewed, some humans are bad enough to be working with them.”

Primus lifted her chin, but kept her eyes contacted with his. “We always knew that that was possible, especially after learning that they were from another universe. If there are an infinite number of them out there, it stands to reason that a handful of people would find themselves in accordance with the aliens. The statistics make it essentially impossible for there not to be.”

“Your team interrogated the Ochivar years ago,” Kineret pointed out. “Why are you only telling us now?”

“They were worried what we would do with this information,” Naraschone explained for Ramses. “Every single person in the world has now become an enemy.”

“No, there are people I’ve known my entire life,” Kineret reasoned. “If we can trace someone’s background, we can rule them out.”

Ramses shook his head, reluctant to argue. “No, you can’t. Bulk travel is time travel. Infiltrators may have shown up years before the war started, or centuries, or longer. Half the people on this planet may be the descendants of those who originated on some other version of Earth. You would never know. There’s no way to tell.”

“Surely there is,” Naraschone determined. “There’s something different about you, isn’t there? Given enough data, could you not find a way to detect—forgive me—foreigners? You should be able to use yourself as a baseline.” Hm. She came up with the same word that he had for this problem.

“We possess genetic data from nearly everyone on the planet,” Kineret continued. “We would have to requisition it, but that shouldn’t be too hard, given the fact that we’re in wartime. Compare it to your own DNA, look for differences.”

“My DNA is different,” Ramses explained. “I’m posthuman.”

“Well, what about our new prisoners?” Naraschone asked.

Ramses nodded, not because he agreed that that was the answer, but because it was technically a possibility. “I can take samples today, and I can start to run some tests, but I am no biologist.”

“Aren’t you the one who grew the bodies that you and your team now inhabit?”

“With the aid of centuries of prior research, and an AI. To do this, I would need to devise new technology. I’m not saying that I can’t do it; just not today. It would take me a year, and by then, your prisoners will no longer be locked up.”

“He’s right,” Kineret admitted. “We will not be able to hold them all year.”

“We won’t have to,” Naraschone decided. “If I’m to understand this correctly, only the Ochivari have the means to transport themselves to other universes, which is why we’ve never been able to allow them to roam free. We can keep these three people without actually locking them up. There is no legal time limit for how long you’re allowed to accommodate guests.”

“They can travel the bulk,” Ramses began to explain, “they just can’t control it. There is no guarantee that they will still be here next year when Olimpia and I return.”

“We’ll store the samples, and cross any bridge we must when we come to it,” Naraschone decided. Kineret was right, we’ll be able to request access to the global DNA database, but we would probably not be able to get it done by the end of today anyway. Let’s plan on starting this plan in one year’s time.”

There was a slight pause in the conversation. “Now that that’s been discussed, could you please transport me to my daughter?” Kineret had to make her job her number one priority, but she also had a responsibility to her family, and it was time that she personally made sure that Shay was okay.

Ramses held out his hand, but Naraschone reached for it instead. “First, transport me to the jail in the Executive Bunker. Then take Kineret to her daughter, and stay with them for support.”

“Very well, sir,” Ramses replied.

A year later, Ramses returned, and immediately began to work on the problem of detecting bulk travelers. It took the whole day for him to start getting the idea that this was not a DNA problem, but something else. He needed to be looking at the subatomic level. That could take even longer, so there was no time to waste.

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Microstory 1645: Omegaverse

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The Omegaverse Earth was totally normal and boring in the beginning. It didn’t even have its own name until a particular object from another universe randomly appeared, and started making changes. It’s called the Omega Gyroscope, and it has the power to do just about anything. It can’t alter multiversal physics, but it can change the proper physics of whatever universe it happens to be in at the time, but only while using the original proper physics as a foundation. Needless to say, it’s incredibly dangerous, and probably best left unused. A not so great person was in pursuit of the Omega Gyroscope, and in order to protect it, this person’s opponent threw it into a portal, hoping to pass it off to someone he knew he could trust. Unfortunately, the portal closed just as the gyroscope was crossing the threshold, which trapped it in the outer bulkverse. It floated around aimlessly for an infinite amount of time, before making its way to the brane that would come to be named for it. Of course, you wouldn’t know how powerful or dangerous the thing was if you looked at it. It’s just this dinky little thing that was never designed to do what it does. It was a regular toy that became imbued with its power afterwards. So it’s not like a cabal of scientists had to get together to study the thing once it was discovered. A random underemployed man on an urban hike after his four hour shift stumbled upon it, and sold it at a pawn shop for a few bucks. It changed hands several times over the years; other pawn shops, attics, storage compartments, an antiques store, and finally a museum. The curator still didn’t know that it had magical powers, but she felt compelled to put it on display, and make up a story about its history. The museum was struggling, you see, and she just needed to get people back in the doors for the real artifacts.

Her plan did not work for the majority of the population, but the Omega Gyroscope has a passive power that only certain people can detect. Some people are just more in tune with their universe. They are not full witches, and probably never will be, but they do have a greater sense of the interconnectedness of reality. When they encounter something as profound as the Omega Gyroscope, they know it. They don’t necessarily know why they feel what they feel, or what it means, but it will most likely leave them with the urge to take ownership over it. The curator’s lie was so good that the gyroscope was heavily secured in its display case, so they couldn’t just steal it, and run away. They conscripted a would-be cop to steal it for them. He had a reputation for doing anything short of murder for the right price, for not asking questions, and for getting the job done quickly and efficiently. This job went south when his former best friend, and current rival, went after him, and foiled the plot. He didn’t get the chance to haul the criminal off to jail, though. The Omega Gyroscope—after all this time—finally reactivated. It turned back time, and changed everything about how the world would develop from there. What followed was a series of adventures, precipitated by persistent use of the gyroscope. Different people kept getting their hands on it, figuring out how it worked, and rewriting reality to their whims, if only subconsciously. One of these alterations resulted in the worst damage to a planet in any local group universe. This forced the Ochivari to forgo the sterility virus, and engage in total warfare. These humans had to die, and in the most violent way possible. But they underestimated their enemy.

Microstory 1354: Division (Part 1)

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Magnate Representative: Thank you all for coming in. We have some exciting things lined up for the next few years, and we wanted to get an idea of how some of our customers feel about what we’ve done so far. A little disclaimer, we chose you lot randomly. You have not necessarily spent more money on us than others. My department, in fact, does not have access to your purchase history. All we know is that you have bought at least one Magnate product or service. We also do not have access to customer complaints, or other routes for feedback. This is an entirely separate department. If you have voiced a concern about us in the past, however, and do not feel that the issue was resolved, please feel free to repeat it here. Does everyone understand?

Magnate Customers: [in unison] Yes.

Magnate Representative: Okay, to start us off, is everyone here aware that we sell products and services in the ten categories listed on this chart?

Magnate Customer 1: What exactly does Smart Solutions mean?

Magnate Representative: That is something we are going to talk about today. We’ve been picking up on some confusion regarding what that means, and would appreciate your input. Smart Solutions is our newest and broadest division. It encompasses everything from the materianet to renewable energy, to 3-D printing, to internet based cities.

Magnate Customer 2: Materianet?

Magnate Representative: It’s also known as the tangiblenet. We’re talkin’ non-screen internet-connected devices, like a refrigerator that tells you what you’ve run out of when you’re at the store, or even just a streaming security camera. Up until 2017, all divisions in this company have involved us getting into preexisting markets. We didn’t invent furniture, or toys, or cars. Smart Solutions is all about the future. Much of what that division does is determining what that future looks like, because right now, no one really knows.

Magnate Customer 3: Hm. Since it is so broad, maybe that is the best term for it, even if it causes a little confusion.

Magnate Customer 4: Maybe you could focus on marketing each department, since people already know what 3-D printing is, and all those other things. You can still use a term for the whole division, but that doesn’t have to be very client-facing.

Magnate Representative: Okay, okay. These are actually really good ideas. We’ve always advertised from the division down, but it doesn’t have to be like that. Let me take this note here.

Magnate Customer 5: Does the toy division include adult toys?

Magnate Representative: I’m sorry?

Magnate Customer 5: The toy division? Is it just for kids?

Magnate Representative: Uh...it is, sir. We do not have an adult toy department. All our products are very family-friendly.

Magnate Customer 5: Well, I bought an axe from you guys last month. Would you call that family-friendly?

Magnate Representative: I suppose not. There’s a safety issue when it comes to some of our products, like tools and vehicles. The problem with adult toys is we wouldn’t be able to keep kids from even seeing that they exist, and they’re just not part of our business strategy.

Magnate Customer 3: Speaking of which, what’s this I hear about the toy division being shut down?

Magnate Representative: I have heard those rumors too. That comes from an unfortunately leaked email from a year ago that discusses our long-term plans. With the increasing demand for virtual entertainment, physical toys may not have a place in the future. Nothing has been decided, and won’t be for at least another five years; probably longer.

Magnate Customer 3: Well, my kid is still gonna be a kid in five years.

Magnate Representative: Again, we don’t know what we’re going to do. We’re just going to listen to the market, and give our customers what they want. If enough people are like you, we will continue to provide them with fun, wholesome entertainment, like our line of dress-up kits.

Magnate Customer 5: I thought your whole thing was knowing what the future holds. You called it Smart Solutions.

Magnate Representative: That’s true, I said that, but no amount of predicting can be a hundred percent accurate. We still have to be able to adapt to unforeseen changes. But what I’m hearing is that you want us to be a little more confident in our decisions. Is that a fair assessment?

Magnate Customer 5: I don’t really know what that means, but I guess.

Magnate Representative: Okay, we can work on that. Let’s circle back to Smart Solutions later. I would like to ask you a few questions about your feelings on musical instruments. It is our least profitable division, but as you may know, it carries sentimental value to Mr. Burke, because of his grandfather. What are your thoughts on that?

[To be continued...]

Microstory 1186: Vasanta Gadhavi

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Vasanta Gadhavi loved toys. He was raised to be very materialistic, always looking out for the newest gadget and gizmo. His parents grew up poor, and found money somewhat later in life, so they never wanted their children to ever feel like they couldn’t have whatever they wanted. Vasanta liked to tinker around with electronics, and learned how to build and repair them pretty much on his own. There was really no limit as to what types of things he bought, which meant firearms were included. When he was old enough, he joined the British Army, and ended up working with the enemy in some less than savory ways. He specialized in getting prisoners to talk when they didn’t want to. He continued to use toys to do this, which earned him the nickname of Santa. His brothers often joke that he always had presents for the bad little boys and girls. During the Second Great War, Vasanta found himself in the middle of a deadly battle against Japanese forces. He retained little memory of the event, but he did remember being on the battlefield one second, and then suddenly being safe in a hospital bed the next. In the bed across from his was the Japanese soldier he was trying to kill, and who was trying to kill him. Now, Vasanta had no personal grievance with the enemy soldier, nor the enemy with him. They were both just following orders, and whatever was happening now, it didn’t look like they were meant to keep fighting each other. They did not attempt to communicate with one another, though, as automated machines came through and treated their wounds. Vasanta attempted to leave one time, but when he discovered the door to be locked, he made no further attempt to escape. Anyone with the level of technology he was seeing in the mid-20th century was probably best left unantagonized. Once they were both doing all right, a man came in named Adolphe Sargent. He explained in both English and Japanese that they were reportedly missing in action, according to historical records. They were extracted from the timeline, and transported to the 23rd century, where they would train together in something called the salmon battalion. Again, they had no problem fighting together. Neither of them personally believed in the war they had just come from. But that principle would likely extend to any other war. How could they travel through time, fighting people for reasons that were so profoundly removed from them? Sargent saw this in them during their training, and decided the powers that be who chose them for their new lives had made a mistake. Fortunately, he had some autonomy with how his battalion was run. After all, if he didn’t, then The Emissary might as well lead it himself. He selected Vasanta and his new partner, Rokuro Yamauchi for an elite force within the battalion. They would not be fighting, on either side of a conflict. Instead, they would take part exclusively in rescue missions, pulling innocent people out of dangerous situations, and occasionally delivering a prisoner of war from their cage. Vasanta and Rokuro easily became friends, ultimately teaching each other their native languages. It didn’t seem strange at all that they were once at odds, nor had they been forced to suffer some Hell in the Pacific scenario together. They felt a lot more comfortable with their new lives as rescuers than they ever did as fighters.

The Puzzle of Escher Bradley: Chapter Five

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After an awkward conversation with the lovely couple, I say my goodbyes, and drive back to the station. Both fortunately, and unfortunately, none of us knows exactly what’s going on. We’ve all lost about an hour of time, during which we were presumably together. There aren’t any inexplicable marks on our respective bodies, and we don’t feel injured, or otherwise in pain. They have the strangest sensation that they’ve been crying, but have no recollection of what might have triggered their sadness. The upside is that they’re more embarrassed about it than I am, and I get the impression that they’re not going to rat me out to my superiors. A detective with the ability to lose chunks of time is no detective at all. I obviously need to investigate this issue, but right now, I think it’s important to return to my desk. Since I’m not yet working on a case, and it’s my first day on the job, I have no reason to be out in the field yet. Extending that period of time would just make things worse.

The first thing I notice when I step into the the police station is that there is nothing different about it. No one has noticed that I was gone, or really cares. Benefits of working in one of the largest cities in Kansas, I guess. Everybody’s too busy with their own stuff to pay attention to anyone else. I was this close to moving to the small town where my mother grew up. No real interest in living in Missouri, though.

“Yo, Hummel,” I say as he’s passing by.

He stops. “That’s Sergeant Hummel to you,” he tells me. “Or just Sergeant.”

I chuckle once.

He looks at me seriously.

“Hummel, you’re not a Sergeant.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Bran? Did you take the wrong medication this morning?”

“Man, you—” I get a peek at his badge, and it’s certainly designated for a sergeant. Last I saw him was this morning, just before my missing hour came up. I was handing him paperwork that I didn’t have time to do myself. Which he was happy to complete because he tries and impress everyone who can further his career. Yes, he’s older, and more experienced, than me, but I made detective first because I’m better. That he’s suddenly a sergeant makes absolutely no sense, and I’m sure it has something to do with my missing time. Of course, I can’t say any of this to him. “I’m just messing with you. Sorry.” I shrug it off as playful office banter.

“You need to get it together, Bran. You’re a detective now. Act like one.” He starts walking away as I nod. “And there’s some paperwork on my desk with your name on it,” he adds without looking back.

I rush over to his desk to find the exact same stack of documents I handed him this morning...in my reality. So some things are the same, and others are different. The trick is not figuring out which are which, but finding a way back to where I belong. This isn’t my world, and even though I don’t so far dislike it more than the first one, it’s unfamiliar, and that makes me uncomfortable. I speed through the paperwork so I can get to my lunch break, and work on my own problems.

“Thank God your back,” the woman from before says to me as I’m getting out of my car in the couple’s driveway. “Some weird stuff is happening to us.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Why? What happened to you?”

“No, it’s...not important. Literally tell me about it.”

“Follow me.”

As we’re walking up stairs, I can hear her husband rifling through some boxes in one of the rooms. “Cheryl, take a look at thi—” He notices me there. “Oh, it’s you.”

“What is all this?”

“We don’t know,” Cheryl answers, shaking her head. “It’s kid’s stuff, but we don’t have kids.”

“I’ve been looking at it...holistically,” Tyler says. “It belongs to one kid. He likes dinosaurs, astronauts, and drawing. It’s a bit weird that he has both cabbage patch dolls, and trolls, but I dig it. Cheryl, I think we had a son.”

“How do you know it was a boy?” I ask.

He holds up a pile of clothes.

“Oh my God, this is crazy. When I got back to the station, I noticed something different. One of my colleagues has suddenly been promoted. Twice. That’s impossible for just one day.”

“Somebody’s messing with our memories,” Tyler laments

“Or we messed with our own memories. Or we were exposed to some kind of toxic chemical. Or I’m dreaming, and you two don’t exist. We just can’t trust anything we perceive in reality. Maybe nothing is real.” I’m not usually this philosophical, but I’m at a loss.

“I think, therefore I am,” Tyler notes. He picks up a photo album and starts looking through it.

Cheryl digs into the boxes, trying to find hard evidence that they had a son. Perhaps he scribbled his name on his favorite toy, or scratched his initials on the bottom of a pinewood derby car he and his dad built together, but mostly his dad.

I try to think of what next step we could take. If we’re looking at the problem the wrong way, what could be the right way? Think, Bran. You’re a detective, for God’s sake. What would Pender do? “Have you met your neighbors yet?” I suggest. “Maybe they saw something, or know something, or something weird is happening to them too.”

“We spoke briefly with our neighbors to the South,” Cheryl answers. “They were about to leave for family pilates class, so we didn’t spend a lot of time together, but they didn’t seem bothered by anything.”

“We knocked on the door of the people on the other side of the empty lot to ask if a package we sent ahead of time had showed up on their stoop,” Tyler adds. “I suspect I screwed up and put the wrong address on the form, but they didn’t see anything. They seemed perfectly content with their own reality too.”

“What empty lot?” I ask.

He keeps his eyes on the pictures. “To the North.”

I walk across the hallway to another room, and peer out the window. The house next door is about as far from this one as any two houses ever are in the suburbs. “I don’t see what you’re seeing. There’s a house there.”

He comes over, a little frustrated by the tangent, and looks out as well. “No. There’s not.”

“Holy shit.”

I run out of the house and approach the house next door. The other two follow.

“You really don’t see that?” I ask of them.

“I just see grass, and some dirt.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“An invisible house. Are you kidding me? Literally, are you kidding me?”

They don’t seem like they’re lying. I walk up the steps, and into the house, completely ignoring the whole thing about probable cause. Fortunately, this doesn’t seem to belong to anybody. It's completely empty, and it’s cleaner than any building I’ve ever been in. Except for the fireplace. I can see a small patch of dust, or maybe ash, surrounding an even smaller shoeprint. It sure looks like it could be that of a child’s, and there is just the one. Letting that go for now, I run a quick sweep through the downstairs, and then the upstairs. In one of the bedrooms, I find a closet that feels familiar and new. I open the door to find that it’s not a closet at all, but some kind of a lift. Like somewhere between an elevator, and a dumbwaiter. Realizing this to be my only lead, I step into it and push its one button.

After a half hour of what feels like going up, the lift stops. I exit back into the room where I started, assuming this all to be a drug trip. Someone has poisoned me, and now I’m wandering around like an idiot. I think that I’m in a house, but maybe I’m teasing the edge of a cliff. Well, probably not a cliff since this is pancake Kansas, but I could still be in grave danger without having any idea. Whatever, I’m just going to keep going as if everything’s real, and normal. If I die, then I die. I didn’t pick this job because it would be safe, or easy.

I go back downstairs, and back outside. Cheryl and Tyler are still standing there on the lawn of a house they can’t see. It’s unclear exactly what they do see, but if only one thing is clear, it’s that they can no longer see me either. I keep going, feeling myself drawn down the street. My hallucinations follow me everywhere I go. At first, the houses are normal, but then I start seeing things that can’t be there. In place of one house is a desert, and in another, a lush garden. I can see the entire island of Manhattan, and an extreme closeup of Jupiter. It’s like this road is some central hub, connecting multiple places together. A teleportation station. A waypoint.

In the distance, I see a figure standing in the center of a house lake. It’s not frozen over, but he’s not falling through. Upon noticing me, the figure pulls his arms back, and then forward, somehow using his own energy to propel his section of water forwards. As the figure approaches, I start being able to see that he’s a young boy. He eyes me curiously. “What are you doing here?”

“I took the elevator.”

He looks over my shoulder, in the general direction of the invisible house. “Most people don’t see that.”

“Do you live in this world?”

He smiles. “I live in all worlds.”

“So, you’re the one doing all this? You’re...stitching these different places all together.”

“Stitching,” he repeats. “I was thinking about calling this merging, but now stitching is a contender.”

“My friends back there,” I say, trying to remain calm, and act like I been there. “We think they’re missing their son. There’s evidence that he exists, but he’s nowhere to be found, and they can’t remember him. Are you...are you him?”

“Nah, my parents are...well, they wouldn’t be looking for me. Whether they could remember me or not. This is a big place. Your boy might be here, but I haven’t seen him, sorry.”

“I feel like I’ve been here before.”

“You may have. This dimension is tricky. Spend too much time here, and it screws with your brain. I may look like a child, but I don’t age here, and time doesn’t always pass in the real world. I recommend you go back, and forget you saw anything.”

“No,” I argue. “I think I already have forgotten things. What I need to do is remember them.”

He breathes deeply. “I may know a girl. But it’s hard to get ahold of her, and her prices are pretty steep.”

“How do I find her?”

He starts sliding away slowly on his impossible water. “I’ll let Nerakali know that you’re lookin’ for her. She’ll find you if she wants to negotiate a contract.”

“Hey, wait!” I call up to him while he’s still in earshot, walking forwards a little to keep it that way. “What your name?”

“Glaston,” he says in a British accent. Then he pauses for effect. “Kayetan Glaston.” Then he zips away faster than the speed of sound, and all of the crazy lot portals disappear.

As soon as I step out of the elevator, and back into the real world, my memory is erased once more. I recognize Tyler and Cheryl, but I still don’t quite understand why I’m there. I go through this whole thing about seven more times over the years before one of the children I encounter in the other dimension happens to have the ability to manipulate people’s minds. She had the coolest name ever, but I can’t remember it, because I think she erased it from my mind as she was putting everything else back in. In fact, she erases everybody’s name, theoretically so I can’t look into them further. I remember meeting them, but not their names. She lets me keep Escher Bradley, though, so I can technically continue that search, but it has no way of moving forward. His parents gradually forget him further, eventually getting to the point of being able to give his stuff away and wiping their hands clean. Now there’s no proof he ever existed, but my certainty is immortalized in cement.

I run down a few more leads, but nothing comes of them. I even go back to Stonehenge, which is where my parents once took me for vacation. This is where I had my first encounter with time stuff that I can’t explain. I witnessed a girl disappear through one of the doorways. Her parents flipped out, trying to find her, but it didn’t look like they loved her very much, because they seemed more concerned with how losing her made them look. I don’t know how I could have forgotten all this, or whether there are any other memories that the memory girl never gave back. Maybe I can manipulate time myself, or I spent my whole childhood in fifteenth century Spain. I do doubt it, though, because the girl seems to actually strengthen my mind. Other, minor, things change around me. Hummel switches between being a sergeant, and a uniformed officer every few years, with no explanation for how he thinks he was promoted. He’s only nice enough to carry a conversation when he’s in uniform.

I frequently return to the invisible house. Sometimes it appears, and sometimes even I can’t see it. Ever since the last child, though, I haven’t gotten the elevator back. It’s like it wanted me to find the nine of them, and once I did, that was enough. I do find a doorknob up the fireplace, but that’s it. Before I know it, it’s the third millennium, and another child is missing. Along with nine others.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 590: Operator Halts All Ploutonic Enterprises Operations

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Our new overlord, proclaimed by some to be the incarnation of God, has decided to cease all operations at Ploutonic Enterprises. Ploutonic began in the early-to-mid 20th century with one goal: to give the people what they wanted. Their slogan was the same yesterday as it was when it first began, “Always there, hands open.” What exactly does this mean? Well, as time marches on, society and its peoples develop different priorities. At times of war, Ploutonic manufactured uniforms, munitions, battle transport, etc. At times of great peace, such as following the Stockton Nuclear Disarmament, Ploutonic designed innovative toys. Their original toy factory remains standing today, and has occasionally been used as a Bellevue outpost. They have had their hands in a number of wildly different industries, sometimes overlapping each other, but often after shuttering one division in favor of the next. Their unorthodox strategy has led to great profits, but have recently seen a decline in success. A quote from business analyst Riva Holsten, originally posted on her newsblog, is below.

[Ploutonic] always positioned themselves to take advantage of relevant opportunities. No one could accuse them of not understanding the future, that’s for sure. They’re always one step ahead of the trends, leading some to believe its founder to possess anomaly abilities to actually see the future. This would certainly explain their deep connection to Bellevue. But all the future studying in the world can’t help you if people begin protesting your brand. The fact is that Ploutonic has had to lay off more of its workforce than most companies of its calibre, and it’s done so in order to make room for these new opportunities, not because it had to. And their aggressively passionate stance in support of disloyalty finally caught up to them near the end of the millennium. Few employees were sticking around past a year, and even fewer people were applying for the vacancies. The enthusiasm just wasn’t there anymore. What always baffled me was how baffled they were about this turn of fortune. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner. I surmise that the only thing that kept it afloat was the number of people who were able to stay on board based on their qualifications, regardless of what direction the company went in. Accountants and marketers, for instance, can account and market for any industry. Unfortunately, many jobs aren’t like that, and this made people angry. If the organization didn’t close artificially anyway, I would have estimated their longevity at three years.

Godlike anomaly Operator—who possesses the ability to manipulate the physical movements of anyone and everyone on the planet simultaneously—has finally decided that enough is enough. Ploutonic Enterprises, and all of its divisions, have been completely shut down, effective immediately. Most people still working there have been transitioned into Operator’s universal basic income program, which draws its fund from the no longer necessary defense budget. Most recent president and CEO of Ploutonic declined to comment in detail regarding the new development, saying simply, “I didn’t want it to end at all, but I definitely didn’t want it to end this way. Operator was able to make my fingers type the email blast that laid off my entire workforce at once, but she couldn’t stop me from crying while I was doing it.” Early reports suggest that Operator will convert Ploutonic Enterprise’s headquarters into a reformed education academy.

Microstory 481: Floor 4 (Part 2)

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Younger Child: Stop moving my toys!

Older Child: The army guy can’t be next to the dinosaurs!

Younger Child: Why not?

Older Child: People never knew dinosaurs. They died a long time ago.

Younger Child: D’uh, he’s a time traveler! And these aren’t dinosaurs, they’re dragons. See, this is their dragon cave.

Older Child: Time travel doesn’t exist either.

Younger Child: I’m just playin’! Give me back my toys!

Older Child: No! You can’t have a person next to a dinosaur. It doesn’t make sense!

Oldest Child: Actually, my mom and dad say that humans did know the dinosaurs. They were all on Noah’s Ark together.

Older Child: Then where are they now?

Oldest Child: They died, like you said, but not as long ago as you think.

Older Child: My mom and dad never said anything about that.

Oldest Child: Not all parents are as smart as mine are.

Older Child: Mine are really smart!

Oldest Child: No they’re not.

Older Child: Yes, they are!

Oldest Child: Your parents are stupid!

Older Child: You’re stupid!

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Random Parent: Are you going to stop them from from fighting?

Child Care Attendant: Why would I do that?

Random Parent: Well...I mean, why would you not?

Child Care Attendant: They’re not hurting anyone, they’re having an argument.

Random Parent: They should be playing nice.

Child Care Attendant: No, they should be learning how to defend their argument, and understand the perspectives of people around them.

Random Parent: What are you talking about?

Child Care Attendant: Have you ever watched young animals playing on TV? It looks a hell of a lot like fighting, but it isn’t. They’re teaching themselves how to hunt, what their teeth can do, and how to interact with their peers. If adults step in every time children have a disagreement, how will they ever grow? I’m here to protect them, and they’re here to find out what they need to know to be an adult.

Random Parent: If it were my child in the argument, I would stop them.

Child Care Attendant: It’s not.