The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 4, 2393

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Mateo looked at his wife, who was seething with anger. He was worried she was about to jump up and tackle this McCord girl, or whatever her name was. Thack seemed as lost as him, but then it apparently dawned on her. “Oh. Oh, that’s right. I forgot you went to their universe once.”

“It was not a pleasant experience.” That was the day that Leona learned she was just a character in a role-playing game, being moved around time and space by a group of children. She spent a lot of time in therapy with Bungula’s once-leader, Eight Point Seven because of all that. The one good thing about the situation was that she and Mateo were temporarily off of the Matic pattern, or Leona would still be in therapy today, working out her issues, it having only been six months since the trauma in that hypothetical scenario.

“What is this?” Mateo questioned. “I don’t know who this is. I should know everything you know, since Nerakali gifted me your memories during the time that I didn’t exist.”

“This was after that,” Leona said, not breaking her gaze from Xolta. To be sure, Xolta was one of the younger players she met, and the only one to express sadness over learning the truth about their game. If she had to run into one of those again, it was best that it was her. “This was when you were on Dardius, and I was on Bungula.”

“Oh, right,” Mateo recalled. “You didn’t talk about your time there.”

“Maybe it’s time I tell you the truth,” Leona said to him, finally looking away from the target of her fury. “Do we have time?” she asked Thack.

Thack bowed slightly. “Time has no meaning here. Miss McCord can wait.”

Leona went off to another room to explain what had happened to her those years ago. When they returned, the rest of the audience had cleared out. Only the team was left, along with Thack and Xolta. No one was talking, nor looked like they had been talking that whole time.

“Okay,” Thack continued, “as I was saying, this is Xolta McCord. She is a witch from Universe Prime, and she can age you up.”

“I haven’t actually agreed to that,” Xoltra reminded her.

“Yes, you have,” Thack corrected. She was not one to be argued with.

Ramses stood up, and shook the witch’s hand. “Ramses Abdulrashid. Mid to late twenties, please. I would very much appreciate it.”

Xolta waited a moment to see if anyone protested, but they were all just waiting to see what it would look like. Then she shut her eyes, and prepared herself. She quite slowly moved her hands around, like she was trying to find the exact right position.

“Is this gonna take very long?” Leona asked after a few minutes of this.

“I’ve never done it in the outer bulkverse,” Xolta explained. “I don’t know how to reach the gods from here.”

“The gods?”

“That’s just what we call them,” Xolta defended.

Thack placed a hand on her shoulder. “You don’t need the gods for this. It’s a local engagement. Just sense his body.”

Ramses opened his eyes back up, having closed them instinctively, and sported a certain look.

Thack reached over, and physically moved Xolta’s hand to Ramses’ chest. “Connect with him. Remember what I taught you about soulwork. Craft and spirit articulation are not so different.”

Xolta kept trying, until something apparently clicked. “I have it.”

“Now, don’t summon the gods. Use the words, but don’t worry about them. Use them to command Ramses to change directly.”

Xolta took a breath, and whispered, “eesa..avra..turo.”

Ramses did begin to change. He rose a couple inches taller. His hair lengthened. His skin wrinkled. By the time Xolta reopened her eyes, he was an old man.

“Oh no,” the witch lamented.

“What is it?” Ramses asked.

“Shit,” Thack said, which sounded very unlike her.

Embarrassed, Xolta held her left hand in front of her eyes, palm outwards. She then clapped it with her right, turned that palm outwards as well, and slapped them back together a second time. Finally, she slid them away from each other—quite abruptly at first, then smoothly—right hand downwards, and left hand up a little. Xolta’s face was gone, replaced with Ramses’ own. She turned herself into a mirror image of him. “I’m so sorry,” she told him.

“Is it not reversible?” he questioned.

“It is,” Thack promised.

“No, it’s not,” Xolta argued, “because this is one of the easiest engagements. I’ve done it a million times before, so if I messed it up, it means I just can’t do it.”

Thack put Xolta’s hands back together, and wiped Ramses’ face away. “That was one of the easier engagements, and you performed it beautifully, with no hesitation. You just need to concentrate harder on the one you really want. Do it again, but in reverse. We all believe in you...right?”

“Yeah,” and “we do,” the group confirmed, not all that convincingly.

Xolta took a breath. “Okay.” She placed her hand on his chest again, and reconnected with him. “Asee...arva...turo.”

That did it. As requested, Ramses was back to his twentysomething self.

“There,” Thack said happily. “Now the other five will be easy, ‘cause you know you can do it.”

“I would like to be a little younger than that,” Angela asked, bashfully. “If that’s possible.”

“Yeah, I can do that,” Xolta said.

“And I would like to be older,” Marie asked. “Just to tell us apart easierly,” she explained when people looked at her funny. “I’ll be the older one.”

“I’m the older one,” Angela pointed out.

“By a few days, Marie contended. “Please, let me give this to you. I promise I won’t fall on my sword ever again. I’ll look thirty-five, but I won’t age beyond that, will I, Ramses?”

“No, sir,” Ramses agreed.

And so Xolta continued her magic, except that she was clear it wasn’t magic. Craft, as it was called—and very much not called witchcraft—was not magic. Nor were the gods. They were people who were in charge of certain technologies in her home universe, having used this technology to tap into a higher level of physics than most other cultures ever grew to understand. Craft was a way of hacking into this tech, except that the so-called gods were aware that this was happening, and rarely withheld it, though they surely could. They didn’t interfere with the regular people in the main dimension, for reasons no one could say, so this was kind of their loophole. Witches studied enough about the cosmos to learn some of their secrets, and that was fine.

Before too long, the whole team was back to where they belonged, not necessarily at the age they were before they died, but it was close enough, and exactly what they were looking for. Mateo was particularly relieved, more so than Leona, who had been trapped in a body younger than them all. That was precisely why he was so relieved. Ever since they transferred to these bodies, they were too busy with other things to dwell on how uncomfortable it was, looking so illicitly young. There was one specific thing it robbed them of. “Now we can have sex again,” he mused...in mixed company. 

“Mateo, damn,” Leona scolded.

“What, you’re my wife.”

“And we no longer have access to our grave chamber, so it’ll have to wait. We can’t even get back to our home universe.”

“Yes, you can,” Thack said. “Though I admit, I can’t get you back to your reality.” She ushered them into another room, where a young man was sitting in a recliner, reading something on an e-reader. “You can go home now. Your passengers are ready.”

The man shut off his device, and stood up. “Whatever.”

“Gang, this is—” Thack tried to say.

“No, no,” the young man stopped her. “Rule Number Two...”

“Never be surprised, but never assume you have the whole story,” Olimpia recited proudly.

The man shook his head, and at the same time as Leona, recited, “no names.” He was pleasantly surprised by this, which was slightly ironic.

“You’re not the first person to tell me that,” Leona said.

“Where does he live?” Mateo asked.

“Fourth Quadrant,” Thack answered. “It’s the best I could do. I pulled a lot of strings just to get him here, and it cost me. He was not invited, so it was not received well. Getting you six in was easy by comparison.”

“Do you have a way back to the main sequence?” Leona asked of the man.

“Not personally. I’ll point you towards someone who might.”

“Thank you,” Miss Collins,” Leona said. Then she turned. “Thank you, Miss McCord.”

“Forgive me what my friends and I did in our youth.”

“I do not blame you,” Leona admitted. I blame him,” she said, implying The Superintendent.

Like Saga and Vearden, the way back to the man’s home was through a doorway. Evidently, the system was designed to prevent people from even realizing that they had traveled the bulkverse at all. The target left their house that day, was spirited away to another brane, and continued down the street, under the impression that nothing special had happened. Perhaps that was where the doorwalkers’ power came from, as some kind of extension of Westfall.

The man threw his keys in the bowl by the door, and plopped down on the couch. “I suppose you’ll be wanting me to offer you drinks?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Angela said. “Could you just take us to who might be able to help us?”

He leaned his head back all the way, farther than was medically wise. “I’m so tired. Can you just go yourself? Call a RideSauce.”

“We don’t have cell phones,” Marie explained.

He whined some more, and muttered unintelligibly. Now they could see the strings that Thack pulled. He wasn’t witness to the birth of a Boltzmann Brane material.

“That’s quite all right,” Leona said, pulling Marie away. “We’ll figure it out. Thank you for letting us hitch a ride back, Mister Mystery Man.”

They left his house, and stepped down to the sidewalk. Leona squinted her eyes in the sun, and got her bearings. “I can see downtown from here. We’ll just walk, it’ll be fine.”

“Do we get tired?” Olimpia asked Ramses.

“Yes, but after longer,” he answered. “Plus, we can teleport.”

“I keep forgetting about that,” Marie noted.

“I would rather just walk, though,” Angela said. “Despite the fact that the outer bulkverse is the greatest expanse than even a whole universe, it feels so claustrophobic, with all those lights swirling around.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Leona concurred.

“Walking it is,” Mateo said cheerfully.

The Fourth Quadrant looked mighty different than it had before. While the main sequence chose to tighten themselves up into fewer and fewer megastructure habitats, this was more like what science fiction writers proposed for their stories set in the future. The buildings were sleek and shiny; more rounded, and less straight up and down. Each one was made of wildly different design, but they were seemingly constructed of the same materials. They fit together like a puzzle, as if someone had planned the entire thing from the start, and hadn’t begun until they knew exactly what they wanted it to be in the end. All of the cars that passed them were hovering half a meter over the road, while others flew overhead, possibly as drones, or maybe automated taxis. It was beautiful, and sprawling; clean and environmentally conscious.

Night had fallen by the time they reached The Capitol. It looked pretty much as it had the last time they were in this reality, though now with that new, advanced metamaterial. Two guards were standing at the entrance. They stepped forwards as they approached, and made it clear that they weren’t so much as allowed to enter the building.

“Hello,” Leona began. “My name is Captain Leona Matic. We are here to speak with someone who can help us return to the main sequence. Is President Natasha Orlova still in power? We’ve worked directly with her before.”

The guards looked at each other. “President Orlova is dead,” one of them answered in some kind of slavic accent. “Long live President Orlov.”

Mateo turtled his head towards them. “Like, a relative?”

“Her brother,” the other one answered. He checked his watch. “He’s the daytime president, at least.”

“And who runs the show at night.”

“That would be my brother,” came a voice from behind them. It was a woman, surrounded by her own posse of bodyguards. “Thank you, Arsenio, Stan. I’ll take it from here. Hi,” she said to the team. “My name is Skylar Spout, and we have all been expecting you.”

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Microstory 1687: Licensed Genies Only

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There are many differences between a spirit, a witch, and a mutant. A spirit uses their soul to develop special abilities, a witch uses their mind, and a mutant uses their body. But it goes deeper than that. Witches use something called Craft (they don’t call it witchcraft), and while there is more often than not a biological component, it is usually a learned skill. The temporal manipulators in Salmonverse are a major exception to this, as they seem to have some kind of innate understanding of their own respective abilities, but for the most part, it takes work. Mutants obviously have some kind of genetic difference that allows them to do whatever they do, or even hinders them in some way. While their mutations aren’t always beneficial to them, they do generally figure out how to express them through survival instincts, because it’s rooted in that part of their neural makeup. Spirits, on the other hand, don’t have to learn anything. They don’t have to be changed, or be descended from those who were changed. It’s just something they are; or rather, it’s something that we are. We’re born knowing that we’re different, and also how we’re different. There’s sometimes a learning curve, but we typically grow up with a fairly high understanding of ourselves. We know what we can do, and we have a pretty good idea of what we intend to accomplish with our gifts. Some are good, some bad, but none is lost. The Genies in Genieverse were the same way, except pretty much all of them wanted to help people with their spirit abilities. Of course, as we know, they totally fail to live up to their own expectations, but this story isn’t about that. It’s about how they came together to organize, and how any recalcitrant ones were left with no choice.

For reasons I’ve not bothered to figure out, the population of this version of planet Earth was only at about a billion when personal computers and cell phones became ubiquitous. This is unusual. Even with heavy religious influence, the global population should be beginning to see a much steeper increase by this time. They kept changing their calendar, so I’m not sure what year it would be comparatively, though, so it’s hard to gauge what’s different, and what’s on track. Still, at this point in history, Genies were starting to feel like they needed to do more to help. They numbered about a thousand when a few of them got together first. They wanted to start a local organization, which would service people hoping to be granted wishes. They were the ones who came up with the majority of the rules and procedures that would end up becoming the norm. Up until this moment, Genies operated individually, and granted wishes very rarely. It’s unclear how they chose their clients, but they included some of the most powerful people in history. A few other Genies caught wind of what this small group was planning, and wanted in on the action. They had some ideas on how to improve the system. Genies just kept showing up, and wanting to make sure the system operated smoothly. Some fought against it. This was the way they had done things their entire lives, as had their predecessors, and they didn’t think there was any need to change things now. Unfortunately for them, once word got out to the general population that Genies were real, there was no way to grant wishes without being part of the association. Even without an understanding of how Genies worked, people were suspicious of anyone who wasn’t considered licensed. Each Genie was ultimately responsible for about a million people, which was just one more reason why this was all such a bad idea.

Microstory 1581: Empty

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Prompt

I literally saw no other cars on my way to work this morning, no one on the streets, and no one in the office. Something strange is going on.

Botner

It’s been like this all week. This morning, I had to leave a little bit early for a doctor’s appointment. I can’t remember the last time I was late for work. And, since this has been happening all week, I am guessing it has something to do with my hormone levels being out of whack. Probably due to the possible infection. And, the whole period thing. I’m trying to stay positive. I just hope it’s a short term thing. And, that it doesn’t affect my job, because I really like my job. Yesterday I went for my 28-week check up. I had asked about my nausea since I noticed that it seemed to be lessening, as well as my food aversions. I was told I was still pretty miserable. Then, the doctor told me that I had to stop wearing my belly band and go on full bed rest. That I had to wear nothing but a pad or a maxi pad the rest of my pregnancy. That my blood pressure was being regulated and they had decided I had gestational hypertension, but the baby’s was fine. (There was an issue with...

Conclusion

...the ultrasound, but it turned out to be some kind of imaging error). None of that explains why there are no people around anymore. I didn’t notice it the first few days. Because of the pandemic, so few people are coming into work now. My mind wanders while I’m driving, and I try to stay away from people in person anyway. Fortunately, I work in my own little corner with a special door that pretty much takes me right there. I’m obviously extremely worried, now that I realize that I’m all alone, and have been for quite some time. Even if the virus killed everyone, and for some reason, left me alive, I should still see signs of life. If it was that quick, there should be dead bodies in at least a few cars on the way. Perhaps it’s all just hormones, and I’m imagining everything, or it’s some kind of fever dream. I decide to skip out early today, and go exploring. I just randomly drive around the city, looking for anything—anything—that suggests there are other people still alive and around. I saw a movie about this once. A couple was on vacation when they woke up to find the whole world empty except for them, and (spoiler alert) one other guy. I keep driving around, but there’s no one. I call up my doctor, and he answers the phone, so I keep him on the line while I’m headed his way. He’s confused as to what I’m talking about, but I’m even more confused when I get to his office, and find it just as empty as everywhere. He’s still talking to me, and claiming that he’s sitting in his chair. I’m looking right at it, he’s lying. Then I remember. The father’s ex-girlfriend claimed to be a witch, and warned me that she would be sending me to a prison world. I didn’t believe her then, of course, but I believe her now. I have to find a way out of here, and since I can obviously still make calls to the real world, that has to be possible. Who can I call, though? The father? Maybe, but the witch will be monitoring his communication, surely. Then again, she’s probably just watching me right now. I hang up, and call my neighbor, who once strongly suggested he too was a witch.

Microstory 1445: Four Witches Stand

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By the time the Mage Protectorate fell, there were three women who were largely responsible for saving the human race on Durus. Hogarth Pudeyonavic sent the Springfielders through the Deathfall portal in the first place; this much was common knowledge. It wasn’t until later that people learned that, had she not expedited the process with her machine, the portal still would have pulled them through, but it would have chewed them up, rather than swallowing them whole. She was also instrumental in protecting the town following the thankful disappearance of its first leader, Smith. Councilwoman Hardt was a true leader, and continued to protect the people, even after all the terrible things they put her through. Jayde Kovac was a young girl with immense powers, who ended the war with the time monsters, and rescued the entire current population of Durus in 2092 when all of the oxygen disappeared for thirty seconds. Other women were involved in helping make sure humanity survived, including Hilde Unger, but these three were the most famous. Well, not everyone saw it this way. Councilwoman Hardt was a carryover from the old world, she always went against Smith’s decisions, and she didn’t let men push her around. Some didn’t appreciate that. Though the truth about Hogarth’s actions eventually came to light, she would always be associated with the Deathfall, and would always be blamed for it. It didn’t matter what good she did, people could only remember the bad, because that was what certain voices screamed about all the time. Jayde was in the same boat, because winning the war came at a great cost. Experts could try to explain that things would have been much worse for them had they lost that war, but again, it didn’t matter. In The Republic, none of this would matter, because reason didn’t matter, because truth didn’t matter, because women didn’t matter. Kovac, Hardt, and Pudeyonavic were later collectively called The Witches of Durus, and they were destined to be joined by a fourth historical figure. They didn’t know who this fourth woman would turn out to be, but they were told she would one day spell the downfall of the Republic—which was true. They used people’s fear of this in order to justify their decision to forge the Republic in the first place.

The Witches, along with other women, had done—or will do—so much to hurt the world that a small group of men decided they could no longer be trusted with authority, or responsibility. They had to be controlled—nay, managed. It wasn’t that they didn’t have the right to be safe, happy, and free, but they needed to be told what to do, and they weren’t allowed to tell anyone else what to do. Even a mother could not be left alone with a child, for she may instill them with values such as equality, social harmony, or good trouble. Like, literally. If the man needed to leave the house, the children had to go with him, or the mother did, but she could not supervise without being supervised herself at the same time. Some husbands didn’t let their wives out of earshot, even if they didn’t have children, but that kind of thing didn’t happen until later. For now, the new system was just beginning. It started as a vision amongst a very select few, but they whispered their warped ideas to anyone who got too close to them, like a viral load to an unmasked person less than two meters away. It would have stopped here, but the republicans, as they liked to be called, had something major on their side. They were in charge of Watershed, and its dam. They controlled the water, and the moderate amounts of electricity that Aljabara had, and that was enough to give them the influence they needed to pretty much just dictate whatever they wanted. Their ideas would evolve over time, just like it did for any governmental body, but the basic tenets were clear: women can’t be trusted, and...well, I guess that’s mostly it. Under the new laws, you could do anything you wanted, save killing, stealing, being antisocially dishonest, or having a vagina. This was the way things were in The Republic, and they didn’t change for over sixty-five years.

Microstory 1242: Stargazer

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Some people have questioned why it is that temporal manipulators have only appeared somewhat recently in human history. Most of them were born within a hundred years of the turn of the 21st century, and only a handful were born before the common era. Why would that be? Did we somehow evolve time traveling capabilities? That doesn’t explain outliers, so that’s probably not it. Well, the truth is that it has more to do with human intelligence than anything. That’s not to say that there aren’t any dumb people with powers, or that all smart people do. It’s far more complex and nuanced than that, and has more to do with the intelligence of the species as a whole than any one individual’s. The fact is that time manipulation is just like any other witch ability. It requires hacking into the underlying structure of the universe, and exploiting some kind of vulnerability. That’s all done within the consciousness, rather than the body, which is why you don’t see a bunch of apes jumping through time. Afterall, at no point did an ape suddenly birth a human baby. Evolution describes changes over time; thousands of years, and even millions and billions. It’s not simply that other primates are not smart enough, but they certainly can’t grasp what it means to travel through time, and if the mind has no hope of understanding it, then it necessarily has no hope of performing it. Or rather, it won’t be born with such capabilities. It’s unclear when humans began to contemplate traveling through time, but as far as evolutionary time goes, it was just a few seconds ago. Stargazer is the absolute oldest linear human in histories, having been born hundreds of thousands of years before the Anthropocene epoch. He was given this name as it translates from Ancient Egyptian when he took a job at the Great Pyramid of Giza. He was not given a name at birth, nor was anyone else around him. Complex language was something he had to learn after interacting with the advanced peoples who came up with it, for it was not in use yet as he was first growing up. No one fully understands why it is that Stargazer is such an old immortal, or more importantly, why he appears to be the only one from anywhere near his time period. He has never traveled backwards in time, and neither has anyone gone to his early days. Disturbing his personal development is pretty taboo in the world of salmon and choosers, and as bad as some of them are, none of them has had the inclination to break this unwritten rule. Stargazer is completely off limits, almost like he’s more of a historical artifact than a person, and everyone accepts this. He has always lived in the pyramid, and he only has one job. Travel to exoplanets is difficult if you can’t do it naturally, like say, Maqsud Al-Amin, or Aristotle Al-Amin. The pyramid was designed to focus travel for other people, and serves as one of the largest temporal objects in the world. It is Stargazer’s responsibility to keep watch over this activity, and to make sure travelers safely go where they’re meant to be. He is but a facilitator. He cannot travel the stars himself, or he would be abandoning his post, and that is not an option. It is a boring job, but he feels it is necessary, and he is happy to just be doing something with his immortality.

Microstory 1099: Viola

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My name is Viola Woods, and I’m dead, writing to you by Dolly’s hand. Don’t worry, though, because dead for me is not what it’s like for you. I am called a voldisil. Most people have two parents; their father produces the seed, and their mother the egg. But there is a third, much rarer gender out there that occasionally helps create life in secret, and when it does, something like me comes of it. I was born capable of perceiving more dimensions than you, and with the ability to sense and channel certain universal energies. I can look to the past, to other places in the present, and to the future. What I do with that information is entirely up to me, but the expectation in my house was that I use my abilities to help others. After all, they’re called gifts, because I’m meant to give them out. My mom and dad weren’t fully briefed on what I was, but they reportedly felt something different during my conception than normal, and that’s all I’m going to say about that. My third parent’s involvement was evidently not completely consented to, or at least not in the way humans treat consent. They did recognize that I was special, and were able to raise me right, but only I, and others like me, fully understand the nature of my species. One thing they didn’t know was when I would die, but I’ve known it my whole life, and it took me a hot minute to realize that this is a trait unshared by my peers. Growing up with this kind of information may be unsettling, or even debilitating, but it made me feel free. Everything thing I’ve done has been part of a plan; my plan, and nearly everyone around me executed it pretty well. But I am not the only one of my kind, and not every voldisil has other people’s best interests at heart.

The way I understand it, voldisila are few and far between, for a number of reasons, including the fact that it’s metaphysically difficult to conceive one. Blast City seems to have a higher concentration of us, and I was never really able to determine why. What I do know is that the more people you have in any population, the greater your chances of finding some bad ones, which is what Homer was. This little town would have become the epicenter for an unstoppable movement of darkness if I hadn’t intervened, and recruited a number of other voldisil, who seem to not fully understand what they are. I wouldn’t be telling you this, Alma, but I need you to understand what’s at stake moving forward. You don’t know this yet, but you are pregnant now. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to do this with your consent, but a new voldisil must be born to take my place. Ada is lovely, but she can only ever be a temporary solution. My abilities can’t survive forever without me, which is why I introduced her to the others; the psychics, the witches, and the medium. I’m hoping they take their responsibilities seriously. You and Ralph were my best options to take on the challenge of nurturing the next generation of voldisil. I will not leave you, but I can only do so much to help in my current form. Protect and prepare her, Alma, and trust Ralph to be a good father. I literally know that he will be. She is destined to be the strongest of our kind, but since she was not planned properly, it will be much harder for her than it should be. She won’t have as much innate knowledge as I did. Everything you need to teach her has come through clues from the interviews you conducted. Thank you, and if you ever need to speak with me in person, you can contact Dolly. One last thing, it’s up to you if you publish this letter as part of your series.

Microstory 1066: Alice

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How convenient it is that you are speaking with me right after Joan. I felt it the moment Viola turned her into a witch. Well, you can’t actually be turned. It’s more like your mind is finally opened to the opportunities the universe has to offer. Craft is not a religion, nor does it involve magic. The spells we cast are called engagements, and they follow an extremely strict set of rules. They don’t require drawing energy from nature, or ancestors, or blood, or some manifestation of evil. Craft is more like computer hacking, except the computer is the cosmos, and keyboard is your own brain. You see, we are all connected to one another, and everything else. An unseen force pervades reality, allowing one with significant ability to reach out, and manipulate the environment. If what I felt the other day was correct, Joan used what’s called the Oshwrlé technique, which can calm anyone within a blast radius. The stronger the witch, the larger the radius can be, though there are still limits. There are always limits. Everything a witch is capable of adheres to the natural laws that govern the universe; the only difference being that there are certain laws the average person is not aware of. For instance, there are random tears in the spacetime continuum, which would allow you to transport yourself nearly instantaneously anywhere else. Witches simply know how to access these tears, though sufficiently advanced technology could do the same. Witches can conceal themselves from others, or enter a pocket dimension, or heal the injured. Learning the trade takes time more than anything. I could give you a list of the commands that we recite to engage these exploits, but if you’re not connected to the cosmic energy, it won’t do you any good. It would be like if you typed a novel into a keyboard, but it wasn’t plugged into a machine. You have to learn how to plug in.

I became a witch all on my own. I didn’t do it by researching on the internet, or studying under a master, and it definitely had nothing to do with Viola. We were and are similar creatures, but not the same. She was born with a more biological connection, while mine was simply cerebral. I intuited Craft. That doesn’t make me a better person, or even smarter. Some people just have it, while others don’t. Though anyone can technically be taught, only a few of us will develop abilities on our own. Either way, the magnitude of your power is never guaranteed, and you can lose connections if you don’t nurture them properly. Two years ago, Viola and I had a meeting of minds. As the only known two of our kind in the area, we wanted to get together, and make sure we understood where each other was coming from. Both she and I predicted the moment of her death, and I needed to know whether she was interested in preventing it. You may have heard, or you gathered, that she wanted her path to end as it did, and as a fellow witch, I decided to respect that. I most certainly could have saved her, and some today may feel I should have, but they could never understand what was going through her head, or why she made the choices she did. All I know is that her power lives on, and cannot die, so long as the changes she made, for the betterment of mankind, continue. I will go on myself, practicing Craft as I see fit, and I will interact with Joan only if the need arises. I’ve been trying to communicate with Viola since she died, but have had no luck. She was the best of us, and I mean that in a human species sense, because for all the knowledge and abilities she possessed, she was still predominantly like everyone else.

Microstory 1065: Joan

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I was on the plane when the tire broke off of the landing gear, and fell down towards Blast City. Of course, as passengers, we didn’t have any idea that that is what happened, but it was frightening and frustrating for us too. We still haven’t been told why the landing gear failed to retract into the bottom of the plane, or how a major piece of it managed to fall off, but it caused a great deal of turbulence. What’s more is that the pilots obviously knew what had happened, so they immediately turned to go back to the departing airport. But that didn’t mean they could land, so we just flew in circles for hours, until a bunch of stressed out tin pushers on the ground figured out that the only way to get the plane back on the ground safely was to drop it in water. A guy sitting in a seat near me was telling people about something called a belly landing, which is one possible way to do it without wheels, but I guess the air traffic controllers didn’t think that was going to fly in this case. Pardon the pun. Anyway, the reason he was able to explain that while all of this was happening was because everyone in the cabin was completely calm. And they were completely calm, because I made them that way. About a year ago, Viola shows up at my house and tells me I’ve been chosen. She performs some ritual over my head, which I am helpless to resist, and transforms me into a sort of witch. She then teaches me a special command that allows me to tranquilize anyone in the immediate vicinity. I won’t tell you the word itself, because even though you can’t use it just because you know it, I don’t want it getting out there. She told me I would need it around this time, but didn’t give me a specific date, probably so I wouldn’t alter my course. Had I known I was going need this ability for a plane trip, I would have possibly taken a different flight. She wanted me there, on that day, so I could help in my own special way. She urged me not to use it except in an emergency, and that she was trusting me not to abuse the gift. I could go to a sportsball game, for instance, and totally deaden the crowd. I could turn the players docile, and just make them stand there on the field or court for an indefinite amount of time. I could end a lot of suffering, but also cause problems. She did say, however, that I would need to practice, so I took it upon myself to work closely with an anger management class. I won’t tell you who’s in it, but one of them is in our grade level, and knows exactly what I can do. Viola didn’t say I couldn’t reveal my secret to anyone. They helped me understand my ability, and be prepared for when I would really need it. I find it strange that she called me a witch, though. I don’t find the term offensive, but it seems a little too...comprehensive? Witches in fiction can perform lots of different spells, rather than just the one. I’m only wondering now whether there’s anything else I can do. It’s time I start practicing again.

The Advancement of Leona Matic: Prime

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Vito and Khuweka split the group in half, and teleported everyone back to the Prototype. Kallias tried to hand the goggles over to Leona, but she figured it would be best to keep all their ingredients separate, for now. She possessed the Compass of Disturbance, and Kivi was in charge of the Book of Hogarth, because Hogarth herself didn’t want nothing to do with it. Vitalie kept the Incorruptible Astrolabe in her bag, Hogarth had the Rothko Torch, Khuweka kept the Jayde Spyglass, and now Kallias could hold onto the HG Goggles. Once everyone was inside, Leona interfaced her tattoo with the machine once more, and started up the engines.

“How long will it take to get there?” Kivi asked, increasing her volume with every word, as the engines grew louder and louder. “Some of us won’t live forever!”

“We’re here,” Khuweka said, interpreting the screens. It was one thing to speak Maramon conversationally. Reading the script, and understanding the monitor outputs, were entirely different skills, so they still needed her to operate this thing.

“Really? Wow,” Vitalie said. “Why did the last one take months?”

“The Composite Universe, and Universe Prime are quantum entangled with one another,” Khuweka began to explain. “As far as hyperdimensional relativity goes, they’re right next to each other. When the original Prototype exploration crew found what we call the biverse, they decided to stay away from both of them. Most human civilizations die out before growing too technologically advanced to become a threat to us. The residents of the biverse are exceedingly more powerful than anything you’ve ever seen. The only reason we were safe in the Composite was because that world, at that time, was largely abandoned. When we step out to Earth here, there’s no telling what we’ll find. Tread lightly, I will probably go invisible.”

“This is Earth, though,” Hogarth asked.

“Yes,” Khuweka said. “Though it is a very different than your own, much is the same. Technology, for instance, has advanced at about the same rate, according to a strikingly similar arbitrary calendar.”

“What year is it right now?” Leona asked as she was looking at a very underdeveloped village a couple hundred meters from their position.

“Sixteen-ninety-nine,” Khuweka answered, looking at the monitor again. She turned away from it, but did a double-take. “Oh, sorry. Negative sixteen-ninety-nine; about seventeen hundred years before the common area, and the birth of some random guy named Jesus.”

Though she was strictly atheist, Leona’s husband was born and raised Catholic. Fortunately, Mateo didn’t exist in the timestream, and no one else here seemed to be offended by Khuweka’s remark. The way Leona understood it, disparate universes were completely unrelated entities, and quite unlike alternate realities. Even Earths that began with the same start values would have developed under radically different conditions, resulting in not a single individual from one having an alternate version in another. Still, there seemed to be some exceptions to this rule, in some cases; apparently people whose lives so profoundly impacted history. Donald Trump, Adolf Hitler, and Jesus of Mary and Joseph, appeared to exist in multiple branes, which they shouldn’t, suggesting some level of quantum entanglement that permeated the bulkverse. What about these few people led to multiple versions of them having been born? Then again, human beings themselves ought to be extremely rare in their familiar form, due to minor differences in the environment in which life evolved. Perhaps these constants were simply quirky extensions of whatever principle allowed humans to be so unrealistically pervasive.

“There’s someone at the door,” Kivi pointed out as she was looking at the view monitor. Her comment was quickly followed by a knock on that very door.

Vito set down his drink, and walked over to the entrance with a strut. “I will protect you from harm,” he said, embracing his immense power. “Can I help you?” he asked, out of sight of either the camera, and blocked by the antechamber.

“Step aside,” came a reply.

Leona recognized that voice. She ran over, and tackled Missy Atterberry as she tried to round the corner. “Oh my God, you’re here. It’s been so long!”

Missy hugged her back, but with only one arm. The other was missing.

“What happened?” Leona asked.

“Occupational hazard,” Missy replied after Leona finally let her go. “I’m the one what caused the Crossover to explode. My arm didn’t survive.”

“I can build you a prosthetic,” Hogarth said. “Hell, you come with us back to our universe, I could regrow your limb.”

Missy shook her head. “Not possible. The most advanced scientists in the biverse have attempted. There’s a neurological block between my brain, and the nerve-endings. A lot of people experience something called phantom limb, which causes them to feel pain from appendages they’ve lost. I have the opposite condition, where my brain is indissolubly aware that my arm is no longer there. I can’t even trick it. I’ve survived, though.”

“I’m so sorry,” Leona said.

“No,” Khuweka said. “I’m sorry. I’m the one what did this to you. You wouldn’t have been in the machine had I not dropped the canister of Serif nanites.”

Missy smiled lovingly. “That was millennia ago, I’m totally over it. I’m a doctor now. I can diagnose absolutely any illness.”

“How did you know we were coming?” Leona asked her. “You couldn’t have just happened to be living in the area?”

“I planned my travels accordingly,” Missy explained. “A friend of mine predicted your arrival. If he’s not busy, you may meet him. Come. It’ll be easier to turn this thing invisible if you’re already outside of it.”

“You knew you could turn things invisible?” Khuweka asked Missy.

Missy laughed as she ushered everyone out, one by one. “Of course. I just diagnosed my own time powers.”

“Damn, I should have thought of that,” Khuweka said.

“You’ve spent your whole life as an immortal,” Vito said comfortingly. “You probably never had reason to wonder how your body works, because it never breaks down.”

Once everyone was outside, Missy turned the Prototype invisible, and synced up her teleportation coordinates with Vito and Khuweka, so they could all jump at once.

Leona looked around with wonder. They were standing in the middle of a bustling city. There weren’t any skyscrapers, but there were streets, and electricity. “I thought this was the second millennium BCE. Did you jump us through time?”

“No,” Missy said. “This island was founded by aliens from a different universe, just like us. They call it...Atlantis.”

“Atlantis?” Vitalie asked. “I’ve heard of that from other choosers. The powers that be supposedly live here.”

“It’s a different Atlantis,” Hogarth tried to explain. “Remember?”

Missy laughed again as she walked up to a door, and rang the bell. “No, it’s not. There is only one Atlantis in the whole bulkverse.”

A man opened the door before anyone could ask Missy what the actual hell she was even bloody talking about.

“Meino, these are the ones you foretold would come; my friends from my homeverse.”

Meino looked them over, not with suspicion, but curiosity. “Have the council responded to your requisition?”

“They’ve not,” Missy responded. “I was hoping you could put in a good word.”

“They’re not just going to hand a weapon of mass destruction over to a bunch of random travelers.”

“Yes,” Missy agreed, “they’re travelers...from the universe of origin, which means it belongs to them more than anyone.”

“That doesn’t mean it belongs to them,” Meino said. “Now, if they had some sort of family claim to the artifact, I might be able to convince the council. Otherwise, I doubt my words would hold much sway.”

“We have a family claim,” Hogarth said. When everyone looked at her, she lowered her head in embarrassment. “My wife is the mother-in-law of the lighter’s original owner, Lubomir Resnik.”

“L.R.,” Meino said as he stared at Hogarth. “It’s engraved on the bottom of it. The museum always suspected it was a personal item.”

“It was a gift from a mage who fancied him,” Hogarth continued. “Rumor has it they were having an affair, but that was never confirmed. He had the power to form a mental map of everyone on the planet, and communicate with them telepathically. Well, it was more like hypnotism.”

“That makes sense, based on what the muster lighter can do. Very well, I will call in as many favors as I need to make this happen for you.”

“Thank you, Meino,” Missy said. “You are a good witch.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said nonchalantly as he stepped out of his house, and let the door close behind him. He then jumped up, and flew away like superhero.”

“What kind of time power lets you fly?” Kivi asked, eyes wider then a dinner plate.

“He doesn’t have a time power,” Missy said. “I just said it, he’s a witch. He has telekinesis.”

While the group waited for word on whether they would be allowed to take the Muster Lighter out of this universe, they had a beachview picnic. Those most concerned with how the powers that be maintained control over salmon pressed Missy for details on the matter. Leona, specifically, wanted to request audience with them, assuming this council of leaders were the ones responsible. Missy was clear that the council had nothing to do with it, and in fact, could do nothing to stop it. What was happening to Leona and the other salmon in their universe would not come to pass in this universe for many, many years. There was simply nothing they could do at the moment to affect any change. It was out of the question for them to somehow jump forward in time, and do something about it then, because that could prevent Leona from getting Mateo back. She resolved to come back later, hopefully further in the timeline of Universe Prime.

Meino contacted them about an hour later, and informed them the council was still considering their request, but would need to hear a plea from the family. When Hogarth stood up to go with him, she exploded.

“That seems like something the powers that be would do,” Kivi noted. “Why does she keep disappearing, if they don’t have control over us anymore?”

“She’s not salmon,” Kallias answered her. “Nor was she born a choosing one. She’s hypothesized that she was infected with temporal energy when the machine that she built exploded. Though the explosions seem random, she believes time is aware of itself, and is reacting to something in the timestream. We’ll probably never know what triggers them, if anything.”

“If she can’t speak,” Meino said, “the council will need someone to speak on her behalf. Or you can come back later, it doesn’t matter to them. No one else is asking for the muster lighter. Could you do it?” he asked of Kallias.

“I will,” Leona said. “The lighter may belong to her by way of family, but I’m the one who’s here to use it. I should explain to them why.”

“Very well,” Meino said. “One of your friends can teleport you, or I can let you fly.”

“Oo, fly,” Kivi said excitedly. “My mama always said, if someone asks you if you want to fly, always say yes.”

“She always said that?” Vitalie questioned. “She ever said that?”

“I wouldn’t mind the experience,” Leona said to Meino.

After becoming a time traveler, Leona saw and did a lot of things. She met famous historical figures, battled super powerful villains, and even died a few times. Nothing could compare to the feeling of flying through the open air. Her only regret was how small the island was, though it seemed like Meino was taking the long way around to give her more time. They flew onto the balcony of the top floor of a highrise, and walked right into the council room. A group of people were carrying on with their own conversations, and only passively acknowledged their arrival. They were an eclectic bunch. One of them was drinking what was either a bloody mary, or just blood. It did look like she had fangs, and her eyes were a vibrant shade of violet, so Leona was inclined to assume she was a vampire.

Once they were finished, the council leader spoke, “is this the relative of the original owner?”

“I am not,” Leona replied. “She is indisposed.”

“She’s lost somewhere else in time,” Meino clarified when the council leader looked to him.

Leona continued, “She was here to help me, however. I require the muster lighter in order to bring my husband bank from nonexistence.”

The council looked amongst each other. “How do you remember him if he no longer exists?” one of them asked her.

Leona rubbed her belly deliberately. “I’ve felt the evidence.”

They nodded, understanding her situation better than she would have expected. “We accept this change,” the leader said. “I am Council Leader Erica Phoenix. How will you use the artifact to retrieve your husband? How does it have this power?”

“It alone does not seem to,” Leona said. “My source indicates it will be working in tandem with several other objects, each with their own power. This source is designed to give information piecemeal, so I couldn’t tell you exactly how it will work, if at all.”

“The lighter is a powerful tool, but also profoundly dangerous. We believe it’s already been reverse engineered for nefarious purposes. Our inhouse seers do not see good things happening with this technology. Their visions, however, cannot reach beyond the biverse. How can we be assured of your good intentions?”

Leona took stock of what she had learned since arriving here. Meino was a witch with telekinesis, that woman was almost certainly a vampire, and the wolf at the end of the table was demonstrating active listening skills. People who could see the future were mentioned on multiple occasions, and technology this island utilized was far beyond anything that should exist in this time period. The leader’s name reminded Leona of an entity she once met named Monster, who referred to itself as a phoenix. She took a stab in the dark, and guessed there were lots of other wonders she had not had the pleasure of encountering. “I would be happy to submit to a telepath, or an empath.”

The council members looked at each other again. Maybe they were all telepaths, and never needed to say anything out loud. “We have decided to trust you. Besides, my great great grandchild vouches for you.” She stood up, prompting the others to do the same. “I’m afraid we must dispense with ceremony, however, as we have run out of time.” She pulled a lighter out of her pocket, and tossed it over to Leona. “Safe travels. It is my understanding you’ll be dealing with the bladapods next. Good luck with that.”

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Microstory 899: Tragic Magic

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A long time ago, before motor vehicles were invented, the pathways between buildings were narrow. The people of the time could not conceive of the need for wider roads. A couple individuals needed to be able to pass each other going opposite directions, but not much else. As technology progressed, the city of London grew larger, as did its streets. But the city center was still the same as it ever was, leaving little room for practical living. But the buildings were old, and made as beautiful architecture. Londoners did not want to destroy them, and build anew, so city officials struck a deal. Witches were commissioned to widen the streets with magic, by adding an extra dimension of space in between the space that we perceive. Normal people cannot detect this higher dimension, so we interpret it as nothing but emptiness. Over time, the memory of this act faded from people’s minds. Those who were around when it happened died off, and their descendants did not believe the stories. Eventually, even the stories stopped being told, and we were left with a normal city that only a few surviving believers were aware was actually held together by magic. Now in modern day, those original wonderful buildings have been upgraded, dismantled, and replaced, but the magic remains. Even amongst those who know the truth, only one family is aware of what happened to the witches. Some believed them to be immortal, and to still be living up to today. Others thought their descendants now protected the city. Both are right. Both are wrong. The witches have been passing their souls down their own generational lines all this time. Out of each family, three children are born. Two must live on, and live full lives. The other must relinquish their body, and agree to be supplanted by one of their own parents, sometime after adulthood, but before age-related fertility problems threaten the cycle. But of course, this has led to diminishing returns, and the last full-powered witch died yesterday.

It has always been my family’s responsibility to care for the remaining powered witches, but there is only so much we can do. With no equal mate, the last witch was incapable of conceiving any children who could bear the burden of her power. She married a nice man, and raised three lovely children, but they could not possess magic. So when she finally passed on, the London spell automatically dissipated, as did all other magical spells. The central buildings were suddenly sent hurtling towards each other. A great many people were killed or hurt in this, but most of the buildings themselves remained intact; if only closer together. Two buildings, however, were not so lucky. I met my wife three dozen stories up in the air, above the street. For whatever reason, the architect responsible for both of our respective buildings decided later to construct extensions from both of the penthouses, so they were only a few meters apart from each other. This allowed us to carry on conversations from opposite buildings. I was attending to the last witch’s body when magic turned off. The penthouse extensions crashed into each other. My father and wife, who were chatting up there, were quite nearly killed. But this was not the only spell affected. The last witch used magic to cure my wife of her cancer, as a sort of profoundly beautiful gift, but her illness returned upon the end of magic. A toy tiger that had been passed down the family, and presently belonged to my son, turned out to be a real tiger. We still don’t know which witch transformed it, when exactly, or why. As my father and his daughter-in-law were trying to make their way off the extensions, the tiger ran across it, and tried to attack them. My father was forced to pull it off the edge, sending both of them falling towards their deaths. But there was one more gift the witches bequested to us before their end. I had with me a secret reserve of magic that I was told would be good for one further spell. I used it to save my father’s life, as well as the tiger’s, landing them both safely on either side of a fence in the nearby zoo. But a second spell cast itself, completely out of my control. It turned my son into a new witch. And it was he who put the buildings back to where they belonged, repaired all the injuries and deaths caused by the temporary loss in magic, and erased everyone’s memories of the whole thing. But we don’t know what to do next.

Microstory 747: Hex

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The Hex were a coven of witches at their prime in the early 20th century with malevolent intentions. At this point in the galaxy’s history, there were few regulations regarding craft. Some used their knowledge for good, while most used it simply to make their lives easier. A few, of course, saw craft as something to be used to its greatest potential, exploiting loopholes to further their agenda to control the worlds. At any one time, there were only six witches in this coven. As one member died, another would be called to replace them. No one fully understood how many times this cycle continued, since the coven would stealthily move across the stars before authorities could catch them. The oldest surviving member was a man name Epihui Ronson, who was the sickest of them all. Though he did not openly lead the group, he was its founder, and wielded the most control over them, by literally controlling their minds. He let his mouthpieces go on believing that everything the coven did was their idea. They were directed to make claims to new members that, upon their death, they would find themselves in an afterlife of paradise. In truth, the engagements they worked on mostly only served to increase Ronson’s own power. The engagements, however, did not always work as they were meant to. One such of these led the near-death of a woman named Heldika Marlian. Ronson took pity on her, and against his better judgment, chose not to finish her off, thinking she would die soon anyway. Having learned the truth about who Ronson was, and what the coven was for, Heldika pulled herself out of the ditch that was meant to be her grave, returned to the First World, and began to study everything she could about death. After years of practice, she learned how to bring people back from the brink. She then formed her own rival coven to follow Hex around, and revive Ronson’s sacrifices. With these, she was able to secure even greater numbers for the Doladerstun coven, eventually succeeding in creating the largest coven in galaxy history up to that point. One day, they combined their power, and operated as one. They defeated Ronson, ultimately having no choice but to kill his current five covenmates. Following their success, the Doladerstun coven broke apart into many distinct covens, each one named after a letter in the original. And that is how we came to have the Eleven Great Covens of Wiktea.

Microstory 638: Celebration of Guardian Appreciation Day

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The successful achievement of the thirty-eighth taikon was less about fulfilling it as it was fulfilling all the ones before it. There are very few holidays in this galaxy that are observed across more than one or two star systems. Only one of these is observed in all systems. Sotiren Zahir’s extraordinary gifts manifested themselves at a very early age. He was able to see and know things that no one could explain. He was not an amber, or an anomaly. He was no witch, time traveler, or basic old world prophet. He was something different; in a class of his own. People around him rarely believed his truths, even as he proved them before their eyes. They chalked it up to coincidence, refusing to see reality, and reject their old religions. His parents were not like them, though. They supported him in everything he did, they always believed him, and they encouraged him to explore his shocking understanding of the universe. He speaks of them at length in the Book of Light, and how beneficial their reactions to his—sometimes disturbing— visions of the future. He demanded a Guardian Appreciation Day, to be celebrated annually all across the galaxy, on the day that splits the difference between his parent’s respective birthdays. Though a few worlds have attempted to ignore this tradition, they always end up falling in line the following year after their trade deals suddenly turn sour. It is one of our founder’s few commandments, so the least anyone can do is be part of it. And for the most part, even planets dominated by rival religions continue the tradition. As with any year, Guardian Appreciation Day was set to be observed during the taikon year. It cannot be moved up or down the calendar, and if all of the previously thirty-seven taikon were not reached by the time this day rolled around, the entire prophecy would be forfeit. It was positively vital that the taikon be experienced in the right order, and under this deadline, or everything Lightseers and general Fosteans alike worked for would be meaningless. Fortunately, now-Eido Wurnti Kaddow presented herself in just enough time to let this happen. Guardian Appreciation Day was observed, and all was well.

Microstory 595: Atlantis Will Sink

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When our people first came to this world, it was by accident. Our ancestors found themselves trapped in a scary new universe, with primitive technology, and superstitious inhabitants. We wanted to live in peace with them, but this was not possible. We would have to reveal our scientific understanding to them at a time when we felt it would not be appropriate. Or we would have to live like them. Of course, since then, Priority Two has altered our perception of best practices around the rest of the universe, but for this world, the rule remains. We must not come out to the natives, or we will face consequences from several authorities. Long after the first accidental trip, we came upon a large island in the ocean. At the time, the natives were barely venturing out to the sea, so we knew we would be safe so far from the mainland. Over time, more of our people came through the tear in spacetime, sometimes accidentally, but not always. We monitored these crossings, tracked their movements, and read them into the situation. Since then, our established culture has grown on this island, which has been named Atlantis. Unfortunately, the rest of the world has advanced to the point that we are no longer a secret. Already rumors are spreading across two continents, telling of the City of Atlantis, with its powerful magic, and its dangerous army. We know that we remain here in peace, but we’ve found it next to impossible to convince the natives of this. So a choice was made, and soon, it will be realized.

After long deliberations, and input from all current residents, our leaders have decided to hide Atlantis from the rest of the world. This will be the largest project Atlantians have ever attempted, and it will not be easy. A number of plans have been proposed, all of them with their faults. Some want to drop Atlantis into a simplex dimension, but the power requirements would render life inside difficult. We would need to take drastic precautions to protect ourselves from plex radiation. To avoid this, there are those who say we should phase ourselves out of perception, but this is a class of technology we do not possess, and we do not feel it to be in our best interests to ask for it from our allies. Some say we should build a dome that covers the entire island, and then sink it into the ocean, but the construction alone would be noticed by outsiders. This we cannot risk, but the suggestion did give us an idea of what we could do. The new plan incorporates the best aspects of all other ideas, but removes most of the dangers. Make no mistake, this will be dangerous as well, but experts believe it to be the safest choice imaginable. We are going to sink the island, but instead of building a dome, we are going to keep the waters at bay using a series of redundant telekinetic fields. Scientists have begun work designing TK field generators to be placed all along the border, and later on our tallest buildings. To make up for the gaps, and before the buildings can be raised, witches will use their learned telekinetic gifts. The best witches can secure telekinetic fields with little effort, and walk away. Others will have to operate in shifts. They will take turns maintaining the protective barrier until something more permanent can be installed. Scientists are still working on the details of this mission, with no intention to reach our goal for at least another half year. Within one week, our progress will be released to the public. We are asking for help from anyone and everyone. Even if you do not have the educational background to understand the plan from an engineering standpoint, we urge you to speak up with any thoughts. We welcome all perspectives, for if we do not get this right, only the vampires will survive. Instructions will be sent out by email in time.