The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 28, 2052

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Horace Reaver returned to Mateo’s cell a few hours past midnight and pulled up a chair. He nodded to Gilbert’s body. “He was about your age you know. Rather, he was about a year younger than you would have been were it not for the choosing ones. And today would have been his birthday.” He laughed less menacingly than he normally did. “Sixty-five. He was one day from retirement before his death.”

“You’ve never killed anyone, far as I know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’ve caused a lot of pain. We met a woman whose brother died working for you. Lord knows how many times you’ve tried to kill me. In an alternate reality, you did kill Leona and my father.”

“So Leona told me. How interesting.”

Mateo continued, “but have you actually killed anyone? I mean, before Gilbert.”

“In this timeline?” Reaver rhetorically asked for clarification. He thought about it for a moment. “No, I haven’t.” He shifted his seat closer to the cell window. “Are you ready for a story?”

“No.”

“I wasn’t first thrust into this world when I was an adult, like you. I was literally born with it. At least, that’s what I’m guessing, because I do not remember a time without it. For as far back as my memories go, I’ve lived through each day, and then gone back to do it again. I first referred to the first time around as practice days, assuming that this was something everyone did. I legitimately believed that every single person on the planet was given a second chance at the day, ya know, to make things better. I just thought that that was how physics worked. Time repeating itself everyday made no less sense to me than the fact that the sun disappears every night.

“I discovered myself to be alone when I was pretty young by killing my mother, and finding her to have no memory of the event. I was an angry child, and having this...gift gave me a warped perspective. I can spend entire days doing what I want, to whomever I want, and no one will notice. I can kill others, I can kill myself, I can run around naked in Times Square. Had I the benefit of a normal timeline before this happened to me, I think I would been more stable. I would have been able to appreciate what it’s like for everyone else.” He leaned back to continue. “But the choosing ones wanted me from the start, thinking that to be the best way to activate me. They would later realize this was a terrible mistake, but we’ll get back to that.

“Once I realized that I was alone, I realized that I actually couldn’t be alone. There had to be someone else. The possibility of being the only one out of billions of people just didn’t add up. It was too statistically unlikely. I hunted for my counterpart by making a ruckus during what were now called Round Ones, and then doing nothing on the Round Twos. I finally found her after I stopped looking, and that’s when we met The Delegator. As it turns out, Ulinthra was nearly as violent as I was, using Round One to commit horrible atrocities. It took us awhile, but we figured out how to switch gears and become heroes. We saved a lot of lives. I’m not lying about this, I promise that it happened.

“One day, we were pulling people out of a forest fire,” he sort of trailed off and looked to the side, “which is sort of ironic, when you think about it. Two of the men there were Allen and Richard, a married couple on a camping trip. Ulinthra fell in love with them, and they fell in love with her. Group marriage being illegal, she had to marry into the family unofficially. We read them into our situation, and they began to help us.” He stared into space with wonder. “It was magnificent. We were quite a team, and we had yet one more member to bring into our ranks. My love. I met her when I was a thirteen-year-old with a stomach flu bad enough to need a hospital visit. We got to talking and hit it off, but she was a couple years older, so nothing came of it. That age difference was, of course, meaningless as adults, and I ended up marrying her.

“Despite the death of one of Ulinthra’s husbands, we continued our good works. I was happily married, and even had a daughter. Things were going well. We met another salmon. He seemed like a pretty cool guy, but he wasn’t around all that much. He helped us when he was available. Then he fucked up. He made a mistake that cost the life of my love. I murdered him in a fit of rage, but I didn’t stop there. I killed Ulinthra and Richard, I killed everyone I could get my hands on. I began to rampage across the city, and I don’t mean during Round One; I did this when the consequences were real. I did this when there was no going back. Death was final.” He took a drink of water. “Obviously, the authorities caught up with me and sent me to prison. While I was in solitary for having killed three other inmates, my daughter made an appearance. She was much older than she should have been, and I knew that she was just like me. Well, she wasn’t just like me. She was a choosing one. She broke a rule. You see, relatives are a conflict of interest, and so the choosing one who chooses what you do has to be unrelated, but that doesn’t mean your relative has no power over you.

“She sent me back in time, into my younger body. But not one day, no. She sent me all the way back to when I was a teenager, breaking my pattern. She was trying to give me a chance to try it all over again; to do it right. The other choosing ones allowed this to happen, but it had to come with consequences. There had to be some punishment, and it had to be ironic. I wasn’t sick this time around, and so my mother refused to drive me to the hospital. I desperately rode across the city on my bike, but I was late. The love of my life was already in the middle of a conversation with someone else. But not just anyone else. It was the man who had caused her death in the alternate timeline. I held back because, my God, he was twelve years older than her. Surely that would lead to nothing, and I would be able to make my move. Unfortunately, she was smitten; in love with a much older man. And as luck would have it, she would be able to age much faster. Knowing this, she ignored my advances. I bet she never told you that. I tried wooing her for years. I already knew everything about her; what movies she would like, what kind of chocolates were her favorite, but nothing worked.”

The picture was becoming clearer, but Mateo respected Reaver’s story and remained silent.

Reaver lowered his head and watched the floor stand still. “She was lost to me. It was like watching her die all over again.” He looked back up to Mateo, tears in his eyes. “She was in love with you. The mother of my child, the one who kept me sane, kept me from killing. She was in love with the man who had killed her. And she had no goddamn idea, so I couldn’t blame her. I shouldn’t have blamed you either, but I did. You’re not a bad person, Mateo, and I know this. But given the right circumstances, you would easily screw up again and lead Leona to her death. I had to find a way to stop you. Using my knowledge of the future, I built a conglomerate, tackling scientific advances before anyone thought possible. I thought I could sway her with my money, but that’s too simplistic. Of course it didn’t work. I was growing angrier by the minute, waiting for you to return to the timeline. Keep in mind that time moves twice as slow for me as it does for others. This meant a lot of scenarios where I drop your body to the ground, tumbling through my mind over and over again. All my attempts not only failed, but they also pushed Leona deeper into your arms. I was just making things worse. You know the rest. I devised a plan to kill Leona, only so that our daughter would appear once more and give me a third chance. I didn’t want to hurt her; I just wanted her back.”

Mateo stood up from the floor and placed his hand on the window somewhat affectionately. “I’m sorry, Horace.”

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Reavers Wobble: Bridelope (Part II)

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It took a month or two...or fifteen, along with several free Round One therapy sessions, but Horace and Ulinthra were able to change their ways. They didn’t start saving lives right away, but they were able to move past their need to cause death, destruction, and mayhem.

The two of them moved to Howell, New Jersey. This put them in the center of the action. They were about an hour away from each of Camden, New Jersey; Atlantic City, New Jersey; Chester, Pennsylvania; and Wilmington, Delaware. These were four of the most dangerous cities in the country. They also lived about an hour from New York City which had its fair share of dangers. They developed and perfected a system of absorbing all news in the area during Round One. Once the day restarted, they were not able to take their notes back with them, and so they also had to learn memorization techniques. They became quite excellent at it. There were whispers of two vigilantes running around stopping murders and thwarting terrorist plots, but those subsided as they learned how to stay hidden and cover their tracks.

They came to be known as The Rewinders amongst other people who did not live through time properly. These other time travelers called themselves salmon, and they all had their own patterns and missions. There were even some other couples. Horace and Ulinthra tried to form a romantic bond, but this proved to be ill-advised. Their relationship was a distraction from their responsibilities, and the more years that passed, the more committed they grew to their pattern. Ulinthra fell in love with two people whose lives she had once saved. She ended up marrying into the family unofficially, but not before they joined the team. Now they were able to dole out assignments and increase their reach; be in many places at once.

As luck would have it, Horace ran into a woman from his home town of Topeka, Kansas. They had encountered each other once in a hospital, but were both very young, and nothing came of it. They considered it fate that they both chose to live in the same new city later on in their lives. Today was their wedding day.

“Are you nervous?” Ulinthra asked as she was adjusting his bowtie.

“Are you a cliché?” Horace asked back.

She playfully slapped him across the shoulder, “shut up. I’m serious.”

“Happiest day of my life.”

“It’s supposed to be her happiest day.”

“Can’t be mine too?”

She lowered her demeanor. “Not when you’ve already been through this day.”

“I didn’t get married when we first went through the day. You remember what we did instead?”

“Yes, we said we weren’t going to talk about it.”

“It was nostalgia,” Horace said, pulling away from her to dress himself on his own.

“We shouldn’t have done it. It’s sick.”

“We used to do it all the time.”

“Yeah, separately, and we were severely messed up for it. If my husbands and your fiancée ever found out—”

“Don’t even talk like that. They have no idea who we are—who we were. They would leave us. Actually, they would likely call the cops. Sure, they would never be able to prove we hurt people in an alternate reality, but they would tell them how we “think” we live through an alternate reality, and that would probably be enough.”

“But you see, that’s just it. It’s not who we were. It’s who we are. We proved it yesterday, when we killed our loved ones in some disgusting ritualistic celebration.”

“It’s out of our system. We won’t do it again, I promise.”

“I promise never to do it again,” Ulinthra proclaimed, “but I don’t trust that you won’t. You were always much worse than me.”

Horace reached back, preparing to strike Ulinthra, but was able to stop himself in time. “It’s not a contest. I killed my fiancée, and you killed your husbands. It’s over. It never happened, and we don’t have to worry about it.”

“You killed us yesterday?” Allen revealed himself.

“Allen, no, you don’t understand.”

“Tell me what happened.”

Ulinthra tried to play it down. “It’s not a big deal, honey.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Allen raised his voice. “What exactly did you do?”

“It’s just this...form of catharsis. We would never hurt you during Round Two. Could we please just forget it?”

“I’m not going to forget it. I asked you what you did exactly, now I want details!”

“You don’t want details. It’ll just make matters worse.”

“What happened, Ulinthra!” Allen screamed.

“We slit your throats,” Horace interjected. “It’s our...preferred method. Well, it was. We don’t do that anymore.”

“Except for yesterday,” Allen spat.

“Except for yesterday, yes. It was a mistake, and we’re sorry.” Horace sounded pretty sincere, but he knew in his heart that he wasn’t. It felt good to go back to the way things were when he was younger. As rewarding as it was to save people, it was nothing compared to the sweet relief of taking a life, knowing that he could return it the next day for a full refund.

“And you two used to do this all the time?”

Ulinthra nodded with shame. “Him more than me, but yeah.”

“No need to throw me under the bus.”

Allen tried to work through the revelation, but was struggling. “I...I have to tell Richard. I’m not saying we’ll leave you, but he has a right to know who he’s sharing a bed with.”

“I understand,” Ulinthra said.

“I don’t,” Horace said as Allen was trying to walk away.

“What?”

“Horace,” Ulinthra pleaded. “We have to let this play out. He has to do what he thinks is right.”

“I will not let you destroy what we have,” Horace insisted. “I’m going to get married today; on our one day off in, like, forever. And then tomorrow, she is going to continue helping us save the world. Richard too. If you don’t want to be a part of it anymore, then say the word, but the others can never know what we did yesterday, or what we did when we were kids.”

Allen put his hands on his hips indignantly. “Well, I don’t think that’s for you to decide. Now I’m definitely telling Richard, and I’m telling your fiancée too.”

Horace moved forward and took Allen’s arm forcefully. “Don’t do this, Allen.”

“Let him go, Horace. Remember, this is Round Two.”

“Oh, and if it was Round One, you would just go ahead and stab me?” Allen asked.

Horace smashed his fist against the side of Allen’s head, knocking him to the floor. “If this was Round One, we wouldn’t have to do a goddamn thing.”

“Horace, stop!” Ulinthra pulled at him, but wasn’t strong enough.

“I’m not going to stab you. It’s too messy.” Horace stepped on Allen’s neck and killed him.

“What did you do?” Ulinthra asked, tearing up.

“Do you want to help me hide the body?” He turned his head, but kept his eyes on Allen’s body. “Or do you want next?”

After stuffing Allen into a closet, Ulinthra and Horace left the changing room and proceeded to the assembly hall. Richard was waiting for them at the altar. “Where’s Allen?”

Horace shook his head. “I’m sorry. He really wanted to be here, but he just couldn’t stop thinking about the party boat that goes missing an hour from now. He went off to look for it.”

Richard smiled. “He always says that trouble never takes a day off.”

Once the bride was finished walking down the aisle, the officiant began the ceremony. He had few words of his own since the couple had a long set of vows to say. He skipped the part where he asks if anyone objected, and moved on to the good bit. “Leona Delaney, do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” Leona said elatedly.

“And do you, Horace Reaver, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do,” Horace repeated.

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Microstory 205: New Measurements

I realize that I’ve mentioned a few what you must believe to be measurements, but are not completely sure. You see, my stories take place in a universe where such things are part of common knowledge, and very few people can act as “audience proxies”. I try to go over things, but at the same time, I want to organically bring them up, rather than just spell them out. If you were telling a story about Barack Obama, you wouldn’t first explain that Obama was the President of the United States of America between the common era years of 2009 to 2016. Everybody knows that...mostly. But since the secondary purpose of this site is to give you an introduction to my new world, I’m just going to go at it; in this case, giving you highlights of a fictional (or is it?) measurement system. The smallest positive unit of measurement is the yoem. It is equal to 2.442 millimeters. Multiply that by 10 and you get the deam which is 2.442 centimeters. Multiply by 10 and we have a sheam: 24.42 centimeters. Get the picture? Continue to multiply by 10 for a geara: 2.670603674541 yards (8.011811023623 feet); demra: 26.70603674541 yards (80.11811023623 feet); shemra: 267.0603674541 yards (801.1811023623 feet); and nayko: 2.442 kilometers (8,011.811023623 feet). That last one is what my characters use in place of a mile, and naykos per hour are informally referred to as neels. Units of mass follow a similar linguistic and mathematical structure starting with the yoemtra: 2.442 grams; deamtra: 0.86139 ounces; sheamtra (sheels): 0.538369 pounds; gearatra: 5.38369 pounds; demratra: 53.8369 pounds; shemratra: 538.369 pounds; and naykotra: 2.691845 tons (5,383.69 pounds). So the next time someone asks you how tall you are and how much you weigh, after punching them in the face for being rude, you can say something like 7 sheaman and 24 gearatran. Oh yeah, by the way, if you want to pluralize something, you add -an to the end (or just -n if the singular ends in a vowel). Did you not already know that?

Microstory 204: Species

There were a number of genetically engineered races across the galaxy, and the universe. They were all created using human DNA, sometimes mixed with that of a different species, but often just altered manually to mimic the properties of something else. If the new species was created from scratch, and guided as it went along its journey of billions of years, then we call it a superspecies. It is human, but it’s what humans would have become under slightly different environmental circumstances. If the DNA is taken from a live originator, and changed to form a separate human line, then we refer to it as a tangent species. It will only take thousands, maybe millions, of years of evolution to stabilize the new race. But if the genetics of a Generation Alpha is adjusted, with the material remains within the bloodline, then we end up with a subspecies. There are many reasons to create a human subspecies, but usually scientists did so in order to create something tailored for a certain job, or way of life. Here are some examples from the Lactean galaxy:

The Laieran were sort of made accidentally as a way to prolong a normal human life. It was not their intention to create an infectious new race. Werewolves were actually not originally human. They began as experiments to find a way to increase the intelligence of animals. Few of the test subjects survived, but the ones who did passed on their intelligence to their children, and their descendants were later subjects of further experiments to give them the ability to become human. This was a long process, and an often painful one for the highly unstable generations that had to endure life as outcasts before being accepted into society. Dwarves were bred to be short and stout so that they could mine for desirable materials on heavy worlds. Giants were...really just made to see if it could be done. Theirs was a disastrous failure, resulting in great deal of extremely large people with a host of medical problems, causing them to die out rather quickly. Savons were also formed out of sheer incompetence. They were wise, and valued for their ability to speak profound truths, occasionally with a hint of precognition, but they also somehow had the side effect of aging rapidly until resembling the elderly, and being forced to remain in this state after death, which usually occurred a bit later than it did for standard humans. Like Tabachi, Elves too were created to be warriors, but their lower bodies were disproportionately muscular, and their upper bodies were dangerously dense, preventing them from being able to swim. All of these subspecies had their benefits, as well as their design flaws. But in the end, many scientists came to the decision that natural evolution had already picked the best possible outcome.

Microstory 203: Self-fulfilling Prophecy

James Smith laid out careful measures to make sure that he could pass as a normal person. He moved from one monotonous temporary position to another, never settling, and never so much as attempting to find a career. He lived in a world where the majority of people had special abilities, but most of these abilities were common. Some could see beyond the visible light spectrum, others had superior memory, and a few were superhumanly strong. James, however, had an incredibly rare gift. He could read the thoughts of those around him. And even though he could choose whose mind to read at any given time, he generally preferred to be alone. Knowing what people were really thinking gave him a perspective few could understand, and it soured him on humanity. To make matters worse, there were two separate camps when it came to telepathy. There were those who admired telepaths, and even worshipped them. They were sometimes hired to visit long-term care units of hospitals, and translate the thoughts of coma patients. But most people, of course, feared people like James. The world was an extremely dangerous place for him. On the one hand, he could sense every move before a theoretical attacker makes it, but at a certain point, he’s still being attacked, and is at risk of being physically harmed. He lived in constant danger, knowing that anyone around him could hate him for his ability, and try to act against him for it.

One time, James was sitting in an interview with a potential employer. He left his telepathy on a rather mild level, really only concerned with how his responses were being received, but not interested in hearing the interviewer’s exact thoughts on the matter. A woman walked into the room and handed the interviewer a clipboard, asking him to sign a document, but this was a lie. By reflex, James focused his ability to pick up more details from the interviewer’s thoughts. The woman had shown him a single slip of paper with the words, He’s a telepath written on it. She must have had the ability to sense the abilities of others. This too was a rare gift, and people like her were often hired by governments and paramilitary organizations as recruiting tools. Without hesitating, the interviewer removed what was supposed to be a decorative bayonet sitting on the counter behind him. He quickly swept the blade over the table and ran it across James’ throat. James had predicted that this would happen, and pushed his foot against the desk to fall backwards, but it had not been quite enough. The interviewer had done enough damage to ultimately kill him. Fortunately, the ability-senser’s job was to inform her client of interviewee abilities; not to kill people. She disarmed the interviewer, placed pressure on James’ wound, and called emergency services. James was never the same after this incident, as one would imagine. His bitterness grew inside of him day by day, and after moving away and buying a new identity, he himself became violent and deadly. What the murderous interviewer feared most about a telepath was coming true, because of his own actions. A self-fulfilling prophecy.

Microstory 202: Generations

Genetic manipulation is not easy, but it does start making sense after decades of research. But even when you tamper with a subject’s genes, there are certain things that you cannot do. They will always have at least a hint of what they used to be. Turn a human into a giant fungus-eating aardvark-like creature, but they will always be an aardvark monster who was once a regular human. And so, a system of classifications was put in place in order to logically categorize the race of any given generation. The first generation in a new series is called Generation Alpha. These are subjects whose genes were manipulated directly. They were once one race, but have since been altered. Their scions are referred to as Generation Beta, and known as the first pure generation. They were born with the genetic traits desired by the genetic manipulators, as passed down by their parents. Generation Gammas are all unstable descendants of the new race following the Betas. Depending on the level of sophistication employed by the original scientists, this generational line can last for thousands, or even millions, of years. The thing is, if you want to create a new race, you’re going to have to wait for evolution to start working with you. Evolution already has its own ways of altering genes. Healthy mutations will provide the species with a better means of survival or procreation, and continue to be passed down, no longer as mutations, but as intrinsic qualifications. In order to rid the new species of genetic traits remaining from the original species, evolution has to weed them out naturally. At least, this is the best method. One could theoretically continue to manipulate the species through breeding techniques, but this runs the risk of causing more problems than it solves. The last unstable generation of gammas is actually called Generation Zero. Pinpointing this moment in time is inherently difficult, and is used more for mathematical and modeling purposes, rather than exact designation. Naturally, Generation One is the first genetically stable generation of the new species; the one that makes each individual a member of that species, and not a member of its predecessor. Generation Two is made up of all subsequent generations, and should continue to thrive barring further genetic manipulation, or other threats to propagation. The goal these endeavors is Generation Two, and for the most part, the people who started this process do not live long enough to see its end.

Microstory 201: Advisors and Advocates

Odalis and Isabelle Salomon were brother and sister, and Generation Two anomalies with complementary abilities. Odalis could look into people’s pasts, and Isabelle could look into their futures. At first, Isabelle stayed away from her ability, having the wisdom to understand that knowing the future can make things worse. After all the problems that came with the first couple of decades for Bellevue, the world was operating at a pretty decent level. Odalis began his career working for the Kansas City Police Department. He would look into a suspect’s past experiences, and know whether they were at fault for the crime or not. Legislation was passed, preventing him from divulging the details of his visions. His was a chiefly binary response. Was the suspect guilty of the crime in question, or innocent? Any unrelated crime—or any other event, for that matter—that Odalis witnessed was strictly to be kept secret out of respect for the civilian’s privacy. After some scientific progress, further legislation, and the right amount of money, Odalis was rendered obsolete. He continued to work for the police, but he no longer needed to. They had successfully replicated his ability with technology so that any certified Flashbacker was capable of performing this task. Within a year, this position was being filled in practically every district of the world. Feeling inadequate and unfulfilled, and after the prodding of some new associates, Odalis refocused his purpose. He and his new team realized that those not found guilty still had problems of their own. He formed a small organization designed to help these people. Sometimes they would catch criminals, sometimes prevent premeditated crimes, and sometimes they would just provide emotional and psychological support. Verner Holt was working as a psychiatrist at the time, and limited his practice to spend time working with Odalis’ clients. Around the same time that this was happening, Isabelle was having her own epiphany. She had just been given a job as a primary school librarian in a district primarily serving low income and troubled families. She began to use her ability as well, looking into the futures of her students to see whether they were headed in the right direction. She formed a little committee of sorts with other teachers. They went above and beyond their responsibility, and started to pay extra attention to the children who needed help most. Odalis and Isabelle provided unexpected assistance for hundreds of people over the years, and they all went out to impact the lives of thousands more. They and their teams were instrumental in shaping the future of the planet, and creating the evidence that ultimately allowed it to be inducted into an interstellar cooperative.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 27, 2051

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Mateo pulled his phone back out of his pocket. “I should be able to track her.” But he couldn’t. The phone had no idea where Leona was.

“I’m sure Reaver has some kind of signal jammer,” Gilbert suggested.

Mateo sighed, trying simultaneously to concentrate, and to not hyperventilate.

“Call Theo.”

Mateo realized that this was the right next step, but before he had a chance to select Theo’s phone number, it rang as Leona’s face popped up on the screen. “Leona,” he said, excited. “Tell me you’re okay.”

“It’s me,” Reaver replied.

“What have you done with her?”

“I’ve kept her alive. From what I gather, my plan to kill her and grab the attention of my daughter did not work, so I have no reason to hurt Leona now.”

“Then bring her back, and we can talk about this.”

“You...you want me to take her back to Antarctica? No. No thanks. My mother told me to put on a coat, but I refused to listen, like always. I will bring you to me, so that we remain under my terms.”

“And how exactly am I supposed to get to wherever you are? Figured we’d swim?”

“That would be lovely, but no. I don’t have time for that. I left an aircraft for you about twenty kilometers west of where we picked up Leona.”

“Why did you take her but not me?”

There was a bit of a pause before Reaver replied, “I want you to work for it. I want you to want it.”

“I’m going to kill you,” Mateo lied.

“I look forward to seeing you try,” Reaver lied.

“What are we doing?” Gilbert asked after Mateo hung up the phone.

“We’re walking more.”

They spent the next several hours walking across the snow, stopping more often than they wanted to, but less often than they probably should have. Despite climate change, and advances in nanofibers, the trek was extremely difficult. They removed their clothing to find their extremities to be discolored and numb. The aircraft warmed them up quickly as it took them along a preprogrammed route.

“Is this what it’s like for you all the time?” Gilbert questioned. “Always cold, or running from rushing water, or trying to catch a criminal?”

“It wasn’t always like this, no,” Mateo started to explain. “In the beginning, it was a crap deal. I was jumping through time, missing all these important moments from the lives of my family and friends, but we were okay. Looking back, that is, we were okay. I never thought it would turn out like this. I assumed my adoptive parents would live full lives, that Leona would move on and forget about me, and that no one else would know about my condition, let alone try to kill me.”

“What are you going to do once this is all over?”

“All over?” Mateo laughed. “You mean after I take care of Reaver, assuming I don’t die? If my aunt is any indication, I’m pretty much in this for life. If they ever retire me, I’ll be too old to do anything. One way or another, my chapter with Reaver will end in a few short days. No way the people who are doing this to us are gonna fire me that quickly.” He went back to massaging his feet. “Leona says we could be doing this for the next twenty or thirty thousand years. Who knows what the world will look like at that point? We could be fighting aliens and hyperintelligent mechacelestial beings for all I know. This is just what we do now. This is us.”

Gilbert let out a small laugh of his own, “heh. You could live long enough to safely go to Chernobyl.”

“Yeah, if I do retire, I’ll probably go there. From what I hear, you could too. Aren’t we only a half century away from immortality?”

Gilbert took a sip of his bourbon. “Give or take, that’s what we’re told. Here’s to the future,” he said, lifting his glass half-heartedly.

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

“Why am I not afraid?”

“The liquor, I would imagine.”

“No, that’s not it. I was just in a plane crash, but now I’m on another plane, and it feels perfectly natural. All the booze in the world couldn’t fix that so soon.”

“You jumped off a prison tower with very little warning. Presumably you jumped out of the plane after that, like we suggested.”

Gilbert nodded. “So I’m desensitized to danger.”

Mateo lifted his water. “Here’s to not worrying about death or other such trivial nonsense.”

“Seconded.”

“Are you ready? To help, I mean? You don’t really know us. I think you were a bonus from the powers that be, but they probably won’t hold you to this mission. You could jump out of this plane right now and forget the whole thing.”

Gilbert placed his drink down and made his face all serious. “I’m all in. Let’s get the son of a bitch.”

“Well then, thank you for all you’ve done. And thank you for whatever you’ll do in the future.” Mateo pulled out the metal rosary from his pocket and started fidgeting with it. He hadn’t thought about his faith much in the recent weeks, but something made him feel the need to reconnect with his past. “Do you believe in God?”

“I do not. I believe in people.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to come around to your side of the argument,” Mateo said. “Except instead of believing in them, I think I just don’t believe in them.”

“I understand the sentiment, but I think you oughta hold on to that shiny piece of jewelry for now.”

“Why is that?”

“The person who made that did so in a factory, probably outside of the U.S. They made so many of those things that they give nothing more than a thought to any given one. This metal thing is irrelevant to them. It has no value. It only becomes meaningful when someone buys it, or buys it for someone else. It doesn’t matter what it was designed to represent.” He took a beat for effect. “What does it represent for you?”

Mateo took a long time to answer, carefully considering what Gilbert was really asking. “It means I’m not alone.”

He smiled kindly. “Then you definitely don’t want to get rid of it. That feeling is more rare than you think.”

The two unlikely friends spoke a little bit over the course of the rest of the trip, but not about anything so deep. The plane automatically landed itself at Horace Reaver’s compound in the middle of nowhere Queensland, Australia. The air was almost hot enough to cook them right there when they stepped out, a dramatic shift from bitter Antarctica. Armed guards escorted them from the landing pad and into a cell.

After several hours of no food or water, Reaver came in smiling with a platter of cold cuts fit for a family reunion. It was not prison food, but very appropriate based on what they knew of their warden. “I hope you like turkey.”

“You have me now,” Mateo spoke in a rather gravelly voice from the dehydration. “As they say in action movies, let the girl go.”

“Oh, Leona’s fine.” Reaver set the platter on the floor and kicked it through the little opening. Several cheese cubes tumbled off into the dirt. “She’s staying in a six-star resort. She has air conditioning and television; the works. It’s Boyce who you should be worried about.”

“Why?” Gilbert asked.

“Because you’re irrelevant.” With that, Reaver took out a pistol and shot Gilbert in the forehead. “That’s a lesson. Nobody can help you, Mateo. You are alone. If you had come with anyone else, I would have shot them too. Your mother, Leona’s brother, that guy who’s always hanging around them; they would have all been in danger. Only you and Leona are safe.”

Mateo stared at Gilbert’s body, feeling that to be the only way to respect him. “Why am I still safe? I don’t know what you want with Leona, but I can hazard a guess. What doesn’t make any sense is why I’m still alive.”

“For the moment,” Reaver said, “you’re still alive so you can wonder why you’re still alive.”

After Reaver left, Mateo took out his rosary and prayed over Gilbert’s body. When he returned to the timestream in 2052, the body was still in the same place. It had decomposed quite a bit in all this heat. What was left of the platter of food was still there as well, rotten and disgusting. Thank God he had rediscovered his faith in time. Otherwise, he would have seriously considered forgoing the special prison cube, and just killing Reaver. It was time to end this.

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