Reavers Wobble: Second Chance (Part IV)

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Horace Reaver was in prison. He had spent the better part of a year dealing with the hassle of court. He had to sit through every single day of the proceedings twice, but there was nothing he could do increase his chances of winning. Even knowing the line of questioning ahead of time wasn’t going to help. Sure, he could respond to their questions succinctly and without surprise, but there was no difference in the answers. The fact was that everything they were saying about him was true. They had even left out a few of the awful details. He really had caused a car accident that resulted in his wife’s death. Following that, he really had purposely given his now enemy, Mateo an exorbitant amount of hospital drugs that resulted in his extremely unpleasant overdose. And after that, he did indeed kill everyone in the immediate area. During the case, the truth about Allen’s death came to light. The authorities had figured out where the body was literally buried. Yes, Horace’s life could get no worse, and he made a point of expressing this to the wall in front of him in solitary confinement.

“I’ve seen worse, father,” a voice came from the opposite corner.

“Who’s there?”

“It’s me, Melly.”

“What?”

“I’m a time traveler. The Melly you left behind when you were sent to the clink disappeared from foster care, and will eventually become me.”

Horace did not respond.

“Do they still call this the clink?”

“Why are you here?”

“Is that any way to greet me?”

“I do not know you. My daughter’s a toddler. I have no idea what you’ve been through. I clearly didn’t raise you, and hopefully you’re nothing like me.” He turned his head away. “You should stay away from me.”

“You don’t even want to know why I’m here? And you aren’t even slightly interested in hearing what I’ve been through?”

“Yes. I’m a terrible father. Shocker. The mass murderer makes another bad decision, and you’re questioning it.”

“You weren’t necessarily a bad father. I mean, I don’t remember the first three years of my life, but they seemed fine. You didn’t have a chance to prove any different. We will never know...”

Horace rested against his palm and pointed to his chest with the other hand, piercing Melly with his eyes. “Again, I’m a mass murderer. I’m a bad person, so I could not have been a good father. Whatever you’ve been through, wherever you lived, it was better than what I could have provided you with.”

Melly sat up straighter and did her best impression of an aristocrat, “I live a life of luxury.”

“Is that so? The powers that be gave you some kind of lovely form of time travel, did they? Only take you to the good times?”

“They didn’t give me anything. You did.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m not a salmon, father,” Melly said sweetly. “I’m one of them. I’m a choosing one. I’m part of the group of people who jack with time. I know the person doing this to you personally. He’s kind of a dick, I’ll give you that. I would do it myself, and make it easier on you, but I’m not allowed.”

Horace just stared at his young adult daughter, not having a clue what to say.

Melly decided to continue, “that’s how it works. The child of two activated salmon will be born as a choosing one.”

Horace nearly cut her off, “Leona was not a salmon.”

Melly laughed disturbingly. “She was. She just never told you. She had her reasons.”

Horace tilted his lizard brain. “You’re not lying.”

“I’m not.”

“How did I not notice?”

“Not all salmon have long term patterns. Some of you are thrown to a different time and kept there. Some are just dropped off briefly so they can complete one task. One time, I sent a late 21st century photographer back to Ancient Egypt so that she could document the building of the pyramids.”

“Huh?”

Melly looked to the side as she was thinking out loud, “but I think I’m going to change her pattern and send her to other planets in the new timeline.”

“I don’t care about that bitch! Tell me what Leona’s pattern was!”

Melly jumped back into the conversation, “oh yes. She went to college in the 2150s. That’s how come she’s so smart.”

“I saw her diploma.”

She looked at him like he was a dum-dum. “Yeah, we faked that. Well, I mean we had someone fake it. Choosing ones don’t do anything for themselves. That’s, like, the whole point.”

“That’s the point? You screw with innocent people’s lives just so you can get random things done...but not have to actually do it? You have control over time and space, you have access to infinite technology...”

“We’re also immortal,” Melly added.

He didn’t know about that. “You’ve cracked immortality,” Horace finished. “You could do so much more. You could probably alter history just by thinking about it. Why go through all this trouble? Why recruit people to do your dirty work? Why hire a human when it would be cheaper and easier to invest in a proverbial machine?”

Melly acted like she was contemplating his question, but seemed pretty blasé about it. “Because human involvement makes it more interesting.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You seem to be under the impression that we have some sort of goal in mind; that we’re...looking for the best possible outcome. We’re not doing that at all.” She shrugged, almost excitedly. “We’re just having fun.”

“Excuse me?”

“Look, I don’t know everything about the history of salmon and the choosing ones. In fact, I’m not sure which came first. We could be the result of future tech, we could be some kind of shadow species that evolved alongside regular humans; I don’t even care to find out. What I can tell you is that you people read books, watch plays, go see movies, and sometimes you even kill each other for sport. Well that’s boring to people like us. Time is our entertainment.” She took a moment to choose her words. “We just like to see what you’re gonna do.”

“That’s terrible,” was all that Horace could say after minutes of doing his best to absorb the information without having a heart attack.

She shrugged again. “If you were one of us, you would feel the same way.”

“You’re right,” Horace agreed. “I would feel that way. But I’m a freak. I’m literally insane, Mel. I’ve killed thousands of people. Rewind or not, I enjoy taking lives. I killed my whole fucking family. Then I went back in time, and ended up killing them again years later, but this time around, there was no going back. I’m the bad guy of the story. Are you telling me that out of all of you,” he waved his finger in her general direction, indicating a theoretical group, “there’s not one person who wants to do the right thing? There’s not one single person who says, ‘hey! Let’s put right what once went wrong’? Why do I find that hard to believe?”

She felt no further need to explain her and her people’s intentions. “We don’t, but I think you might.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can modify patterns. I can send you back in time, but more that just the one day. I can give you a real second chance.”

He peered at her suspiciously. “How far back?”

“To when you were a teenager, before you started killing. Well, except for your mother that one time when you were a child, but I think we can let that slide. You could save her,” she pitched. “You could stop my mother from being anywhere near New Jersey.”

“I thought choosing ones couldn’t be in charge of their relatives.”

“They can’t. The others are gonna be pissed. We have rules. But most of them are arbitrary, and they can be subverted, just like when a normal person breaks a rule. Other things will be different. I’ll be making some other adjustments to the timeline, but there will also be consequences that are out of my hands. I don’t know what,” she looked around the room before continuing, “but isn’t anything better than this shithole?”

Horace slid his back against the wall and got to his feet. “Do it.”

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Microstory 215: Okay, Phone

Jan Albani was being sexually assaulted. The stranger in the zorro mask cliché held her down by her wrists. Miniscule holes in the kitchen tile grout took hold of her hair as she threshed around, trying to get free. He jammed his knuckles into her side, causing her to twist away on reflex. Her knee flew up and knocked his leg off balance, dropping him down on top of her. Jan called upon all of her might and pushed him to the side, slamming her palm into his nose before rushing into the other room. She reached for her phone on the nightstand, leaving a smear of his blood behind, but the broken nose wasn’t stopping him. He tackled her as she was trying to input her passcode. When she was fell to the carpet, her phone bounced under the bed. “Okay phone,” she tried to call out, “call nine-one-one!” The voice activated assistant dinged onto the screen and informed her that it was contacting emergency services. The man laughed and hung up her phone before sending it smashing against the wall. Jan continued to struggle against him, searching desperately for another opening to incapacitate the stranger and get away. “No!” she screamed repeatedly, pleading for him to spare her. But he just continued to laugh. They began to hear a noise from his chest. It sounded like a voice, but it was very faint. He continued to hold her down, but sat up to take a look at his phone. The screen shown into his beautiful green eyes. Jan couldn’t help but notice that they looked very kind, and that she might find him attractive under normal circumstances. Come to think of it, they were actually quite familiar, as was his jawline. She could not remember his name, but she had several times rejected his advances at work when she was handing out the mail on his floor.

“Mona? Hello?” he asked into the phone. When Jan had tried to call the police from her phone, it had also activated his artificial assistant, and called one of his contacts automatically. “Honey?” That was his mistake. He should have dropped the call immediately.

Jan cried out, “help! He’s hurting me!” Her attacker had run all the way out of the house in fear before she had the chance to sit up and catch her breath.

Microstory 214: Xenautopsy

To the alien’s surprise, and Noah’s relief, Olivia somehow understood what he wanted her to do. She reached into the back of his pants, pulled out the gun, and shot the alien in the face several times. Noah grabbed the body before it could tip over the railing of the bridge. “I’m glad you realized that I stood between you and it because I wanted you to use my gun, not because I was trying to protect a damsel in distress.” He turned his phone on and started up the recording app before taking out his knife and hovering over the alien’s body. He sliced it open and began the examination. “It is unsettling how humanoid the subject is. Its skin is more grayish, and less translucent. It is more elastic, but tougher on the whole. Two arms, two legs, ten fingers, ten toes. The organs are extremely difficult to reach; each protected by its own shell. The shells are fibrous like ligaments, but harder like bones. I realize as I’m sitting here that, since this is our very first encounter with this species, I cannot be sure that it is extraterrestrial. It could be the result of genetic engineering on human subjects, which would explain how much biology it shares with us. Assuming the subject did not originate on Earth, I must assume some kind of panspermia by a common ancestor. My instinct is that this happened naturally, but I cannot rule out the possibility that an ancient ancestor seeded both of our species with intent. Due to the subject’s clear evolutionary advancement, along with likely technological superiority, I must also recognize the potentiality that the subject is our genetic forefather. Despite our progress historically being held back by religious intolerance and stubborn royalty, we are unlikely to have evolved first. Lastly, I entertain the idea that the subject was responsible for the plane crash that was survived only by me and one other. Since we were unable to communicate with the outside world, I am just glad that there happened to be an armed air marshal on board. We will make our way through the trees to civilization with the subject, hoping to share our knowledge with some kind of authority.”

“How would a shoe salesman know how to perform an autopsy on an alien?” Olivia asked.

“I read a lot,” Noah replied.

Microstory 213: Store Front

Every day for a year, I would pass by a strip mall on my way to work as a lifeguard. It was all very nondescript, and I never really paid attention to it. But then one day, I noticed that the name of one of the stores had changed. I couldn’t remember what it was before, but it was now Happy Pets. I thought I might play with the puppies on my way back, but ended up not having time. The next day, the storefront had changed again; this time to a place called Brilliant Treasures. That was weird, but I figured the rental agreement fell through after the sign was put up, and so it was passed to the next one in line. I looked in the window, because it was only open while I was at work, and I could see a ton of knick knacks and other random crap that no sane person would want. Then the day after that, it had changed to Silly Toys. Same thing; stocked completely full with inventory. Each day following, it was an entirely new store. Winter Bundles; Gatlin Gunns; Just Underwear, Nothing Butt. I tried stopping people on the street to ask them if they had any clue what was going on, but they either ignored me, or hadn’t noticed a change. And no matter when I tried, I could never be there during business hours. They would always adjust the hours to be closed, as if someone was trying to keep me away. After months of this, something even more unusual happened; the day’s store was called Valdemar Bristow Gas and Lighting. This was ridiculous, because no one in the world other than me could possibly have that name, and I would never have anything to do with gas or lights. As luck would have it, however, I was able to enter this time. There were several desks on the floor, arranged like a military recruitment office. Only one of them was occupied, by a woman who greeted me like she knew who I was. Without saying a word, I walked into the back and sat down in my office that was already decorated with some of my things. This is my life now. I sell lighting fixtures and natural gas, and I am somehow very good at it.

Microstory 212: Run for Your Lice!

It was a very lousy day. I made a whole bunch of new friends, and when I went into school the next morning, I gave some of my friends to my classmates. When our teacher found out, she made us stay in the room, even though Tommy had to go to the bathroom real bad. Some adults in white coats came in and we all had to go to the gymnasium. We stood in line for a long time, but they weren’t telling us why. Finally, when I got closer, I learned that the white coats just wanted to kill all my friends. I couldn’t let that happen, and so I bolted from the building, running into several of the other children. People started chasing after me, but I was the fastest in my grade. There was no way I was going to get caught. I weaved through the cars in the parking lot and sprinted across the soccer field. I found myself in a real pickle when I reached the corner. The light was red, but the white coats were catching up to me, and so I did something drastic. I ran across the street that was already blinking red and counting down. You’re not supposed to cross unless the light was white when you started. I thought I was home free, and that they were going to have to wait for the light to turn back, but they didn’t. A police officer held his hand out and stopped the cars from going so that she and white coats could safely get across. Rats! I had to think fast. Mommy told me never to go into the woods, but I had no choice. I slipped through the trees and continued to run. Amazingly enough, the white coats continued to chase after me. What was with these people and their obsession with murdering the only friends I’ve had since we moved? The forest is thick, but not deep. I could hear music, cheering, and other loud noises coming from up ahead. It was a parade. I raced through the crowd, my long and beautiful hair brushing up against the strangers, giving them new friends just like mine. I managed to escape, and I’ve been running ever since. So yeah, I’m sorry. I am the one responsible for the infestation that ended civilization fifteen years ago. Sue me.

Microstory 211: Sign Here and Here

After years of searching, I have finally found a fulltime permanent position at a company with benefits and opportunity for growth. If I had been forced to take just one more dead-end temp job, I would have needed to use three pages for my résumé. I go in on my first day and am fully prepared to start working immediately, but my new supervisor informs me that there is just too much onboarding to do. I start by signing the usual suspects; tax forms, standard policies, emergency contacts, and payroll. I watch a few DVDs for safety, sexual harassment, and basic training. Finally, my supervisor hands me an extremely large binder with a whopping thirty-one places to sign and initial. It’s coupled with one last video that I will have to watch in tandem with the binder sections. But first, I’m required to sign a general nondisclosure agreement that really doesn’t tell me what I’m agreeing to. I ask her exactly what this is all for, but she just tells me that she can say nothing until I make that first signature, and watch the video. I do what she asks of me, knowing that my bank account can’t handle too many questions. The video is strange. Unlike the others, it’s not fun, or campy, or familiar. It’s serious and dark. The man on the screen speaks of the organization’s unique efficiency program, and it really does sound different than other companies that I’ve worked for. In fact, some of the claims he makes don’t sound so much as physically possible.

Towards the end of the video, he says that following my final signature, I’ll be taken to see the founder and Chief Executive Officer of the company, Tiberius Vasilyev. Upon shaking his hand, I will supposedly feel an increase in productivity, coherence, and intelligence. I won’t need to sleep as much, I’ll be more more motivated to eat healthier, I will be expected to live longer, and I’ll even be a better driver. This isn’t just a bunch of fanciful mumbo jumbo, according to the man; it is 100% true, and I would understand in a few minutes. At the end of the video, my supervisor escorts me across the building without a word. As we walk down the hallway, other obviously new employees, just as confused as I am, file in from other rooms. One by one, the CEO shakes our hands. And I swear, they begin to glow, like a pregnant woman. They seem instantly at peace and energized. When he gets to me, something goes wrong. My skin doesn’t begin to glow, and my hand actually hurts a little from his grip. He pulls away and tries again, but nothing. “This one’s broken,” Vasilyev admits. “Sorry, kid,” he says to me with a frown. “It happens one in several thousand. Some people just don’t take. The handshake creates a sense of loyalty, but if it doesn’t work, it makes you just as motivated as one of my minions, but it also turns you into one of my worst enemies.” He nods once to my supervisor as she’s ferrying me out of the room, “dispose of his body on sublevel C.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 29, 2053

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After Reaver told his story, he seemed to be in a bit of a better mood. Mateo had the feeling that he hadn’t explained himself to anyone before, and that this was probably a heavy burden for him to carry for all these years. His past in an alternate timeline did not excuse his actions, but they did lead to a logical and believable conclusion. Reaver’s hatred for Mateo now made a whole lot more sense. Imagine knowing the man responsible for killing the love of your life, and then going back in time to prevent it from happening, only to still end up alone. But the story was not yet complete. Mateo still didn’t know how it was that an alternate version of him had caused an alternate version of Leona’s death. Perhaps if he had all the facts, he would be able to help Reaver’s situation more; maybe even change his mind about revenge.

A man came down the steps and approached Mateo’s cell. He was holding a tray of food. But instead of a strange platter of finger food, this was full brekky. Either he made a decision against his superior’s wishes, or the conversation last year really had helped ease Reaver’s pain. The man placed the tray on the floor and slid it through. Taking a chance, Mateo spoke to him, “are you Allen? Or Richard?”

The man stopped and turned back around. “I’m Allen, actually. Why?”

Mateo thought about revealing to him about his marriage to Ulinthra in the alternate timeline, and how he had died. But that wasn’t his place, and would have placed unnecessary stress on Allen’s life. If Reaver had chosen to not tell him, then it was probably for a good reason, as weird as that sounds. “You’re the one who tried to pick me up after the forest fire, right?”

Allen nodded, “I am.”

“How long have you been working for Horace?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Do you know why he’s locked me up?”

“Do you not?”

“I do. I was just wondering if you do.”

Allen sighed and began to leave. “I don’t really care.”

“Do you even know Richard?” Mateo called up before Allen had disappeared completely up the stairs.

“Just some guy who worked for Reaver before I did.” He left.

That was sad. After going back in time, Reaver had sought out two people before they had a chance to meet each other, and for whatever reason, made sure that they never did. That was good information, though, that might help Mateo persuade Reaver to talk about this situation rationally. He fell asleep for a few more hours.

“Believe it or not,” Reaver said, waking Mateo up, “when I chose to keep Richard and Allen apart, I was trying to help.”

“In what way?”

“I thought if they never met each other, they would never feel the loss.”

“It didn’t work, did it?”

“They were and are two of the most depressed men who have ever worked for me. They were supposed to be together, and I took that away from them.”

“You could always introduce them to each other now.”

“Richard died. It had nothing to do with you. It was just his time. But they were soulmates, and that only acted to fuel my mission.”

“Your mission to get Leona back?”

“Yes.” Reaver stood up and focused on Mateo’s eyes. “The choosing ones can jack with time all they want, but ya see, I think the soul is timeless. I don’t think it can ever forget what happened in an alternate timeline. If you were in love before, you’ll either be in love again, or you’ll feel an emptiness. Leona must be feeling that. Because she’s not supposed to be with you. She’s mine, and she needs me back. If I can just get her to realize that she’s already in love with me, then I can remove her from your pattern, and we can be together again. I need your help, Mateo. Please, I know you think you love her, but she doesn’t belong to you.”

Mateo stood up and approached the window. “Don’t you see, Horace? Your relationship was built on a lie. You killed...I don’t even know how many people.”

“That happened before I met Leona.”

“But it didn’t,” Mateo tried to explain. “You killed all three of them in that ritual. And then you killed Allen for real before your wedding. And even if you hadn’t, Leona fell in love with a man who was not a killer. But that man didn’t exist; you just made her think that you were him.” He slowly shook his head. “She’s not in love with you, and she never was. She was in love with the lie.”

“You son of a bitch,” Reaver lunged and prepared to open the door.

“How did she die?”

Reaver stopped. “What?”

“You said I caused her death, but that I didn’t actually kill her. So how did she die?”

“You’re an ignorant dumbass. You came from 2015, so you didn’t have an understanding of how technology had progressed. You took control of a speeding car in a world where no one does that. I tried to take control back from you but we crashed into a bridge. You and I survived, but she didn’t.”

Mateo decided to not even bring up the fact that Reaver was partially responsible for the accident. Something told him that he already knew that, and was angry at himself for not being able to admit it. “Why did I take control? Where did I need to go?”

“Richard was in trouble. But he was two hundred miles away! There was no chance of us getting there in any helpful amount of time. We were supposed to be foiling an armed robbery. And you weren’t even trying to get there anyway. You wanted to go to a cemetery. I have no clue why. You were insane.”

“A cemetery? Did I say why?”

“Not while you were trying to drive. But after we woke up from the crash, you were delirious. You wanted to send a fax from an empty grave. I don’t know. Something was off about that day. Other salmon were in play, and you were just one screwed up piece of that puzzle.”

“I wanted to send a fax?”

“Yeah, this was 2036. You couldn’t have sent a fax, even if you wanted to. No one would be on the other end. Like I said...insane.”

“It’s not insane. I can explain it.”

“Okay, go ahead. Some kind of code?”

“No, you just misunderstood me. I probably had blood coming out of my mouth. But I can’t just tell you. I have to show you.”

“Fine. Do it.”

“Well, we have to go to a cemetery.”

“So you can try to escape? Yeah, sure.”

Mateo shrugged. “You can keep me chained up. All I need is an open grave.”

“Not this again.”

“In the alternate timeline, I could have helped Richard. In this timeline...I can help you and Leona. But you’re gonna have to trust me. You ever done that before?”

Reaver had no answer.

“Chain me up and take me to a cemetery in the middle of nowhere. I won’t be able to run. But it will all make sense. I promise.”

When Mateo was in high school, he and his friends started hanging out at a cemetery. The gravedigger, Mr. Halifax let them do it as long as they were safe and responsible. He had become friends with Mr. Halifax, and there was one thing he would say nearly every time they saw each other, “if you ever fall into an open grave, I’ll be there to take you anywhere you need to go.” It was weird, but kind of sweet, and he likely wasn’t lying. Mateo first jump through time from the cemetery, and it was Mr. Halifax who had driven him home upon his return. He had been remarkably calm, even though Mateo had been mysteriously gone for the last year. Mateo always thought there was something he was keeping secret, but with all the drama, he never went back to ask.

Allen helped Mateo out of the back of the van. It had taken them a long time to get there, but they were finally at a place called Hughenden Cemetery.

“Okay, we’re here. Go ahead and show me.” Reaver was impatient. “How will this help Leona understand?”

“I need an open grave, I told you.”

Reaver exhaled sharply. “Let’s go look.”

They didn’t have to walk around too much before they found a grave on the outer edge that had not yet been filled with remains. Mateo looked in and prepared himself. If this didn’t work, then nothing was going to change. He would still be in the possession of his enemy, Horace Reaver. But if it did work, then all this was about to be over. “You see, you did misunderstand the alternate version of me. I didn’t want to send a fax, I wanted to speak with someone whose name was Halifax.”

“And he lives in New Jersey?” Reaver was clearly confused.

“He lives everywhere. That is, if I’m not mistaken. I can’t be sure, but I think he’s one of us.”

Reaver’s eyes widened. “No.”

“If I had to guess,” Mateo began, “I would say his nickname is...The Gravedigger. Someone has to do it, right?”

“No!” Reaver yelled, but it was too late.

Mateo tipped himself over and fell backwards into the open grave. It was pretty painful, but he couldn’t think about that right now. He looked up and saw the sky to have changed from bright morning to dim twilight. He could hear a struggle above him, and then the distinct sound of a shovel colliding with flesh and bone.

After a few seconds, Mr. Halifax reached into the grave and pulled Mateo out. He laughed, “you figured it out.”

“I saw someone digging my aunt, Daria’s grave two weeks ago. I didn’t see your face, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that literally everyone I’ve ever met is either a salmon or a choosing one.”

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” Mr. Halifax said. “But I didn’t want to.”

“I understand.” He looked down at Reaver lying motionless on the ground. “He’s not dead, right?”

“Of course not,” Mr. Halifax reassured him. “Where are we taking him?”

“Easter Island. His new crib is waiting for him there.”

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Reavers Wobble: One Grave (Part III)

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Horace and Leona postponed their honeymoon following the realization that Allen never came back from looking for a party boat they knew was going to go missing. The boat never returned, and the search for it was called off a few days later. Ulinthra backed up Horace’s lie that Allen had felt the need to find it, when really he had been murdered by Horace. Convincing the authorities that this was what happened was a little harder, but the family had no reason to think that they were not being honest; especially since the two of them had been able to practice the lie during Round One of their day. The team held off on saving lives for a couple weeks, taking time to grieve for their lost loved one. But their responsibilities beckoned to them, and they all went back to the routine, minus one important member.

On the fifth of April in the year of your lord 2030, they met a salmon named Mateo Matic. His inescapable pattern was to live for one day every year. At the end of it, he would be thrown exactly one year in the future. He had heard of The Delegator, and other salmon, but had met only one other of their kind. He spent his days doing whatever he could to stay alive in a world without identity. He had left his family days ago from his perspective, no longer wanting to subject them to the torturous roller coaster that was his brief appearances. Having nothing better to do, and wanting to fulfill a purpose, Mateo joined their team as an honorary member. He successfully helped them on missions six times before the fateful seventh day.

“She’s gotten so big,” Mateo exclaimed after returning to the timestream on April 11, 2036. He had just peeked in on Leona and Horace’s daughter. “I know, people say that all the time, but for me, it works.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” Horace said playfully.

“Be nice,” Leona warned him.

“Good morning, everyone. We have a busy day,” Ulinthra said, coming into the room. “But we’re playing with our full roster, so I think we can make it.” She picked up her clipboard. “A shipment of tin is coming in to Port of Wilmington from Columbia. It turns up stolen. We don’t know when this happens, but we know it’s after coming into port. I need both brains and brawn on this one, so Mateo will accompany Horace and Leona to protect and investigate, if need be. Richard, that means you’ll have to go up to Yale University alone. A small riot breaks out during a protest for...” she trailed off, looking through her notes. “...molecule teleportation. I don’t know, but a girl who was never named is injured when she gets caught in the middle of the fight. You’ll spend more time driving up there than actually helping. Fortunately, you’ll also be close enough to stop a three-car pileup on the 91, and help a little girl find her cat in Hartford. Here’s a hint, it’s in her neighbor’s basement. I know it’s not that important, but your night mission in Boston is. I’ll discuss that with you in a minute. While you’re all doing that, I have to drive all the way up to Montauk to assist with flood rescue.”

“I could do that instead, if you’d like,” Mateo offered.

“No, I should do it. Other people will be there helping, and we can’t risk exposing the fact that you’re supposed to be old and dead to the public.” She looked around the room. “No more questions or comments? Gear up, take your timelines, and head out as soon as possible.”

Leona pulled Horace into the other room. “Remember what we talked about?” she asked.

“We’re not going back in time,” Horace said. “I don’t understand why we’re discussing this.”

“It makes me nervous when we deal with other salmon. Anything could happen. I’ve heard rumors that his father can go back in time. If something happens, I need to make sure that you understand time travel protocols.”

“I do, I get it. Let’s go. The ship will be coming in soon.”

“Repeat them to me.”

“Leona, we have to go.”

“We can’t go anywhere until the babysitter gets here. Repeat the words. Quietly,” she insisted.

“Dougnanimous Brintantalus,” Horace said the magic words reluctantly. “Those are so stupid.”

“That’s exactly why I chose them. No one would think to say them. If you go back in time, say those words to me, and I’ll know that I can trust you.”

“Do you know what the odds are that I’ll go back in time and run into you sometime after you’ve come up with these silly rules?”

“I do actually know the odds. Would you like to hear them?”

Horace shook his head steadily. “Shut up, smarty pants.”

After an hour drive, it was still dark outside. They didn’t always start working so early in the day, but they liked to make full use of Mateo’s availability. He drooled a little on his shirt, sprawled out in the seat across from them as the car automatically took them to their destination. The man could fall asleep in an instant, wherever he was. Being homeless, and always on the move, this skill came in handy.

They quickly found the shipping container that they needed to protect, hoping their presence would not alert the robbers and put them in harm’s way. Mateo continued to sleep through the majority of the day while they waited on the sidelines for someone to make a move. But no one ever did. The proper owners of the tin came to pick up their shipment and left with a truck. It was a good thing Leona was there to make sure the people who came for it were authorized to do so. Convincing people to give up information to a stranger was not Horace’s strong suit, but it was hers.

“You don’t think we should still follow them?” Mateo asked.

“No, something’s changed.” Horace was very concerned. “Something’s not right. We must have proverbially stepped on a butterfly.”

“If we changed the outcome just by being around, then that seems to me like we definitely should follow them.”

“No,” Horace said. “I don’t like it here. We need to leave. We didn’t do enough to alter the timeline. Only one thing could have.”

“What?” Mateo asked.

“Another salmon,” Horace and Leona answered, practically at the same time.

“Well, great. Then we have some help. We should find out who they are; maybe even add another person to the team.”

“No,” Horace said.

“I agree,” Leona nodded. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

“I don’t understand why you two are so afraid.”

“Ulinthra?” Horace asked to his phone.

“Yes?” Ulinthra responded.

“Mission bust. Back-up mission.”

“Uh...” Ulinthra thought it over. She sounded winded. “Armed robbery in Woodstown. No one gets hurt, but the convenience store suffers some damage. That’s all I got for ya. I had planned on you sitting there awhile. What’s going on?”

“I’ll explain later,” Horace said. “It may be nothing. Send our car the details.”

While the car was driving them to their new mission, Richard called in urgently, “help!”

“What’s wrong, Richard?” Leona asked.

“The riot has become larger. I don’t know what happened. These eco-freaks just came in and started throwing things at people. And now I think people have started joining in without any idea why they’re supposed to be angry. It’s gotten way out of hand.”

“Richard,” Horace said. “No one can get to you. We’re all too far away.”

“I can get to them,” Mateo assured them. “Uh...computer? Take us to the nearest cemetery. Um, please?”

“What are you talking about? Stay out of this!” Horace redirected his words, “Richard, are you somewhere safe?”

“I don’t know. I’m hiding behind some bushes, but—oh no, a group is coming this way. I have to be quiet, they’re like zombies!” Richard whispered loudly.

“I just need to find an open grave! Hal, take us to a cemetery!”

“The car’s name isn’t Hal,” Leona said.

“Oh, forget it!” Mateo crawled over to the dashboard, and figured out how to switch the vehicle to manual.

Horace tried to pull him off, but wasn’t strong enough. “Get away from the wheel!”

“I can do this,” Mateo swore. “I just need one grave for one minute.”

“No one drives by hand anymore!” Leona yelled.

“I knew we shouldn’t have gotten a car with a steering wheel. This isn’t 2025!” Horace continued to struggle with the wheel. But it wasn’t enough. The car crashed into the pillar of the Broadway bridge.

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