Sunday, September 18, 2016

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: September 18, 2092

Mateo didn’t know for sure what had happened. The assumption was that, upon transfusing his blood into Leona’s body, she would become like him. It seemed, however, to have had the opposite effect. He was instead transformed into a regular human. For four months, he and Leona lived together on Tribulation Island. They chose to leave the remaining MREs stored away for a time when that was all they had to eat. They subsisted on berries, bass, boar, and bananas. Well, the fish weren’t really bass, but they sure did look like it. Leona explain that the island must be on a different planet altogether—one strikingly similar to Earth in atmosphere, gravity, flora, and fauna—but different nonetheless. This would certainly explain why The Rogue had been able to scatter airplane parts, and commission replicas of the Colosseum and a stargate, without anyone noticing. Surely by the end of the 21st century, satellites and other exploration projects would be able to spot any settled island on Earth, no matter how remote.
Following his first timejump, and his introduction into the world of salmon and other time travelers, Mateo had experienced breaks in his pattern. He had been caught in temporal bubbles, skipped over many hours of a day at a time, and even gone into the past. This, however, was different. They were experiencing the world in real time. The sun came up and went down every 24 hours, birds didn’t get stuck in time, and storms came to torment them. Unless the act itself of stargating to the island caused some sort of temporal shift, it was presently September 18, 2092 on Earth. No version of Boyce showed up to interact with them, and neither did The Cleanser. They just spent their days maintaining Saga and Vearden’s little cottage, hunting, fishing, and relaxing. Mateo did get into running, and could often be found running up and down the steps of the Colosseum.
Leona chose to spend a lot of time exploring the rest of the island under the assumption that Boyce would have hidden treats or traps all around, possibly even something left for tribulations they would never see. She did find a few supply caches, but nothing to write home about, and the last thing she found was weeks ago. Tonight, however, she returned with something she claimed to be quite interesting.
“Oh yeah? What is it?”
“I want you to guess.”
“A box of tissues.”
“What?” she asked. “Why would that be interesting?”
“Because I could have used that last month when I had that cold.”
“No, Mateo, it’s not a box of tissues.”
“A dinosaur.”
“You think there’s a dinosaur in my bag?”
“I saw tiny dinosaurs. After going to 3118, my dad jumped in and took me to the past where Sarka fixed me up. There were tiny dinosaurs running around me.”
“Fair enough, but no.”
“Those were my only two ideas.”
“All right, all right.” She removed something of zero relevance from her bag.
“It’s a mirror.”
“No, it’s not a mirror.”
“It sure looks like a mirror.”
“It’s a time window.”
“You mean like that thing underneath Easter Island that kept showing us the sky from different times and places?”
“Exactly. Smaller, of course.”
“I just see my face.”
“Well, you have to activate it.”
“With what, the magic words?”
“More like magic thoughts. Just concentrate on when or where you want to see.”
Mateo accepted the time mirror and gazed into it. “Mirror, mirror, in my hand, will I ever again eat food that is canned.”
“Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”
“It’s this tiny little hand mirror that can show me the past, or whatever. What are we supposed to do with that?”
“It doesn’t show you the past,” Leona tried to explain. “It shows you the whole universe, and the whole timestream.”
“I still just see my face,” he tilted it a little. “Oh, that’s better. That’s much better.”
“Why, what is it? I can’t see anything. Maybe only the holder can see it.”
“No, it’s just the angle,” Mateo clarified. “Here, look.” He tilted the mirror more so that Leona was looking right at it.
“No, I just see my own face.”
“Exactly. Much better than mine.”
“Oh, shut up. Cute sentiment, poor execution.” She gently nudged the mirror away from her. “Really try to use the mirror as it was intended.”
“Okay, I’ll give it a shot.” He adjusted his stature a bit and shrugged. “Show me the Colosseum right now.” She was right. The glass rippled slightly then refocused to reveal an aerial view of the Colosseum replica. “Interesting.”
“See what I mean?”
“Show me a wide view of the planet we’re on,” he requested the mirror. The view zoomed out quickly, past clouds and out of the atmosphere. It settled on a perfect image of their little marble. It was much greener than stock photos of the Earth. There were oceans, of course, but it seemed to be mostly land. It was beautiful. “Switch to a view of Earth.” It did so. “Show me my parents.” The screen went black.
“What does that mean?”
“Show me my mother,” Mateo amended. The screen blinked slightly, but remained black. He sighed. “Show me Aura Gardner.” It changed to the sight of Aura, Samsonite, and Téa reading independently in their home.
“How are you feeling?” Leona questioned with the soothing voice of a good therapist.
“They look peaceful.”
“I bet I could get the stargate to operate. We could go back to Kansas.”
He took another deep breath and admired his kingdom. “No. This is home.”
“I am inclined to agree.”
He wrapped one arm around her shoulders so that they could both have a good look at the mirror. “Show us the future.” The mirror began to vibrate like a cell phone. The glass began to show a tunnel of light, like some kind of hyperspace or warp speed. Images flickered on and away in such rapid succession that it was hard to tease anything specific from it. He was only able to remember a few of the images. They saw the two of them fishing together. They saw the Cleanser showing his face once more. They saw Mateo hanging off the edge of something. They even saw Darko appearing out of nowhere and shaking their hands. They saw the interior of an advanced spaceship, a young Horace Reaver, some kind of dark object barrelling towards what looked like Earth, an explosion, Leona on an operating table, the faces of many salmon and choosers, the Easter Island Agora filled with people. Blood, a pile of rocks, two birds, a sword shattering in pieces, a star going supernova...
“End program,” Leona ordered. The images disappeared.
Mateo set the mirror down on the floor and walked out of the cottage.
Leona waited a few minutes to come out and see him. “What’s going through your head right now?”
“This isn’t over.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Was that our future? Or just a general future.”
“I don’t know.”
“Leona, what’s going to happen to us on June 8?”
“I don’t know that either.”
“We could prevent this future from happening if we just never went fishing again.”
“I don’t think that would make much difference,” she said, almost coldly.
“We have to do something.”
“Mateo.” She waited a long time to continue, “we know that the future can be changed. All that we saw may not come to pass. But the only thing we understand less than those images is what kind of things we’ll actually see once the future arrives. We don’t know why a sword is shattering, but we also don’t know what happens if we stop it from shattering.”
“So, what are you saying? That it doesn’t matter?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. What we saw changes nothing. We still have to try to make the best choice possible in any given moment.”
“Horace Reaver was there.”
“I know, I saw him.”
“He was younger. Even if he’s alive in this timeline, he couldn’t be that young.”
“With longevity and rejuvenation treatments, he might could be.”
“Is he good or bad?”
“That’s the 64,000 dollar question.”
“It looked like you were having surgery,” Mateo said.
“I must have missed that one.”
“You’re not supposed to be a salmon.”
“What do you mean?”
He turned his head so that she was completely out of his line of sight. “In the other timeline, I donated my kidney to you.”
“I remember.”
“After you had fully recovered from the surgery, you started traveling through time with me.”
She said nothing.
“I now understand that receiving something physically from a time traveler will cause you to absorb their power, if only temporarily. I became more like Meliora when her blood landed in my eyes. You adopted my pattern upon receiving my kidney. And theoretically the same thing will happen again. I lost too much blood from the transfusion, and it is my theory that this is what kept me in the timestream, but it will not last.”
“Yes, I have always believed that we will restart the pattern once the year is up.”
“That’s not my concern, though.” He finally turned to look at her straight on.
“Do I want to know what is?”
“You remember the other timeline, right? I mean, you remember everything. You don’t have any gaps or fragments.”
“Well, I don’t have perfect recall, or anything. Those memories were tacked onto the back, not where they belong according to the standard timeline, but according to my chronology. They feel like they happened thirty-five years ago, and beyond.”
“Try to concentrate on your memory of the original 2020s.”
“Where are you going with this, Mateo?”
“You were suffering from kidney disease, so I gave you my kidney,” he said accusatorily.
“I know, I remember! What are you trying to say!”
He was growing more tense. “Did you contract kidney disease natural, or did the powers that be give them to you so that you would fall onto my pattern...”
“I don’t—” she began to say, but was interrupted.
“Or did you somehow give yourself kidney disease so that I would unwittingly make you like me?”
No answer.
“Leona.”
“How dare you?”
“That’s not an answer.”
She started to back up carefully, like she had encountered a snake.
“Leona, tell me what you did. Explain yourself.
She just continued to back up.
“There’s nowhere to go. Just...just tell me what happened. Tell me the truth. Do I not deserve that?”
She spun around and broke into a run.
Mateo chased after her, knowing that his training would pay off, and that he would easily catch up with her. But this was not what happened. She jumped through the ring of the stargate replica and disappeared through a portal. When he ran through, he just fell off the edge and landed on the sand on the other side. He did not know how to open a portal, so he just stayed on the island alone for the next eight months. He did still have the time mirror, though, and was able to keep an eye on her. She was not doing well, but he had no idea where she was, or how to get to her.

Saturday, September 17, 2016

Frenzy: But They Don’t Fall Down (Part X)

K-Boy is this mysteriously perplexing enigma that no one can explain. Seriously, as Slipstream tells it, he just showed up one day and started running with them. He didn’t say a word then, and still hasn’t. They only let him stay because he’s the absolute best. I mean the things he can do are physically illegal. No human can accomplish such amazing feats. Slipstream contacted the Singularities to see if he was one of their transhumanists, but like, from the future. They said no, and he even cut himself on the arm, presumably to prove that he bleeds and heals just like everybody else. All these are just stories to me, though. I’ve only ever personally seen him at a distance while I was eating his dust. What I really wanna know is how they know what his name is if he’s never said it.
One thing is for sure, he’s incredibly strong, just as I would expect. I try to break free from his grip, but there’s nothing I can do. In fact, he holds me tighter to his body and zips away. Next thing I know, I’m standing in the middle of a parking lot, but not just any parking lot. This is right around my final destination at the amusement park. I can see rides in the midground of my vision. I also look back and realize that I witnessed all the space in between the church and here. So we didn’t teleport, we ran. We ran fast. “Whoa. How the hell did you do that?”
“That is not your concern at this time,” Lincoln Rutherford, Esquire says, revealing himself to have been standing there the whole time. He starts walking towards the two of them then nods to K-Boy. “Good job. Best get to your next checkpoint.”
K-Boy carefully hands Crispin back to me then speeds off in the blink of an eye. This is not my first experience with time manipulation, but now I know that I wasn’t dreaming before in the police station. This is real. This is my life now. Some people can mess with time, and I don’t know what they’re going to do with me now that they know that I know.
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to not sound like I’m accusing him of anything, but failing.
“I work very hard to remain a neutral party. You’ve no idea how difficult it is for me to act like a normal person...to be a lawyer, of all things.”
“What are you if not that? A time traveler?”
I don’t travel through time, but I can see it.”
“So can everyone else.”
He smiles. “Yes, you’re right about that, aren’t you?” He paces, but just a little. “I see every possible outcome of every possible choice, and I see the entirety of the past, and I see every alternate reality that once was.”
“Fascinating,” I say, feeling like it’s time for him to get to the point. Even though it really is interesting, I don’t actually understand what he’s talking about.
“But I can’t see you. You are a variable that exists...let’s say, outside of my jurisdiction.” He nods at his own accomplishment of finding the right analogy.
“Is this because I stepped into the police station?”
“When was this?”
“Earlier today.”
“No, whatever you mean by that, it was before that. You’ve always clouded my vision. I like being around you because it makes my life interesting for a change.”
“How did this happen to you?”
“It didn’t happen to me. It happened to an alternate version of me, and that has had repercussions across all timelines.”
“I see. That doesn’t explain what I have to do with anything, or what I’m doing here.”
“I told you, because—”
I cut him off, “yes, I’m special. You can’t see my future. Something, something, something, chosen one, something, something, dark side.”
He twitches at this. “What made you decide to use that term?”
“What? Dark side? I dunno, ‘cuz bad guys?”
“No. Chosen one. Did you hear that somewhere?”
I shrug. “It’s a common trope in fiction. They’re all just Jesus, though.”
He paces again, but adds some jitters. “No, that’s not right. There are choosing ones, but no chosen ones. Unless...”
“Unless what? I mean, who’s choosing what?”
He starts backing away, like he’s afraid of me. “Umm...”
“Rutherford, what just happened? All I said was chosen one.”
This makes him twitch again. “You’re something different. You’re new. I have to consult the timestream. I can’t be here right now.”
Black sports utility clichés screech into the parking lot from the other side and start driving towards us menacingly.
“I brought you here so that you could technically finish the race, but you should go. I’m sorry, I have to go too, I can’t help you.” He crawls into his car and drives off.
“Wait! What am I supposed to do now!”
He doesn’t answer, of course, so I just stand there and watch as he passes the SUVs who don’t give him the time of day. I could try to run, but we’re in flat Missouri. There’s nowhere to hide, and they would eventually catch up to us. I look down at Crispin who’s been as quiet as ever. But then he does that adorable squeak again, giving me the signal. “You’re right. We have no choice but to fight.” As the vehicles draw closer, I summon the electrokinetic power from Crispin and send a lightning bolt towards the lead car. It overloads the battery and sends it exploding out of the hood. The others swerve around it and keep coming. I can see an unassuming sedan coming at me from another direction, but I ignore it and send another bolt towards the major threat, which shoots right through the windshield and presumably fries the humans on the other side. Still more SUVs race towards us, and they’re almost here. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. “I’ve one more trick,” I say, then I face my palm towards the ground. Energy passes out of Crispin, through me, and then into the air around us. An electromagnetic pulse halts all electronic equipment in the area, sending all vehicles in the lot into a frenzy as the drivers attempt to regain control.
After the dust has settled, men in dark suits and sunglasses step out of the SUVs and point their firearms at me. They don’t want to shoot, though, because they obviously want Crispin alive. I’m actually starting to get the feeling that they want him back. He didn’t come out of nothing. Somebody made him, and he must have escaped some off-the-books facility they built underneath a lake, or on the side of a steep cliff. The men carefully walk towards me. None of them is wearing the kind of suit that Noobo was, though, so I think I can take them. As luck would have it, I don’t have to. Ace suddenly runs up to me from the side and starts firing his own weapon at them. They fire back, but miss, of course.
The leader guy screams, “hold your fire! Hold your fire!”
They all stop but duck behind their cars because Ace doesn’t stop, until he has to. His gun only holds so many bullets.
The leader guy runs up and engages in fisticuffs with Ace, who holds his ground beautifully. Redshirts run up as well. A couple try to help their leader, despite Ace’s ability to hold them all off at once. The rest strategically attempt to steal Crispin from me. I zap a few of them, but minimally, because we don’t have much charge left. I swing both my legs and one of my arms at them, landing a few good hits, but in the end, I’m overtaken. I fall to my ass and try to shield Crispin from their grimy little hands.
Ace pulls their attention away just in time, though, having successfully put down the others. Before too long, they’re all on the ground, nursing their wounds, or just plain unconscious. He reaches his hand down to me. The sun produces a brilliant halo over his head. If that’s not apropos symbolism then I don’t know what is. Maybe he’s the real chosen one. I sure as shit can’t imagine it’s me.
“Where did you come from?” I ask.
“I can’t explain that since we have to, ya know, GTFO.”
“Why does everyone I know have something to do with it?”
“With what?”
“With it, IT! What’s happening right now. This whole thing. The rabbit dog, the SUVs, Lincoln Rutherford, you! You all know something I don’t, and I want answers!”
“I can give you answers, but just not right now, okay? It’s time to go. That was our ride you destroyed.” He gestures to his sedan.
I let out a sigh of impatience. “Fine. I can run, can you?”
“Well enough.”
Then we jog away.

Friday, September 16, 2016

Microstory 410: Floor 33 (Part 1)

I don’t know what people want from me. Never in my life have I hired or fired a single person. Have I been responsible for the company letting people go? I’m certain of it, but this was not my intention. In fact, there’s no way to find out whether anything I say has any impact on the labor force. I work in the corporate finance department. Obviously we handle the money, but it’s extremely complicated an nuanced. People send me data and I analyze it; that’s all. I determine what projects or departments are making us money, and which ones are failing to deliver, and also which new ventures we should pursue. I can’t help it if you happen to be one of the failures; that’s just how business goes. I do feel for these people, though, I really do. My job is to look at the numbers. I don’t know people’s names, and I don’t know how they’ve personally contributed to the success of our organization. Someone else is responsible for that information. I’m not saying this to absolve me of things I’ve done, but they have to understand that we don’t communicate with the managers on that level. We don’t mix the qualitative and the quantitative, and I dare you to reveal a company that does. This is the way man has been conducting business since the dawn of time. I’m absolutely not qualified to change things, for the better, or worse. I have been able to make myself a better person, at least. My old college roommate works somewhere else as a transcriber. Well, there’s no real way for the higher-ups to see how he makes the company money. Nobody buys the transcriptions themselves. They buy products which happen to include the benefit of his endeavors. So they keep shrinking his team and trying to add extra work at the same time, which pulls down productivity, which harms the company. It’s only because of him that I’m starting to suspect the same thing is happening here. What have we done that has harmed Analion? How have I contributed to our failures? Who was fired who should have stayed? Who has remained that should have left? I suppose the only real question is what can I do about it now? The answer, as always, is nothing.

Thursday, September 15, 2016

Microstory 409: Floor 34 (Part 1)

My people ain’t got nothin’ to do with what happens outside of the company. I am kidding, of course; not about what I said, but how I said it. Building services is a fancy way of saying maintenance, this is true. But this does not mean that we’re just composed of uneducated or backwards people. It’s true that most of my team members did not have the opportunity to seek higher education, but that does not stop them from being intelligent and thoughtful. It takes a lot of skill to do handiwork. One thing you got right is that they don’t go to school for it. At no point do they get a chance to learn everything they’ll need to know to succeed in maintenance. My people know plumbing, carpentry, painting, electrical work, and a plethora of other things. We’re often given assignments by the office workers who barely know we exist, or what we do. All they know is that they go on their computer, fill out this little form with what their problem is, and it magically goes away soon thereafter. A number of my people have been interrogated regarding their right to be in the building just because they don’t look the part. Far be it for them to stop and have a conversation with someone wearing a tee-shirt so these miscommunications stop happening. Building maintenance isn’t just about poundin’ nails anyway. We also manage all building equipment, and make sure that everyone has what they need. That’s called logistics, and a good logistician, which is what I am, actually does have a decent education. Here’s another thing they don’t realize; the walls have ears, and those ears belong to us. They carry on their conversations while we’re working, surprisingly unaware that we’re there. We know more about this building than anyone else. Why, if they asked me to become the next president, I think I wouldn’t do half bad. What they can’t see is that every team or department complains about other teams and departments. With precious few exceptions, they’re quick to blame someone else for any of the company’s problems. It’s not that they can’t conceive the possibility that they contributed to issues, or even that they don’t see it when it’s happened. It’s just that they’re scared to death of losing their jobs. Nobody wants to assume blame. They do everything they can to push it off to others, and then keep their heads down. If no one notices them, no one will think to let them go. I guess that’s one benefit of being an invisible repair worker. I’ll tell ya what, though, every single thing in this building works perfectly. I’ll fire myself on the spot if I hear something we installed or made turns out to be defective. Except for maybe that atrium skylight. That has to be redone. What was that noise?

Wednesday, September 14, 2016

Microstory 408: Floor 35 (Part 1)

On behalf of Alpha, Beta, and the rest of the Analion family, I would like to apologize to any clients who have been negatively affected by the recent developments. We also offer our deepest sympathy to the victims and survivors of the recent tragedies. We would like to assure you that safety is our number one priority here at Analion. We are rigorously investigating all issues and complaints, just as we always have. We are also working closely with the authorities to discover exactly what went wrong. At this time, we are not ruling out any cause. We simply do not have enough information to provide you with an accurate explanation, and do not feel that it is our place to do so. We promise to update the public on new information as it comes. We would like to remind you that rarely, if ever, is there a single cause for any given effect. Any number of circumstances could have led to the recent tragedies. Again, we are heartbroken over the loss of three wonderful people, and will take full responsibility should it be deserved. No further comment.
“A little short, don’t you think?” the spokesperson says. “And repetitive.”


“It’s short and sweet,” the writer tries to explain. “You don’t want to give them too many words to dissect and interpret as accepting blame.” Upon witnessing someone falling down through the atrium, he breathes in casually and adds, “it looks like I’m going to have to rewrite our statement either way.”

Tuesday, September 13, 2016

Microstory 407: Floor 36 (Part 1)

Even with our current problems, I believe that I’ve done a fine job keeping up with industry trends, and have successfully piloted my company into the future. It’s my responsibility to see both where other companies are headed, and also what they’re missing, so that I can exploit opportunities for growth. I did not technically go to school for this. I actually earned a degree in art history. Why did I do this? Well, you see, it happened to be one of the smaller programs at my institution. This left me more time to study other subjects. And when I speak of other subjects, I’m talking about nearly all of them. I took an introductory course for almost every single field offered. It was more important to me that I have a working knowledge of all subject matter, and to not be an expert in any one of them. My intention was to rise up the ranks of an organization and become some bigwig executive. I suppose you could say that I succeeded in this, but what I’ve discovered is something so much greater than power. My array of education has allowed me to foster relationships with a multitude of employees. I speak a little bit of everyone’s technical jargon, so that when they have a problem, I can at least understand the gist of it. This has allowed me to direct future projects where they should go. I don’t see departments, divisions, or teams. I just see the whole company, and its many parts, working in tandem to build something beautiful. Yes, the current state of affairs has proved that we have gone the other way, but this was not something I could have predicted. I can encourage the executives, managers, and general workforce to go in a particular direction, but that will only get them so far. They must use their own education and experience to actually implement the necessary changes in order to accomplish that. I am only one person, and I don’t have the time or resources to focus on any of the details. I only know what I’m told, and I am beginning to suspect that a great deal of our issues were not being reported to me, and possibly not to anyone who needed to hear it. I feel bad for how things have turned out, but now I must concentrate on myself, and reorganize my priorities. I have to do everything I can to avoid becoming the scapegoat. Wait, what was that? In the atrium.

Monday, September 12, 2016

Microstory 406: Floor 37 (Part 1)

I refuse to accept the possibility that I had anything to do with our company’s problems. First of all, it’s not my job to predict the future. I was hired to facilitate the process of hiring new people. Even if I had the expertise to pick the right person for any given position, they wouldn’t give me the leeway to do such a thing. I am completely beholden to the whims of the department in question. You wouldn’t believe the amount of disgusting things I’ve heard come out of the mouths of team managers in regards to the candidates. I’ve heard racist, sexist, and downright cruel statements. If I had it my way, I would fire a hefty portion of the current workforce and replace them with my own vision. But that’s not my job, I don’t have that power. You would think it would be rewarding to only ever give good news. If you apply for a position here, and we “decide to go in another direction” you don’t even hear back from us. That’s a disheartening truth, but I can’t change policy. But it also means that I don’t contact the candidates except to offer them interviews or positions, or to get them from the waiting room once the conference room is open. But you can’t make change just by addition. Subtraction is a necessary component to the process, and I find it personally frustrating that that is not within my purview. I’ve been silently proposing for years that we completely restructure the corporate environment. We should create an entire department whose sole responsibility it is to monitor performance. Now I know what you’re thinking, that exists, and it’s called human resources, but not really. They too only have so much power. No, honestly, there are too many cooks in the kitchen. We can no longer allow this hierarchical model because it simply does not work. My labor management department would be more hands on with the recruitment process, keep track of performance reviews, and wield full authority to turnover employees on an as-needed basis. You see, managers, executives, and other leaders don’t have time to deal with the needs of the labor pool itself. They’re too busy running the company. My new department would have no say on what products we sell, or what markets we venture into. We would only be responsible for the people. Unfortunately, it’s too late for this organization. I didn’t go to school to become a corporate recruiter. It’s just something that I fell into—did you see that? I think someone just fell down the atrium.

Sunday, September 11, 2016

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 7, 2092

Mateo raced through the office building. It had been abandoned long ago, having been easily outdated by superior construction materials and techniques. At the same time, the city had also shifted its development focus to other places, meaning that there was never a need to tear this one down. Apparently, it was built with massive design flaws by the very company that chose to utilize it as its new headquarters. After a major catastrophe, it was condemned by the city. Homeless people stayed there sporadically throughout history, but once technology had rendered a state of poverty harder to attain, it began to serve little to no function for society. And so it had stood here alone and unused, the perfect conditions for The Cleanser’s needs.
The floor was littered with broken desks and fallen legacy computers, along with other equipment. A wide circular atrium rose from the center, up through nearly the entire height of the forty-two story tower. The best way to see every square foot of each story was to zigzag from the outside, to the atrium, and back again. Not only did he not know which floor he was supposed to get to, but he wasn’t even allowed to go in a logical order. By the time he got all the way around a floor, the Cleanser had scratched into the door the number of the story he was supposed to go to next. And so he kept running up and around, down and around, and all over. There was no real way to know how many floors Mateo would have to check, but he had now reached the last one. He had seen ever floor, except for the 39th. For some reason, when he went up to reach floor 40, he knew that 39 was completely off limits. The challenge was not in figuring out where Leona was, but in having to expend a great deal of energy in the pursuit of her.
Mateo had been in his anaerobic range pretty much the entire time. There was no specific time limit, but Leona was in physical distress. The Cleanser didn’t tell him exactly what he had done to her, but the implication was that she was losing blood. Every second counted, so he just had to push through his pain and keep going as fast as humanly possible. This would be much easier if Boyce was around to splash some of his blood in Mateo’s face so that he could teleport. Or anyone with the ability to pause time, or generate temporal bubbles, would be able to help by donating their blood to him. He was growing ever fascinated with the possibility of gaining power simply by a blood transfusion. Now that the Cleanser knew Mateo knew of this trick, he would have to be more careful. For if Mateo ever managed to overpower him with a knife or a syringe, this whole thing would be completely over. The original claim was that he could stop being a salmon by killing the power that be who was responsible for his pattern, but this was another option. If he became a choosing one, no one could tell him what to do. If he could just exercise a right to not travel through time, his life with Leona could stabilize.
For now, it was Leona’s life that needed stabilization, so he shook off the fantasy and returned to the business at hand. She had to be here. Somewhere. He had always been concerned that he had neglected a dark corner somewhere, and had missed his chance at saving her. That concern grew with each passing level. She had to be here. She had to. But she wasn’t. He ran around the atrium three times, slowing down with each lap to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. He was going to go around a fourth time when he noticed it. The Cleanser had scratched the number 28 on the door. He had already been to floor 28, though. Why would the Cleanser want him to start over again? Was it a trick? Was it a riddle?
He stood there watching the door, unsure of what to do, and contemplating the very real possibility that this whole endeavor was pointless. As he was still staring at the number, a new scratch magically appeared underneath it, a straight line to emphasize its importance. Still he did not move. Was it worth it? Was she already dead anyway? Was she waiting for him in their little island abode, none the wiser, just like she had been during his Gulliver’s Travels tribulation? Two more lines appeared under the first one, followed quickly by a circle around the entire thing. “Fine! I’m going!” He started running again.
He went back through about half of the floors for a second time before he felt an eerie presence on the fifteenth story. It felt warmer and deeper, like it had been removed from the spacetime continuum. And maybe it had, but whatever the nature of this floor, it was definitely where Leona was waiting for him. He didn’t even have to see her yet to know that she was there. He took his time with the search here, with the distinct impression that this was what the Cleanser wanted. He feared that, if he started racing through it again, Leona would be spirited away. Perhaps that was how he was meant to do it all along. Perhaps he would have found her in the lobby if he had just taken it slow. Bastard.
He found Leona on the floor behind a now ancient copy machine. He could hear the thin carpet squish with her blood as he knelt down to examine her. Two holes had punctured her in the neck. Her wrists had been tied behind her back and one leg had been cuffed to some kind of exposed pipe. It was no mortal wound on its own, but the fact that she was unable to apply pressure to it, or treat it in any way, was what made it so deadly. She had been consistently losing blood for the last few hours, and it looked like she was nearing the end. He placed one hand on her wound while he tried to tear a strip of cloth from his shirt. It was too strong for him to rip, so he took a strip from her thinner shirt instead. He tied it around her neck like a noose, but it would not be enough. “What is this?” he asked. “Let the Right One In?”
“Nah,” Leona answered in slurs. “It better resembles Generation Alpha; a TV show after your time. In this timeline anyway.”
“Don’t speak. I shouldn’t have asked anything.”
She struggled to speak, but needed to. “I have a way to contact Meliora, but you’ll need a knife.”
Mateo started to look around.
“You have to cut your own hand and draw a symbol on the...on the...” she continued to have trouble getting her words out. “Ya know, the murrrrrrrr.......” and then she slowly drifted to sleep.
“Leona.” Mateo lifted her chin and gently tapped her on the cheek. “Leona, wake up! Were I you! Were I you!” He stood back up, wanting to look for a knife, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t know what Meliora’s summoning symbol was. They were fifteen floors in the air, so there was no way to find an open grave. Paper. He needed paper. Dave probably couldn’t do jack to help Leona, but he could get them to someone who could. He jumped around, pulling out drawers and turning over desks. Nothing. “Everything here is from my time, so why the hell is there no paper? You’re telling me this was a paperless company but they still had copy machines?”
“Mateo?” a voice asked from behind.
He turned around to find himself face to face with someone he knew. “Makarion?”
“Yeah.”
“Wait, are you Makarion or Boyce?”
“What year is this?” Mateo was going to answer, but Boyce stopped him, “no, don’t tell me. I have a feeling that you and I are meeting out of order. I’m surprised it hasn’t happened until now.”
“Leona’s hurt, can you help her?”
Boyce looked down at Leona and then performed his own examination. Then he started to look around. “Did you have to find her first?”
“Yes.”
“Then this is Generation Alpha.”
“That’s what Leona said. I never saw it. What do we do?”
“This is where he turns into the first vampire.”
“So, she needs blood. We can do that. Teleport us to a hospital.”
“No, it can’t just be regular blood. If we want to follow the tribulation, and I’m sure things will be worse if we don’t, it has to be yours.”
“Yeah, of course, I should have known.”
“She’s not a salmon, but...” he didn’t finish his sentence.
“If I give her my blood, she’ll be like me again. But won’t it be temporary? I took on some of Meliora’s blood. It lasted only moments.”
“For as much blood as she needs, it will permanent. She’ll never be human again.”
Mateo considered this. He didn’t want this life for her. Was it moral for him to make that choice for her? Actually, she had recently given him the impression that she did want to become a salmon once more. It would solve their temporal disparity, that much was clear. But was it right? Just because she might want it, and just because it would save her life, didn’t mean he should do it. Perhaps the side of her brain that remembered the timeline without him would disagree with the side of her that knew him. She was currently unable to give him a yes or no, and as the old adage went, unconscious people don’t want tea. But this was a different situation. Medical professionals on TV would provide assistance for people without their explicit consent because of a loss of consciousness. The idea was that the patient would ask for help if they could. Drama series often turned this principle on its head by having a character sue the doctor for malpractice, however, so it was not a perfect system.
Boyce could quite easily sense his hesitation. “It doesn’t matter whether she wants to be a proverbial vampire or not. Whatever you decide to do, you’re choosing something for her. If you turn her into a salmon, she’ll at least live to resent you for it. If you let her die, we will never know.”
That was a good point. “Get me the supplies we need.”
Boyce teleported away but returned quickly with everything they needed, including a key to her handcuffs so that they could make her comfortable. They carefully transferred her to a couch in the lounge area. They laid her head down on Mateo’s lap while he remained in a seated position. After inserting the cannula between them, Boyce disappeared again and came back with orange juice and cookies to keep Mateo’s body in operating condition. Slowly but surely, Leona’s energy grew as Mateo’s decreased. She needed a lot, and it wasn’t like he carried a significantly higher volume than she did.
Mateo found himself feeling loopy and tired. He actually started swinging his head around like a cartoon character. At some point, he fell asleep. And when he awoke, it was June 8, 2092. He was off his pattern.