Frenzy: Life Now (Part XIII)

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“What is a Ulinthra?” I ask after Ace has finished with his conversation, knowing full well that it’s a person.

“She’s a friend of mine. Probably about your age. We had felt drawn towards each other our entire lives before finally finding each other a year ago.”

“Are you time travelers as well?”

“Not exactly,” Ace explained. “We just get these...feelings. Have you ever heard of déjà vu?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Well, it’s like that, but turned up to eleven. Everything we do feels familiar, and as if we had just experienced it yesterday. I always know who’s going to win a sports competition, which is where I earned most of my money. Whenever I meet someone new, it’s like I already know them. My life isn’t perfect, but it’s rather predictable. Once Ulinthra and I realized that we were the same, we started questioning where our abilities came from.”

“I see.”

“Now you have some answers for us. How many times have you done it before?”

“Never. I mean, just the once. I’m not a time traveler, per se. I mean, I know that they exist, but I just fell into it. I’m a stowaway. An accident.”

He says nothing.

“I have no answers,” I add.

“No, you must know something,” he complained. “You must. We need to pool our resources and figure this out. Like...do you have the same thing where you can bet on sports?”

“Not at all.”

“Well, what did you do for a living?”

“I’m seventeen.”

“Right, of course. What do you do for fun?”

“I’m a runner. I do the City Frenzy.”

“Oh. That explains the outfit you were wearing. So, when you said you couldn’t go home...it was because you’re already there.”

“Yes, I can’t run into myself. Who knows what would happen?”

“Maybe it would destroy the universe.”

“I doubt that, but it could ruin my timeline, cause some kind of paradox.”

“You sure you don’t know anything about what we are? You seem to know a lot about time travel in general.”

“Well...” I trail off.

“What? Tell me, please.”

“I do know a guy who may have some answers. Last time I saw him, he ran away from me, though. If we go see him, you’ll have to be prepared for that.”

“I think I can handle it.”

“I guess we can go tomorrow when your friend gets here.”

“Oh no, she’ll be here in an hour. She was just in Topeka.”

Once Ulinthra arrives, we exchange pleasantries and get her up to speed. After a meal, we head out for Lincoln Rutherford’s office. I didn’t know Rutherford very well back in 2022, but he’ll know my name. He accepts a walk-in appointment, and is surprised to see all three of us come through the door. “This is an interesting development. Mister Demir, you’re much older.”

“I’m from 2026,” I say.

“That would explain it.”

“Do you know who we are?” Ulinthra asks.

“I do, yes.”

“What are we?” she continues. “What are you?”

“I’m the Systemizer. I see time in the same way you see a movie; from a third-person perspective.”

“Like God?” Ace asks.

“No.”

“And them?” I ask. “What are they like?”

He tilts his head to look at them at a different angle. “They’re weird.”

“The hell does that mean?” Ulinthra is not amused.

“In another timeline, you had certain abilities. Now it seems like you still have them, but you’re...limited.”

“Limited how?”

“You still experience each day twice, but you can’t remember the first time.”

“If we can’t remember,” Ace began, “then how could it have happened?”

“You remember subconsciously, don’t you? Life always feels familiar.”

“Oh yeah,” Ace agrees. “That’s true.”

“How do we fix it?” Ulinthra asks.

“Fix what?”

“Our memory.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t recommend that. You have your memories intact in other timelines, and you never stop killing people.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Ace protests. “We would never kill anyone!” He looks over at Ulinthra who seems to have no interest in arguing either way. “I definitely wouldn’t,” he adds.

“I dunno what to tell ya,” Lincoln goes on. “You got to be such a problem that the other time travelers got together, built a prison, and put you in it.”

This scares Ace, probably more than anything ever has before. “Is that going to happen again?”

“It would seem that’s up to you. There are those who hold the actions of alternate versions of people against them, but most don’t.”

“Could you talk to them?” I jump back in. “We need to know what’s coming to us, and I would like to go back home. To my time.”

Lincoln takes a nonchalant drink from his water. “That’s not my job. I’m not one of them.” He looks to me directly. “I’m more like you. An outsider. I try to stay out of things.”

“What about...?” I stop myself before I mention K-Boy. That hasn’t happened to him yet, and even though Lincoln seems to have some unusual grasp of past and future, he can’t see things when I’m involved. Again, I have to worry about protecting the spacetime continuum. I don’t know what would happen if I changed the future, or if I already have, but my instinct is to exercise caution.

“Are you going to help us at all?” Ulinthra was angry. I could see her becoming a killer. I barely know her, but she does not seem stable.

“I can’t imagine,” Lincoln begins, “there’s anything I can do, or want to do, or am going to do.” He makes eye contact with Ace and subtly flickers his vision to Ulinthra’s purse, which she is clutching tightly.

Ace sighs and takes her purse away without any protest from her. He opens it up and removes a large knife in its sheath. “What the hell is this for?”

“Protection.”

“Oh God,” Ace responds. “The Gunbenders would hate you. Were you planning on using this?”

Lincoln answers instead, but towards Ulinthra. “Yes, I remember the other version of today as well. To avoid any further...dissatisfaction, I’m going to do you a favor and put you in touch with an associate of mine.” He takes out two games of Jenga, and begins to lay out the blocks while he’s still talking. “Now because time travel is a thing, in order to communicate with one another, we can’t just make a phone call. So we use our own version of that. Not everyone has a...” he says with air quotes, “phone number”. He starts stacking the pieces in groups of three to resemble little doorways. “But the most important ones do.”

“I’m sorry,” Ulinthra spits. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Helping you. Now, as I was saying, the most important time travelers can be contacted using special methods. If you want The Constructor, knock on any door with a special code. You want The Chauffeur, write a note on a piece of paper and burn it. Now The Archivist. He’s a weird one. He’ll get your message through this complicated combination of opening and closing drawers of a filing—” He stopped himself once he noticed the three of us were just staring at him with no idea who he was talking about, or frame of reference for them. “Anyway, The Delegator lives at Stonehenge. So you have to do this.” He sits back in his chair a little and admires his own work. He has constructed a replica of Stonehenge using the Jenga blocks.

“What’s supposed to happen now?” Ulinthra asks, still soured about the whole thing. She does not seem like a nice person.

Lincoln smiles. “This.” He places the last ‘stone’ on his desk some ways away from the rest of the replica. He then utters the magic words, “That’s what you think!”

The scene around us changes. The office walls and furniture bubble, pop, and dissipate away to reveal grass, sky, and stone. In a matter of seconds, we have found ourselves in the middle of the actual Stonehenge. Tourists wearing outdated clothing are walking all around us, but have taken no notice, except for one man watching us from a few meters away. Ulinthra, Ace, and I walk towards him. I look back to see Lincoln waving goodbye before fading away.

“Are you...” Ace tries to ask, feeling silly.

“The Delegator?” The man finishes it for him. “Yes. I was not planning on contacting you. What are you doing here?”

Ulinthra is examining one of the tourists. “Can they not see us?”

“No,” the Delegator says. “But you can have an effect on them, which is where ghosts come from. Stay away from the humans, please.” As Ulinthra reaches out to touch one of the tourists, the Delegator reaches his own hand up and takes ahold of her, apparently through some kind of telekinesis. He swings over and throws her through one of the little doorways where she disappears by what I can only describe as a portal. “I’m sorry about your friend, but she should not be here.”

I look to Ace who doesn’t seem all that upset. “You did what you had to. If you’re the Delegator, then does that mean you’re going to delegate purpose to us?”

“I do that for others...but not for you.”

“Good,” I say. “Can you take me home then?”

“I don’t know who you are, or what you are, but what I do know is that you are exactly where you’re supposed to be, and when you’re supposed to be there.”

Now I’m getting angry. “Why is it that everyone we talk to about this stuff is completely unhelpful? Why can’t you help me? Why do I have to stay here? And should I give a damn about what anyone else wants of me?”

The Delegator does not seem offended. “Every single salmon before you has asked those questions. None of them has received an answer, and neither will you. This is your life now. I also recommend you be prepared to hear that excuse more than once.”

“So we’re just supposed to go back home and try to figure this out on our own? With no guidance?”

“How is that different than what anyone else in the world does day-to-day?”

That isn’t a bad answer, but it still isn’t helpful, which I guess is the point. “This day has been incredibly unproductive.”

“What did you expect? Fanfare?”

“No, but it’s just—”

“I don’t have time for this,” the Delegator says quickly. “I have to get back to work. I really don’t like being interrupted. People don’t call me, I invite them here.”

“We’re sorry, but—”

He cuts Ace off as well. “No more questions.” He waves his hand dismissively. “Please walk through that gateway there.”

“As you wish,” Ace says, narrowing his eyes in a sort of small rage. We comply with his wishes and try to walk through the gateway. The Delegator cries out as we’re doing so, “no! Not that one!” But it’s too late. We’re already through and onto the other side. The gateway has transported us back to what’s clearly Kansas City, so I’m not sure why he’s so upset.

“Umm...where am I?” someone behind us asks.

Ace and I turn around to see a scared little girl holding a 1960s camera. That’s not good.

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Microstory 425: Floor 18 (Part 1)

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Public Health and Public Safety are not the same thing. No, it was not at all my responsibility to make sure Analion products didn’t kill people. I’m here as an ambassador to Mother Earth. I’m supposed to make sure that we protect the environment, and use sustainable methods in all facets of our operation. As it stands, I’ve been able to accomplish about three percent of what I wanted. That’s just an estimate, because I know I’ve had more than zero impact, but not by that much. If I had it my way, our new headquarters would have been constructed to be completely self-sufficient. We would have generated solar and wind power, recycled our urine, cultivated an herb garden on the roof, and done a ton of other things. 21st century building codes helped make some of my dreams a reality, but our real problems can be found in our construction. We go through wood like it grows on trees. Well, I mean…of course it does; that was a stupid thing to say, but you know what I mean. I don’t want you to kill a tree and then replace it with another—which, by the way, Analion does not do—I want you to not kill the tree in the first place. Wood and glass windows have no place in the modern world. Carbon polymers are more than capable of supporting the whole planet’s construction needs. This technology is cheaper, easier to handle, and much quicker to assemble. So why do people, including Analion executives, insist on remaining in the dark ages? I imagine it has to do with a distaste for change. Why did people fall out of our windows and die? They were made of unreliable wood and glass, which I was unable to stop them from using. Once I get past this whole thing where people are under the impression that it was my job to inspect the products for flaws, I’m going to quit. Ain’t nobody got time for these philistines.

Microstory 424: Floor 19 (Part 1)

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By the time I graduated from college, I had acquired tens of thousands of dollars in debt. I don’t have a hoarding problem, I have a shopping problem. I often sell things I buy, but of course, that comes with diminishing returns. I love the feeling of coming home and seeing a package on the patio, or of watching a plastic piece of junk forming in the 3D printer. I was one of the first general consumers to own one of those, by the way. My father, ever the gen-xer, has often asked me why I didn’t just get “tranny surgery”. In his mind, he was being progressive by accepting me as a woman, but he was actually being closed-minded by not accepting that men can enjoy shopping as well. My mother, ever the pragmatist, suggested that I pursue a career in procurement. And me, ever the ignorant kind of millennial, had no idea what that meant. As it turns out, it’s where you get paid to buy things. Can you believe it? I spend all day buying equipment, and renting heavy machinery, for my company. Looking back, of course this department exists. A company couldn’t survive if it didn’t have, like…things. To be honest, though, it’s becoming less and less fun. So much of it has become automated. This is supposed to make the process easier, but all it really does is make me irrelevant. Great, where else am I going to find to work like this? Analion is actually rather behind the automation revolution, so it’s only gonna get worse from here. I don’t know if I can hold a real job. What would I even do? Flip burgers? No, they don’t use humans for that anymore either. Could I be a technician, and service the machines that will ultimately replace me? I definitely couldn’t do that. I already have enough trouble with the programs I use now. I think I ordered the wrong parts for those windows we sold that people fell out of. What am I going to do. Shopping always makes me feel better. Where do you suppose my girlfriend hid my credit card?

Microstory 423: Floor 20 (Part 1)

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What I could never get my bosses to understand, or really to admit, was that time changes things. They kept wanting to add new projects, and grow the business without accounting for the necessary effects that would have on our resources. I work in a relatively rare department called resource analysis, and if you don’t know what that means, you are not alone. Our bosses don’t know what it means either. Why they pay me for a job they don’t think needs to be done is something that I can’t understand. They’re even too dumb to see this incongruity. Is it my fault that our products are defective, and resulted in losses of life? I guess, in a way, it has to be. Don’t get me wrong, I refuse to assume all responsibility, but I did play my part. I should have done more to express my concern with our resources. All of our projects either have too few people, or too many. The problem with the former is obvious, but the latter not so much. The danger in an abundance of labor is that there are essentially too many cooks in the kitchen. Teamwork is all about communication. If a billion people need to be updated on progress, or be taught procedure, then nothing will ever get done. Our teams are overworked, underpaid, and not given the tools they need to do their jobs effectively. A lot of this has to do with the project management department, but a lot of our work overlaps. And that’s another thing. Even in an organization as large as Analion, our two departments would do better as a single, cohesive unit. It’s that pesky communication thing that gets us every time. Why did we sell products that killed people? It might have been poor design, or faulty construction, but at the end of the day, it has to do with who knew what when. This all could have been avoided if they had just listened to me from the beginning. These inevitable lawsuits are going to leave us with nothing, and there is absolutely no place for a resource analyst when you don’t have any sodding resources.

Microstory 422: Floor 21 (Part 1)

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I’ve always been terrible at maths. I came to this country for university with no idea what I wanted to do. I just thought a change of scenery would do me good. In the end, what I discovered was that things here are about the same. Most notably, I’m still bad at maths. I failed algebra twice in the first year at uni, and got a D the third time. I then learned that I still had to get one more credit in mathematics if I wanted to graduate. I ended up taking this random course that taught semi-practical skills. I’m not talking about money-management or basic arithmetic. This was a unique way to look at the world, and not in just numbers. One thing our teacher went over was time management and scheduling. He showed us ways to graph and visualize projects to understand how to divide time, labor, and resources. I became fascinated with this after noticing that I was exceptional at it. This kind of “maths” just made perfect sense to me, and I remember being frustrated that my secondary education teachers never did anything like it with us. It’s so much more valuable than solving for x, or any such nonsense. I’m not just saying that because I happened to make a career out of these skills. My work in project management is a perfect example of the topic, but anyone and everyone could benefit from learning even a little bit of what I do. Actually, I could have used a little help with these latest projects. Making deadlines are always the most difficult part of my job, but for the first time ever, we had to cut corners. Did that have anything to do with our defective products? I can neither confirm nor deny that, but yes. Yes, we definitely did. I’m sorry.

Microstory 421: Floor 22 (Part 1)

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I don’t understand what I’m still doing here. I know for a fact that I had nothing to do with our so-called “defective” products. I mean, I had everything to do with them, but I’m not convinced that there is anything wrong with them. Any number of variables could have been responsible for those deaths. I can design the most perfect window in the world, but those designs have to be implemented correctly. Some idiot programmer could have input the wrong data, or a machinist could have calibrated the machines backwards. The installers, which are contracted out to other companies depending on geographic region, obviously could have made mistakes. If it were truly a design flaw, then wouldn’t this be happening all across the country, to everyone who bought our products? These are just a few isolated incidents. The owners, or the ones that died could have been using the windows wrong too. Ya know, they’re not designed to be leaned up against. And you can’t throw heavy things at them either. I’m not saying that’s what happened, I really don’t know, but that certainly could have been the case. Is anyone looking into that? Is anybody investigating, or do they just assume that it’s my fault? I can’t take this anymore. I keep coming into work, waiting to be fired, or at least reprimanded, but there’s been nothing. I wonder if they’re doing this to torture me. Perhaps they have some legal reason for letting this wait, but I can’t think of what that might be. Or maybe this delay is designed to get me to squirm, and then squeal. Well, I won’t do it. I refuse to take the fall for this. I’ve not contacted a lawyer for fear of appearing guilty, but maybe I ought to. Either way, I have the truth on my side. So send in the big bad corporate lawyers. I’m ready for anything. Or maybe I should just jump.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 10, 2095

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Mateo had no way of getting off of Tribulation Island. Rather, he had no way to get back to Earth at all. The stargate never opened a portal for him, no matter what he did. He tried concentrating on his wish, running fast, running slow, meditating beforehand. Hell, he even tried closing his eyes and walking backwards. He tried to summon The Chauffeur with a slip of paper, but Dave never did teach him proper protocol, so maybe he was ignoring it. He also tried digging a grave to jump into. He sprained his ankle, but got nowhere.

The Cleanser could have gotten him out and back to Leona, but was obviously choosing not to. Mateo could watch Leona for short periods of time through the magic mirror. She was in a jungle somewhere, possibly even on the same planet. She had to cut off her own legs to save the rest of her body from an infection. He didn’t actually witness it, but he saw the aftermath. The mirror seemed to need time to charge in between uses. He didn't know whether it operated on solar energy or, like...temporal power? He just left it on the beach and it would be ready to show him how hopeless he was in about a day. One thing he eventually learned was that Leona never wanted to see him again, so he just gave up.

On what must have been June 8, 2093, he jumped forward to 2094. And then at the end of that day, he moved on to June 10, 2095. Things were back to normal; total shit. At present, he could see the Cleanser casually strolling along the beach, letting the tide tickle his shins, and enjoying the alien sunset. Mateo just sat with his raw fish and watched. Yeah, he took to not cooking his food sometimes, just to see how the other half lived. It wasn't bad.

“Nice day, isn’t it?”

“It was okay,” Mateo replied. “Fish?”

“I usually get my salmonella from other places.”

“As you wish.”

The Cleanser just laughed, apparently unaware that Mateo had secretly witnessed his and Leona’s conversation in the hospital. “Have you learned your lesson yet?”

“That I’m alone? Yes.”

“Oh, was that the lesson? If you say so, I’ve been bored with this whole thing for a while.”

“Does that mean you’re gonna leave us alone?”

“Technically yes, technically no.”

“Explain.”

“When you see me next, I’ll be unaware of this conversation.”

“Ah,” Mateo said, “you came here out of order.”

“Yes, I’ve been enjoying the universe for the last couple millennia, but at some point, I’ll have to go back to finish it all.”

“Are you referring to your own death?”

“Yes,” the Cleanser said. “It is inevitable. I’ve tried avoiding it by changing history, but you end up garnering a powerful ally that even I can’t defeat. I managed to escape just before my last breath, but it can’t last.”

“You’re The Impossible Girl.”

“Mister Matic, I’m impressed. You so often prove yourself to be completely out of touch and uncultured, but here you are making pop culture references.”

This was an echo of something Horace Reaver once said to him, but Mateo was too tired to care. He just moved on, “do I have a tribulation today?”

“Do you want one?”

A little. “No.”

“I can tell you’re lying. I knew you would grow to love them.”

“I’ve not,” Mateo protested. He didn't particularly enjoy risking his life for someone else’s amusement, but he also didn’t know what he was supposed to do with his life. Everyone he ever knew was either dead or physically so far beyond him that they had in nothing in common. Or they were evil, or they were Leona. Or they didn’t remember him, or they were time travelers. Tribulations were dangerous, but they were also challenging, and that was what life was about.

“Don’t worry, it doesn't make you a bad person. I see now that the worst part about them was having Leona in danger. If you agree to continue under real threat of death, I promise to keep her away from it completely. I won’t even go visit her.”

“Last time you promised me something, you went back on your word.”

“Hey, The Blender is stronger than she looks.”

Mateo said nothing.

“I really won’t. Leona will be safe. I'll even protect her from others.”

“What about the other version of you, the one I’m to see next?”

“Well, I’ll take care of him. Don’t you worry your pretty little face.”

“Very well. I accept your terms.”

“Lovely.” He clapped his hands out of joy. “It’s been awhile since I’ve done one of these, and I'm itching to, just once more. I’ll make it easy, though.” He rubbed his hands together like he was trying to make fire. “What could it be, though?”

Mateo waited patiently.

“Oh, I know!” the Cleanser exclaimed at last. “We’re gonna run into some intellectual property issues if you keep using the stargate to go back and forth between planets. We need to build something we have the legal right to use.”

“The hell are you talking about?”

“Nexa.”

“How’s that?”

“They’re interstellar transport machines that use dematerialization plus simplex dimensional falling. They’re from the—”

“No, I know what they are and where they're from, but why would we be able to use them but not stargates?”

“Oooh, it’s just this thing.” He quickly changed the subject. “Tell me, have you ever met Baudin?”

“No, but I've heard of him. I assume he’s The Engineer, or maybe The Architect?”

“No, those were taken, but good guesses. We call him The Constructor. You’ll like him. He’ll build you a nice house here too if you want it.”

“Why would I need a house here?”

“This is your territory now, did you not realize that?”

“No.”

“You inherited it from Boyce.”

“Oh.”

“It’s special, just like Easter Island, or the Great Pyramid of Giza. You are free to do with it as you like.”

“What makes it so special?”

“It’s a near exact duplicate of Earth. No one made it, it just happened.”

“I see. Weird.”

“Congratulations on your new home. Your tribulation, should you be forced to accept it, will be to assist Baudin in the construction of a Nexus replica.”

“As long as you’re not forcing him to do it.”

“That won’t be a problem. He loves his job. Does it for free; doesn’t have to.”

Mateo followed the Cleanser up to his little cottage and waited as the Cleanser knocked on the door. He didn’t just knock a few times like normal. It was a special code; not shave and a haircut, but in the same vein. A man opened the door with a smile. Behind him, Mateo could see a lavish lobby to a beautifully designed building.”

“Can I help you?” Baudin asked.

“We would like to procure your services,” the Cleanser said rather politely.

Baudin stepped one foot on the outside and looked around. “This is Boyce territory.”

“Not anymore, he gave it to this guy.”

Baudin looked at Mateo. “A salmon?”

“Indeed,” Mateo answered.

“Works for me.” He grabbed a tablet from a nearby table and came out. “Why don’t you show me where you want me to put it?”

“You two have fun. I have an appointment with death,” the Cleanser said with the tip of an imaginary hat. Then he disappeared.

“You do know he’s just making you comfortable so you’ll be easier to manipulate?”

Mateo nodded. “Might as well enjoy it anyway, right?”

He smiled wider. “You and I are gonna get along just fine.”

While Baudin was examining the construction site, and drawing a sketch on his tablet, Mateo decided to engage in conversation. “I’ve heard your name before.”

“Perhaps you’ve heard of my work,” Baudin said. “I built The Gallery, The Constant, The Agora, Palace Glubbdubdrib...”

“What about Sanctuary?”

He stopped sketching for a moment. This was a sensitive subject for him. “That was not technically me.”

“Do you remember being possessed by The Rogue? Were you conscious?”

“I was not aware of my actions at the time, but once he left my body, I returned to surface level with full memories of everything he had done in my name.”

“What did he do? Did he kill a lot of people?”

“Oh no, nothing like that. He just used me to do what I would have done anyway. You would think that I would feel violated by having been possessed, but I felt no sense of helplessness. Once those memories came to me, they felt like a book I had just read; like the actions had been done by someone else, which they had. No, the real violation is that people treated him as if he were me. Few were aware of the true identity of the man in this body during that period, so they have an impression of me that I cannot change. It’s like...” He searched for his words. “It’s like when fans of a show or movie meet the actors responsible for characters they’ve watched, and have trouble teasing fiction from reality. I’m just an actor. Whatever thoughts someone has of me during that time I don’t deserve. That was just a character I played once.”

“I understand. I mean...I don’t understand, but I feel for you.”

“Yes, you would. The Cleanser has been making you play a part for weeks hasn’t he?”

“He has, yes, but it’s different. I do have a choice.”

Baudin removed what looked like a stake from his tablet, holstered in there like a stylus. “Choice is an illusion, my friend. Whether human, salmon, or chooser, you are being controlled by someone else. Everybody answers to their own powers that be.”

“That’s a level of negativity I cannot allow myself to surrender to.”

“And I admire you for that.” He jammed the stake in the ground then activated it with a switch. It started blinking and beeping. “My job is done. By the time you return to the timestream next year, it’ll be ready and waiting for you.”

“That’s it?”

He shook his head once. “That’s it. I may have left you a gift or two.” He winked and extended his hand.

Mateo shook it. “I thank you.”

“You remember my knock, right? Let me know if you need anything. I sometimes give tours of my facilities, and a position may be opening up on my staff.”

“I would be honored. Maybe after I’m done with this tribulation business.”

Baudin disappeared through the cottage door, leaving Mateo to finish out his day.

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Frenzy: Spending Time (Part XII)

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I catch a bus to Ace’s apartment since I have no identity, and public transportation still allows for such a thing. I still have to do some walking, which is honestly getting to be a pain. I’ve been through a lot over the last two days, and I really just want to go to bed. Assuming Ace is some kind of time traveler, and already knows what’s going on, he’ll probably let me crash at his place again. If he’s not, then I’m about to make an ass out of myself. I go up to his unit and knock on the door.

A woman answers. “Can I help you?”

“Um, does Ace live here?” I ask before adding, “or Horace, that is?” I remember him calling himself that once.

“No, I’m sorry. I’ve never heard that name.”

“I must have the wrong address. Sorry about that.”

“Not a problem,” she answers. “Hey, are you one of those Frenzy runners?”

“I am,” I say. “I’m training.”

“Well, good luck next year.”

“Thanks,” I say before she closes the door.

Well, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that he doesn’t live here yet. A lot can happen in four years. Hell, he might have moved in a month before we first met in the future. Now I truly have no one. I could seek out Lincoln Rutherford, the one person I know for sure understands time travel, but I’m hesitant to do that. He was clearly freaked out to see me before, and I’m not so sure I can trust him. Still, he might be my only option. That will have to wait, though. It’s getting late, and I still have to find somewhere to sleep.

I wander the streets for nearly an hour, trying to find the best place to curl up in a corner and wait out the night. Homeless shelters are regularly closed and replaced. I do not recall where to find one back in 2022. I notice a coffee shop up ahead, and decide that that’s where I want to be. I’ll find some warmth for a few minutes before they kick me out, and someone may even let me borrow the internet so I can find a shelter. I walk in and see serendipity sitting by the fireplace. Maybe The Gravedigger, or even Rutherford, is looking out for me. How else would you explain this? Of all the coffee shops, in all the world, I walk into his. Ace is reading what looks like a very deep and thought-provoking book, and sipping from his tea. I was going to ask him for answers, but seeing him like this makes me realize that he has no clue what’s going on. Whatever he learns about this world, he’s not learned it yet. For now, he’s just a normal guy. A hot normal guy with some kind of pastry that looks better than any food I’ve ever seen.

“You can have it,” Ace suddenly says without looking up from his book.

I look behind me like an idiot. “Are you talking to me?”

“There are several other people here, so I must be talkin’ to you.”

“I’m sorry?”

He laughs and closes his book. “It’s before your time. I can practically smell your hunger. If you need something to eat, that’s available. I didn’t realize it had raisins, so I’m not gonna eat it.”

I don’t like raisins either, but I’m starving. Worried he might change his mind, I quickly grab it and swallow it up. Only afterwards do I feel embarrassed and ashamed. “I’m sorry.”

“Your fine.” He reaches back and takes some paper money out of his pocket. “This place doesn’t give you shit when you pay with dolla dolla bills. That’s why I come here.”

“I...I can’t take your money.” I continue to stammer, “in—in fact, I sh...should be going.” I stand up. I really want to stay with him, but this isn’t right. We’re not supposed to meet for another four years. The longer we’re together here, the more likely it is he’ll remember me when he meets me before the Frenzy. That will just be confusing for him, so I have to cut this short and let it go. It’s time to face the fact that I’m alone in this time. No one can help me, and nor should they try. Even though I don’t consider this my fault, it’s my mess, and I can’t expect anyone to help clean it up.

“Wait,” he stops me. “What’s your name?” he asks, just so that he can get to what he wants to say.

“Serkan,” I reply instinctively. No, I should have used an alias. I’ve made it even worse; must be Tuesday.

“Serkan,” he starts off, “I don’t like to sugarcoat things. I don’t know where you come from, or what’s going on. But I can see that you need food, and you need money. I have those things. I’m actually pretty well-off. I’m not here to judge or question whether you deserve to be in this situation, but what I can do is help. Maybe it was even fate. Of all the coffee shops, in all the world, you walk into mine.”

That’s a direct quote from a thought I just had. “Can you read my mind?”

He laughs. “Can I dowhatnow?”

I don’t want to press it. “Never mind.” I take the wad of cash from his hand. “I very much appreciate it.”

“Don’t mention it.”

I go up to the counter and wait in line, but as I’m doing so, I find myself frequently look back at Ace. He’s watching me as well. He’s four years younger than last I saw him, which means that he’s only a few years older than me at this point. That’s no big deal...no big deal at all. I probably don’t look like a silly little child to him, and the way his eyes focus on me makes me feel like he recognizes this as well. I try to look up at the chalkboard to determine what I should eat. It has to be filling, cheap, and as healthy as possible. As a coffee shop, it doesn’t have too many options—

Before I know it—and I’m not talking about time travel; just a form of autopilot—I’m in Ace’s apartment. We don’t even get out of the entryway before we start making out and tearing each other’s clothes off. I’m kissing him more passionately than I ever have anyone before. I’m kissing him like an adult. He undoes my Frenzy suit and tugs it off my shoulders. Now I’m standing here topless, like a surfer who hasn’t yet put his wetsuit all the way on. He starts kissing down my chest, drawing closer to the finish line. I laugh in my own head at the metaphor.

He comes back up and looks me in the eyes. “My name is Ace, by the way. Horace.”

“I know,” I say, in the heat of the moment, then I go back to kissing him on the neck.

“What?”

“I mean...that’s a great name.”

“Oh,” he tries to say through the desire.

“I’ve never brought anyone home before,” he says when we wake up in the morning.

“I ain’t never been broughten.”

He chuckles. “You must be hungry. You never did get that crumpet, or whatever, last night.”

“I got something better. But yes, I could go for some quiche, or something.”

He tilts his head. I’ve messed up again. I’m not supposed to know about that. “Funny. I’m kind of known for make an amazing quiche.” He stands up and starts some morning stretches.

“Then I guess I came to the right place.” Despite my time travel taboos, I’m doing pretty well. I’m smoother than I usually am. It must be the sex. I’ve had it before, but not like that; not with a guy like Horace... “What’s your last name?”

“Reaver. Horace Reaver.”

I nod. “Serkan Demir.”

“I feel like such a slut not telling you that before hopping into bed.”

“Then I suppose we’re both sluts.” I sit up on my knees and kiss him again. “I’m all right with that.”

I can feel his lips smile while still attached to mine. “What makes my quiche so good is that it takes an hour to make. I better get started.”

I fall back and rest my head on both my wrists. “I can’t wait that long,” I say in a cutesy voice.

“I’ll make some toast too, and I think I still have a couple hard-boiled eggs in the fridge.”

A few minutes later, I walk over to the kitchen area wearing pants and a shirt I stole from his wardrobe. I sit at the counter and eat my appetizers while watching him do his thing. “I’m not homeless,” I blurt out.

“Okay,” is all he says, not wanting to overstep.

“I just...I can’t go back home.”

He peers at me. “Do they not accept you as you are.”

“Oh, no. It’s nothing like. I was a gay baby. I never needed to come out to my family. I can’t really explain why I have to stay away from there, though. I just have some things I need to work out on my own.”

“I understand that. I mean, I don’t understand what you’re going through, but you and I are okay.”

This guy had sex with someone he thought was homeless. He brought him home to his house with fancy television monitors and a bunch of clothes, and then he slept with him. He may not make the wisest decisions, but he’s someone I can trust, and I already knew that. I can’t do this on my own. If Horace Reaver won’t help me through being marooned in the timestream, then no one in the world will. I have this urge to explain myself, so that he doesn’t think my parents kicked me out, or something. I need him to know who I am; why I’m here. “I’m a time traveler.”

“What?”

“I was in 2026, and then I fell in a grave, of all places. When I crawled out, I found myself in 2022. I don’t know why or how it happened, but I can’t get back. It looks like I’m gonna have to go the long way ‘round.”

He stops cooking and studies me. “Are you telling the truth?”

“I know it sounds crazy...” I start to say.

He puts down the spatula and goes over to grab his phone.

“I understand if you have to call the authorities, or a mental hospital, or whatever. You should know, however, that last night was real. That meant something to me. I’ve never met anyone like y—”

“Ulinthra?” he asks into the phone, cutting me off. “How fast can you get to Kansas City? I think we’ve just found the proof we were looking for.”

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