Microstory 431: Floor 11 (Part 1)

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I’ve always loved my job in the Research and Development labs, and I never made any effort to be promoted. I was recently hired at Analion in a leadership position, but this is as far as I want to go. If I’m promoted from here, I'll have to move permanently into an office, and I have zero interest in that. If you look at my little cubicle right now, you would think it’s just a storage area. I feel safe and comfortable around all the dangerous objects, even though we don’t have much of that here. My last job used a lot of corrosive chemicals and other hazardous materials, so this is pretty tame by those standards. They were a legal nightmare, so I would’ve hated a full time office position even more. My boss there was always under a great deal of stress. She was constantly having to worry about someone getting hurt…or worse. It’s weird that I spent all that time with deadly poison, and it’s just windows that are the major problems here at my new job. Nothing happened in the labs, but out in the field. I have no idea what went wrong because that was before my time, but had I been around, I promise we wouldn’t have been on the brink of any lawsuits. One thing my previous boss taught me was how to be careful and slow. In all honesty, though, safety precautions were of a higher priority. Analion, I’m starting to see, doesn’t care so much about all that. From what I gather, I can’t be surprised that one of our products lead to deaths. They’re far more interested in speed than quality. They think this is efficiency, but it’s not. Efficiency is the balance between speed and accuracy. If they had just slowed down, I bet things would have been fine. I suppose I’m doing a great job of convincing myself that I should quit before things get real bad. I’m going to contact my old boss who went off and started her own business. Analion is not the place for me, and I think she would understand that and give me a chance to get on the ground floor.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 12, 2097

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Two years after Mateo Matic disappeared into the future, a television series premiered. It actually technically didn’t run on television. As time went on following the first jump, media began to bleed into the internet with increasing speed. People were getting used to the idea of watching what they wanted, when they wanted, and not having to worry about recording programs. The most powerful of these services provided audiences with an amazing show called Stranger Things. It took place in the 1980s and followed the residents of a small town as they battled supernatural forces. The first season revolved around the premise of trying to find a missing child.

Upon spiriting Mateo away from his planet, The Cleanser sat him down and forced him to watch every single episode of the series, much like Boyce had done for those dancing films. The difference here was that the Cleanser was not allowing them to be watched at double the speed. It took the better part of two days to watch them all straight through, with absolutely no opportunity for rest. By the time he was finished, Mateo was wandering around the house, purposely bumping into walls, because it each time felt like a good idea. His vision was blurred, and his mind unfocused. He shoveled food onto his cheeks and poured milk down his chest. After failing to eat, he went back to walking aimlessly. Despite, or maybe because of, his extreme fatigue, his mind was telling him to do one thing: escape. Whatever would happen next, sleep had to be worse than the attempt at freedom. Looking back on it, his logic was fundamentally flawed, but at the time, it made perfect sense. He just kept going. When he ran into an obstacle, he would turn only far enough to break himself of it and walk in the new direction as far as physics would take him.

During Mateo’s fugue state, the Cleanser stood back and watched. He must have considered it entertaining that Mateo couldn’t think straight. At some point, though, the wandering became boring on its own. Presumably in order to spice it up, he began snapping his fingers and teleporting them to various locations around the world, or possibly the universe. Mateo started stumbling around deserts, mountains, prairies, and city streets. Sometimes, the Cleanser would even mash two or more different locations together in this complex web of hyperdimensional superposition. Mateo was no scientist, like Leona, but those were the words that came to him. They sounded right, as far as he knew. And then it happened.

Apparently, the Cleanser had been apporting Mateo to random locations, without even thinking them through himself. His eyes lit up when he saw where they were with this last trip. It was a dirt road with a mountain on one side, and a huge cliff on the other. It looked surprisingly similar to a particular scene in the first season of Stranger Things. Mateo recognized this, but he couldn’t stop himself. He just kept shuffling along the road.

“I never actually planned on you recreating anything from the show. I’m not The Rogue, afterall. I have no interest in watching you reenact my favorite movies. The tribulations are meant to be difficult, deadly, and distressing. I don’t care how. Forcing you to watch one of the best shows ever created without sleep was meant as a form of torture, and so that you would be the only person in the world to harbor feelings of anger and pain towards it.”

Mateo could still speak, but chose only to babble back, because no words would help in this situation.

“I wanna see how suggestible you are. But first...a thousand words.” He apported a digital camera into his hands and pointed it towards Mateo who instinctively stopped and looked to the lens. He didn’t pose, but he didn’t shy away either. “Now this moment will live on forever. Walk off the cliff.”

Mateo thought about arguing, but he was having trouble remembering how, and assumed it would end in his compliance no matter what. It was easier just to let the world go. If you counted the time he remembered being stuck in another dimension, he was thousands of years old. That was enough for anybody. He turned and stepped right off the edge, as he was told, raising his arms like it was nothing more than a fun roller coaster. He hadn’t managed to fall very far before he could feel someone else’s hand take hold of his wrist. “What?” he asked in an indoor voice, as if he simply hadn’t heard his teacher’s question.

“Take my other hand!” a voice called to him.

Mateo twisted around and grasped the side of the cliff. He looked up and could see the figure of a man, but he couldn’t tell who it was since he was still delirious.

“Reach up and meet me halfway, dude!” the voice pressed.

Still easily suggestible, Mateo did as he was told and grabbed the man’s hand, using his feet to help himself up as the man pulled.

“Here ya go,” the man said, jabbing something into Mateo’s leg.

Mateo went for his leg with his hands, but was unable to control his motor functions. Whatever was in the injector began to course through his body, supplying him with a massive boost in energy. Within seconds, he wasn’t back to his old self, but he was much better. He could see, and he could understand. The man who had saved him was none other than Horace Reaver. He looked about Mateo’s age at the time, and immediately seemed much nicer than before. He looked over to find a totally stunned Cleanser, his jaw literally dropped.

A young woman Mateo didn’t know printed a piece of paper out of some kind of gizmo and handed it to the Cleanser. “What does this picture look like to you?”

The Cleanser took it. “Well, it’s—oh no!” He tried to drop the photo but it was too late. His body quickly pixelated and disappeared into the photo, which itself pixelated into oblivion upon landing on the ground.

“What just happened?”

“Mister Matic,” Horace began as he was helping him off the ground. “This is Miss Paige Turner. Paige, this is my good friend, Mateo Matic.”

She extended her hand. “Pleased to finally meet you. I have heard so much about you and your adventures with my father.”

“You had another daughter?”

“No, not in this timeline,” Horace said, shaking his head. “She accidentally slipped through time. My boyfriend and I took her in and raised her.”

“How did you get here?”

“That dumbass took a picture of this moment,” Paige explained. “All I had to do was get my hands on it.”

“If you’re from this new timeline, how do you have any memory of the other one?”

“The Blender,” was all that Horace said.

“Oh God.”

“She approached me many years ago, hoping to return to me the memories I had of our hate towards each other. She has it out for you, man. I do not know why she’s so bloody angry, but her intention was to get me to start trying to kill you again.”

“And are you?” Mateo asked.

“Very much not,” Horace replied.

“Because you’re a good person in this reality? These ones are overpowering your old memories?”

Horace shook his head. “It wouldn’t have mattered. Had she removed this reality’s memories, I still wouldn’t be against you right now. My experiences with you were driving me to become a better person without my realizing it. Once you finally got me into that prison cube, I was free to reflect on my choices, and I realized that I preferred you as a friend than an enemy. And I prefer myself as a good person.”

“So we’re friends now?”

“From my perspective,” he said, “yes. Though I cannot speak to your feelings.”

Mateo breathed in deeply through his nose. “I could sure use another friend right now.”

“What about two?” Paige asked.

“Even better,” Mateo responded with a smile.

“It could be three one day. We left my husband several years from now. He wasn’t capable of coming back with us, but we’ll catch up to him eventually. For you, it’ll only be a few days.”

“Do you still have your day rewind thing?” Mateo asked.

“Not as I did before. I don’t remember Round Ones consciously, but I feel them. Though I usually don’t anyway. Serkan has the ability to suppress or limit temporal powers.”

“You mean...” Mateo started to ask.

“Yes,” Horace said without needing Mateo to finish his sentence. “Soon, the days of skipping time could be completely behind you.”

“That would be nice.” Mateo went into another trance, fantasizing about permanent settlement in the timeline. Maybe this guy could cure him completely so they wouldn’t even have to be in proximity. That was a question for another time, though. He looked over to Paige. “Do you happen to have any pictures of Tribulation Island?”

“Yes, but only one,” she answered. “We were saving it for an important occasion.”

“You can only use them once?”

“We all have our limitations,” she said with a shrug. She printed another photo from her gadget and slipped between them so they could all see. “Say boo to a goose!”

They were suddenly in the Nexus control module on Tribulation Island. They could see Saga Einarsson elegantly walking down into the transport well. Before Mateo could open his mouth, an orange light swallowed her up and she was gone. “What was she doing here?”

Paige laughed just a little. “She was the one who took the picture.”

“Oh, that makes sense.”

Horace looked at the computer screen. “It’s almost midnight. You better get back home and get some rest. We’ll be waiting for you when you wake up next year.”

“Okay, thanks.” Mateo started to walk out of the Nexus building but then turned back. “And Horace?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”

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Frenzy: Page Turner (Part XIV)

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“Uh, hi,” Ace says awkwardly, trying to sound upbeat. “Are you lost?”

“I was at Stonehenge,” the girl replies. “Are we in London now?”

“I was afraid of that,” I say.

“Well,” Ace begins. “No, we’re not in England.”

I go behind her and wave my arms around, trying to find the portal again. My assumption is that it’s gone, but it could also just be invisible. That sometimes happens, right?

“What are you trying to do?” Ace asks me.

“I’m trying to find a way to send her back.”

He sighs. “We can take a plane back to Stonehenge. It’ll be weird, and we’ll have to be clever to prevent her parents from freaking out on us, but we’ll get her back.

What? I think to myself. “Look at her camera,” I say to him. “And her clothes.” She doesn’t belong here.”

“Oh,” is all he says. Now he gets it. “Little...what’s your name?”

“Paige.” She starts tearing up, but it doesn’t look like she’s going to cry. She probably thinks we’ve kidnapped her. “Turner.”

Ace does his best to sound comforting and distant at the same time. “Paige, what’s the date?”

“October 8.”

“October 8...?”

“1971,” Paige completes her answer.

I pull him aside and speak softly so that she can’t hear, but I keep my eye on her. I’m worried that she’ll get the idea to be brave and try to run away from her captors. “What are we gonna do?”

“We have to go back and talk with your lawyer friend,” Ace suggests.

“What do you think he’s going to do about it?”

“Send her back home.”

“He can’t personally do that sort of thing, and I get the feeling that the Jenga trick isn’t going to work twice. That delegator guy was none too happy to see us too. Besides, you call Rutherford my friend, but I obviously didn’t know him. We can’t trust him.”

“So, what? We just keep her? Like a pet.”

“No, not—I mean...I don’t know. Maybe we can take her to child services, or whatever it’s called.”

“And tell them what? She’ll be going on about President Nixon, and Vietnam War hippie, and...pet rocks! They’ll put her in special needs classes, and try to fix her for believing it’s the 70s. She’ll never be safe, and she’ll never be happy.”

“Then apparently we’re the only ones who can handle this.”

“You mean raise her?”

“Do we have a choice?”

“Yeah, we went over other choices, and they have their problems, but this seems...wrong. She’s supposed to be decades older than us.”

“We went through the wrong gateway. We did this to her, so we have to help.”

Paige is looking between us with this face like she’s holding her breath. The tears have dried up, and suddenly, she snaps a photo of us.

“I don’t know that there’s any way to develop those here.”

“Because we’re in the future?” she asks, about half sure that she’s right.

“She figured it out,” Ace whispers, impressed.

“Maybe there’s hope for us yet.” I bend down and get to her level. “This is...” I start to tell her the year, but realize that I don’t know what that is. It’s not the 22nd century, and it’s not the 18th, but that doesn’t mean I know exactly when we are. We do know we went through the wrong gateway, so we have to figure out exactly what made it wrong, besides the fact that we brought with us another stowaway. “Ace, what year is this?”

“Why, it’s...” he stops himself as well, clearly realizing what I already have. He moves away from us and asks a random stranger the dumbest question they’ve probably ever heard. I see him close his eyes, trying to accept what’s happened. He returns to us. “October 15.”

“Yeah...?” I know it hasn’t just been a couple weeks.

“2023.”

One year. Not that bad, all things considered. It’s easier for me to accept than him because I’ve been through this before. In fact, I’m one step closer to getting back home, so it’s better for me. But it’s not better for Paige. “It’s October 15, 2023. You just traveled through time.”

“Like the Connecticut Yankee.”

I smile at the reference. “Yes, like that, except that you went forwards.”

“Is there any way to go back?” Paige asks. She doesn’t quite look like that’s what she would want.

“We could try, but we only know one other traveler, and he probably wouldn’t help us.”

“If it’s been fifty years, then my parents are probably dead.”

“It’s possible. It depends on how young they were. We could look for them.”

“No,” she says quickly. “If they don’t know I’m here, then I’m safe. I’m finally free of them.”

I stand up and look to Ace. We don’t know what to say. Theoretically, we would try to get more information out of a child who says something like this, but she’s right. She’s free of them, and however they were hurting her before, they can’t do it anymore. If she ends up wanting to tell us, she can do so at any time. Maybe it wasn’t the wrong gateway afterall. Maybe we were always supposed to bring her along with us. “You know, there’s an easy way to decide what we should do about our situation.”

“What might that be?” Ace asks, unconvinced.

“You tell us. You’ve already been through this day, right? I know you don’t remember, but what do you think? Subconsciously?”

“Well, it’s not that easy...” He trails off and stares into space.

“What? What do you see?”

“Nothing. This doesn’t feel familiar at all. I don’t know that I’ve ever been on this particular street, and I don’t recognize Paige.”

“What does that mean? That this is the first time around? That you’ll go back and do it over?”

“No, that doesn’t feel right either. Now that I think about it, yesterday wasn’t familiar either. I had no way of predicting the future.”

“Really? Has that ever happened before?”

Paige looks at us like we’re crazy. Even though she knows that she jumped to the future, she still doesn’t understand who we are, or what we’re talking about.

“No, never in my life. It all started the day you...”

I can guess what he’s about to say, “the day I arrived. You lost your ability when I showed up.” I start pacing a little bit, trying to work it out in my head, but ultimately thinking out loud. “Three years from now, Rutherford shows up and tells me I’m different. He says that he can’t use his own ability around me. Then I go back in time and meet you, only for you to experience the same thing.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’m like him. I’m one of you. I just...I’m just different.”

“You take away people’s power?”

“Exactly, or so it would seem. It hasn’t always seemed to work, though. I met a speedster in the future, and he didn’t seem at all affected by me.”

“Maybe you have to concentrate on doing it. Or maybe you have to concentrate on not doing it.”

“Maybe.”

We stand in silence for a long time before Paige breaks the ice. “I’m hungry.”

“We can get something to eat,” Ace replies. “I have some cash on me, which we’ll need, because I’ve been missing for a year and retrieving my identity might prove to be complicated.”

“So, what are we going to do?” I ask. “After finding food, that is.”

“I have no idea. I’ve never been so lost in my life. Ya know, I guess I do have that secret offshore bank account. They probably won’t ask questions about any missing persons case, but it will take some time to get my money back stateside.”

“That could come in handy.”

We start walking forwards with no real plan for where we might want to go. Paige snaps photos of the scenery, Ace actually looks like he might be a bit relieved to have shed his old life, and me? I think I’m gonna be okay. Jinx.

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Microstory 430: Floor 12 (Part 1)

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We are called Production, people...Production. We are not the same thing as Construction. I tell ya what’s ironic, though; I’ve spent years reminding people that our two departments do totally different things. Now all these reports come in of people dying from our products, and for the first time, I’m glad people think they should blame construction. I know I should feel bad about it, and also that it won’t last forever, but I just feel lucky to still have my job. To be honest, I couldn’t tell you what went wrong. I’ve been analyzing the situation during my own little investigation, but I’ve so far come up with nothing. The designs appear to be flawless. I’ve not been having trouble with any of my developers on the production floor. I’ve even looked into regional installation contractors, and they seem fine. I guess I can only go so far, though. If I rock the boat too much, I paint a target on my back. It has to have something to do with us, though. People are saying the windows were marketed poorly, or that we weren’t allotted he right materials, but that’s impossible. First of all, people know what windows are. I don’t believe this could be customer error; that’s utterly ridiculous, and insulting to the human race. If we had problems with resources, then fine. But that doesn’t explain why a bad product ended up in the market in the first place. It must be quality management. That’s the only explanation. Everyone could have done everything wrong; created a window that shatters when a butterfly lands on it. But no matter what, quality management should have stopped it. That’s their bloody job. I must investigate more.

Microstory 429: Floor 14 (Part 1)

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I worked very hard to get out of the labs, and into this office. I’m sure you hear Research and Development, and you think that it sounds exciting. Why, we must be blowing things up and getting into other crazy situations every week! No, it’s boring, and this is as it should be. We would be shut down by the health department, or some other government division, if we experienced such things on a regular basis. No, we do some experimentation, but this is no chemical lab. We mostly try to figure out what kinds of materials work well together, and which combinations to avoid. We try various glass thickness, and new shapes. We test strength against wind and other trauma. It might have started out fun, but throwing rocks at triple pane windows gets old pretty quickly. I also don’t really like dangerous situations. Even though we take all necessary precautions, I feel much safer in the office, on a different floor. This new headquarters we built is a major problem, though. The lab  technicians need a nice, open, rectangular space. This doughnut shape we got going on is just awkward. The atrium that runs almost all the way up sure is purty, but sure is completely impractical for our needs. I tried to voice my concerns to the construction department, but hell if they ever listen. Far be it for them to take input from anyone else. If they had it their way, the whole company would be absorbed and digested into their one department. They don’t think the rest of us need to exist at all, and would sooner see us gone than admit that it takes a village. I’m about to go upstairs to lobby the president to transfer the R&D labs back to where we were before. I know everybody’s really busy with all this scandal, but I can’t think about that right now. Let the lawyers handle it. We have to move on with business as usual. If they call me up for a deposition, or witness testimony, or whatever, then I’ll deal with it. I don’t see the point in worrying so much about things that have already happened.

Microstory 428: Floor 15 (Part 1)

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While the company has always participated in some level of contracting, it has always focused more on its door and window business. We recently built ourselves a new headquarters in order to show the public that we are interested in growing that side of things. Things were looking up, and we were in early negotiations with several potential clients, but then reports came out that people have started dying, or becoming seriously injured, as a direct result of our products. I’m not trying to throw my coworkers under the bus, but there is no doubt in my mind that Analion is responsible. No one would have made the connection between these disparate incidents if there wasn’t one. Of course, this scandal did a fine job of halting all progress we made with hopeful clients. I can’t exactly blame all that on another department to get them back to the table, can I? As long as I work here, I represent the organization as a whole, and I’m bound to protect all of its interests, even when they conflict with each other. My initial thought on a solution would be to amputate every department involved with windows, including product development and current marketing structure. We should distance the successful branches from the unsuccessful ones, and then rebuild ourselves with entirely new teams. I know that sounds harsh, and a lot of people will lose their jobs, but we have to do something to save the company. We have to show our clients that we can still help them; that we own up to our mistakes, and that we have taken care of the problem. I don’t know for sure if this will help, but I do know that cowering behind lawyers, denial, and “no comment”s isn’t going to do any good. Other companies have tried that, and their public image, if not permanently ruined, takes years to recover. I’m right now mustering the courage to head upstairs and discuss this with the president. He’s a reasonable person, and would be the only one I have any hope of getting through to. Wish me luck.

Microstory 427: Floor 16 (Part 1)

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Before I started working for Analion, the instructions for their products were as boring as any other. There was no substance, no heart. They just told you how to install the windows or whathaveyou, and that’s it. Well, writing is not just about knowing where to put the commas. It has to take hold of the reader’s soul, and make it feel something it never has before. How do you do this? There are a number of different methods, the most common of which being metaphors. My boss told me that I’m not allowed to use metaphors—which I think defeats the purpose of life, but okay. So instead, I like to use little tricks to get the brain thinking in a new way. I order my words in unusual arrangements, and often leave words unsaid to lead the reader to make their own conclusions, and form their own opinions. I also like to do something most writers never would. I keep it short.

Microstory 426: Floor 17 (Part 1)

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The company has been building windows for so long that there’s really no longer a need for engineers on that front. If they asked me, I could come up with some new ideas for windows, but that’s not why they hired me. I am responsible for other products, namely our building designs. I was a primary driving force in the process of constructing our new headquarters, and participated greatly in the creation of other past projects. Could I have done something to prevent the deaths from on our defective products? If I had belonged to that department, definitely. I would have stopped the problem long before the project even made it to the fabrication stage. You wouldn't have even called it a problem; just an opportunity to tweak the design. I’m not the best engineer in the world by any stretch of the imagination, but I am good at what I do, and my projects don’t have problems. Rather, once we’ve released a finished product, that’s exactly what it is; finished. I can’t believe the windows team let this happen. Analion has been making windows since the beginning. My God, it was what we were best known for, until I came along with my headquarters design. How did this all start happening now? Well, it’s true that they’ve made minor design alterations, and I’m sure they did so recently, but those don’t effectively account for the deaths. At least they shouldn’t. No—and I’m not saying this because I have my colleagues’ backs—I suspect this to be user error. They say that 99% of the time, that’s what it is, and I believe it. No, I don’t think it’s statistically unlikely that several people across the country experienced the same problem. It certainly has something to do with our windows, and not through some kind of strange coincidence, I’ll give you that. I just can’t imagine the design for a product we’ve had for years could be responsible. Perhaps the instructions for installation were unclear. You know, some people just like to install those kinds of things themselves, who knows? That would my humble guess. But what do I know? I’m just a very well-educated engineer.