Voyage to Saga: Magnate (Part IX)

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The last thing that Vearden remembered was famous actor Steven Pasquale pushing his wheelchair down the hall of the abandoned whatever it was. He couldn’t tell if he just blacked out, or if The Shepherd simply apported him back to the hotel suite. Honestly, it could go either way. He could remember way back when. When being strapped to a chair that was bolted to the floor of a ship that was hanging over an apocalyptic cliff was the second worst thing that had ever happened to him. Now, the true lobotomy experience might be even worse than losing his best friend, Saga. At least he would soon get her back. His sanity, on the other hand, might never return. That was positively horrific, and he would never be able to forgive the Shepherd for putting him through it. It wasn’t like they were good friends before that, though.

“I understand how you feel,” the Shepherd said from her chaise.

By now, Vearden was—at least physically—nearly fully recovered. “No, you don’t.”

She became deeply serious. “You don’t know what I’ve been through. You have no idea who I am.”

“No matter what has been done to you, it does not give you the right to violate something like that. That isn’t right in any reality.”

“Fair point.” She waited for a moment. “I had a pretty nasty universe lined up for you next, but I’m going to cancel that one too. Instead, I’m going to give you a break. An easy one.”

“What makes it easy?”

“In your universe, you deal with time travelers. In two others, an airplane emergency, and in one, it was demons. This one is different. Like your last assignment, it takes place in a world resembling the one you lived in before you knew you were a salmon. Unlike that one, there will be no serial killers, or unethical medical procedures. There will be drama, but the most danger you’ll be in is from a paper cut.”

“That...actually kind of sounds nice.”

“It won’t be perfect. There is one catch.”

“What is that?”

“You’ll be staying there for roundabouts five years?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I need you to add to the drama, make things more complicated for the people you’ll be interacting with. Whereas before, there was a single moment where you could make a difference, here it’s more practical if you’re able to stick around for some time.”

“Okay...”

“You could skip it? Well...you could stop, that is.”

“And never see Saga again? No thanks, I’ll take the five years.”

“Very well.” She handed him a folder.

“Here is your forged documentation, complete with an alias, and fabricated history.”

“My alias is Vearden Haywood?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t see the point in changing your name since this is an entirely different universe.”

“Then it’s not an alias.”

“Whatever! Your human words are...whatever!” She clapped her hands in his face violently and yelled, “wake up!”

He blinked, and found himself awkwardly slouched toward his side in the back of a car. He felt groggy, and a little cold.

“Wake up, buddy. We’re here,” said the taxi driver.

“We are? Where’s here.”

“Magnate,” the driver replied. “Apparently it’s your first day? That’s what you said, anyway.”

“I did?” He started rubbing his eyes.

“Better get goin’. Don’t wanna be late.”

“No, wouldn’t want that.” He cleared his throat and climbed out of the cab.

“Hey, buddy!”

“Yeah?”

“Your briefcase?”

“Right.” He took the briefcase that wasn’t his from the seat, and closed the door.

He dodged a couple cars on his way across the street to a skyscraper with the word Magnate on the front. Once inside, he was met with an eerie feeling. It seemed more like a funeral, and less like an office building. Trying to blend in, he kept his head down, and made a beeline to the reception desk.

The security guard receptionist was on the phone at the time, speaking very quietly. He held up one finger to keep Vearden from interrupting. “Okay, I’ll let them know.—Yes, thank you, I’m sure the family appreciates it greatly.—Sorry, I cannot speak on that.—I cannot speak on that either.—Okay, we’ll give you a call back. Thank you.” He took in a deep breath, removed his glasses, and started massaging his eyes. He then finally looked up. “I’m sorry for the wait, sir. It’s just that the death is still fresh in all our minds.”

“It’s fine. I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank y—” he stopped to study Vearden’s face. “Your tone. It’s like you’re saying that to a relative.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you not know who died.”

“I...” Oh no, he’s been made. He kept his eyes glued to those of the guards, but tried to focus on his peripheral vision for a clue. A large painting was hanging behind the reception desk, with some kind of black ribbon underneath. He also remembered other gravesite and memorial objects; pictures, flowers, candles. He hadn’t given it much thought since he was so confused about just being there, but it was clear what had happened. He gestured towards the painting up above, of a stern and regal man who held himself proudly, and likely made people believe that he was reading their minds. “Of course I do. Sorry. It’s my first day, I didn’t know if you knew him personally, or what.”

“I’m just the security guard.”

“For all I know, you were his first hire?”

He was suspicious, but let it go. He put his glasses back on and prepared to type on his computer. “Name.”

“Vearden Haywood.”

“Oh, you’re the new shadow. Congratulations on your win. I’m sorry it came at such a bad time.”

“Eh...time, right?”

“Rrright.” He was still not sure of Vearden, but had found him in the system, and that was enough for now.

“You’ll be starting in the mailroom, but only be there for a few days. Building services will be next. I can print off your entire tentative work schedule.”

“That would be great, thanks.”

There was a minor commotion ever since he stepped into the building. It was quieter than other places with this many people, probably because of the recent death of who appeared to be the company’s founder, but still loud enough to notice when it suddenly became silent. Now only one sound could be heard. A woman in her early twenties was briskly walking from the elevators, to the desk. All eyes were on her. She was damn important. “Galen,” she said with a high level of authority.

“Yes, Miss Wallace.”

“Something...” She paused. “Something f—ed up has happened.” She censored herself. She actually pronounced only the beginning, and the ending of the word, and mouthed the letters in the middle. He knew at this moment, that his relationship with the nurse back in the fifteenth century of his home universe, meant next to nothing. Violante, was it? He could barely remember what she looked like. Not now that he had seen the face of this absolutely radiant Miss Wallace. He was already in love.

“What is it?”

“Mister Burke’s legacy is in jeopardy. I just got out of a meeting with his lawyer, and he just sprung this on me. My assistant is sick. Or dead too, who cares? I need someone to take notes for me.”

“Uh, I can take notes.” As soon as he said it, Vearden knew that he shouldn’t have. He was no one, and he should be as invisible as possible. He was pretty good at that, so why not now? Oh, that’s right. Love.

“Who are you?” she asked, somehow both sweet and critical at the same time.

“Um, Miss Wallace, this is Vearden Haywood. He won the contest. He’s our new shadow. He’ll be with us for the next year, moving from department to department.”

She started sizing him up. “So he has no real qualifications? Yeah, no thanks, you can stay in the cafeteria, or wherever you’re going.” She turned back to Galen, who was presumably looking into finding someone more suited for the position.

“I know shorthand.” Yeah, he shouldn’t have said that either. She was not letting him think clearly.

She started studying him again. “Impressive. What type? Pitman? Gregg?”

“Shelton.”

She was taken aback by this, which was a reasonable reaction to meeting a modern-day person being familiar with Shelton short-writing. It was something he picked up back when he was living in the 18th century. He was just glad she had heard of it in this universe. Some things never change, even really innocuous things.

“That’s weird, Vardan.”

“It’s Vearden.”

“Why do you know Shelton?”

“I’m kind of a history buff.” If she only knew what his life was really like, that would be a good joke.

She thought about it for a moment. Vearden could see Galen’s hand hovering over his keyboard, waiting for her to make a decision. “I suppose you would eventually find your way up to the top floor anyway,” she finally said. “Might as well start today. Manus would have hired you in a second, just for knowing tachygraphy. He was the best kind of crazy, and would appreciate us bringing in someone completely random for this situation.”

“Thank you,” Vearden said. “I won’t let you down.”

“We’ll see.” It was only then that she realized everyone had stopped what they were doing when she showed up. She spread her arms out and lowered her head as she looked at them. “Who here works in the lobby?” she asked rhetorically, but still had to wait for them to take the hint. “Get to your workstations,” she ordered.

They did so.

Miss Wallace looked back at Galen as she was leading Vearden away. “He can get his badge later.”

He was having trouble keeping up, but her tendency to walk fast was one of her more attractive qualities. “I want to thank you for this opportunity.”

She ignored him. “I’m going to talk to you like you’re an alien, okay? I have to assume that you know nothing about this company. But as soon as we step in that conference room, you act like you’re the foremost expert in all things Magnate, and Manus Burke, okay? Don’t talk. Don’t even look at anyone, but hold yourself like a seasoned professional. As Manus would say...act like ya been there.

“Got it.”

“Manus Burke was born in 1948. He started this company when he was only nineteen years old. He named it after himself, but combined it with the name of his favorite high school teacher, Nathan Lister, with whom he was rumored to have once been in a relationship. My grandmother needed money, so even though he didn’t need one, he hired her as his assistant. My mother took over when she retired, and I took over right out of college last year.”

“I’m sorry, you were his assistant? And you had an assistant?”

She stopped walking. “Yeah, is that a problem?”

“No, no, of course not.”

“I wasn’t just his assistant. My mother and grandmother practically ran the company with him during their tenure. They were more like partners, but the board of directors would have to vote on that sort of thing, and there were all sorts of legal issues, so it’s more of the company’s worst kept secret.”

“I understand,” Vearden said. That was really the only thing he truly understood about this universe.

“We’re almost there. So I’m just going to prepare you for what’s coming next, at least to the best of my ability.” She had to take a moment to compose herself as the elevator doors were opening. “I am evidently about to meet two women who are reportedly Manus Burke’s estranged daughters. From what I understand, they don’t even know each other, let alone who their father was, but they’re about to be handed a multi-billion dollar global organization.”

“And you think you should take over instead.”

She just placed her hand on the door handle and looked at him.

“I don’t know you, but it sure sounds like you’re the most qualified.”

That might have created a smile, but he couldn’t quite tell.

“I’m Gretchen, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Gretchen Wallace, sir.”

Vearden then spent the next five years working for Magnate, and being married to Gretchen Wallace for two of them.

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Microstory 540: Telepathic Students Cheating on Tests

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A conspiracy was uncovered two days ago by the SDS. A few weeks ago, teachers started noticing an inexplicable rise in high scores from several of their students. Instead of being but a fluke, the number only grew from there. Eventually it seemed like the entire school was scoring higher than they ever had before. No amount of teacher competence could account for this. They were, however, unable to find any proof of what was happening, or really that anything was helping at all. None of the students was talking. Believing there to be a possibility that this was the result of some phenomenal technological advancement, the school administration contacted the Secret Detectives of Science. An elite team, infamous for having broken many unusual cases in the past, arrived at the school, and rather quickly discovered the truth. These students were not passing notes, nor were they wearing bionics, or even just taking illegal memory-enhancement drugs. They were communicating with each other...telepathically.

More specifically, the students were communicating with a single individual named Rufus Durante. Rufus is an eleven-year-old homeschooled boy who lives on the edge of Bellevue. An exceptional student, his parents did not feel like any school could provide him with the care he needed to excel. His family has known him to invent a great many things during his free time, some of which may be found in your home. What they didn’t know was what his latest creation was. He recently developed a natural form of telepathic communication. Customers first have their brainwaves analyzed by a scanner. They are then strapped into a brainwave therapy machine, which conditions their neural patterns to accept a level of telepathy without further technological aid. Once this noninvasive procedure is complete, they are semi-permanently connected to the network. This allows them to contact each other remotely, as if making a simple phone call. Each call is routed first through Durante, like an operator from the late seventeenth century. It should be noted that Durante underwent a more invasive procedure. In order to maintain his status as telepathic operator, he needed to implant a special governing device in his wrist. It has yet to be removed.

New customers were required to go through a training program so as to not give the secret away. Without this, each time they connected to the network, they would not be able to concentrate on anything else, producing suspicion from those around them. With enough practice, this process can be seamless, with no one around a telepath having any idea that anything is happening. As of now, Rufus Durante has been taken into custody, as have his parents for negligence. It is unclear what will become of the family. Research of this magnitude is heavily regulated, and cannot be done without some level of oversight. The fact that it involves a medical procedure makes the situation more severe, but the fact that it was created by a child makes it complicated. Durante was able to keep track of his customer base in his head, so very few of them have been found. The SDS is currently working on other ways of determining which students participated, but it unlikely that they will face criminal charges. They will, however, likely suffer from punishment by the school administration.

Microstory 539: Last Human Alive Writes News Article

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It has been years, or perhaps hours, since I realized that I was alone. I’m not sure what told me first, but either way, I know this to be true, without a single bit of doubt. All my life, there has been this...sense of belonging. I didn’t realize it existed until I was alone. Completely alone. I’ve never felt particularly like I could relate to other people, or that they ever really understood me, but it wasn’t until they were gone that I discovered this wasn’t true. There is some force, some network of interconnectedness that binds us together. Or rather there was, but that is over now. Hi. My name is Not Important, and I am the last human on this planet. I don’t mean to say that what people call me isn’t important. Nor do I mean that I was literally given that name at birth. But ever since the last of my kind died—before me, of course, that is—everyone has called me Not Important. And now you ask, dear reader—voyager of the universe, uncoverer of my final message, protector of my race, and lightbringer to the ignorant—if you are the last of your kind, who exactly is calling you anything? I am the last human, but I am not the last person.

We were overwhelmed by a new race of beings. They did not come from the sky, or the sea, or some other dimension. They came from our laboratories. They came from ourselves. Some of them are bad, while others are not that great. One thing they have in common, however, is that they were not—or at least didn’t think they were—capable of surviving while we were still around. Some of them killed us, while others assimilated us into themselves. A few of us, I think, managed to leave the planet entirely. I’m not certain how they did that, or where they went. If you ever find them in your travels, oh beautiful explorers—archaeologists of dead civilizations, seekers of treasure and knowledge, mirror-holders—please warn them that this place remains unsafe, even to this day. I do not believe it will ever return to what it once was. The others have left me alone. They reject my name, and choose to call me Not Important, because they don’t think I am...and I am inclined to agree. Still, I protest in my own way, by enforcing their beliefs, and using their own insults to me against them. I wonder what you think of what I’ve written, my last words to the cosmos, you wanders—accidental understanders, breakers of probability, navigators of vastness—how are you taking me? This is a news article that I’ve written, and it is about the fact that I have written a news article, which is possibly too circular for you, masters of time and space. So perhaps I should write a second article, and have this article here be about that one. But then the headline is wrong, for it is a premonition, not a news story. News is all about the past, never the future. Maybe that doesn’t matter to you, or to me, or to the Important Ones. I think I shall let it go and live out my life. My life. In this cell. An enemy to my left, an enemy to my right. If they do not read this, who will? Yes, it will be you, the living promise that life always goes on—finders of my story, readers of my story, tellers of my story. Thank you.

Microstory 538: Small Military Contingency Remains to Help Keres

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This is a special report. Please disseminate this information to every human on Keres, and take care to keep it away from the eyes of demons. Recently, a small military contingency arrived with a rescue team on a space-capable vessel from the homeworld. Details are unclear, but what we know is that two of their people were living here, and needed to return home. We do not know how they arrived in the first place, but we of course, allowed them to go back. From what we understand, our homeworld is dealing with massive civil unrest on a global scale. The entire planet is suffering from an uprising, and a war. The rescuers were forced to leave us so that they could end their own problems. Fortunately, the military security team sent to protect them has decided that their charges no longer require their help. They have instead chosen to remain on Keres and help us as they can with our demon problem. Our people now have the best way of fighting against our oppressors than we have in the last several centuries. More bulletins will be spread as news comes in. For now, they are holding strong in the Tirane camp, evidently having chosen this as their new base of operations. Anyone interested in supporting our cause must take caution when crossing the desolands in between camps. Transportation may be provided at a later date if technologically possible.

Microstory 537: What Will Happen When Mosi Jengo Dies?

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It has been a couple decades now since Bellevue—the organization responsible for collecting and distributing people with extraordinary abilities—first revealed its truth. Since then, we’ve all had our ups and downs, but in the end, true progress was made. Each anomaly was placed in a particular department, with only a few left over who chose some other vocation, or existed on the fringes of society. Today, I’m going to talk about Mosi Jengo. Jengo was born to a poor family of wheat farmers. Misunderstanding the properties of his own power, he inadvertently killed his mother with lightning in an attempt to protect her from an attacker. Following this traumatic event, he was taken under the wing of the leader of the gang that first attacked them. Together, they used Jengo’s abilities to alter weather patterns across all of Tanzania, eventually fixing the entire country’s economy.

Jengo was soon recruited into Bellevue, like many before him, and expanded his power. He ultimately developed the strength and focus to monitor and adjust the global climate itself, and this is what he does with his life on a regular basis. But what happens when Mosi Jengo dies. Other anomaly abilities have been studied and recreated using technology. Francis Deering helped doctors and scientists understand how to perform more advanced sex reassignment operations. Extremely reliable augmented reality was developed on the basis of Quang Phan’s ability to superimpose information on his environment with his eyesight alone. Bree Nolan’s ability to inherently understand family trees led to instantaneous genetic testing techniques. For some reason that this writer cannot understand, Mosi Jengo has never participated in such experimentation. It would seem that Bellevue, and the world governments, are content to have him control the weather for them. What’s the endgame here? How can this method be at all sustainable? The important question here is the one I asked that caught your attention to this article...what happens when Mosi Jengo inevitably dies? What will the world do then?

Microstory 536: Meganexa Completed, Core Construction Finished

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Two-thousand and four hundred years ago, the largest project in the Lactean galaxy began. Over the course of the millennia preceding this endeavor, races from many planets started finding each other. We shared technologies, initiated trade agreements, and started a few wars; nothing too serious. Faster-than-light travel is practically effortless. Put a little energy in, flip over to a simplex dimension, and regain all the energy you lost while inside...enough to get you back out, and then back in again later. Still, it would never have been the difficulty of interaction that bothered us. The fact of the matter is that we love each other, and we wanted to be closer together. And so a plan was formed. We would abandon our respective planets, for the most part, and move into one solar system. But what system could that be? An average of 3.4 planets can be found within the habitable zone of any given solar system. That’s technically enough space for everyone, if we were to be really clever with megastructures, but we didn’t want to have to do that. We wanted space, and we wanted it to be perfect. Nature just doesn’t accommodate such a dream, and as they say, if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself.

Fortunately, with our combined technological prowess, and our capacity for patience, we didn’t need to find a solar system large enough for this new culture. We could just build it ourselves. We spent about a hundred years doing nothing but drawing up plans. Architects from all over submitted their visions. Discussions and bureaucracy took up a lot of time. Public perception needed to be adjusted, and acceptance achieved. Just because a group of dreamers thought something was a good idea, didn’t mean that everyone would, or like what we came up with. We would have to play the long game, and not all of us have chosen a post-organic virtual immortality lifestyle. Some people still choose to eventually die, so asking them to help with a project they won’t be alive to see completed is not entirely reasonable. After the planning stages were finished, though, we could finally begin construction.

We formed an entirely new star, one generated by siphoning off energy from the simplex dimensions. This allows us greater control over solar weather, and ultimately creates a more hospitable environment. After that was done, we started building planets and moons. When you can manipulate gravity itself, you don’t have to be limited to a single planet in a single orbit. You can squeeze them in together, and watch as they perpetually follow each other around the star, neither one ever catching up with the other. All in all, we built 121 planets, with a total of 400 moons. Some of these carry atmosphere, while others rely on self-sustaining enclosures. Some are for living, some are for food, and one planet is just for parties, and other special events.

Four years ago, primary architect, Cillian Hême reluctantly stood before a press conference, and announced the official completion of our great new system. But he was not satisfied with this. He felt that something was missing. Then he saw it. The vorther planets. Two sentries floating farthest from our host star, used for deep space telemetry, and not much else. They’re also only marginally more helpful as a warning system than anything else we have, and only if a threat arrives in realtime from a limited set of directions. They were really only built for the symmetry. But Hême realized that they could be used for something else. Though intergalactic travel can be done with a ship, it still takes some time. Our most efficient form of travel is using a Nexus machine. Unfortunately, these are rather small, and accommodate only a handful of people, or minimal cargo. If, on the other hand, we altered the plans by several orders of magnitude, we could drill a giant hole in the vorthers, and create a new kind of Nexus. We call them the Meganexa, and they allow vast numbers of ships, or one gargantuan ship, to travel to the far reaches of space nearly instantaneously. Today, Cillian Hême stood proudly at his podium, and announced that this marks the true completion of the Core project. We now have a fully functional star system, and we couldn’t have done it without the hard work and sacrifice of people who died long ago. A system wide party is being planned on Arion within one month’s time. Details will arrive at a later date, but literally everyone is invited. Somehow, we’ll fit all hundreds of billions of us on one planet.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 3, 2118

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Over the course of the next couple of hours, the first immortal remained motionless on the ground. Mateo felt bad about hoping he was dead, but was also sort of over that kind of guilt. It wasn’t really helpful to strive for what he was before becoming a salmon. He needed to move forward, and sometimes, in a world like this, certain deaths can produce benefits. While he was waiting for confirmation, Mateo fought against his chains, little by little wearing them down. They were crudely bolted into the wall of the sorry excuse for a cave, and he was actually having some luck, but then the first immortal woke up, and it was over. Without even looking up, the immortal crawled over to a stake in the ground, pulled the chain attached to it towards his chest, and eventually managed to lock it around Mateo’s leg. Mateo didn’t really know what the point of that was. He wasn’t making that much progress with his current chains, and either way, he would be free of whatever the immortal used after the jump into next year. Well, he was wrong about that last part.

The immortal released him from his wall chains, and let him roam in a few meter radius, presumably because it would be easier to construct five sides of Mateo’s new prison, rather than having to contend with a rock face. Following the jump to 2118, Mateo found himself in yet another cell, this one made of wood and lashings. It wasn’t as roomy as the one Reaver threw him in a long time ago in an alternate reality Australia, and it wasn’t as hospitable as the government sanctioned Topeka jail cell his cousin, Danica kept him in. It was, however, sturdy and impenetrable. The immortal had been provided an entire year to perfect it, so he had taken advantage. It actually wasn’t technically just the one cell. The cube he was in was probably nine foot by nine foot, with a shallow pit dug into the center. It was surrounded by another cube about eleven by eleven foot. The third was likely thirteen by thirteen. They weren’t completely hollow either. Each cube had a narrow passageway that wrapped all the way around until reaching the door to the next one.

“Redundancy,” the immortal said while sipping something out of a coconut-like fruit. “You might get out of one cube, but then what are you gonna do? How much time do you think it’ll take you, and how much time do you think I spend hunting away from camp?”

“I get it,” Mateo responded. “You’re a clever boy.”

“That I am. I have been around for...quite awhile.”

“How old are you?”

“All the old. Every old.”

“Cute.” He did his best to look apathetic, when in reality, it was nice to have some conversation. “Got a name?”

“Ambrosios.”

“Ambrosios what?”

“Just Ambrosios. We didn’t have last names when I was born.”

Mateo nodded. “I see. Well, it doesn’t seem that we were properly introduced. My name is Mateo Matic. They did have last names when I was born.”

He didn’t say anything.

“What do you want with me?”

“I’ve not yet figured that out. All I know is that this is my island, I want to leave it, and you may be able to help me with that.”

“I am salmon. I cannot go anywhere. We're stuck on this island, and this planet…together. Like a cross between Hell in the Pacific, and Enemy Mine. You may as well let me go. I neither can, nor would, hurt you. Besides, if I’m free from here, I’ll be able to feed myself.”

“Who said I’ll be feeding you?”

He thought about this for a cool minute. Obviously that was entirely up to Ambrosios. He could let Mateo starve, and probably wouldn’t even be bothered by it. But it was possible he would, with a little encouragement. “Your heart told me.”

This made Ambrosios legitimately smile, which was probably something he rarely did in a place like this.

“Please,” Mateo continued. “I’m only here for one day every year. You’ll only have to worry about me during those days. For the rest of your time, you’ll be completely safe.”

“I won’t be safe, not from the rhinos.”

“There are rhinos on this planet?”

“They’re not actual rhinos, that’s just what I call them, because they have no name of their own.”

“Well...you’ll be completely safe from me. In fact, you’re safe even while I’m around. I am not a violent man. Xearea can attest to that.”

“Who?”

“Just a friend. You never knew her.”

Ambrosios didn’t speak for some time as he was chowing down on what could have been alien rhino meat. “I worked really hard on that cell,” he spoke with his mouth full.

“And it’s very impressive. We could use it for something else, like a cage for your livestock, or bait for the rhinos.”

“You really want out of there, don’t you? It’s been, what, five minutes? Wuss.”

“I have this thing about being locked up. It is not my first time.”

Ambrosios set down his food and approached, still chewing. “My immortality is wearing off.” He paused. “But it has not worn off yet. You will not be able to kill me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I really wouldn’t.”

“Get in the fetal position in the pit. Close your eyes.”

Mateo did as he was told and waited as Ambrosios slowly unlocked the series of redundant openings. He didn’t unlock the last one, though. Instead, he threw the key into the pit with Mateo. “You can do the rest.”

As Mateo was standing back up, he could see Ambrosio make his way out of the cage maze. Mateo unlocked the final padlock, and started following him, but was careful to not make any sudden movements, or appear at all threatening.

Ambrosios grabbed his bow, and some arrows. “I’m going hunting. When I get back, all of my belongings better still be here...and you better not be. If I ever see you again, I’m shooting you on the spot.”

“Fair enough.” Once Ambrosios was gone, he stole a few pieces of fruit that he couldn’t see growing in the nearby area, and ran off in the opposite direction.

Shelter. He need to find shelter. He didn’t need it to be that great, but it needed to stand up for years, and it needed to already exist, because he didn’t have much time on his hands. It was growing dark, and Mateo was starving, having long ago finished the last of what he decided to call lionfruit. He came across a few signs of life; wooden cups, broken handcrafted chairs, an empty lighter. Either Ambrosia had come here with a few things, or others had been here at some point. He started thinking about what else would be on this planet. Leona said it would have to be about the size of Earth in order to have the same gravity and temporal durations. Xearea had said something earlier about the mainland. Was it inhabited? Was this just a regular planet with natives, going about their days with no clue that humans were in a few disparate places? What kind of technology did they possess. Were they aware of time travel? Were these thoughts at all useful to him? They did at least protect him from dwelling too much on his hunger, so that was something.

As twilight was nearing its end, he found a short tree with more lionfruit. He grabbed a few and started carrying them in his shirt before continuing on. Shelter was still number one priority. He couldn’t build a fire until he knew where it should go. As he was savoring every moment of one lionfruit, he nearly ran into something. No, it wasn’t something, it was someone. The newcomer had presumably been focusing on the Compass of Disturbance, but it wasn’t The Navigator. No, it was Mateo Matic himself. He had run into his own doppelgänger. The two Matics stared at each other for a few seconds. The true Mateo cleared his throat and wiped some juice from his chin. Navigator Mateo looked back at his compass and walked past without saying a word. Mateo found his breath again, and then moved on as well. Leona’s fourth rule for time travel, avoid alternate versions of yourself. He would try to forget about the encounter as best he could, paranoid that anything short of total obliviousness could result in the collapse of the spacetime continuum.

Just before it was too dark to really see where he was going, he noticed a glint of light. After clearing some reddish-green brush and other debris, he could see that it was coming from the metallic surface of a vehicle. The car was just sitting here on the edge of the woods, possibly from having been left for decades. Rust had formed on the all around, and the engine wouldn’t start, even with the key in the ignition. According to the gauge, there did appear to be gas in the tank, but the battery must have died. Welp, there was no way to charge it here, and it wasn’t like the gas could still be potent after all this time? Could it? No, probably not. It was, however, a good enough shelter. He also found a few supplies in the trunk; a first aid kit, jump starter cables, a blanket, a case of bottled water, and a few miscellaneous items. Someone must have been driving around one day when they accidentally fell into a temporal rift, ending up here. This 1985 Toyota Camry could have been new at the time of arrival, but right now, it was just going to be where Mateo slept.

He built a fire on the beach and sat there for a few minutes before realizing that it was kind of pointless. There was nothing to boil the water in, because what did plastic do when heated again? Heh, science, right? He just drank it plain, and hoped he wouldn’t get sick. Or he could get sick, whatever. Did it really matter at this point in his life? He put the fire out, grabbed the blanket, and crawled into the backseat.

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