Microstory 1024: Rufus

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Most kids in my class think that I was held back in school, but that’s not what happened. I was just born at a weird time of the year, and missed the cutoff date by this much. So I’m really only a few months older than everyone else. Despite what they believe, I’m not dumb at all. It is they who are dumb. I can’t tell you how many of them ask me to buy beer, and not ironically either. Anyway, I live alone. My parents took a vacation in Seattle a few years ago, and fell in love with the place. They wanted to move there pretty much right away, but two things were holding them back: my grandparents, and me. One of those problems was solved when my uncle retired, and agreed to take over the caregiving duties. The other was solved when I became an adult. We had a lot of long conversations, but I adamantly encouraged them to follow their dreams, which they had done for me faithfully my whole life. They finally agreed to it, and left. Meanwhile, I’m still here, finishing my schooling. I’ve applied to a couple colleges in the Northwest, but haven’t heard back from any yet. I don’t need to move back in with them, but I would like to be close. There’s nothing keeping me in Blast City, that’s for sure. But you don’t want to know about me, you asked after my relationship with Viola. Well, I do have one pretty good story. As soon as my parents left, the house turned to crap. I had always been the one to do most of the basic chores around the house, and never had much problem with it, but I didn’t realize until then that I was really doing for their benefit. I suddenly had little motivation to keep the place nice and tidy. But now there were dishes piled up in the sink so high that I couldn’t reach the faucet. It was really bad, and the worst of it was the little mouse that kept leaving presents for me at night. I got this crazy idea to catch it, and keep it as a pet. I bought a little plastic cage for him, and everything, which he seemed to like. Our life together was going great until I had clean said cage, and he scurried out. No problem, I thought, I’ll just catch him again. Except that mice are like the people of the tiny world. They’re incredibly smart, and incredibly good at learning. He somehow figured out how to keep his hind legs planted outside of the trap, and lick the peanut butter off the back plate, so the lid wouldn’t be able to close on him. Either that, or he made friends with the cricket that’s been misguidedly trying to serenade me to sleep every night, and convinced it to haul the peanut butter out for Peanut Butter. Oh, I named the mouse Peanut Butter, by the way. For whatever reason, I felt put on the spot when it came time to come up with a proper thing to call him, and a jar of peanut butter was logically sitting in front of me.

Back to the story, my former pet continued to torment me over the course of the next few weeks. I found more presents on the counters, and could hear him rustling the newspapers in the middle of the night. I cleaned my house like no one has ever cleaned before, I tell ya, but nothing would get Peanut Butter to leave. Well, Viola came over one time to borrow a yarmulke—ya know she never told me why she needed it, and she never had the chance to give it back. Hm. That’s fine, because she managed to find a bag of mouse feed I had forgotten I was storing in the very back of an old cupboard I don’t use for anything else. I was feeding Peanut Butter the entire time! That’s why he wasn’t leaving! What a relief, right? Well, that’s not the end of it. A few days pass, and everything seems fine, but I walk downstairs to get some water one night, and there’s Peanut Butter. He’s just sitting on the tile of my kitchen, chillin’ like a villain. I know the trap won’t work. Even if I set it back up, I have little guarantee he’ll decide to climb into it after all this. So I grab a little plastic bowl I used to eat cereal from as a child, and hover over him for, like, five minutes. I just keep thinking that, no matter how fast I go, he’ll be faster. He just needs three centimeters before he’s under the oven, and gone forever. But eventually, I swing my arm down, and plant it on the floor. He’s in, good. I start to slide a piece of cardboard under it to keep him from escaping again, but I see red. There’s red stuff on the floor. Oh no, I’ve injured him; badly by the looks of it. Afraid of what I’ll find, I carry him out the door to the blistering cold—in nothing but my underwear—and open the bowl. He’s seemingly alive, but he’s not running away. In fact, when I try to walk back to the house, he follows me. I think he grew quite fond of me, and probably didn’t realize what he was doing when he escaped. It didn’t matter, though. The blood loss, and the cold cold; it was too much for him. I watched him fall to his little chin, and stop moving. Still half naked, I find a shovel in the toolshed, and dig him a little grave right there. Viola, like a psychic, randomly shows up, and says a few words in Peanut Butter’s honor. Then she leaves, and I go back to bed. The next morning, I wake up to the news that Viola’s body was found facedown in Masters Creek. She was killed before sunset the day before. I still don’t understand how that’s possible.

Microstory 1023: Arend

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Death is nothing new to me. Some people never get over it, but others kind of become immune. I’ve lost literally everyone in my family, except maybe a few second cousins that I’ve never met. My father to cancer, my mother to a mining accident, my big sister to war, my little sister to before she was even born. Two of my grandparents were dead before I was old enough to remember them, and the other two passed shortly after. I kept being passed around to uncles and aunts until all of those were exhausted too. From suicide to murder, it’s all happened to me. They call it the Eagle family curse, and it’s been haunting me my entire life. I eventually ran out of relatives, and had to get myself emancipated. It wasn’t even that hard. I didn’t have to do much to prove that I could support myself. All those family deaths left me several inheritances, and a couple of life insurance payouts. If I weren’t so careless, I could survive a normal person’s lifespan without having a single job, but I figured I wouldn’t last that long anyway. For the longest time, I would wait for the day the curse came for me. But then I realized that it wouldn’t be a very good curse if it wiped us out completely. An evil witch, or a dark wizard, from centuries ago would have programmed a sole survivor, so the bloodline could continue. I’m the lucky duck for this generation. I’ve never tried to kill myself, or anything, but a couple years ago, I started testing my limits. I became one of those daredevils you hear about that don’t record their stunts, or even get other people to watch. I tried all sorts of drugs, often without knowing what I was taking, and picked fights with people twice my size. Just like I thought, nothing would kill me. I’m invincible until I have at least one kid, which of course, I never plan on doing. I turned eighteen a couple months before Viola died, which brings us to the one significant experience I shared with her.

My self-destructive behavior has made me not so popular amongst my classmates. Not even the other wastoids want me around, which means I don’t have anyone that I can trust. It was Viola who drove me to and from the procedure. Well, she tried anyway. You have to be eighteen years old to get a vasectomy, but the fact that I set the appointment for my birthday, and hadn’t ever shown the maturity to make any healthy decision before, no doctor would agree to do it. I tried half the surgeons in Mineral County, but those sneaky snakes all play golf together, or whatever, so I never stood a chance. But Viola was a trouper. She kept calling for appointments, and driving me to the ones that at least agreed to a consult. In the end, I never got it done, but now I don’t think I have to, thanks again to Viola Woods. I don’t think she ever believed that my family had a curse, but it wasn’t in her nature to argue with people’s convictions. If I couldn’t get a vasectomy, than there was really only one option for me, according to her. I just had to never have sex for the rest of my life. Sure, I could try to just be celibate, but one drunken night sitting next to a pretty stranger at a bar, and I’ve just doomed an innocent child to go through what I did. I had never really put much faith in religion, but it was my last resort. After high school, I’m going to join a monastery. Being around other people who are in an exclusive relationship with God is the only way I’ll be able to get through it without screwing it up. I don’t know why, but Viola planned it all out for me. They’re already expecting me this summer. Here’s a picture of the place; isn’t it lovely? Maybe there isn’t really a curse at all, but if there’s even a chance it’s true, they are the only people I can trust to help. The only question now is, what am I going to do with all this money? Viola would know.

Microstory 1022: Ray of Hope

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The way I’ve been told, my parents thought I was going to be a girl until the moment I was born, and they discovered the truth. Apparently, the ultrasound technician made a big mistake when he made the call. He was reportedly extremely afraid for his job for this mistake, but my parents made sure he was safe, because they were and are very good people. Still, they had spent a whole year intending me to be called Hope, and they were never really able to let go of that. They settled on officially naming me Ray, as in ray of hope? But mom always just shortened it all the way back to Hope, which I didn’t fully appreciate until she died. Once that happened, I started asking people to call me that, in honor of her. And that brings us to Viola. She’s the one who suggested I try that out, actually. I don’t know how she knew that was even a thing, because we weren’t friends at all, but it was a good idea. I was a little worried about it, because people can be so judgmental, ya know? But kids here aren’t that bad. It ain’t exactly 1987 anymore, though, so I shouldn’t have been so surprised. Once Viola died, her friends were so distraught that I decided I needed to be the one to spearhead the social dedication to her. I took over all over her social media accounts, and transformed them into tributes. Of course, her family held their own funeral service, but I planned a memorial event at the school, and I’m currently working on the yearbook salute. I kept thinking that people who knew her better would get mad at me about it, and try to get me to stop, but I suppose they’re all just grateful they didn’t have to do it themselves. No one likes having to be so distant and professional about the legacy of their loved ones, and I was happy to help in the best way I could. If she were here, I think she would recommend I look into channeling my skills into a career. I could work at a funeral home, or I could start a private business that’s just designed to help showcase the lives of my clients’ loved ones. Yeah, I think both Viola and my mother would like that.

Microstory 1021: Florence

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When I was very young, I would watch my parents get drunk every week. And when they did that, they would always act stupid, and often break something. The next morning, they would promise themselves they would never do it again, but if it was Saturday, they would be right back at it the next night, and if it was Sunday, they would do it again on Friday. I don’t know what happened to them that made them stop, but one day, we packed up, and moved to Blast City. They have been the epitome of civil ever since, so much so that no one until today has ever known anything about our real past. Anyway, either because I saw how bad things can get when you drink, or I saw how much better my parents were when they got sober, I don’t do it myself. In fact, I’m infamous for being a designated driver. I tell everyone I know that, if they ever find themselves drunk away from home, they can always call me for a ride. No one ever takes me up on that, partially because the town itself is literally small, so it’s not that hard to walk from one end to the other, but also because no one really pays attention to me. We also have a couple drivers for one of those ride-sourcing companies, and they kinda need the money, so that’s fine. Well, I don’t know exactly what went down, but Viola took me up on my offer once. She called me from some bar in Coaltown, totally wasted. I could barely understand what she was saying, and when she tried to text me the address, it wasn’t even comprehensible. I had to ask a random guy walking down the street which bar she would be talking about. Well, this was the dead of winter; probably the coldest night of the year. Yeah, it was, we had that winter storm that took school off the table for, like, a week. You weren’t here yet, I guess, but it was real bad. So bad, that the ice ran us off the road, and into a tree. The force of the crash, plus the weight of the snow, knocked a branch right on top of my car. I couldn’t even start it again, so there we were, freezing our asses off, alone in the dark. I called a tow service, but since the conditions were no better throughout the county, it was a long time before anyone could show up. Fortunately, ever the girl scout, I was prepared with emergency water, a med kit, and blankets. We ended up crawling into the backseat, and cuddling together for body heat. Before you stick your head in the gutter, nothing happened. She passed out thirty minutes before the truck arrived, and hauled us out. She was so messed up that she didn’t even remember that any of it happened, but I didn’t have to prove it to her, because I took pictures for insurance purposes. I suppose I have the magic touch, because according to a lot of classmates, she didn’t have one more drop of alcohol the rest of her life. That’s what really gets me about this whole thing, because if they found drugs in her system, she was not the one who put them there. I don’t believe it. There’s something we don’t know about what happened by the river that fateful day, and I don’t understand why they seem to not be trying to figure it out.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 8, 2215

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Vitalie was watching Mateo and Leona intently during breakfast, with a big smile on her face. Étude was there, but was notably less excited. Ramses was off doing apparent work somewhere, but that wasn’t fooling anyone. “We all know you’re going to reveal the ship after this, Vitalie. It’s not like it’s a secret.”

“Shh, don’t ruin the surprise,” Vitalie scolded.

“I just told you, it’s not a sur—”

“Hush, darling.”

“You don’t know the name of it,” Étude pointed out.

“That’s true,” Leona agreed.

“Now, you’re the one who actually built it, right?” Mateo asked. “What did Ram need to do then?”

“I could use my mother’s power to construct the frame and shell of the vessel, and I could bring in a few random pieces, like seats, but it’s Ram who you need to make it work. The jury is split about whether I could build the entire thing single-handedly if I had the technical expertise to do so. I’m not convinced, though. Some details are just too specific. I don’t use hardware, ya know. There is not even one screw on the parts that I built. If I want two pieces to connect to each other, I basically teleport them to the exact same point in space, which causes them to be merged.”

“You could kill someone like that,” Mateo noted, which may have been an inappropriate remark.

“I could.” Then she jerked her head and hands towards him, threateningly but jokingly. Still, it did cause him to flinch, and her to giggle. “But any teleporter or apporter can send someone to the bottom of the ocean, or the top of a cliff. Is object merging really any more dangerous than that?” Probably not.

“Are you finished?” Vitalie asked, just as excited as ever.

“No,” Leona said plainly.

“I’m ready,” Mateo said, wanting to stay in his new friends’ good graces.

Leona started eating real slow-like, just to irritate Vitalie. She finally had to be done, however, and the whole group went out to the hangar.

A thin sheet was draped over a vaguely gumdrop-shaped object that was maybe eight meters wide. Ramses was waiting for them at the top of a set of movable stairs. “Ladies and gentleman,” he announced, “I present to you...” He took a pair of hedge shears, and reached over to clip something at the very tip of the ship. The sheet slid off on all sides, exposing the vessel Mateo and Leona would be taking to Jungula, and probably later Earth. “The Ocasio-Cortez.” Beautiful. He offered the group to follow him through the airlock, so he could give them the tour. They were in a circular room with a oddly-shaped table in the center that was about two and a half meters wide. “It’s designed for six people, but you could fit twelve, if you were willing to pair up in the grave chambers.”

“Grave chambers?” Mateo questioned, worried.

Ram knelt down and slid open a hatch in the floor. “One meter deep with a king sized bed, and storage on the sides.”

“Little privacy,” Leona guessed.

“The floor is completely soundproof,” Étude explained as she stomped her feet demonstratively. “You could have a screaming match in one of those things, and nobody else would hear it.”

Ramses pointed to other parts of the floor. “There are six of them in total.”

“Do we need that many?” Mateo questioned.

“Might could be,” Ramses said, standing back up. “You’ll need at least two for now. Étude, Vitalie, offer still stands.”

“You’re really not coming?” Leona asked.

“We’re gonna stick around here,” Étude said. “I promise you and I will see each other again one day, though.”

“Who is your seer?” Leona asked, shaking her head.

“They prefer to remain totally anonymous. Not even other psychics are aware of this person, because they’re capable of shielding themselves. Danica is the only other one who knows about them, and they only revealed themselves to me because I saved their life once.”

“Well, we’re both going to miss you,” Mateo said sincerely. “This is a wonderful ship you’ve created for us.”

“It was inspired by an old show I watched when I was catching up on Earthan culture,” Vitalie said proudly.

Leona nodded understandingly. “Dollhouse.”

“Now that you’re back,” Ramses began as he was walking over to a computer terminal, “wanna run a final diagnostics check with me?”

“Definitely,” Leona answered. “I need to familiarize myself with the systems.”

“We procured magboots, but I’m hoping the temporal sharing gravity drive...” Ramses started explaining, leaving the other three to glaze over and get bored.

While Leona and Ramses were making sure the ship didn’t blow up when they tried to take off, Mateo filled the Ocasio-Cortez with homely belongings, as well as journey supplies. They didn’t have much with them anymore, but they didn’t need much. Vitalie was helping him.

“What are these tubey things filled with green bubbling water?”

“It’s algae,” Vitalie replied. “I think it produces oxygen, and feeds plants? I’m not sure how it works. You’re asking the wrong girl.”

“Well, then I’ll ask you something you would know. What are you going to do here on Doma?”

“We’re going to contribute positively to society.”

“Do you think you’ll ever go back home?”

“I lived on Durus, The Warren, and Earth, before coming here. I have no real home.”

“So, maybe this is it.”

“Maybe. Where will you go after Bungula?”

“That’s not up to me. It’s not up to either of us.”

“Ah yes, these mysterious powers that be.”

“Do you think you can fly a ship far enough away from them, so they can’t control you anymore? Durus was too far away at one point.”

“I don’t think it was too far away, Vitalie. I just think it was out of their jurisdiction, because other entities had power over it. Beyond that, though, I think the powers own the whole universe. Dardius is millions of lightyears away, and they still had us in their grasp.”

“That’s depressing.”

“You get used to it. There’s a level of peace, knowing that your decisions don’t matter that much anyway. It’s a lot harder to make mistakes, that’s for sure. You can always blame them.”

“Is that why people believe in God?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mateo said. “I’m an atheist.”

She frowned, like she didn’t think that sounded correct.

“Well, Miss Crawville. Thanks for your help. I feel like I know you so well, since I have all of Leona’s memories. I’ll miss you.”

She nodded. “I won’t miss you. I don’t know you.” She smiled, because it really was half true.

“Watch out for centaurs.”

“Will do.”

Leona and Ramses were finished checking the systems just before lunch, so they all ate one last meal together. This time, everybody stalled, and let it go on for longer than it needed to. Eventually, however, they needed to get going, so the powers that be didn’t experience any confusion as to where they were meant to return come next year. They didn’t even need to lift off the ground, and escape the planet’s gravity, which was a nice bonus. Étude interfaced with the ship, enhanced her powers using technology that The Weaver had invented, and zapped them straight into orbit. Then she and Vitalie said their final goodbyes, and teleported back down to the surface.

Mateo then watched the two geniuses operate the Ocasio-Cortez, but could do nothing to help. It was a shame that Mateo absorbed so many of his wife’s memories, but none of her skills or knowledge. He was just as useless as he had ever been. If he had the time, he could become a pilot, which would be a logical extension of his experience as a driver, but it still required too much studying, and possibly a level of intelligence he would never possess.

“All right, it’ll be a few minutes before we reach escape velocity,” Ramses said, leaning back, and letting the artificial intelligence take over.

“Are you going to be all right alone for an entire year?” Mateo asked him.

“I won’t be here for an entire year,” he responded. The trip is only four months long.”

“Yeah, but won’t the planet be totally empty until very late next year?”

“That’s true, but I’ll be all right. I have plenty of entertainment, and I designed a paradise virtual reality to escape to.”

“What’s that like?”

“Private,” Ramses said. Okay.

“Captain Abdulrashid,” the computer said in a sexy Australian accent.

“Yes?”

“There is someone at the door for you.”

They all looked up towards the airlock section.

“Not that door,” the computer clarified. “Grave chamber four.”

Mateo looked down at what he guessed the fourth grave chamber would be, but then he realized the other two were looking somewhere else, so he quickly followed suit. They seemed too afraid to check, so he decided to kneel down, and open it himself.

“You don’t know who—or what—is down there,” Leona warned.

Mateo scoffed. “They were probably sent here by the powers that be. It could be Saga, or Vearden.” He slid the hatch open, and was shocked by who he found there.

“Serif?” Leona asked.

“Help me up,” Serif asked.

Mateo took her by the hand, and lifted her out of, not the grave chamber, but a ladder in what looked like a library. Bigger on the inside, and all that. “You’re back.” He took her into a hug, and passionate kiss. “How?”

“One of the scientists who built the Crossover survived the suicide pact, and wanted to help all the humans who were stuck on Ansutah, so he built the Universe Bridge,” Serif said after escaping Mateo’s grip. She was then forced into Leona’s grip.

Mateo peeked into the library, where he saw about a dozen people, staring back at him. “We only have room for, maybe eight people? How many do you have?”

“Roughly eleven billion,” Serif answered. And she didn’t look like she was joking.

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Furor: Exit Strategies (Part II)

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Ace didn’t know if he should be surprised that Kolby came back to help, because he didn’t know the guy very well, but he was certainly grateful for it. A security guard unlocked the door, and stepped aside. “Why is she helping us, though?” Ace asked.

“Professional courtesy,” Kolby answered.

“I won’t work for a tyrant,” the guard answered for herself. “Senator Channing’s response to my helping you escape will tell this new world just what kind of person he really is. If we like how he reacts, we’ll back him, but if we don’t...we’ll take care of him.”

Ace didn’t want to know the specifics for what that meant.

“Sorry I took so long,” Kolby whispered as they were sneaking away from the guard, and down the hall. “I was getting this first.” He reached into his bag, and pulled out the dimension-hopping jacket.

Ace widened his eyes, and took the jacket back. “I’m shocked they didn’t use it to go back to the real world.”

“I have a theory about that. I saw a lot of black SUVs and white technician trucks parked by that giant orange TV tower near the border of Union Hill. I was literally running around the city, looking for a hacker informant I once had, who does not work for the Census Bureau. Suddenly, I lost my speed. I think they built a power dampener on that thing, which ironically, means the jacket won’t work.”

“We have to destroy that tower.”

“Yeah, we do. But they will just rebuild it, so I need you to do me a favor.”

“What?”

Kolby remained silent.

“Oh, you want out of here.”

“I take out that tower, you take me with you.”

“The jacket can only take two people at a time, and needs time to recharge.” Ace could have left that part out, and let Kolby just go on thinking that Ace would be able to help, but he didn’t want to make any enemies. “I don’t even know if this thing is ready to take another trip yet.”

“That’s okay,” Kolby said. “I may have a loophole to that. Worst case scenario, the two of you escape. I’ll survive.”

Ace thought about it for a minute as they were lightly gliding down the steps, thankful they were only a few stories up. He knew that a speedster named K-Boy—which was similar to Kolby—was destined to end up in the real world, and join the tracer gang. “You sure will. I promise you’ll get out of here. I know this to be true, don’t ask me how.”

He agreed to not ask how. Then they left the building, and headed South, towards the Union Hill neighborhood. It was just over two miles away, so it was going to take just under an hour. “Is it frustrating?” Ace asked on the way, “You must not be used to walking at such slow speeds.”

“I didn’t get my powers until the flurry,” Kolby explained, referring to the unseasonable winter storm that preceded the creation of this dimension. “So I’ve only had them for a few weeks. Running like that is what I’m not used to.”

“Do you like it?”

“I’ve never been much of a runner, but as a private security professional, I’ve always had to stay in pretty good shape, so it’s not like I lived a sedentary lifestyle before this. I have mixed feelings about my new gifts. I guess I won’t really be able to process any of it until I get back to Earth proper.”

They continued walking in relative silence, until arriving as close as they were willing to get to their destination until they had a good plan. At least, what was what Ace thought. As it turned out, Kolby had already been working on a way to destroy the tower, and he hadn’t done it alone. There was an entire team waiting for them in their secret headquarters. They were in what looked like a print center, complete with a giant printer, but also an ATM.

“Horace Reaver,” Kolby announced, “welcome to the Forger’s lair. We have Garen Ashlock, expert thief. Quivira Boyce, also an expert thief. Hm, do we need two? Maybe one of you should go.”

“Shut up, Morse,” Quivira said.

“You’re right,” Kolby conceded. “I guess Ashlock isn’t so much an expert as he is an amateur.”

Ace wasn’t paying too much attention, though. He found himself just staring at Quivira, whose life he had saved last year, and who had saved his life many years ago. She was smiling at him knowingly, but not saying anything.

Kolby went on, “Doctor Mallory Hammer, who can provide medical support.” He paused to gaze at the last woman, both affectionately, and with disdain. “And here we have Natasha Orlova, former mob princess, and possible lone Russian survivor of the 2023 Gang Wars. She has seen the light, but has not forgotten her past. She’s on demolitions. The Forger and Micro are busy at the Census Bureau headquarters. The latter will be providing technical support remotely. She’ll make sure we don’t get caught. She’s not a salmon or choosing one—or spawn,” he added, looking back at Quivira, “but she’s a good ally. Keep your guard up around Orlova, though.”

“I’m doing my best here, Kolby,” Natasha alleged. “Not every Russian is bad. I never wanted the life my father set out for me. I was always trying to get out, even as a little girl.”

“Prove it tonight,” Kolby advised.

A buzz began to sound from down the dark hallway, and drew nearer. A minidrone appeared from around the corner, and hovered in front of Kolby, who was not nervous about it. A voice spoke from the speaker, “the time is quickly approaching. If you’re going to take out the tower, you better get going now.”

“Thank you, Agent Nanny Cam,” Kolby said to the drone. “Please review the team’s exit strategies.”

“I’ll check to make sure the coast is clear outside the Forger’s den first.” The drone buzzed away.

“You people are so well-organized,” Ace noted. “Have you all been working together long?”

“Just since this happened,” Quivira replied.

“What am I meant to do?” Ace offered.

Kolby laughed. “We’ve only been planning this particular job for about a day. We can’t risk throwing another variable into the mix. I wanted you to know who was helping you here, but you’re not a part of this. You need to get to the hospital, and find your man.”

“But, I can do stuff. I have really good intuition. Like, a supernatural sense of intuition.”

“That doesn’t work here,” Kolby reminded him, “especially not while that tower is operational. We have contingencies. Everyone has a backup plan if something goes wrong. We are going to make this happen, but it’s possible that Channing and Andrews have built their own backup at the Entercom towers. If that kicks in, you may only have seconds before the jacket stops working again.”

“You can just run me there.”

“I have my own contingency.”

“How am I meant to take you back?”

“You don’t worry about. Put your family back together, Reaver. We’ll take care of everything else.”

Ace wanted to argue more, but Kolby ushered him out of the lair, and directed him to Serkan’s hospital, which hacker Micro had uncovered. Not knowing how long it would be before the people on the A-team turned time powers back on, he ran towards the hospital. He was there well before midnight, which he assumed was go time, but the hospital wouldn’t let him in. It was the middle of night, and the whole metropolitan area was in a state of emergency.

“Please!” he begged the nurse. “I have to find my boyfriend; the father of my child!”

“I’m sorry, sir, but you’ll have to come back tomorrow,” the nurse argued.

A man with the air of authority walked up from the other side of the room. “Is there a problem here?” He didn’t look like a cop, or even a security guard. He did, however, look like a runner.

“You’re part of the tracer gang?”

“We protect this facility,” the tracer responded.

“I need to speak with Bozhena.”

“Who?”

“Slipstream,” Ace clarified.

“She doesn’t have time for you.”

“Tell her Jupiter sent me!”

“Like, the planet? Or the god?”

“Tell her Jupiter sent me!” Ace repeated.

The tracer lifted his chin, and eyed Ace with caution. Then he looked over at another tracer standing guard. He closed his eyes, and nodded.

“Is that a good nod, or a bad nod?”

“You better hope she knows who this...” he stopped in thought. “Jupiter Rosa? The gun manufacturer?”

“He doesn’t make guns anymore, but yes.”

“Interesting.”

“Can I help you?” came Slipstream’s voice from behind him.

He turned around. “The love of my life is in your hospital. I need to see him.”

“Why would I let you do that? I would need confirmation from Census, and they’re not working right now.”

He started walking forward, and looked around at the walls. “You know where we are right now?”

“We just established that it’s a hos—”

“I mean the world.”

“Andrews said it was a pocket dimension.”

“It’s a duplicate. The perpetrators didn’t tear Kansas City out of the ground. They just made a copy. Of it, and everyone in it. There’s another Slipstream out there, and right now, she’s having tea with my daughter, Paige. Well, I guess that was a couple days ago, but it happened. Serkan is a runner, like you, and a different version of him will one day join your gang. As far as I’m concerned, you’re part of the family. I need to get upstairs tonight.” He consulted his watch. “By midnight.”

“That’s fine,” came another voice. “We can all go; have a chat.” It was Senator Channing, and a posse of thugs, pointing guns at them.

Slipstream stepped over to one of her tracers. “Deep six,” she ordered cryptically. He ran off. She then got in between Ace and the men, to protect him. “I got rid of the firearms in this town once. I’ll do it again.”

“You did that slowly,” Channing laughed, “not in one fight.”

“Actually...” Slipstream began, “I once disarmed twice as many guys as you have, all in one go.”

“Alone?” Channing questioned in disbelief.

Slipstream smirked. “No.”

Tracers appeared out of nowhere—a couple from above—and took all the guns away at once, dropping their wielders to the floor if they had to.

Suddenly, Ace’s jacket began to hum as it powered up. “They did it.” It wasn’t quite midnight yet. Either this was always the plan, or they had to move up the timetable.

Channing looked at this phone. “The tower’s down, good for you. Fortunately, I have three extra. They should be coming online within a few minutes.”

“Shit,” Ace said. He nearly got down on his knees in front of Slipstream. “I need to get to Serkan now. Please.”

“Take him into custody,” Slipstream ordered her people. “We need to have a talk with the mayors tomorrow morning.

“Wait!” one of Channing’s men shouted. “Horace, this is Quivira! I’ve come from the future to fix this! You have to wait for Kolby. He’ll be there at midnight. Exactly at midnight.”

“The towers,” Ace argued.

“Will be taken care of,” Quivira said, using the voice of the man she was possessing. “That’s why I came back, but if you don’t take Kolby out of here, both of our worlds are screwed.”

Ace inhaled, and redirected his attention to Slipstream. “Take me to him right now. I don’t care about the worlds.”

“Bozhena, please!” Quivira pressed. “Wait until midnight. If that man finds his husband a minute too soon, we’re all dead. Remember what I said to you when you were young. Vous aurez un mouton...”

“...si vous avez la vrai nourriture,” Slipstream finished, astonished.

The jacket abruptly stopped buzzing. The towers were back online.

“I’ll take you to him,” Slipstream said to Ace, “at midnight.”

Twenty minutes later, the jacket turned back on yet again, but it still wasn’t midnight, so Ace had no choice but to wait.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 1020: Ruth

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My time is very valuable, so I hope we can keep this interview short and efficient. A little bit of background. For the record, my name is Ruth. I’m class secretary, and hope to one day become a real secretary. Not as in, assistant, but a cabinet member. That may sound like too lofty a goal for a small town girl born to a middle class family, but I know what I’m doing, and I’m right on track. I have high aspirations for my life, and I don’t need this scandal getting in the way of that. For the record, I had nothing to do with what happened by the river that day, and was not at all involved in Viola’s death. For the most part, she was a diplomatic person. She loved to be loved, and she was willing to change her entire personality to fit in with whoever she happened to be around at the time. My God, I’m so sorry. Whomever. Get it together, Ruth. Anyway, my point is that I may have been the only person in the whole town that she didn’t like. We were quite similar—she and I—except that I have more trouble connecting with people, since I’m so mindful of order. We weren’t friends, but we were very close. This is our story. She was a lot more fun and relaxed, and people liked being around her, but I too care about the people around me, which is why I want to serve my country. We competed in everything, from grades, to sports, to the position of class president. We both lost out to that ineffectual, feckless cad, Riley, because he promised the school he would put brawndo in the water fountains. It’s not a real drink! Even he meant it as a joke! Whew, sorry about that. Calm and centered, you are worth it, Ruth. Well, no one ran for class secretary, so our apathetic principal decided to let Viola and I fight for the position once Riley took the top spot. She would have told you that she gave it to me to be nice, but I negotiated my way into it. She didn’t realize what she had really lost until later, so she’s never forgiven me for it. Our rivalry would have gone beyond the walls of this school had she survived through graduation. On a personal level, I am most upset with her murderer for taking that motivation away. Her tailgating me pushed me to be my best, and drove me to reach my goals. Oh dear, was that a terrible thing to say? Of course her death is sad on its own, and requires no selfish feeling of loss, or particular qualification. For the record, I did not dislike her as she me. I felt nothing but admiration for her. While she lacked the discipline to realize her own potential, I lack the social grace that she possessed in spades. The truth is that I miss her as much as anybody else, even though we were frenemies. I can only hope that she carried even half the amount of respect for me as I do her.

Microstory 1019: Calvin

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Funny story, Viola and I lived in this town our whole lives, but only spoke on one occasion, and it wasn’t anywhere near here. When we were seven years old, our respective families took a tour of Europe. The way my parents tell it, this was not at all planned or coordinated. They had no idea they would run into each other, so it was just a big coincidence. Well, the Woods are very well-traveled, and that was not their first time out of the country, which made it easier for them to adapt their itinerary to ours. My dad can’t work, and my mom doesn’t make that much, but she had a really good year that year, and they wanted to take my sister and I on something really big, so we would have some good experiences. They also wanted us to learn about other cultures, and gain perspective about the world. Anyway, the Woods helped us figure things out. Her dad speaks, like, a hundred languages, so he was a big help. Viola, Pauline, and I spent a lot of time together during that impromptu joint vacation. Ya know, if nothing else, it brought my sister and I closer together. I often look back fondly on those memories. I don’t remember anything we talked about, so I couldn’t tell you much about what kind of person she was, beyond what we all saw just by her walking around school, but I’m still glad it happened. It’s like this little secret amongst us. When we got home, we didn’t tell anyone that it happened. Our families don’t exactly run in the same circles. People like to think there’s nothing that happens in a small town that not everyone knows about, but that’s the case all the time. People have their own lives, with their own friends, and if you don’t have a reason to talk to one another, you won’t. So no one really noticed that we were all out of town at the same time. I don’t think our parents remained friends after that, even though they seemed pretty chummy during. Likewise, Viola and I didn’t talk again either. I never got the impression she didn’t like me, or that she was faking it the whole time we were hanging out. When we would see each other in the halls, we would exchange this knowing look, but we never said a word. I guess that’s what made our relationship so special. It was short, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. I don’t regret not getting to know her better. I knew her well enough.