Microstory 1051: Bert

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No, you’re not the first person to realize how many Berts we have at this school. Bertha, Herbert, a freshman named Bertil, and me. It’s actually my full name; it’s not short of Albert, or something. My parents came up with something simple, because they’re pretty lowkey, unremarkable people. That’s why I decided to start a band. Chester probably made you think it was his idea, but I’m the one who first suggested it. It may sound petty, but if we ever break up, it’s important to know who the name belongs to. Without any legal clarity, the primary founder basically has dibs. Besides, who’s ever heard of a drummer who’s in charge, am I right? I may not be much of a singer, but I can pluck a guitar with the best of ‘em, and nobody’s fawning over his drum solos, lemme tell you that. The truth is that I play a lot of instruments, but most of them aren’t heard much in bands. Many of them are brass, but I’m not much into ska, so we really need to keep away from that kind of sound. I suppose you could say we’re like Cherry Glazerr meets Of Monsters and Men. We’re great with that really rough, noisy grunge, but also love to focus on crystal vocals for some songs. Pearl was really great with that, and we’re all going to miss her. Hearing Addie, though, that’s really made me think that we’ve been going about this all wrong. She was the voice we were missing. They should have been handling that together. I don’t think we should be using her in a temporary capacity. We need to be finding a good, feminine voice that meshes well with Addie’s. I would rather sound more like Tegan and Sara than Chester’s Drum Circle Emporium. I didn’t make that up, by the way. Before I found him, he was trying to get all the percussionists in the high school band together to do an all drummers act. Can you imagine how terrible that would be? I love the guy, but he’s got some crazy ideas. I gotta remember to be more positive, and less critical, though. All bands fall apart because the members can’t work together. I don’t care what you say about your Yoko Onos, or that bullshit term “creative differences”. The one and only reason is they can’t get along, so it’s important that we continue to communicate, and find a new second singer who wants what we all want. Viola knew that, she was my girl. I don’t mean, like, she was my girlfriend, but she really understood what we were going for, even when we didn’t realize it ourselves. Did Chester tell you she designed our website, and supported us before anyone else did? She also got us this huge festival gig in Jordan that I’m really looking forward to. We can’t go in there with only three people, though. Duos and trios can sound great, but we’re not making it work. We need a fourth. I would even propose a fifth if we weren’t already in such a heavy transitional period. I’m thinking about asking Dolly if she wants to audition. Then we could change our name to ABCD. I’m fine with goin’ second. Wadya think? You ever hear her sing?

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 14, 2221

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Leona, Brooke, and Sharice spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how the former could get back to Mateo, and barring that, contact him. The Caster said that he wasn’t at Gatewood, but it was unclear how reliable her information was. How did she know where to look, and how to find someone? It took Leona hours to reach her in the first place, but she did so by meditating, and never quite understood how she made it happen in the end. The whole field of telepathy was a little unusual. So far, besides Serif’s ability to heal others with her breath—which came from a different universe, with different rules—everyone’s power was related to time. There were a few people with something that resembled telekinesis, but that was just extremely rapid and miniscule-range teleportation that only looked like the objects were moving. Telepaths, on the other hand, seemed to be a different animal. They made it look like the universe had two kinds of powers; temporal, and psychic. But why? What was the connection, if any? Was Sanaa Karimi teleporting her thoughts across time and space, which justified her power? Or was something else at play?

Back in the day, Leona used to watch just about any decent science fiction that was released. Star Trek: The Next Generation featured a mysterious alien character who claimed time and thought were not as separate as most people believed. Was that it? Was he somehow right? Ultimately, these questions weren’t all that useful to Leona, though, because they only distracted her from the solution to her problem. She needed to help her husband, and hope for accomplishing this was dwindling with each passing day. She hesitated to contact Sanaa again, because she didn’t seem to like people doing that to her. Apparently, not everybody with powers was interested in using them.

When Leona returned a year later, Brooke and Sharice still had no ideas. To be fair, they hadn’t spent as much time in the world of salmon as she had.

“Here’s the most likely explanation,” Brooke said. “He’s still on Dardius.”

“That was my thought,” Leona said, “but that doesn’t really put my mind at ease. If he’s still there, that means he’s run into trouble. I need to get back to him either way.”

“Have you tried the grave again?” Sharice asked.

“Yeah, I did it while you guys were charging. I took a pillow with me this time, though. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before.”

“Is it possible, maybe the pillow was interfering with the jump?” Sharice nervously suggested.

“There could be any number of reasons The Gravedigger doesn’t want to take me back to Dardius. He obviously knows more than he’s letting on, so maybe he has some reason I should be here; some grand plan. Or maybe bridging millions of lightyears is just as difficult for him as it is for the Caster, and he’s too tired.”

There was a knock at the door. Sharice stepped into a defensive position, to protect Leona, while Brooke went over to answer it.

A man was on the other side. “We have calculated this to be the optimal time to speak with your friend.”

“Which friend would that be?” Brooke dodged.

“The one who only appears once per year. Please retrieve her, so that I can escort her to the Administrator.”

“She’s not going anywhere without us,” Brooke demanded.

“Very well. You have ten minutes. If she’s human, she will require a tank. If she is not...I am not cognizant of what she will require.”

Brooke unceremoniously shut the door in his face. “Looks like they have figured out what you are, or at least that you’re different.”

“It was only a matter of time,” Leona said, standing up. “It’s easy to disappear on Earth, but the population here is so small, and our little group already arrived under unusual circumstances. People are watching.”

“We can escape to an outpost; hold our ground,” Sharice offered.

“Let’s see what they say first,” Leona decided.

Five minutes later, they were walking to the other side of the dome with the delivery boy. Leona was carrying an oxygen tank on her back, but wasn’t using it to breathe. Standard procedure was to build the habitats within preexisting underground geological features, to protect from cosmic radiation. The dome itself was in geodesic form, and kept the entire colony site pressurized. Airflow, however, was difficult to maintain, forcing organics to walk around with tanks, in case something went wrong. Internal habitat buildings were systemically independent, though there was still some level of remoteness. The leadership structure was built far away from all others, to prevent a cataclysm chain reaction.

Once inside, the man ushered them into the Administrator’s Office, where the colony’s leader was waiting for them. Before so much as one colony ship leaves Earth for a new world, plans are made. Everyone who wants to go has the right to do so, but that doesn’t mean they are all on equal footing. Colony prospectors spend years still on Earth, planning the new way things will work. Leadership is established well in advance. In Bungula’s case, the colonists agreed to follow the directives of a single artificial general intelligence called the Administrator. This entity maintains some memories of its past incarnations, but much of the data is wiped when its upgraded to a new version, just like any computer program. This is done ten times a year, according to the Gregorian calendar, though there is still some debate whether versioning should switch to a Bungulan orbiting timetable, or if some other system should be used altogether. For now, it is the fifteenth of October in the colony’s sixth year, giving the leader the designation of Administrator Six Point Seven. Its consciousness pervades the entire system, though it interacts with its users through an android body. It also currently utilizes a feminine personality profile.

“Thank you for coming,” Six Point Seven said.

“Did she have a choice?” Sharice snarked.

“No,” Six Point Seven answered. She pulled some data up on a viewscreen. “According to these reports, you are present on this planet once every year, and are missing the rest of the time. Is this correct?”

“It is,” Leona admitted.

“Where are you when you are not here?”

“Nowhere.” It was time to come clean. If the self-proclaimed police of time travelers decided she belonged in Beaver Haven for potentially exposing the reality to the galaxy, then she would deal with that. “I’m slipping time.”

Six Point Seven nodded. “What is your species?”

“Salmon,” Leona said, purposefully leaving it at that to elicit intrigue, rather than just explaining it right away.

The Administrator processed this information. “You do not appear ichthyoid.”

“It’s more of a nickname; used to distinguish time travelers from people like me, who have no control over it. We sometimes go against the current, like a spawning salmon.”

“Who does have control over your movements?” Six Point Seven asked.

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“How do you know these people?” Six Point Seven indicated Brooke and Sharice.

“Descendants of family and friends from before all this started happening to me. I had a life six months ago.” Time bubbles, alternate realities, relativistic space travel, and regular ol’ time travel made that six month figure a little less accurate, but there was no need to explain all that.

“How many salmon are there? How many travelers altogether?”

Leona stayed silent.

“I recognize and appreciate that your kind have been keeping yourselves secret, and I can even surmise the reasons, but if there are others like you on my planet, I need to know about it.”

“I’m the only one.” Leona didn’t know that for sure. The ability to manipulate time, or be manipulated by the powers that be, was not generally hereditary. True, seemingly everyone in Mateo’s extended family was salmon or chooser, but they were outliers to the rule. Most traveler’s parents weren’t travelers, and most of their children were not either. Anyone here could be born with some natural connection to the enigma of time, but since she was not specifically aware of anyone, her answer was not a total lie.

“How can I know for sure?”

“Think of it this way,” Leona began, “time travelers have existed on Earth throughout the entire anthropocene epoch, and then some. Since modern humans evolved, not a single second has gone by without at least one of us present. I can tell you that all magnificent feats of engineering, like the Great Pyramids of Giza, and the Panama Canal, were all carried by humans. We have ignited no wars, and possess no higher number of killers in our ranks than humans have. Each individual traveler contributes to our collective history maybe ten times as much as any normal human, giving them the equivalent of celebrity status.”

“What are your metrics for historical contribution?”

“Anecdotal, estimative, theoretical, and analogous,” Leona replied.

“So, nonscientific?”

“The point is that we have been here the whole time, and everything’s all right. Some of us are good, and some are bad; again, just like humans. You don’t need to know whether there are any more like me here, because you’ve never needed to know before.”

Six Point Seven lifted her chin and peered at Leona. “You are purely biological, unaided by technology?”

“I don’t even have a personal long-distance communication device,” Leona said. Some considered smartphones, and even the personal computer, to be the very first instances of transhumanistic upgrades. “A scientist friend of mine attempted to study our biology, physiology, chemistry, and genetics early on, but was...obstructed.” She was referring to Duke Andrews, who once tried to figure out what made Mateo tick by taking samples, and placing him in an observation chamber, but this caused him to jump more than a thousand years into the future, and did not provide them with much useful data. It was also in an alternate timeline, so what data they did manage to collect was lost now.

Six Point Seven nodded understandingly. “We will attempt this again. You will coordinate with a science task force, and assist them in devising testable hypotheses.” She prepared to get back to other work.

“Sir?” Brooke finally jumped in. “You forgot the most important part?”

“What might that be?” Six Point Seven asked.

“You forgot about consent,” Sharice answered for her mother. “You can’t just...study someone.”

Six Point Seven would have sighed at this point, if she needed to breathe. She just looked back over at Leona.

Leona hesitated, but as a guest on this planet, didn’t feel comfortable rejecting the request. “I consent.”

“Very good, very good,” the Administrator said. “I will compile the team for you, and my assistant will show you to your new living quarters. A full laboratory extension will be built around them, and be ready for you next year.”

“Indeed,” Leona said. Then she walked away. She should have been apprehensive about being treated like a lab rat, but in all honesty, she wanted to understand it better than anyone. It was about time.

Mateo was falling through the air. A sky-motorcycle, for lack of a better term was falling right alongside him. Mechanically arms reached out, and embraced him with a soft canvas. Then it slowed its descent gradually, before finally landing safely on the ground next to a huge pile of rubble, and releasing him. Ramses climbed up holding a remote control. “It’s all about timing.”

Mateo looked around. Everything appeared to be the same in town, except that the entire capitol building was gone. “What the actually hell happened?”

“Well, the Freemarketeers did not appreciate our assault on Tribulation Island. In fairness, it was the second of two in a few years, and they’re pretty touchy about it. They destroyed the capitol in retaliation, but only the capitol. Everyone was killed in the attack, including Vice Patronus Sparacello, and excepting me. I was reassigned as Deputy Delegator to the other delegation. Woohoo, promotion, and only a few thousand people had to die.

“How did you survive?”

“I wasn’t here,” Ramses said. “I’m not a traitor, if that’s what you were thinking.”

“I wasn’t. Why did you catch me like that? Superman always just flies over, and snatches people out of the air.”

“Yeah, and that would have killed those people in real life. People who fall from great heights don’t die just because the ground is really hard, or something. They die because they’re moving really fast, but suddenly they stop. I had to match velocity, and decelerate safely. New rule. If you ever jump forward again, you’re going to have to do it on the ground, in the middle of a field.”

“Why would I not jump forward again?”

“Mateo, you are the ranking officer on this planet. The world needs you, and they need you to stop traveling through time. Come. There’s someone I think you should meet.”

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Furor: That is an Absolute Last Resort (Part VIII)

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Ace and Paige didn’t even open the lockbox until Dave had them back on Earth, and in their home. Once in the dining room, he set it on the table, and waited for someone else to do it for him. There was no telling what they would find in there.

Jesi wasn’t afraid, but Slipstream slapped her wrist away. “No, I’ll do it,” she conceded. Slip turned the key, and opened the box.

Ace half expected an orangey light to emanate from inside, but it was just a collection of what appeared to be junk. There was a dog tag, with the name Anatol Klugman etched on it, and an unremarkable watch. There was a little toy space gun, and a rock. The only thing that was remotely cool was this cute little baby gyroscope. He picked up the rock, and tossed it in the air a few times. “This is what we have to work with? What are these things?”

Jesi cleared her throat.

“Yes, Jes, you’re allowed to help, thank you,” Serkan said to her.

Jesi started pointing to the objects, and explaining them. “That’s a teleporter gun, that’s a paradox ticker, that’s the Hundemarke, that’s a baby gyroscope, and that...is a rock. Personally, I favor the Hundemarke, but that’s just me.”

“What does it do?” Paige asked.”

“The rock? I have no idea.”

“She means the Hundemarke,” Serkan corrected.

“It kills people,” Jesi answered. She lifted the dog tags from the box, and fidgeted with the chain.

They had no response.

“Well, it doesn’t kill people on its own, but if you kill someone while you’re wearing it, you’ll create a fixed point in time. That way, if a time traveler goes back in time, and tries to create an alternate reality, this will still happen, no matter what. Most people’s deaths can be undone, unless you got this thing.”

“Who’s Anatol Klugman?” Ace asked her.

“He’s the one who created it,” Jesi answered, “using the Sword of Assimilation.”

“And what is the Sword of Assimilation?”

“It steals people’s powers. Well, it doesn’t so much steal as it copies, but there’s a lot of stabbing involved, so the original user usually dies.”

“So, you favor using the Hundemarke,” Paige began. “You want to kill him. I thought you were turning  over a new leaf.”

“I don’t want to kill him,” Jesi argued. “I think we should kill him. There’s a difference between being good, and doing the right thing. Sometimes the right thing is a hard pill to swallow, but some people just need to be removed from the equation.”

Ace took the dangerous object from her, and threw it back in the lockbox. “That is an absolute last resort.”

“Understood,” Jesi agreed sincerely.

Serkan carefully lifted the apparent teleporter gun, and held it in the palm of his hands, as if it were a caterpillar. “This is all we need. We can send him directly to the prison, and be home in time for lunch.”

“I don’t like that idea,” Slipstream said. She reached into Ace’s bag, and retrieved the special handcuffs that Dave gave them. “I would rather escort the man there myself. Who knows where that gun is going to send him? It could make matters worse.”

Serkan shrugged. “We can find someone smart enough to reprogram it; make sure it sends Rothko where we need him to go. Paige, what about your engineer friend?”

“Hogarth? She and Hilde are living in what they call a dead zone. I think it’s unreachable by teleporters and time travelers.”

Jesi frowned. “I don’t think those exist. They probably built some kind of protective shield themselves.”

“Either way,” Paige said, “contacting them is this whole thing. I can do it, but I can’t promise they’ll be able to help by the time the City Frenzy begins.”

“Do what you can,” Ace instructed her. He tossed the stone another time. “I need to figure out what this thing is. Perhaps, it’s the best option we have, and we don’t realize it. If Jesi doesn’t even know what it is, it must be pretty special.”

“I may still be able to help,” Jesi said to him with a sigh. I don’t know what it is, but I may know someone who does.”

So Slipstream and Paige broke off to call Hogarth, while Serkan and Ace waited for Jesi to call her friend, Ophir. He wasn’t the best person in the world, but he could remotely teleport them anywhere in the world; something Jesi called apportation. This was necessary, because if someone attempted to teleport the three of them directly, their powers would have been hindered by Serkan’s. Before she could even hang up the phone, they were whisked away. They were now standing on the porch of a rustic cabin, overlooking a resplendent body of water. A woman was walking up from the shore with fishing gear, and fish. She was neither surprised by their sudden arrival, nor perturbed by the intrusion.

“Doctor Buhle?” Jesi asked.

“I am!” the woman replied with an exaggerated wave of her fish-filled arm.

“I thought you knew her,” Ace whispered.

“I know of her,” she clarified.

The woman approached, and dropped all her stuff on the porch. Then she reached out and gave each of them a hug. “There. Now that we’re friends, you can call me Ladonna.” She sported a thick British accent, or maybe it was South African? “All three of you are teeming with temporal energy. “Except for you, I guess.” She smiled sadly at Serkan. “You’re more like a black hole of linear time.”

“Doctor Buhle here is a diagnostician, specializing in temporal objects.”

“And spacetime anomalies,” Ladonna added.

“We were hoping you could help us identify this.” Ace showed her the mysterious rock they had found in the lockbox.

Ladonna closed her eyes, and shook her head. “I never work on an empty stomach. Fortunately, I caught four of these beautiful salmon. Something told me I would need three extra, but we should eat them quick, while they’re still fresh.”

“How did you catch salmon in that lake?” Jesi asked. “Aren’t we in Wyoming?”

“That’s Brooks Lake, yes,” Ladonna said, nodding. “I didn’t catch the fish there, though. There’s a rift that leads directly to the Beaufort Sea. It’s not a pleasant trip, but I don’t accept anything but the best. Come on inside, you can help. Any of you gutted before?”

And so they prepared a full dinner of fish, salad, and Nanaimo bars for desert. Then they sat down, said grace to a god of time Ace had never heard of, and ate together. Ladonna could sense the tension between the two of them and Jesi, so she ordered them to literally break bread together. It was merely a symbolic gesture, but Ace was actually feeling less hostile towards her, almost immediately afterwards.

Ladonna could also sense their anxiety over the stone, so once dinner was finished, she volunteered to take a look at it for them. She examined it carefully and methodically, turning it over in her hands, smelling it, and even touching it with the tip of her tongue. “Hmm. It’s a recall object.”

“Recalled to where?” Jesi asked her.

“To the beginning,” Ladonna said.

“Of time?” Serkan asked, amazed.

She laughed. “Where were you when you first traveled through time, if ever.”

“Where did I go, or where was I just before I traveled?” Serkan asked.

“The second one,” she answered.

“July 16, 2026.”

“Ah, not far from here. Well, the stone would take you back there, right to where you were when it happened. Well, maybe a few seconds after. If you’ve aged since then, which you always have, the stone will reverse it. Now, it’s not an undo button. Everything you did since that moment has still happened, but it might give you a chance to start your life over if you lost out on a lot by being gone. I don’t think it would be useful to you, Serkan, since your past is in the very near future, and you’re gonna get back there soon anyway, but I can think of one or two people who would cherish the opportunity.”

“Hm,” Jesi said. “You can give it to one of them. We have no use for that here.”

“Now, hold on,” Ace disagreed. “Are you sure?”

“Rothko is a superpowered maniac who’s about to expose the whole world to time travelers. If he goes back to when we were kids, nothing would change.”

“Sure it would. You said you got trapped in another dimension together, and he spent more time there than anybody. If he could avoid that before it happens, maybe—”

“It won’t matter,” Jesi said in a raised voice. “He’s already experienced it. You can make him as young as you want, and take him to whatever point in time you want, he’ll still be angry. If you’re not gonna Hundemarke him, then you should at least send him to prison, where he belongs.”

“The Hundemarke?” Ladonna questioned. “You have that wretched thing?”

“It was part of the white package we got from Meliora.”

Ladonna lost her bubbly attitude. “Give it to me.”

“Pardon?”

“Hand it over, right now.”

“It’s not with us,” Serkan said.

“Then go back and get it, so you can give it to me. I’m the only person in histories who both knows how to destroy it, and wants to.” She was not playing around.

“But what if—”

Ladonna interrupted, “that object was created during one of man’s worst mistakes: a war. It was created through blood and death. It is used for more blood, and more death. It has the potential to save us all, but the only thing anyone ever thinks to do with it is kill their enemies. No one can be trusted with it.”

“Well by that logic...” Jesi began.

Ladonna interrupted for a second time, which didn’t seem like something she would do. “I can’t be trusted either. I’m still just human, despite what choosers say about us being a different species.”

“What are you going to do?” Serkan legitimately wanted to know. “Throw it in Mount Doom?”

“No, not Mount Doom. Darvaza Crater. Lucky enough, there’s a rift over there that will get me to the Caspian Sea.”

“I thought it would go to Beaufort,” Ace recalled.

“Brooks Lake is a hub,” Ladonna explained. “It can take you to any other large enough body of water, and any large enough body of water can get you here, if you know what you’re looking for.”

Ace shook his head. “I want to find a way to do this peacefully, but we need a last resort. I don’t like violence any more than you do, but we need the Hundemarke, just in case nothing else works. We can give it to you after it’s done, but not before.”

Ladonna sighed loudly. She stood up fast enough to knock her chair over. Then she walked to her desk, and removed a small mirror from it. After setting the mirror on the table, she grabbed Serkan’s hand, and cut his finger with a knife that came out of nowhere. “What’s your daughter’s name?”

“Ouch, let the hell go of me!”

“What’s your daughter’s name!” Ladonna repeated.

“Paige! It’s Paige Tuner!”

Ladonna calmed down, and let a few drops of blood land on the mirror. It swirled around, then revealed a bird’s eye view of Paige. She was sitting at their own table with Hilde, and a woman Ace presumed to be Hogarth. They were working on the teleporter gun, and were paying the voyeurs no mind. Ladonna set the stone on the glass, and let it sink into it as if plasma. The mirror then turned back into a regular mirror.

“What did you just do?” Ace questioned her as he was making sure Serkan’s wound wasn’t too bad.

“You said you found her in 1971?”

“Yes why?”

“What a coincidence. The Darvaza Crater was created in 1971. You get me the Hundemarke, you get Paige back from 1971.”

“Your reputation does not suggest you would anything something like this,” Jesi pointed out.

“I’ve never been this close to getting the Hundemarke. And before you get any ideas,” Ladonna began. She removed the special cuffs from Ace’s bag, confident he wouldn’t make a move against her. She placed one cuff on Serkan, and the other on Jesi. “If you try to retrieve your daughter without doing what I asked, you’ll never get these off, and neither of them will be able to help you ever again. Serkan is simultaneously suppressing Jesi’s time sliding power while being unable to suppress anyone else’s.”

Ace stood up and scowled at her. “How am I meant to get back to Kansas City?”

Ladonna jerked her head towards the lake. “On the southeast corner of the lake is Brooks Lake Creek. Start swimming right where they meet, and you’ll end up in Brush Creek, which I believe is close to your house. You have one hour.”

Ace called upon the spirit of Serkan Demir, and ran as fast as he could to the creek portal. It was a little embarrassing climbing out of Brush Creek, since it cuts through the middle of town, but he was able to get back home fast enough to quickly brief Slipstream on the situation. She was then able to run much faster back to Wyoming. Ladonna honored their deal, and returned all of his people, along with the stone that could send people home. But having to go back to her birth parents, if only for a few seconds, was incredibly traumatizing to Paige. So what Ladonna didn’t realize was just how terrible of an enemy she had just made.

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Microstory 1050: Chester

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Hey, I’m Chester. I’m the drummer for our band, Random Spans. You can get one of our shirts, just like this one, on our website, which Viola helped us set up, by the way. She was secretly a programmer, I don’t know if you knew that. She also came up with our name, but I don’t get it. Rhythm is about the only thing I understand in this world, so I’ve embraced it. I’m not the worst student, but I just don’t care about it. To make matters worse, I kind of have this flaky voice that makes me sound like I’m high all the time. I don’t do drugs at all, though. “Keep off the grass,” my mom would always say, and I listened. I just talk like this. My parents set me up with a speech pathologist when I was younger, but it didn’t really help. I still sound like a big stoner, which is why I try not to talk too much. That was totally fine until we lost our lead singer. Pearl didn’t really quit, but she hasn’t been able to work with us lately. Do you know how many appointments pregnant women have to go to? It’s crazy. We tried to work it out, but she just can’t make it happen anymore, and she didn’t really want to have to stand at the mic all the time anymore anyway. We are not trying to find a new vocalist, though. Addie has really stepped up, and filled that role. And she’s said this herself—so don’t think I’m being mean—she’s not as good as Pearl, so Bert and I are singing some too. Meanwhile, we have a new bassist, and if Pearl is ever able to come back, I guess we’ll just have two bassists. That’s not a particularly common dynamic, but it’s also not unheard of. I dunno, maybe we’re just kidding ourselves. Pearl is starting a new life with Vester, and we have to be happy for them. The band will survive without her, even if we also lost our biggest fan. The pool hall was the only gig we had for a good long while, and Viola was the only one who showed up. Everyone else there was there for the booze, and just tolerated the music, but she always stood up, and cheered for us. I think that’s where she met Finley, and they started playing pool together. Anyway, the day we found out about her death was bittersweet. She said she was working on getting us a huge gig, and that we would find out the details soon. She said it was going to be in the next three weeks, and then two, and then one. She just kept counting down, and on the day she died, we got a call from an event coordinator out in Jordan. They have an annual music festival, and they want us to play. We’re not headlining, or anything, but our set starts at nine-thirty, which is pretty damn good for a group of nobodies from Blast City. I just wish Pearl could be there, and Viola. On second thought, don’t buy one of these shirts. I’m gonna have the shop make us new ones, dedicated to her.

Microstory 1049: Shea

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I’m going to tell you my story about Viola, but you’re not going to believe it. You’ve probably heard a lot of miraculous stories about the supernatural things she’s done, but all of them pale in comparison to what she did for me. All of those other things can be explained away. I remember what happened to Warren and the poison sumac when we were younger. That traumatic experience might have changed him for the better. It doesn’t mean she magically transformed his core personality. I know that it did, but it can’t be proven. But six years ago, she healed me in a way so literally that no amount of rationalization can deny it. I actually do have proof. See this here? And this? And these? There’s a reason why I wear long sleeve shirts, even in the summer. I had to suffer through a meeting with my parents, my pastor, my gym teacher, and both principals, to have myself excused from class. I substituted it with rigorous coursework on the history of health and fitness. In a small town, people talk, but no one talked about why I didn’t have to take gym with everyone else, and I’m convinced that that was just one more thing Viola did for me. These scars are not from an accident. They are the result of a heinous act of rageful violence, from an older boy we all now realize was very mentally unstable.

I don’t remember everything from the first day, but I remember her rushing into the room, as if someone had warned her what he was trying to do to me. I never saw her face rightside up, but I remember watching her walk straight up to him with no fear. He was prepared to use force against her as well, but she simply placed her three middle fingers on his forehead, and he fell to the floor. I thought she had somehow killed him, with, like, a poison needle, or something. But it turned out she had just made him go to sleep. Like you, I dismissed this as an exaggerated memory of the ordeal. I didn’t tell anyone what I saw, mostly because my mind was kind of focused on other things at the time, like the invasive rape kit I was in the middle of getting. Three months later, the boy I won’t do the honor of naming, was out of the treatment facility. The judge didn’t feel it was right for him to have to serve any more time than that for a wee little mistake. Well, it’s true, he didn’t rape me again, and as far as I know, he didn’t do it to anyone else either. He did, however, try to kill me in anger. He used a lawn mower, which is why I was hurt in so many places, all over my body. The only reason he didn’t get my face is because he accidentally let go of the safety lever. Once again, she was there. This time, she didn’t take any chances. She placed both hands on his head, and he hasn’t woken up since. The wounds opened me up good, and I should be dead right now, but she wiped them closed, like they were nothing more than packing tape that needed to be flattened out. She told me she could get rid of the scars in a couple weeks, but lots of people had seen them by then, and I didn’t want to expose her. We came up with the lie that when she found me, she drove me to a hospital several towns over, so I wouldn’t run into anyone I know, but that is a lie. And the only reason people believed the lie is because the truth is even crazier. A lot of people owe that woman a lot, but I owe her everything. I only wish I could do what she could. I would have used those powers to bring her back.

Microstory 1048: Herbert

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Everybody just calls me Air Bear—because that’s how my name is pronounced in a French accent—which isn’t as original as you may think, but I kind of like it. It’s become kind of a running joke around town. The guy who ran the paper before you got here used to write these articles with funny little headlines that refer to me, but ultimately have nothing to do with me. You can go back in the archives to find such greats as Air Bear’s Parent’s Share Their Spare Hair. It’s about a real club at school where students coordinate hair donations. He also wrote Air Bear Cares About Pears, which is about our annual canned food drive, and Air Bear Dares Cher to Marry a Fairy in Town Square. That one sounds homophobic, but Cher and Beulah were the first kids from their graduating class to get married, the latter of which is infamous from having actually dressed as a fairy for Halloween every year. And they really did hold the ceremony in the town’s square. Again, I didn’t actually have anything to do with these things, but it was really important to Lester that he include me precisely once in every paper he released. The journalism teacher, and the rest of the administration, didn’t care for his headline fibs, but his aunt personally funded a renovation of the library, so they couldn’t really do anything about it. I know, I’ve talked a lot about me and Lester, so I’ll get on point now. Viola and I were on friendly terms, but I always hated her clique, and I never understood why she hung out with them. I’m telling you, they had more to do with her death than they’re saying. I’m not claiming there’s this big conspiracy to murder her, but they’re definitely lying about what happened that day by the river. She was a helper. She went all over town, fixing things for people, even those who didn’t know they needed any help. The truth about her so-called friends is starting to come out, and I’m thinking that’s why she was with them in the first place. You’re here to finish this for her, Alma. You have to figure out who those people really are, and what they were doing at Masters Creek. I don’t have any specific story to tell you about an experience I had with Viola, but what I can do is encourage you to pursue this with all vigor. Justice must be served, and if the police can’t do it, you’re going to have to do it for them. That’s what Lester would have done. Say what you will about the man, but he knew how to get to the bottom of a story.

Microstory 1047: Virginia

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My mother has only ever had one job her entire life, and it’s one of the hardest out there. She had me when she was nineteen years old, by a stranger passing through town whose name she never got, and has never seen again. She said the song Meet Virginia, by Train always really spoke to her, because the music video basically depicted a day in her own life, and she even doesn’t look unlike Rebecca Gayheart. Inspired by this, she named me Virginia, even though that muddies the analogy a bit. I’ve never worked a table, and I never plan to. She would take double and triple shifts just to provide for me, so I’ve spent a lot of time in that diner, watching her in her native habitat. Her job was absolutely dreadful, which is what really turned me off to it, but she kept doing it, because she didn’t think she was good enough to do anything better. The town of Blast City is full of really good and honest people, but the diner is like a world all its own. After all, it’s where she met my birthfather, and we all know he wasn’t a great person. Lots of truckers stop there, and other people who need to stretch their legs from a road trip. Somehow that place brings out the worst humanity has to offer, and I’m grateful that she’s finally done with that thankless job. Three years ago, I was approaching the age she was when she started working there. Even though I was clear that I would never follow her down that path, she couldn’t help but be reminded of her own childhood when she looked at me. It prompted her to really start thinking about whether she wanted to do this for the rest of her days, and of course, the answer was no. So she made a plan to go back to school, just like all those online degree commercials say adults like that are supposed to. We’ve all heard the stories about how Viola liked to go around, motivating people to take their education seriously, but she didn’t do that with my mom. She actually actively discouraged her from taking online courses. She said that this would end with her getting a better job, with better pay, but it wouldn’t make her any happier. Instead, Viola said my mom should try to become a singer. It was the craziest idea ever, because mom had no history of singing. It’s not like this thing she used to do and love, but had to give it up when she got pregnant. She never sang in choir, or even in the shower, but Viola was positive she would turn out to have a beautiful voice. Well, she was totally right about that. My mom has the most enchanting singing voice I have ever heard, and it upsets me to realize how many years we wasted not enjoying this characteristic of her. Viola and I weren’t the only people who thought this either. My mom has an agent, and has been performing all over the state for years. She’s primed to go national in the next few months. As soon as she finishes her first full album, she’s gonna blow up. The weirdest thing about it is that Viola also recommended I write her music, which is something I never knew I could do. Every single one of the original songs are mine, and my mother’s. And they’re also Viola’s. We’re dedicating the LP to her.

Microstory 1046: Myrtle

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Roughly eighteen years ago, two babies were born in the same wing of the same hospital, only hours apart. Their respective parents knew of each other, but had never been close, but this one event was something they would always have in common. A year later, they decided to get together for a joint birthday party, and the tradition lived on until one of those children died. Viola Woods and I were never good friends. Though we saw each other in the halls of school, we didn’t hang out together, beyond our annual celebration. It’s not that we didn’t like each other, but we never had much in common, other than something with only one in three hundred and sixty-five chance. She was always very good around other people. She loved them, and wanted to help. It makes me sound like a terrible person that I’m the opposite, but I’m just a proponent of self-sufficiency. I believe in capitalism, and hard work. I recognize that not everyone in this country has been given the same opportunities as others, so I don’t need to check my privilege, or anything. It’s all about affordability, which is a form of capitalism that people seem to ignore. They think anything they buy costs that much because the people selling that product or service have some corrupt control over it. And to some extent, this is true, but there are ways of protecting the consumer without using governmental oversight. Education is the number one solution to all of our problems, and probably the only thing I believe should be extremely inexpensive outright, though not entirely free. The reason you can’t stop hospitals from gouging you for every dime you have, and then some, is because you don’t know where it is they get their prices. We don’t have to have insurance, the simple fact that the government has recently required it is a great example of what’s wrong here.

Health insurance companies have been artificially inflating costs since they first began, and it’s only gotten worse over time. Instead of spending so many resources on free clinics, we should be teaching the citizens the truth, and arming them with what they need to fight back. The healthcare facilities and insurance companies are only able to screw us over because we let them. Viola was a free clinic kind of girl. I’m a free market—power to the people—kind of girl. Alma, you may not have released your interviews yet, but people are already talking about them. They’re sharing their personal stories with each other, and the biggest take away from all this is that Viola spent every waking moment helping others. Every student has been impacted greatly by her acts, even if they don’t fully understand the scope of that impact quite yet. Well, I’m here to tell you that this is not the case for everyone. Viola and I were born on the same day, but we only ever got together to please our parents, who never stopped thinking this piece of trivia was cute. She never helped me with anything. I mean, yeah, she was the only one whose friends came to our parties in the early years, which means I probably wouldn’t have been able to have one without her, unless I wanted to sit there alone. And it’s true that she was born a week later than she was meant to, and her parents, for some reason, attribute this to baby Viola’s will power. No, that’s crazy. Viola didn’t help me by being born on the same day as me, because she couldn’t have done anything on purpose. Right? Is she the only reason I have friends?