The Advancement of Mateo Matic: October 16, 2222

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As promised, Leona spent the rest of her time in 2221 working with the Bungulan scientists on a way to observe one of her jumps to the future. They were very receptive to her ideas, and willing to let go of their past experiences. Though none of them had any proof that all this was real, they started from a place of trust, and continued from there. When she returned to the timestream a year later, the entire laboratory was finished, just like Administrator Six Point Seven said it would. She was gone forever, though. The current leader of the colony was Administrator Seven Point Seven, who had been fully briefed on the current situation. Though the observational component of the experiment wasn’t going to begin until the end of the day, there was still a lot for her to do. They expected her to inspect the hardware, and run diagnostics on the entire system. Again, the scientists weren’t unrealistically confident in their own abilities, and respected her input. Everything looked perfect, though no one really knew whether anything they tried was going to do any good. What followed was, perhaps, the craziest thing Leona had ever gone through. And that was saying a lot. Theorizing one could understand time travel, Leona stepped into the observation chamber…and vanished. She woke to find herself in another universe, facing children playing a game—drivers of the now known force to change history for their own amusement.

“Whoa, is this part of the game?” Leona heard someone ask. Her eyes were still trying to adjust to her new surroundings, but she could already tell that they were indeed new. This was not the time lab on Bungula.

“The box doesn’t say anything about this feature,” another person said. They sounded like children.

“Where am I?” Leona asked.

“You’re in my house,” a bubbly young voice answered.

“What year is it?”

“It’s two thousand and—”

“You don’t have to answer that, Liora,” one of the other children interrupted her.

Leona’s vision was now completely recovered. She was in what looked like a game room, amongst a small group of children, maybe four or five years old. Well, no, a couple of them looked older.

“Don’t say anyone’s name, Xolta,” a third scolded.

“You just said my name, Eresh!” Xolta complained.

“Well, then let’s make this even,” the boy who looked the oldest, and acted the leader, said. “I’m Dhartha. You know Liora, Xolta, and Eresh. These guys here are Mariano and Odhrán.

“I’m Leona.”

They exchanged looks, like they had heard that before.

“Which is your current last name, Leona?” Dhartha questioned.

“Matic,” Leona answered him truthfully.

“Hm,” he said. “This is weird. Do you believe that you are self-aware?”

“I am self-aware. Are you?”

Dhartha picked up sheet of virtual paper. “The instructions say nothing about this. Characters don’t...come to life, that’s crazy.”

“I’m not a character,” Leona explained, “I am alive.”

“Dhartha,” the boy named Mariano said. He was roughly the same age, but much quieter and reserved.

Dhartha just kept scrolling through these instructions, trying to figure out what went wrong.

“Dhartha,” Mariano repeated.

“What!” Dhartha exclaimed.

“I warned you. We always knew this was a possibility.”

“Shut up!”

“Wait, he was right?” Xolta was on the verge of tears. “Are they real?”

“They’re not real,” Dhartha assured her. “This is just a dumb game.”

“A dumb game that came out nowhere,” Mariano reminded him. “The first line of the instructions even warn us that we would be playing with people’s lives.”

“That’s just...intrigue. It doesn’t prove anything.”

Eresh pointed to Leona. “She proves it.”

“Could someone fill me in?” Leona requested.

“What is the last thing you remember?” Mariano asked her.

“I was on a planet called Bungula. A group of scientists built a laboratory to observe my pattern.”

“Your pattern of jumping forwards in time one year at the end of every day?” he added for her.

“That’s right.”

Dhartha stopped trying to read through the instructions. “This isn’t possible. We would know. We’re keeping a pretty good eye on the surface.”

“It’s a different Earth,” Liora guessed. “Just like in the game.”

“We have no proof that there are more than two universes,” Dhartha argued.

“It’s unlikely there would only be two,” Mariano said. “One? Maybe. Infinite? Yes, definitely. But just two? That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, then, how did she get here? Did she have a bridge, or The Crossover, or an amazing technicolor dreamcoat?” That last one didn’t sound like a joke, but it must have been. Right?

“The observation chamber,” Odhrán suggested. “It messed with her jump, just like the Snow White coffin did for Mateo.”

“When are you people going to get this?” Dhartha began. “The characters aren’t traveling through time. Because none of this is real. It’s just an RPG that we’ve been for the last several hours.”

“This is no standard role-playing game,” Mariano said. “I’ve been to the surface, and the Earthans don’t play this kind of thing.”

“Whatever, it’s advanced. That doesn’t mean it’s magic.”

“We’re all witches,” Liora said.

“Who don’t use magic.” Dhartha was getting tired of being the only sane person in the room.

“I’ve also met The Superintendent,” Mariano said.

“That’s just a man,” Dhartha brushed off. “He doesn’t have powers either.”

“Are you kids trying to tell me that you are the powers that be?”

 Eresh laughed. “Xolta came up with that term. She heard it in an old monster TV show, and thought it sounded cool.”

“From your perspective,” Mariano said, “yes. We’re the PTB, and I promise you that we will stop playing the game, so you can move on with your life.”

“You can’t do that.” The Gravedigger walked into the room.

“You knew about this, Mister Halifax?” Dhartha asked him.

“I’m your teacher. I know everything you’re up to.”

Eresh stood up. “So, when we named the Gravedigger after you, that was just...actually you.”

“I’ve been helping in the best way I can. How we honor our dead determines how civilized we are.”

“They are not our dead,” Dhartha said. “Real or not, they’re still just our characters.”

“Why didn’t you stop the game?” Xolta asked Halifax.

“Once it started, it could not be finished. If you quit, the universe dies.”

“Whatever,” Dhartha said. “It stopped being fun two hours ago. The Cleanser, as a villain, cannot be beat.”

“My favorite was Nerakali,” youngest, Liora said with a smile.

“It would be.”

Leona tried to reason this all out. She was now in another universe, which was no big deal, since she had been to others before. But this one was different, because it supposedly explained everything that had ever happened to her in her whole life, as well as for everyone she ever knew. These were the powers that be; children playing a magical role-playing game with real life consequences. Everyone she lost; every obstacle she overcame; every villain she fought; every person she fell in love with. None of it was real. It was all a literal game. “You’re telling I’m just a figment of these children’s collective imagination?” She sat down on a plush chicken, but didn’t bother taking it out of the chair.

Halifax sat next to her, and waited to explain. “When you go to sleep, you dream, right?”

“Usually. Why?”

“Dreams are real. I would know, I’m a dreamwalker. I come from a long line of walkers, actually. Mateo met a few of them once, on Tribulation Island. When you dream, your mind conjures a parallel universe, and lets you live in it, as a hologram. When the dream is over, the universe collapses...unless it’s recurring, or you’re good at making it lucid, or you just have strong power over it. But not all dreams happen while you’re asleep. We often call people who dream while they’re awake...writers. They can amass an entire universe by sheer will, and control every aspect of it. The Superintendent is one such writer, and these children are just tapping into that. A story is only as good as its creator, or its audience. Without at least one of these parties, keeping the story going, you can’t exist. The creator of your universe has no audience, so he recruited the power of these witches of Atlantis, so he wouldn’t have to carry the burden alone. If they don’t keep playing, he will have to come up with story ideas all on his own, and since he has a fulltime job, he won’t really have time for that.”

“Does our story have to be so heartbreaking, and challenging?” Leona asked of him.

“Is any story worth telling not both of those things?” he asked her rhetorically.

Leona sat there with her face in her palms for a good long while. Everyone there knew to just stay quiet while she processed. “You’re pretty good at rationalizing murder.”

“Leona, everyone who believes in God believes in a benevolent force who murders people.”

“Not everyone.”

“Maybe not,” Halifax agreed, “but you have to ask yourself one question. Knowing what you know now—about dreams, and the subconsciousness—how many people do you think you’ve murdered?”

Leona stood back up, stiffened up her upper lip, and straightened her back. “Zero. Because subconsciousness is not consciousness. I’m not a writer. And now that I know the truth, I’m going to stop dreaming.”

“That’s your choice. They make a pill for that, but remember one thing before you leave.”

“What’s that?”

“God taketh, and God giveth life. You may have murdered countless people in countless dream universes, but you also created them. They are literally nothing without you.”

“They should be,” Leona said coldly. “Now take me to Mateo.”

“I can’t take you back to him. He needs to be free from distractions. But I can put you on his pattern.”

She was confused. “I’m already on his pattern.”

“Not the new one.”

“Whoa,” Mateo said. “That didn’t seem to work.” This time jump was different. He usually felt a little bit of nausea, but returned exactly where he was when he left. But this time, he was teetering. He would have fallen down had Ramses not been there to catch him.

“It worked,” Newt said. There was a rumor floating around history that there was a way to get rid of one’s time powers, or their pattern. Leona’s friends, Missy and Dar’cy went off in search of this holy grail. Once they did, they learned that the power remover came in the form of a stillborn child, born of a young woman from Springfield, Kansas, and a young man from Durus. So anyone who wanted that to happen would have to be at that place, at that time, because it would never happen again. But the reason this rumor existed was because things were different in an old alternate timeline. Newt was born perfectly healthy there, but the white monsters apparently felt threatened by him, so he had to be rescued from their universe, and brought to Dardius, where he would hopefully be safe.

“It’s still two thousand, two hundred, and twenty-two,” Ramses explained. You’ve only been gone a few hours. Sort of...temporal turbulence. You’re here for good now, though.”

“Is Leona like me too? And Serif? Did they fall off of our pattern?”

“I don’t see why they would,” Newt said. “You weren’t on the same pattern, you just had the same pattern.”

Mateo wasn’t sure this was accurate. “So I’m...I’m done? The powers that be can’t get to me anymore?”

“It would be like trying to eat a sandwich that someone already ate. You’re not salmon anymore. They can’t get to you.”

“Great!” Ramses slapped Mateo on the back, affectionately, but a little too hard. “Let us reintroduce you to your loyal subjects. Welcome to realtime, Patronus Matic.”

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Furor: Five People With Different Ideas (Part IX)

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Before they knew it, the City Frenzy was right upon them. There were a few things that needed to happen to prepare for the day of the race. Ace needed to separate himself from the group a little bit, so he could be ready to meet—supposedly for the first time—a very young and naïve Serkan Demir. This version of Serkan was living a normal life in Kansas City, oblivious to all things time travel, and trying to get ready for an athletic competition he had not trained for. Because of his current notoriety, the older and wiser version of Serkan had to be extra careful to stay out of sight, lest the camera collective notice a paradox of presence. Meanwhile, Slipstream was coordinating all the tracers, including those in the reserves, to clear the streets as much as possible. For a few years, they were the de facto police force in the metropolitan area, which had no official unifying force of its own. After they had helped remove gangs from power, and dramatically lower gun violence, they turned control back over to the real cops. Still, that wasn’t too long ago, and many civilians still recognized the tracers’ authority. Paige was responsible for protecting Serkan’s ignorant family. And Jesi was missing.

At the moment, Ace was tending to his future boyfriend. He had fallen on the ground the night before while training for the City Frenzy race, using unauthorized, and unethical, visual hindrance technology. He was only now waking up. “Where am I?”

“My apartment,” Ace said.

“Why am I not in the hospital?” Young!Serkan asked.

“Because they would have held you back, in case you had a concussion. You have a race to run.”

“How do you know about that?” Young!Serkan was getting nervous.

“You’re famous.” Ace directed his attention to his home automation system. “Thistle, turn on all screens.” The wall transformed from a blank, to a few different views. One screen was showing salmon spawning up river, while another a time lapse of clouds rolling overhead. A third had the news on mute.

“Could you unmute that?”

“Do what the man says, Thistle,” Ace said.

The news anchor was already in the middle of her story, “...like it’s going to be a lovely sunny and cool day for the ninth annual City Frenzy event. Hotels were booked up solid for weeks, as this will be the highest number of visitors ever recorded for this occasion. One of the biggest related stories is that three-time winner, Serkan Demir is returning for one final push before he ages out. He registered as a late-comer, here to fill in for his younger brother, who has reportedly fallen ill.”

“Mute that,” Ace said, deep in thought. That wasn’t right. Old!Serkan recalled the news story with pretty high detail. The news reported on odd weather events, reminiscent of the 2024 debacle with Keanu ‘Ōpūnui. Young!Serkan was also supposed to have gotten himself in a pre-Frenzy obstacle course race with a professional rival, who was then supposed to have become injured. Something had changed. This proved that history could be rewritten. Perhaps whatever Rothko Ladhiffe was going to do wasn’t actually ever going to happen after all.

“Thanks,” Young!Serkan said. “I don’t really like hearing people talk about me, even if it’s all good things.”

Ace was having trouble listening. “Yeah.”

“Well...you obviously already know my name. Could I have yours?”

“Horace Reaver.” He generally just went by Ace, but he was still trying to figure out how they changed the future, and what that meant for their mission to send Rothko back to prison.

Serkan wanted to say something else, but was interrupted by Ace’s phone ringing.

It was Slipstream, but he couldn’t say that in front of Young!Serkan. “Bo. What is it?” Jesi was finally back. “You found her?” Yes. “I’ll be right there.” What was he going to do with Young!Serkan, though? “He is, yes. I’ll take care of it.” He needed to usher the kid out of here, so he could go deal with this. “He’ll be fine. I’ll explain later. Where are you?” Back at the house. “Okay.”

“I think you’ll be okay,” Ace said to Young!Serkan, shutting his phone. He quickly started shoving some of his world-famous into a baggie. “You need some energy if you wanna win. I’m afraid I have to go take care of some business. You better call a car to Frenzy headquarters, or you’ll be late.”

“I understand,” Young!Serkan said, getting out of bed, and massaging his head.

“Whose blood is that?” Ace once he was back at the house.

Jesi reached down the neck of her shirt, and pulled the dog tags from her cleavage. They were even bloodier than her face. “I think you know.”

“What did you do?”

“I took the revenge that you couldn’t. I know you can’t thank me for it, but my soul is already damned, so I took care of it for you. I consider it a gift. I get that you don’t, and I think we should leave Paige out of it.”

“Ladonna threatened my child,” Ace began, “but she was a human being, and we don’t kill those.”

Jesi breathed deeply. “I..do.”

“I suppose you were wearing that terrible thing at the time, and it can’t be undone.”

“Dead is dead is dead is dead,” Jesi said.

“Take it off right now,” Ace ordered her.

Jesi started taking off her shirt.

“Not that,” Ace stopped her. “Well yeah, you probably should wash up if you ever want to go out in public, but I mean the Hundemarke.”

“Why would I ever go back in public again? I broke the rules. I left the time period, I hurt someone. Aren’t you sending me back to Beaver Haven?”

Ace decided to just take the dog tags back for himself. “I can still use you.” He tossed the deadly object back into the lockbox. “And when we’re done with Rothko, you and I are taking a trip back to, uhh...that crater place, and destroying the Hundemarke before it hurts anyone else.”

Jesi did start stripping completely. “Fine with me, as long as we keep it with us long enough to stop Rothko, should it come to that. Do I have permission to use your shower?”

Ace just gestured towards the bathroom.

Slipstream hadn’t said a word this whole time.

“You think I’m letting her off easy?”

She chuckled. “I made a lot of deals, with a lot of devils, when I was working for the Gunbenders. I wasn’t always proud of who was in bed with, but it got the goddamn job done.” True, conventional wisdom dictated you didn’t want to be on her bad side.

Ace’s phone rang again. “Serkie, you’re on speaker.”

“It’s already starting!” Old!Serkan shouted at them. “Things are getting weird downtown! Every door to every building north of eleventh street is missing!”

Ace went over and banged on the door to the bathroom, where the shower was running. “Sorry, you gotta cut this short, Jesi. We’re leaving right now.”

“I’m here,” Jesi said, walking into the hallway from the kitchen, fully clothed, and clean.

“How did you...?”

“I’m still in the shower,” Jesi explained. “I’m from twenty minutes in the future.”

“Does that mean...”

“I don’t know what happens,” she interrupted. “I was relaxing the whole time. Let’s go.”

The Jesi that was still in the bathroom yelled back, “I’ll be out in twenty minutes!”

The ride to downtown was awkward and slow, as this was one of the worst days for traffic of the year. They had to park several blocks away, but Slipstream had a monthly pass to a garage from an apparent real job she had in Crown Center, and a designated parking space of her own. “Who are you?” Jesi asked of her as they were stepping out of the car.

“I don’t know how to put this,” Slipstream replied, “but...I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Do you guys feel that?” Ace asked the group. “The air feels thicker.”

Jesi sniffed and smacked her lips. “It’s a little vegetably too. Is vegetably a word?”

“That’s not vegetables,” Slipstream realized. “That’s weed. The air is laced with marijuana.”

“Shit. Is everyone getting high? Even children?”

“Weed makes me slow, guys,” Slip warned them.

“It’s makes everyone slow.”

“Yeah, but like, speed is kinda my thing. It’s going to take us forever to get downtown.”

“I can help with that.” It was Doctor Mallory Hammer, whom Ace had only met in a parallel dimension. She was holding a medical bag in one hand, and a little plastic case in the other. She removed three injectors from the case, and tapped her finger under her chin. “Place it right here, and push the button on the other side. It’ll counteract the effects of the drugs.”

“You had these ready?” Ace asked, taking the injector.

“Mister Ladhiffe has been contaminating the air everywhere he goes for days, so Baxter and I have been working on it.”

“He wants the people to be docile and compliant,” Jesi explained.

“Well, on the bright side,” Dr. Hammer said, “the traditional cover-up story that there was a massive gas leak is almost true this time ‘round. I gotta go deliver more of these to key people. Stay safe.” She walked away.

“Can you two run?” Slipstream asked them.

“Can you run slowerly than usual?” Jesi asked in return.

“Done it before.” She ran off, forcing the other two to catch up.

Twenty minutes later, they were in the heart of the city. Serkan’s description didn’t really do it justice, or maybe things had gotten much worse since they last spoke. A restaurant was melting like a stick of butter in a microwave. A group of children’s hair was spontaneously shifting colors. They weren’t particularly bothered by it, but there parents were. Most of the cars were sliding down the street upside down, totally out of control of their drivers. A few wild animals were chasing each other up the side of a skyscraper, and a cloud looked like it was literally falling towards them. Two Frenzy racers Ace recognized, but couldn’t name, were struggling to wade through the sidewalk, which still looked like concrete, but moved like quicksand.

Ace, Slipstream, and Jesi stopped running now. The further they went down Walnut, the worse things got, so this was no time to be hasty. Most people were trying to get away from the chaos, so when the man at the center noticed three people heading right for him, he smiled villainously.

“Jesimula Utkin,” Rothko said, “It has been so long. How are you, my beautiful girl?”

“Even more beautiful than when we were kids,” she answered.

“That is the truth. You’re no Savitri, but I wouldn’t mind—”

“You best not finish that sentence,” Ace advised.

Rothko didn’t like being interrupted.

Slipstream stepped slightly in front of Ace, to protect him, wielding the special power-dampening cuffs.

“I was gonna say I wouldn’t mind taking her on the Bamboozler,” Rothko managed to say. That was some kind of ride at the amusement park. “Why don’t we go right now?”

With but a thought, Rothko turned the entire intersection into a thrill ride. The ground beneath Ace’s feet start spinning him around in a random pattern. Slipstream was spinning on a different path, as was Jesi. The few humans who hadn’t found a way to escape were experiencing the same thing. Several people just sliding along the road, criss-crossing each other, and sometimes falling down. Serkan suddenly appeared from up the street to join the ride, but only along the perimeter. He was locked in a cage, and never got within fifty feet of Rothko. He was holding the teleporter gun, which Hogarth had supposedly programmed to send any target directly to the intake area of Beaver Haven Prison. Every time he tried to target Rothko, though, he would unwillingly spin around, and lose tracking. He finally just decided to take a shot, and he might have hit Rothko too, but the time bullet started weaving around, just the people were. There was just no stopping the man. At least not without a secret weapon.

Paige used her power to teleport to appear out of nowhere, right in Serkan’s cage. She held up the Paradox Ticker, which was evidently designed to alter reality. In this case, she was using it to put things back to how they were meant to be. The cage faded away, freeing Serkan to run right up to Rothko, and finally suppress his powers. Everything stopped, leaving everyone to return to their original location before the ride began. Ace saw the time bullet Serkan had shot from the gun shift direction as well, and head right for Rothko. Unfortunately, Rothko saw it coming too, and used Serkan as a human shield. The love of Ace’s life disappeared, but not before Slipstream had covertly run up to him, and placed the cuffs right on his wrists before he could start using his powers again.

“Good,” Jesi said. “Let’s end this.” She removed a secret gun from her waist band, and pointed it at Rothko’s head. She walked forward with purpose.

“Jesi, don’t do this,” Ace begged her. “It’s over. He’s going back.”

“That’s not good enough,” Jesi said. “He’ll get out again.”

“You don’t even have the Hundemarke. This can all be—”

Jesi pulled the dog tags out of her cleavage once more. “I broke the rules again. I really am sorry. Well, I’m sorry for betraying you, but not for doing this.”

“You need to learn to work with a team. Things aren’t always going to happen how you want them to.”

“We’re not a team,” Jesi argued. “We’re just five people with different ideas.” She was about to do it.

“Wait,” Ace said. “Take this first.”

“Take what?” Jesi asked, but she had the thing in her hand before she knew what it was.

Ace squeezed her fingers shut, which activated the home stone. But he was touching her at the moment, so he went back in time with her.

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Microstory 1055: Ida

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I work at a dry cleaners/laundromat. Because we do both, we stay open a lot later than a normal dry cleaning place would. But that doesn’t really mean we get a lot of customers coming in at night. So, I’m sitting there reading my book, nearing close. I’ve just emptied the coin receptacles, and I’m ready to go to bed. No one else is there, and I’m meant to lock up by myself, like I’ve done a million times. Viola suddenly walks in. Of course, it’s all windows, so I have no clue where the hell she came from. It’s like she just appeared in the doorway. She’s drenched in blood, and...other matter that I will not say out loud, as I am a lady. Though, I guess I shouldn’t be so afraid to say it, since I deal with it on the reg. I deal with a lot of blood too, but usually we’re talkin’ paper cuts that get out of hand, or errors in reading the lunar calendar. This was an insane amount of blood, though. It looked like she just walked out of a horrible slasher film. She assured me none of it was hers, but that wasn’t great either, because then whose blood was it? Well, I did ask, but I didn’t force her to explain herself before I agreed to help, because we’re friends, and friends are friends with no conditions. She stripped naked right there, while I flipped the sign on the door, locked it, and shut all the shades. I tried to take the clothes from her, but she wouldn’t let me have them. She said they were dangerous, and only she could touch them, which right away sounds like the person who spilt it had a disease, or was carrying some biological weapon. I told her that there was really no way of coming back from the kind of damage those clothes suffered, so she would be better off throwing them out. Apparently, she couldn’t do that. She had to wear them the next day. So I told her what to do.

First, we soaked the clothes in the toilets, with a lot of soap. You don’t want that much of that kind of stuff in any of the machines, and the pipes that come from sinks aren’t designed to handle such great volume. Plus, if you’re investigating a murder—not that that’s what this was—you’re gonna check the sink long before you even consider digging through sewage. After the majority of the bad stuff was off the fabric, I got a bucket, and we soaked them again, but this time with stain remover, and then a little ammonia. Then we dropped the laundry into the washer, so we could clean up the floors. Here we could use bleach, which makes for a better cover-up. After the washer was done, we ran it again, to be safe. And then we used the dryer on high heat. Finally, I dry cleaned them, just for good measure. They looked good as new, but I couldn’t promise all the blood was gone, or rather, the DNA. She understood this, and seemed okay with it. We spent all night working, and when it was over, before she left, she told me she hooked something for me on the garment conveyor. I found what she was talking about, in a beautiful dress worth hundreds of dollars. A note was attached to it, which warned me I was never to tell this story until someone specifically asked me how I knew Viola. You are the first to ever do that, so congratulations. Also on the note was a little round symbol I wasn’t familiar with yet, and a future date. It’s this cryptocurrency called tyros. It was trading at two cents when I bought tens of thousands of them using the money I got from selling the dress. Today, I’m literally a millionaire. Tyros crashed to nothing the day after I finished selling off all 40,000.

Microstory 1054: Dolly

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I liked Viola, and that’s saying a lot, because I don’t like anybody. My apathy for everything in the world started several years ago, and as much as I want to, I’ve never been able to get past it. I keep encountering these people who are so passionate. They’re passionate about their family, or their friends, or school, or work. They have ambition, and hopes for a good future. Unfortunately for me—and for everyone that has to deal with me, for that matter—I just can’t get there. I don’t go around trying to bum everybody out, but I also can’t bring myself to get excited about anything, and people can sense that when I’m near. I can’t help but think about the many tens of billions of people who have come before us, and died. Pick up any history book, and you’ll find only a handful of people who are named. It’ll discuss all the wars, and famines that affected tons of people’s lives, but it doesn’t mention those specific lives. You might think that would be absurd, and I would totally agree with you, because that’s the point. Those handful of people are the only ones who truly matter, while everyone else is just blurry faces in a busy painting. But even those lucky few don’t matter much either. Think about how much humanity has improved, and what we have accomplished. Now think about how everyone’s story ends, or even simply the fact that it always ends. Everyone’s life is fleeting, so your only hope is to have some impact on younger people, who will go on once you’re dead. But so what? They’ll die too, having spent their whole lives trying to do the same thing you did. It all just keeps going, and the more time that passes, the less you’ll be remembered. There is no objective, and no reward. It doesn’t matter if you cure cancer, or save an old lady from a fire, because she’ll die, and so will the cancer patient. I hear you’ve been interviewing people according to how well they knew Viola, but I don’t know why you spoke with half the class before me, because I never met her. She never took pity on me, and tried to sit at my table at lunch one day. She didn’t play pool with me, or cure me of some affliction, or teach me to sing. In fact, the times I was paying attention, I got the distinct impression that she was actively avoiding me. I once saw her duck into this janitor’s closet when she saw me coming down the hall. That’s why we’re in here, to show you that she would rather come into this disgusting place than risk passing by someone she didn’t like, but whom she wouldn’t have had to worry was going to try to talk to her. Whoa, did you see that! Sorry, I just saw her face in that mirror. She was standing right behind me. It’s suddenly gotten quite warm in h—Alma. This is Viola. As great of a host that Dolly is, I don’t have long with her body, so listen carefully. Talk to Ida before Carrie. And Earl before E—what was that? You were sitting down. How did you stand up so fast? What the hell is going on?

Microstory 1053: Addie

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I was never a singer. I joined Random Spans under the assumption that I would not have to sing. But all that changed when Pearl started being able to come to rehearsal less and less, and it started looking like I was going to have to fill in for her. I wouldn’t have even considered it, but Chester and Bert—God love ‘em—are even worse than I am. Of course, the obvious solution is to just find a replacement, but those two were really dragging their feet. Pearl didn’t really feel like she could be honest with them about how her lifestyle was going to have to change because of the baby. Guys have trouble wrapping their brains around what goes into carrying, delivering, and caring for a child. That’s not to say a father’s life doesn’t change too, but it’s different for mothers. Pretty much your whole life revolves around this living creature, and any moment you’re not with them, you’re comparing whatever it is you’re doing to being with them. Everything you see will remind you of your child, or remind you that you would rather be with your child, or that you’re glad to have a break from your child. So Pearl left, leaving me to pick up the pieces of our band, even though I was not equipped for it. Fortunately, I had a great friend named Viola, who was able to help me out with it. Had she not died, I probably never would have heard whispers of other crazy stories about her, so I’m only telling you this, because I know it’s not going to shock you any more. She definitely had powers, and I have tangible proof of it. When I was a kid, my older sister used to make us put on plays and musicals for our family during the holidays. She wrote, starred in, and directed all of our productions, but the rest of the grandkids were expected to participate. So I actually have a lot of experience singing; more than enough to know that I had a terrible voice. You can hear for yourself how bad I was. The videos are unlisted online, but I can get you the links, if you want to risk your ear drums. The point is that this all changed as Pearl’s tenure in our band was winding down. Viola started giving me vocal lessons a few times a week. I don’t know how she found the time to help me, and help all those other people, but I’m grateful for it. I don’t really know what she was meant to be teaching me, but it was all nonsense. Nothing she said during our lessons was at all logical, but I realized later that it didn’t matter. She wasn’t actually teaching me to sing, but instead imbuing me with the power to sing, and using the lessons as cover. To be sure, I don’t know how she did that either, but I know that’s what she did, because she wasn’t the first vocal coach I’ve had, and nobody improves that quickly without supernatural assistance. This whole frontwoman thing might just work out after all.

Microstory 1052: Pearl

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I’m having a [redacted]. Oops, I shouldn’t have said that. Vester never wanted to know the sex of the baby, but he’ll understand, so you can go ahead and print this. I respect the integrity of being on the record. Anyway, it was just one of many things we disagreed on that we ended up finding a compromise for. I found out the truth, while he remains oblivious, like he wants it. He says the sex doesn’t matter to him, but I say the fact that he’s so adamant against knowing means that he actually places more emphasis on it than I do. My knowing doesn’t mean I’m going to love [redacted] any less than I would a [redacted]. It doesn’t mean I’ll paint the nursery [redacted], or buy [redacted] for [redacted], or do any of the other heteronormative things people are expected to adhere to. He has this list written up of possible names, but I already have one picked out. I think you can probably guess what it is. You know, there actually is a masculine form of the name, so I could use it either way. Viola Woods was a wonderful and selfless person, so if there’s even a small chance a name can have any impact on how a child turns out, I want to be as safe as possible. A producer from one of those documentary series about pregnant teens showed up a couple months ago, wanting to do a piece on me, and my life. I kept telling them that it wouldn’t make for very good television. Yes, I’m pregnant, and yes I’m still in high school, but that doesn’t mean it turned my life upside down. At least not any more than it does for anyone else. Children are a lot of work; I recognize that, but I have an incredible support system, which includes my boyfriend, Sylvester.

That argument I told you about, where we disagreed on whether we should know what the sex is? That’s not an example of how different we are; it’s an example of how we work together, and get past our issues. I wouldn’t be going through with this if I didn’t think he could handle it. It was always going to be a team effort, and I wasn’t going to settle for anything less. He underwent a series of tests while I was still in my first trimester; some of which he knew as they were happening, and some came out of my own personal observations. I had to know if he was going to be a good father, would stick by me, and most importantly, would respect what our family needed. I went through these tests too. In fact, I probably tested myself harder than I did him, because I needed to know whether this was the right decision, and simply reflecting on my feelings wasn’t going to cut it. I had to know for sure, because whatever I decided, there would come a point when it could not be reversed, and I didn’t want to have any regrets. Fortunately, we had an unbiased third party to devise these tests. That’s right. Viola came up with them. She basically wrote an entire self-help book on pregnancy within, like, two weeks. I’m currently in communication with Viola’s parents, to see if there’s anyway we can expand on, and publish, what she came up with. If we decide to go ahead with it, we might even reach out to Herman, so he can help make it into a real book. I think Viola would like that. You could be part of it too, if you wanted. All talent welcome. I want to commemorate her in some way that lasts, rather than just a few social media posts you’ll never see again, or a shrine they take down in four years. My parents are trying to talk me out of it, because they think I have a full plate, but I still need to live my life. I want to teach baby [redacted] that you can have your cake, and eat it too. After all, that’s what the OG Viola taught me.

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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