Microstory 1230: Lubomir Resnik

< > Table of Contents

Lubomir Resnik was the eldest of the source mages on the mostly dead world of Durus, but that did not make him the strongest. It was quite the opposite, actually, since he was born about three and a half months before he was due. Baby Lubomir struggled a lot in his early life, but of course, he kept fighting, and survived well into adulthood. He was a loving human being, who liked to be around people. As a result, he was perhaps a bit too trusting of others, and they sometimes disappointed him. He never stopped believing in them, though, and he never stopped caring for pretty much everyone he could find. He was always mediating some kind of argument between his peers, and he didn’t like it when there was any sort of conflict. Since he was a premature baby, Lubomir was originally meant to be the youngest, but that spot eventually went to Valda Ramsey, after her pregnant mother found herself having unwittingly been sent five years into the future. He was always impressed with Valda’s strength and bravery after having missed so much of early life on the rogue world. He didn’t give her much thought beyond that, however, until they were both older. Then he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She would come to develop feelings for him as well, though their relationship wasn’t the easiest thing to deal with. While there was a strict no-child policy for all mages, which was something that everybody agreed to, there weren’t any rules against two mages being a couple, or one mage finding some other mate elsewhere. Still, the others didn’t appreciate that Lubomir and Valda were a pair. There were some jealousy issues, and it was an all around difficult time for the whole group. Eventually, their friends just had to accept that this was the way things were, and there was nothing they could do to change it.

Well, Lubomir and Valda did end up having a child together, and if any of the others found out, it could be disastrous. Fortunately for them, they were all essentially immortal, which made it easier to avoid being caught. The source mages had access to a special class of time monsters called verters. They were civilized and vocal, unlike most of the other temporal anomalies. They had the ability to alter a target’s age,  to make them either older or younger. They could use this as a weapon, but they were generally pretty agreeable. If the source mages hadn’t ultimately been killed in battle, they could have effectively remained young and healthy forever because of this alliance. Either way, it provided them with an abnormal perspective on life. No one questioned it when the two lovebirds went off on their own for several months while she was pregnant. They didn’t do the math, and realize what must have happened. They just moved on with their lives, and greeted them both with just as much politeness as ever when they finally returned after their daughter’s birth. Of course, the new parents couldn’t keep the lie going forever, unless they were willing to give up their child, which is what they felt they had no choice but to do. Lubomir was against it. He thought the others would understand why they had broken the rules, and that things were going to be okay. But he never found out whether he was right, because the others didn’t learn of Jayde’s existence until many years later. They didn’t react too kindly to her then, but they would never know what would have happened had they just been honest from the beginning. Lubomir desperately wanted to believe that history would have turned out better, but that was the compassionate side of him, and if he was going to survive the aftermath of the war, he needed to get over that.

Microstory 1229: Khuweka Kadrioza

< > Table of Contents

Out of all the Maramon, which were also known by humans as the white monsters, Khuweka Kadrioza was probably the very best. Even amongst her group of rebels, who were against the war, she was the most compassionate for their progenitors. The Maramon were created by an imaginative child with almost unimaginable power, who didn’t understand the basic concepts of life. For most, life begins, they suffer struggles, they get hurt, and then they die. He was far too young to recognize these truths, and so when his ability to conjure entire beings into existence kicked in, they appeared without them. Maramon are so difficult to kill that later generations didn’t even have a word for death until centuries of development. They didn’t war, they didn’t have traffic collisions. They didn’t have any problems with resources until their population rose to untenable numbers. But they did have strong feelings about the humans, and were convinced that it was their responsibility to deliver any human they encountered to what was essentially their species’ analog to heaven. Again, they didn’t consider this to be death. Humans were their gods, and to them, gods did not belong in the same realm as them, so they needed to be removed. It was only after the first Maramon died that they realized what was truly going on, but by then, their instinct to attack humans was quite nearly impossible to resist. Khuweka had no problem with this resistance. It’s true that she was lucky enough to be born inside the counterculture, which knew that humans were just a different species; one that was genetically not too terribly dissimilar. But there’s evidence to suggest she would have come to the right conclusions on her own, if only to a smaller degree. She didn’t need to spend time with humans to know she didn’t hate them. She never understood this weird veneration-slash-animosity that all her fellow Maramon seemed to feel. It wasn’t hard for her to see individuals as just that; individuals. So she continued to work with the resistance, operating against the Maramon establishment, and protecting what precious few humans they came across. But she also felt apart from everyone else; again, even when she was around other dissenters. She felt fortunate when she followed a group of people out of the universe entirely, and ended up traveling to other worlds, all of which were dominated by humans. Of course, this wasn’t much better, because the people in these other worlds wouldn’t likely accept her either, because she looked scary and threatening. Finally, however, she found the right place to be. She was in a world where all sorts of crazy and unpredictable things happened on the regular. When people saw her, they assumed she was merely the product of something they called a base modification; just a human who had been randomly transformed into something else. It didn’t matter that they didn’t know the truth, because it didn’t bother them either way. Society there quickly lost all sense of prejudgment, and let people’s actions speak for themselves, rather than presuming their character upon first meeting. She was home, and she never looked back to where she came from.

Microstory 1228: Baudin Murdoch

< > Table of Contents

Though he erred on the side of decent, Baudin Murdoch was a fairly neutral choosing one. His greater power afforded him immense respect amongst his colleagues. People tended to be nice to him for fear of retribution, even though he didn’t have a history of exacting revenge on others. He belonged to an extremely rare class of temporal manipulators known as builders, and the other two were related to each other. As far as time powers went, theirs was perhaps the most convoluted and hard to explain. Want to turn invisible? Well, bending light itself is impossible, but you can only trick people into seeing what’s behind you, rather than you, so that’s the workaround. More interested in traveling to other star systems? That’s also a rare ability, but at least it’s just teleportation with extreme range. These things don’t require much thought. A sufficiently-abled user only need think about what they want as an end result, and if they’re capable enough, it will happen. Building, on the other hand, requires assembling objects that would never go together naturally, and a deeper thought process. Each piece needs to be considered individually, and as a whole, so that all of them together will ultimately form the desired structure. Not everyone with this power would be able to use it with such precision and skill, and in fact, Baudin wasn’t ever even the best. When The Rogue took over Baudin’s body, he could do what Baudin could, but not nearly as well. It took him years to build Sanctuary, whereas it would have taken Baudin a couple days, on his best week. Étude Einarsson was also never as good as him, or the best ever, her mother, but that was okay, because she wielded plenty of power beyond that. Also known as The Constructor, Baudin hailed from a very old timeline, surviving into each newly created reality using protective temporal objects. He treated his ability like a business, though he never demanded payment for his services. He almost always held meetings, consulted with other professionals, drew up contracts, and did just about everything else a normal builder would do to get the job done right. He didn’t actually love the construction itself, though. It was boring, and required too much attention. Unlike Andromeda, whose work could be completed in minutes, he did still need a little bit of time to finish. So he came up with an alternative.

Inspired by the automation movement in the human realm in the 20th and 21st centuries, Baudin created a tool that could channel his power, and build the structures he wanted without him being around the entire time. Unfortunately, a tool like this came with a literal sacrifice. He commissioned the help of a woman named The Weaver. She could normally invent objects using regular parts, made of metal and plastic, but in this case, she was unable to replicate Baudin’s power with tech. The only way to do it was for him to provide a significant specimen for her to work with. He chose to use the largest bone in his body: the femur. And thus the bone stake was created. Those who knew about it called him foolish or insane, but they weren’t taking into account future medical technology. It was no big deal for him to replace his own leg with a prosthetic if it meant his job would be easier, and indeed it was. As a bonus, the bone stake could interface with computers—generally his trusty tablet—and essentially grow a building using a model designed in software, by him, or even someone else. Once the design was set, and the bone stake in place at the construction site, Baudin could leave, and do whatever it was he truly wanted. He could feel it doing its thing remotely, and he was still limited to the same point in time while it was operational, but it didn’t drain him of his energy in the way using his power had before, and it left him more time to meet with clients, or design new projects. He was an important man, known for having been at least partially responsible for a number of important buildings used by salmon and choosers alike, throughout all of time and space.

Microstory 1227: Krakken

< > Table of Contents

When Hilmar Strauss was born, his father noted that he looked like some kind of sea creature; covered in goo, flailing about, and making all kinds of noise. Hilmar’s mother didn’t appreciate it at the time, but the nickname he used grew on her, and eventually, pretty much everyone was calling him Kraken. Hilmar himself never liked the name, though he didn’t much care for his real name either, so he slightly altered the spelling in a half-act of defiance, half way of taking control of his own life, and finally came to identify himself as Krakken. He fancied himself a bit of an outlaw; one of those people who do illegal things simply because they’re illegal, and not because of any personal gain they provide. He wasn’t violent, angry, or psychotic, but his baby crimes—like stealing his podmate’s crayon in kindergarten—were aging as quickly as he was, so they were bound to become a real problem. Luckily enough, Krakken was living in the right time period, and the right city, to be a criminal who wasn’t really a bad person. New, less destructive, gangs were taking over Kansas City, and pushing out the gun-toting, drug-running, gangs of yesteryear. He wanted to join one of them, but none of them seemed like a reasonable choice. He wasn’t a hacker like the Grammers, nor a musician like the Codas. He liked animals, but the Beasts sometimes took things way too far, and he didn’t want to fall down the rabbit hole, and do something he regretted. The Tracers were badasses, but he never thought of himself as a fighter, so applying to them would have been a waste of time. The Taggers were the only choice he had left once he eliminated everyone else. The problem was that he didn’t exactly fit in with them either. Krakken loved art, but he could admit that he wasn’t much good at it. Fortunately for him, that didn’t mean there was no place for him in the Tagger gang. There was plenty of work for him to do, providing ancillary support, and being a lookout. The graffiti artists found a lot of valuable in having someone like him around, who would help them out in any way they needed. He did laundry, cooked meals, protected them from law enforcement, and drove them to and from their walls and underpasses. Don’t misunderstand; the others respected him greatly, and never took his role for granted. They still got their own coffee, and cleaned their own apartments. It was just nice to have someone available to take some of the burden off of them, so they could focus on their work, and he was more than happy to do it. In the end, he didn’t do much crime; the Taggers were one of the less socially impactful groups in the metro, after all. But he was content with his life, and when it was time to move on, he did so, and got himself a real job, so he could be a healthy and productive member of society.

Microstory 1226: Octavian

< > Table of Contents

Octavian of the Roman Kingdom was not a good person. In fact, he was significantly worse than his brother, Sevastian, which most who had only met the latter would have doubted was possible. He was a born killer, first fighting in the Army, and then traveling through time, assassinating targets as assigned to him by his superior. Unlike his brother, Octavian didn’t hesitate for one second when this mysterious man appeared in their lives, and offered them these new jobs. He didn’t much care who he was fighting for, or for what cause, as long as he had a blade in hand, and a target to attack. He had a little more trouble grasping the concept of time travel, and struggled with understanding the idea of the more advanced weapons that his new leader, Darrow introduced him to, but he never stopped liking it. He liked it when he was doing it for his people, and also when it was as an assassin. Had he been born a couple thousand years later, he would have become a serial killer. It was really just luck that he was tasked with only killing bad people. Despite the fact that he now had the ability to travel through time, and also to supernaturally find the location of his targets, Octavian was an unremarkable man. He wasn’t an exceptional killer on his own, and relied heavily on Darrow’s tactical planning, and Sevastian’s skill. One thing he had going for him was that he was good at following orders, which meant the other two didn’t generally have to worry about him going rogue, and killing anyone who looked at him funny. But he did enjoy the work a little too much, and it made him arrogant enough to be killed by an opponent who should have never been able to get the upper hand on him. Even though many time travelers recognized there to be at least some value in the three of them existing in the timeline, no one was upset when they learned of his and his brother’s deaths. The timeline continued on without them.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: November 18, 2256

« < » > Table of Contents

The adjoining of Radiant Lightning, and The Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez was totally finished when Mateo returned to the timestream. While they did fit well together, geometrically speaking, they weren’t designed with that in mind. There was still a lot to be done to adapt them to each other. Whatever it was that made the AOC go before first had to be taken out, which was apparently the easiest part. There was always a way to jettison it in case something went wrong, such as what happened in that movie where Tommy Lee Jones goes crazy alone in space. The end result of the new ship was exquisite, even though Mateo wasn’t intelligent enough to know what exactly this meant. They could now get to any planet in this region in a matter of days, sure, but why that was suddenly now possible was something that would always fly right over his head.

On a personal note, Leona and Cassidy were still off on whatever it was they were doing, wherever they were doing it. They kept in contact with Homebase, so people would know they were still alive, but neither of them agreed to talk to Mateo. Cassidy had done nothing wrong, and Leona certainly hadn’t, so Mateo was rightfully being treated as the bad guy. He just hoped this didn’t mean his life was essentially over. If he couldn’t be with Leona—either literally, or as soulmates, or both—he didn’t know how he would survive.

Things were awkward in 2256. The crew of the AOC had already known what happened between Mateo and Cassidy, but now that it was no longer an open secret, and just open, it couldn’t be ignored. Mateo, on the other hand, was ripe for being ignored, which was what most everyone was doing. Trinity had a completely different personality than he remembered Paige having before. That was no big surprise, though. They were two totally separate people now, who had experienced wildly different lives. She was ignoring him as well, but it didn’t seem to have anything to do with his indiscretion with Cassidy. She kind of acted like she didn’t love that there were now so many people here, and was ready for some to leave. Eight Point Seven seemed fine with Mateo, leading him to ask her if she would shrink him like she did for Leona so many times, but Eight Point Seven said that it would be a conflict of interest. This decision was probably for the best. The only person who didn’t seem to have a problem with him was Ellie. She was still as bubbly and tenderhearted as ever.

“Oh hold on.” Ellie pulled a pair of glasses out of her bag, and a clipboard. She crossed her legs, and looked at him inquisitively. “Go on.”

“I’m not really looking for a therapist,” Mateo said. “I just don’t have anyone else to talk to.”

“So I’m your last resort. How does that make you feel?”

Mateo laughed at this. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m just joking”

“How do you feel about what happened?” Mateo asked her. One of his biggest problems right now was that no one was expressing their thoughts on the matter. Did they just not know what to say, or were they deliberately trying to make him feel bad, simply because he certainly didn’t deserve to feel happy?

Ellie shrugged. “It’s not really my business.”

“But Leona is your friend.”

“And when she comes back, I’ll be here for her. That doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you too. Shitty sitcoms from the two-thousand aughts teach us that the friends of a couple in distress have to take sides. But that’s really reductive; relationships are more nuanced than that, and very complicated. You screwed up, and there’s no denying it, but you’re not irredeemable, and Leona isn’t beyond forgiving you.”

“That’s a very mature position to hold. I’m not sure I would be so thoughtful if I weren’t the one who done it.”

“Well, you gain perspective when you can eavesdrop on the conversations of faceless strangers from thousands of miles away.”

“You do that a lot?”

“I see what you’re leading to,” Ellie said. “I’m not going to listen in on Leona and Cassidy.”

“What if they’re hurt, or lost?”

Ellie reached back into her bag, and retrieved a tablet. She tapped on it a few times, and then turned it around to show him. He could see what appeared to be vital signs, separated into boxes; one for each of the core group at Homebase, plus the two who weren’t there at the moment. Only Mateo wasn’t on there at all. “We chipped everyone after Leona got lost on another continent. As you can see, they’re both fine.”

“Eight Point Seven is on here.” It looked different than the others, though, since she didn’t have a heart rate, or blood pressure, or any other biological reading.

She chuckled a bit. “Well, yeah. We still need to know how her internal systems are faring.

“What’s wrong with that one?” Mateo was pointing at a box that should have been displaying someone’s vitals, but whoever it was, they appeared to be dead.

“Oh, that’s Briar’s. His chip was damaged recently, but I guess he’s not allowed to undergo any medical treatment for this whole month? It has something to do with his religion. I don’t know anything about it.” She dropped the tablet back into her bag.

Mateo decided to change the subject, because he had another question. “Hey, um. Is that a bag of holding?”

“It is, yes,” Ellie confirmed, holding it up. “Do you two not have your own?”

“No one had them on Tribulation Island, which would have been a good place to stock them. I don’t know where else to find something like that.”

“I got mine from an old man I met in 1804 Kansas. Or rather, what would become Kansas a few decades later. I don’t think he made it, though. I won it off him in a game of poker.”

“I don’t suppose you would be willing to reconnect with him.”

“I would have to find him throughout time and space, and then I would have to speak to him. Both of those things require using my time power, which I’ve agreed to not do while I’m on Bida.”

Mateo nodded. “I understand.”

“There would be no guarantee he would have what you’re looking for anyway. Transdimensional bags aren’t the rarest thing in histories, but they’ve never been mass-marketed either. Lots of people who can create pocket dimensions can’t link them to a bag like this. It takes pretty refined skill.”

“It’s just..Leona has always wanted one.”

“You’re not gonna win her back with a gift, Mateo, and I think you know that.”

“If the gift didn’t win her back,” he began, “she would at least still have a bag of holding. I don’t see the down side.”

“I do,” Ellie claimed. “If you give a gift now, you’re just like any other cheater who thinks it’s possible to make up for the betrayal. You can’t compensate for it. Your only hope is to regain her trust. That’s done through things like being a good person from now on. Listen to her, acknowledge her contributions, ask her for help; basic things that a decent human being does for another. She has to feel like you think of her as a real person. A gift, of any kind—even something less materialistic, like a fun or romantic experience—will only perpetuate her perception that you think she’s a broken object you can repair. Relationships can’t be repaired; they can only grow a new branch, in a different direction, and hopefully leave the dead branch far enough behind that it doesn’t kill the whole tree.”

“Wow. Maybe I was looking for a therapist.”

“I’m not a therapist, Mateo. I’m just a woman.”

He nodded, but didn’t say anything.

After his little therapy session with Ellie, Mateo went out to take a walk on his own. Everyone said it was one of the most beautiful planets, and that Trinity had settled on the most beautiful part of it. The path did not disappoint. The trees and other plant life were gorgeous and calming. Even the animal noises sounded more pleasant than he ever remembered hearing on Earth. Maybe they were just different, and given enough time, he would grow used to them. This wasn’t his first time outside on this world, but he hadn’t paid much attention before. His walk wasn’t perfect, though. Throughout the whole thing, he had this sickening feeling that he was being watched. Perhaps that mad scientist who was trying to transfer people’s consciousnesses to animal droids was following him around, or a hungry real animal. His anxiety worsened every few steps, until it was no longer worth it to keep going. He turned to leave, and came face to face with that guy Leona found alone in the woods. He was acting creepy, but Mateo wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.

“Oh, hey. Briar, right?”

“That’s right,” Briar said. “I’m here to kick your ass.”

“Mateo sighed. “To defend her honor?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, I’ll let you hit me once. I can say that I tripped, or something. But if you hurt me more than that, I’m gonna have to tell her what happened, and she isn’t gonna be happy.”

“I dunno, I think she would probably be really happy about that.”

“You obviously don’t know her very well. She abhors violence.”

“She what’s violence?” Briar questioned, confused.

“She hates it,” Mateo translated.

She hates you more.”

“That’s not true. I know I made a big mistake, but she and I are going to get through this. It doesn’t matter what you do to me, she’s not going to leave me, and run to you.”

“This has nothing to do with me. I’m not gonna hurt you to get you out of the way, and take your place. I’m gonna hurt you, because you deserve it.” He started inching forwards.

Mateo didn’t get into fights when he was a kid, but he also wasn’t easily intimidated. He didn’t know why, but Briar was really freaking him out. It could have been the wrathful fire in his eyes, or just the way he was so convinced that this was the right call. Or maybe it was because they were now standing near the edge of a pretty steep drop. “She won’t forgive you.”

“She won’t need to.”

“I’m under the protection of the powers that be.”

“Then you shouldn’t be worried at all right now.” Mateo was starting to think this guy was genuinely mentally ill.

“Don’t do this, Briar.”

“Don’t do what?” Yeah, to be insensitive about it, he was definitely bonkers. “I’m not even here.” He presented the inside of his wrist. “My medical chip has been broken for a week.”

Briar had forced Mateo all the way to the very edge. If the powers that be were going to do anything to save him, like send the Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida’s version of The Savior to pull him back, this was the moment. Presumably banking on the unremote possibility that they weren’t going to do that, Briar delicately tapped on both of Mateo’s shoulders, and sent him tumbling over.

No Savior, no giant bird, no last-second portal. Mateo fell however far it was to the bottom of the cliff, and landed hard on his back. His whole body was in pain, and warm blood was pooling around him; almost like he was peeing his pants. After a few minutes of lying there, a butterfly-like insect started fluttering over his face, giving him one last beautiful thing to look at before he died. He couldn’t help but smile in wonder. This tiny little thing barely had what you would call a brain. It didn’t think, or feel, or hope. It just searched for food, and propagated the species. It probably didn’t even realize it was flying over the dying body of another creature. It probably just considered Mateo to be part of the landscape. He could feel his life slowly draining from him, but as it did, the insect slew down, until it was almost not moving at all.

This was the day Mateo Matic died.

« < » > Table of Contents

Source Variant: Painting the Forth Bridge (Part VII)

« < » > Entire Story

Saxon’s idea was to make their McIver hats turn them invisible. Whenever one of the natives was discovered having missed daily boulder god worship, they would step in front of them, and take the hit themselves, to prevent anyone else from getting hurt. They were wearing some padding, but they didn’t bring any special bullet-resistant vest with them, or anything. So it wasn’t a whole lot of fun, but it eventually did the trick. Their constant misses caused the Orothsew to believe that their means of punishment was not appreciated by the boulder. It took a few times for it to really sink in that this wasn’t just a fluke, or weirdly powerful gusts of wind. There was one particularly devout rock worshiper who wouldn’t accept it, though. He just kept throwing rocks at people, even going so far as to throw them at former victims who he figured were still not committed enough. Vearden!Three finally decided that the only way to deal with this bully was to start throwing rocks back at him. If this didn’t lead him to believe that God was angry with him, he at least didn’t like the taste of his own medicine. After a few days of monitoring this isolated group of Orothsew, Saga!Two, Vearden!Three, and Saxon stepped back into their shuttle, and flew off. They traveled really far in time, but not very far in space. They ended up landing exactly where they were before, but two hundred years later.

The three of them stay in the shuttle for awhile. It takes a few minutes for it to reconnect with the system. They need to find out what’s been going on before they do anything. After the update, they start looking through the historical records. The former nomads, turned rock worshipers, have now dropped all rock-worship, and have founded a new culture. And it’s all their fault. Again. As it turns out, the Orothsew they were trying to help—who have now distinguished themselves from the rest of the world by calling themselves Telijir—did not attribute the human intervention to the rock god at all. They now worship Ijirasa, a whispering god of the wind. While they were invisible, the humans still needed to communicate, but this was a difficult task since they were unable to see each other. They thought their voices were going unnoticed, but that was clearly not the case. All they did was replace one false deity with three others. Yeah, the Telijir were even able to tell that there were three of them. A cursory glance didn’t make it seem like their new religion was as violent as the one they followed before, but it still had to be stopped, right?

“What are we gonna do this time?” Saga!Two questions. “I feel like anything we try is just going to create a whole new set of problems that we can’t predict. I mean, if we’re only here every two centuries, we can’t keep trying to guide them in the right direction. I think this has grown beyond our capabilities.”

“Do we even need to do anything?” Vearden!Three asks.

“Why wouldn’t we?” Saxon asks. “This is our doing.”

“Right,” Vearden!Three agees, “but the Telijir haven’t heard whispers since we were here. Yet they still believe. I kinda think that’s on them.”

“Never underestimate the power of conviction,” Saga!Two says. “According to these notes, the Telijir still hear whispers all the time.”

Vearden!Three dismisses this with his hand. “We know they’re making it up. Every time a Christian claims to see a bush that burns but isn’t consumed; or a Buddhist claims to have found enlightenment—it’s all just bullshit. There is no God, on any planet, and anyone who claims to have uncovered evidence of such is only doing so to stop themselves from feeling like shit about their lives. They want to believe there’s some higher power, not to take comfort in their divine control, but so they don’t have to admit that their predecessors duped them into believing such obvious nonsense in the first place. No one wants to acknowledge that it isn’t real, and they’re just being stupid. Should we try to convince the Telijir that they’re wrong? Of course not.

“People spent a lot of time and energy on Earth trying to debunk other people’s myths, and they didn’t make one step of progress. No follower has ever been told they’re wrong, and been, like, yeah, ya know what? I think you’re right. Sure, they switched religions all the time, because some invading force conquered them, and they didn’t have a choice, but it never really took hold until the next generations. Why? Because people don’t change; they just die off, and make room for different people, with different ideas. That’s the only reason religion faded away on Earth. No one changed their minds; they were just increasingly less skilled at getting their children to believe as strongly as them. So why should we refuse to help? Because we’ve already seen that it’s a fruitless pursuit, and is more work than it’s worth. The only thing we can do is find some other lie to grapple onto. They won’t become rational overnight. The best we can do is hope it gets better for them faster than it did for us.”

“This is a complete one-eighty from your position last time,” Saga!Two points out.

“That was two hundred years ago,” Vearden!Three says.

“It was a week,” Saxon corrects, though it didn’t need to be said.

“Maybe I changed my mind after all those people threw a bunch of rocks at me.”

“I thought you said people don’t change their minds.” Saxon actually isn’t happy about noting the contradiction.

“I meant that people don’t change their minds about their worldview,” Vearden!Three argues, “but they gain perspective all the time.”

“Vearden,” Saga!Two begins. “How did you get to be so cynical? Was it really the rocks?”

“I’m just sick of this,” Vearden!Three begins. “When I was young, I kept looking for my purpose. With no prompting, I just knew there was something about the world that was hidden from most people. It was by random chance that I stumbled upon the truth. Now I know none of it matters. Nothing we do is going to make any real difference. So why have we been sent to this world? To keep fighting against the inevitable? Count me out; I ain’t doin’ shit this time. May the powers that be strike me down if my decision angers them. I don’t care anymore.”

During Vearden!Three’s last speech, Saxon was looking through the window. Once it’s over, he stands up, and tries to get a better view of something out there.

“What is it, Saxon?” Saga!Two asks.

“Do you think it’s possible that the Orothsew built a monument that’s strikingly similar to Stonehenge on Earth?” he wonders.

“You’re joking.” Saga!Two stands up, and gently moves Saxon out of the way, so she can see what he’s talking about. “That’s the real Stonehenge.” She engages the exit door. “Come on, Vearden!Three. There’s someone I would like you to meet.”

The three of them leave the shuttle, and head for the standing stones. The Delegator is waiting for them in the center with a neutral smile. “Ah, there you are. Thank you for coming.”

“Who are you?” Saxon asks.

“My name is The Delegator. I handle salmon assignments; when necessary, that is. Some salmon don’t need to speak with anyone to do their jobs. They figure out what’s expected of them, and do it with no instructions. Others can be confused, resistant, or just need a little proof that they are indeed there for a reason, and it’s not all just a random occurrence.”

“Which is it for us?” Vearden!Three questions. “Why are you here now?”

“It’s a little of all three. Saga!Two, you seem to be having a little trouble making decisions. Vearden!Three, you’ve obviously become quite jaded about this whole thing. And Saxon, you like facts. You’re a facts guy. I’m a fact. I’m here, and you’re here, and this planet needs you. Those are the facts.”

“Why are the powers that be having us show up every two hundred years, and not a year too soon. That actually is random,” Saga!Two complains. “It may seem like a pattern, but socio-political events don’t follow it, so neither should we.”

“You’re right,” the Delegator begins, “it’s a temporal pattern, but not a logical one. But that’s how they all work. We got a few guys who jump through time based on temperature scales, as they convert from Fahrenheit, Celsius, and Kelvin. We have another group that only lives during repdigit years; year eleven, year two hundred and twenty-two, year three thousand three hundred and thirty-three, and everything in between. One guy only exists on Tuesdays, and July. His name is JB. Anyway, that’s part of the suspense, and it mirrors real life more than you would think.” He starts pacing around demonstratively, like a college professor in the middle of a lecture. “The question that everyone should be asking themselves, whether salmon, or choosing one, or just regular human, is what do I do with the time that I’ve been allotted? The question doesn’t really apply to immortals, so don’t worry about them. Most fully biological people know, assuming nothing goes wrong, that they’re gonna live about eighty years; maybe a hundred. They have to grow, mature, learn, become wise, contribute positively to society, and leave a legacy. Some do better than others, but that’s besides the point. They all ask themselves the question, whether they’re conscious of it, or not.

“You have to ask yourself this as well. Just because you’re not limited to the linear eighty years doesn’t mean you don’t have a limit at all. You have a few days, maybe weeks, to help these people. You have to help them in any way that’s possible, based on where they are in their development right now. You can’t help them in fifty years, or a hundred and fifty. You’re gonna come back in two hundred. And when you do, you’re gonna try to help them again. Neither I nor the powers that be are going to tell you how to do that. They don’t..know. They’re not giving it any thought. They, honestly, probably don’t really care. They’re sort of...into math. Your appearances are mathematical, and they wanna see how that turns out. What you do here is totally up to you, but once you decide what your job is, the powers are going to wait until it’s done before forcing you to move on. This is how it’s been working, even if you didn’t realize it. So Mister Haywood, you intend to sit this one out?”

“Yes.” Nothing the Delegator said has changed Vearden!Three’s mind.

“You can’t,” the Delegator says definitively. “If you attempt to do nothing, you’ll be stuck here. You’ll be stuck here...for eighty years. Do you understand what I’m saying? Your life will mean nothing. You will have failed to answer your question appropriately. What are you going to do with the time you’ve been allotted cannot be answered with nothing of value.”

“So what if I’m stuck here?” Vearden!Three begins to argue. “What’s the difference between living eighty years in one place, and living eighty years jumping through time. That might be preferable anyway.”

“If you do your job, you are not going to be living here for eighty years.” The Delegator chuckles. “My God, man, that’s hundreds of thousands of years in realtime. How long do you think civilizations survive? This is your last assignment. Did you not realize that?”

“No,” Saga!Two says. “Why would we know that?”

“What does that mean?” Saxon asks.

“When you’re finished here, we’re going to let you live out the rest of your lives in Havenverse.” The Delegator pretends that this is a reasonably sufficient explanation.

“What the hell is that?” Vearden!Three asks angrily.

“It’s safe,” the Delegator answers. “Saga!Two, you will be reunited with your daughter. Vearden!Three, you will find where you belong. And Saxon?”

Saxon smiles with one side of his face, curious about the answer. He’s never really seemed to know what he’s wanted out of life, but safe has never been it.

The Delegator continues, “Saxon, we’ll let you go wherever you want, I guess. The powers that be have no real control over you. We’ve let you tag along with the other two, because we recognize your value, but you can quit anytime.”

“No, thank you,” Saxon says politely.

They stand in silence for a few moments.

“Well.” Vearden!Three finally says, but waits another moment to find all his words. “Any suggestions for this point in time? What could we do to help the Orothsew, and provoke the next jump?” He seems to have accepted his role.

The Delegator thinks about this. “You could be a bridge.”

“A bridge between what and what?” Saga!Two asks.

“Two cultures have appeared on this continent. They originated from the same one forty-seven, but they’ve been separate for centuries. Perhaps it is time to bring them back together.”

That’s not the worst idea ever.

The Delegator speaks again, “but that really is but a suggestion; one I’ve just now thought of. It’s not a mandate. You do what you wish.” With that, he disappears, along with all of Stonehenge.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 1225: Irving Hummel

< > Table of Contents

Irving Hummel was a reality corruptor, but not an exceptionally good one. His ability to alter reality was fairly limited, and often only significantly impacted his own life. If he wasn’t careful, any changes he made could quite easily revert, and he might not be strong enough to change them back to the way he wanted. He wasn’t that great of a person in general, and the power he wielded only made him worse. He was by no means evil, but he lacked both drive and skill. Ambition wasn’t a problem, but that and drive are not the same concept. He wanted to do great things, and to be recognized for them, but he didn’t want to put in the effort. And so, thanks to his time power, he forced the world to become what he needed in order to realize his dreams. He barely scraped by at the police academy, but he did make it, and he didn’t do anything bad to get there. Unfortunately, he just couldn’t reach any of his goals beyond that. He was stuck as a regular uniformed officer, and it wasn’t looking like things were going to get better, so he changed them. He arbitrarily turned himself into a Sergeant. It was no Lieutenant, or Captain, but it was kind of the best he could muster. You see, the modifications he could make to reality had to have some kind of plausible basis. He couldn’t just make himself king of the world, because no world would accept him as such. He did have the potential to become a sergeant, if only he worked harder at it, but that would always be the best he could do. The problem—though he wasn’t sure he saw it like this—was that his corruptions also had an effect on his personality. He couldn’t just slip his mind into his new life. He had to become the person he would be if he had done it in a more conventional way, and apparently, the more conventional way led him down a somewhat darker path.

Sergeant Hummel was a lot grumpier and harder to get along with than Officer Hummel. He was snarky, and short with people, and constantly pushed them away. Even though he could still remember his life before the corruption, he couldn’t help but adopt this new behavior, and start treating people poorly. There was only one person he knew who could see through him. A colleague of his evidently had his own temporal power. It was immediately clear to Irving that Detective Bran could see the discrepancies between the two conflicting realities. He didn’t want to let on that he was not only fully aware of the changes as well, but that he was responsible for them. Well, he didn’t think he was responsible for all the changes. Bran was regularly concerned about the town literally shrinking in size with no logical explanation, but Irving had no clue what he was talking about, and couldn’t believe that it had anything to do with him. He just kept doing his thing; transforming himself into what he hoped was a better person, eventually faltering, and going back to the way he was, and then trying again once he was strong enough. In the end, none of his efforts mattered. Irving was in the wrong part of town when the phenomenon Bran kept talking about swallowed it up. Presumably because of his own ability, Irving managed to survive the trip through the portal, and landed on a different planet entirely, as one of very few who weren’t torn apart, and scattered throughout time. Now what was he going to do? There was no reality where this dead world wasn’t a terrible place to live.