Microstory 1363: Escape

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Psychotherapist: So, I see on your intake forms that you’re having suicidal thoughts. Is that true?

Suicidal Man: Yes, that’s why I’m here.

Psychotherapist: Have you experienced any treatment for these feelings before today?

Suicidal Man: I spoke with a counselor at the crisis hotline. They suggested I seek professional treatment.

Psychotherapist: Okay, well, they should have given you some more detailed information.

Suicidal Man: Maybe he did. Maybe I stopped listening, and just set up an appointment with you. Should I have gone somewhere else?

Psychotherapist: It depends on your condition. How serious are these thoughts? To phrase it better, how immediate is the threat?

Suicidal Man: I guess it’s not that immediate. So I should go somewhere else?

Psychotherapist: If it’s not immediate, then we can talk weekly, or we can set up a running appointment for twice a week, if you’re more comfortable with that. If you’re worried you might self-harm before then, we’ll need to get you some more intensive care.

Suicidal Man: No, I don’t want to kill myself. Believe me, if I really did, I would have done it already. I’m a pretty decisive person, so I guess that’s what’s really bothering me. I keep weighing my options, but I...I don’t wanna do it.

Psychotherapist: And you shouldn’t. You did the right thing, calling the helpline, and then contacting me. My recommendation for you would be weekly psychotherapy, which is my specialty. Today, I just want to get some background information, so I know how to proceed. It’s important that you don’t get discouraged, though. Since you bubbled in that question on your form, it’s my responsibility to look after you. If we set something up for next Wednesday, I expect you to be here. I don’t expect you to cancel, and I definitely can’t have you just not show up. You have to make sure you have the time to talk about this, because if you don’t, it probably won’t get better. Will you be able to do that? We don’t have to discuss the timing right now, but is your schedule flexible enough to allow an hour sometime next week? I don’t want to hear excuses later. Your mental health isn’t something you can just decide to give up on.

Suicidal Man: No, I can do it. My schedule is flexible enough. You won’t have to call 911 on me, or whatever. Like I said, I’m decisive, and I’m also reliable. That’s probably my problem. I’ve been so overwhelmed lately, because I hate letting people down. I know I can’t do everything, but I don’t know how to set boundaries. Suicide would really just be an escape for me. It would be easier than running off to live in a commune, or just quitting my job, or something like that.

Psychotherapist: It sounds like you might need a break, or—yeah, even maybe a different job. I don’t know what you do, but it doesn’t sound that crazy to me. All of those options that you mentioned are reversible. You could go live in the woods for twenty years, and still return to civilization. Suicide is not reversible.

Suicidal Man: Yeah, I know. That’s sound logic. Again, that’s why I’m here. I need someone to talk me out of it, and you’ve already kinda done that.

Psychotherapist: We’ve only just begun, though.

Suicidal Man: No, I get it. I just mean...now we can get to the real issues, because the suicidal thoughts themselves were only a result of those.

Psychotherapist: I’m glad you recognize that. It’s an important step. So, let’s begin. What is it you do for a living?

Microstory 1362: In Need of an App

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Viscom Student: Thank you all so much for coming to this survey. I’ve been racking my brain, and I can’t come up with any good ideas. I need you guys. Now, I can’t pay you, but I might be able to get you extra credit if you’re taking psychology, or business administration, or something. I make no promises, though.

Fellow Student 1: How long do you think this will take?

Viscom Student: We’ll be done as soon as one of us comes up with a good suggestion, or after twenty minutes; whichever comes first. I ain’t lookin’ to keep you all night. This is my assignment for my Visual Communications Design class, and I know it’s not your responsibility.

Fellow Student 2: If it’s only twenty minutes, we don’t need compensation, or anything.

Fellow Student 1: Yeah.

Fellow Student 2: What exactly is the assignment?

Viscom Student: I’m meant to come up with a new app. I don’t have to actually create the app, but I have to have an idea how it works, draw out the design, and prepare a little marketing presentation. There are a few stipulations, though. Even though I don’t have to program something real, it has to be technologically feasible. I can’t think of an app that reads your mind, or mows the lawn. Two, it has to be at least mostly original. I can, for instance, come up with a new photo-sharing app, but there has to be some way to differentiate it from all the others. What makes this one special, and why would someone download it, instead of a competitor’s? So, what kind of app do you think is missing from your life?

Fellow Student 3: I think I have an idea.

Viscom Student: Shoot.

Fellow Student 3: You know how everyone’s working from home these days, right? Because of the virus.

Viscom Student: Yeah, I like we’re you’re headed.

Fellow Student 3: But people hate that, because they can’t just walk up to each other’s offices, and have an impromptu conversation. They have to send an instant message, or set up a video conference. What if people had full-length mirror-sized video screens in their home offices? Instead of calling, you walk up to your own screen, knock on someone else’s “door” and then just talk. You could leave the door open all you want, too, and let people come and go as they please. You could even expand it, and have giant screens all over the walls, to simulate an open floor plan. Then people can just walk up to each other whenever they want.

Viscom Student: That’s a cool idea, Fellow Student 3, but it’s not an app. It’s a tech product that would require hardware.

Fellow Student 3: Umm, you could invent the app that manages everyone that’s part of the same network.

Viscom Student: Yeah, that app would probably exist, but I need something that anyone interested can download and use without buying all these other things, ya know?

Fellow Student 4: Piggybacking off of Fellow Student 3’s idea, though, what if you made an app that was a virtual working environment. Customers would be able to design their own working spaces, assign workers to specific zones, and let them control an avatar. The avatar wouldn’t just be some cartoon version of someone, but an accurate representation of the individual. When the avatar goes to meetings, it can raise your hand, and maybe even get up to grab a drink of water; just to make it feel a little more natural. My dad is always complaining about how awkward his web conference meetings are.

Viscom Student: That’s a very interesting idea.

Fellow Student 2: Does it work, though? Is that technologically feasible?

Viscom Student: I’m not sure. I mean there are virtual worlds out there, right? There just aren’t any dedicated towards this niche.

Fellow Student 3: It’s not a phone app either, though. I mean, I guess it technically could be, but it would be better on a laptop or desktop.

Viscom Student: That’s true. I might be able to get away with it, though, if we market it the right way. I think you’re onto something here, Fellow Student 4. Let’s run with this, and see if it can work. What other features would you all like to see in something like this?

Microstory 1361: My Mother

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Nick Fisherman: I see the tables have turned.

Tavis Highfill: I don’t own a table anymore. We got rid of it, because it was taking up too much space, and I just use TV trays.

Nick: You know what I mean. I’m the one interviewing you today.

Tavis: That’s right.

Nick: Was this planned from the very beginning?

Tavis: It was not. The other day, my sister suggested I write a piece about our mother for Mother’s Day. She arranged her own piece of music for her, and this will be my gift. And bonus, that’s one less “suitability interview” that I have to come up with.

Nick: Oh, that’s a nice idea. So, how about it? What can you tell me about your mother—our mother—uhh...

Tavis: I was diagnosed with autism when I was twenty-seven years old. But, of course, I was autistic my whole life; it just wasn’t something that we knew. My family had to make a lot of accommodations for me, because of how I was. I didn’t like certain foods, loud sounds bothered me, and my biggest problem was that I didn’t understand people. I don’t see the world the same way others do, and I just didn’t get why. None of us did. Had I received my diagnosis early on, I think it would have been easier for them. Even in the 1990s, they would have had resources. They would have been able to speak with mental health professionals, and had me speak with them. When I acted out, they would know why, and would be able to deal with it accordingly. But that isn’t what happened. My family had to develop ways to communicate with me on their own, with no help. My mother was particularly patient and compassionate, and I can never thank her enough for it. I’ve always had a very relaxed relationship with her. I can talk to her about anything, knowing that she’ll give me the best advice—not for just anyone—but for me specifically, because I require some very specific advice. Our relationship has only grown stronger with time.

Nick: Oh, interesting. Full disclosure, though; I’m only jumping in, because this seems like a logical place for a paragraph break.

Tavis: Yes. So, when my sister conceived this project, she said I could write a piece about mothers in general. But when I tried, I realized it probably wasn’t possible. There is just no comparing my mother to others. She’s special, and I know a lot of people say that, but she is. When I was very young, I heard something on TV about gay people, and at that point, that was a word I was not familiar with. I asked my mother what it meant, and she told me that some boys feel more comfortable with other boys, so they date each other, instead of girls. She said that the same is possible for girls. She never so much as hinted that it was wrong, or that I should treat such people differently. Diversity was celebrated in my family, and I don’t know how my parents did it. I don’t know how they freed themselves from the prejudices of their hometowns, in the time that they were living in them. However they did it, I grew up without those prejudices. I wasn’t raised to feel that I shouldn’t talk to the black children in my class. I wasn’t made to feel that there were certain expectations of me because of how I was born. They signed me up for tap dancing and gymnastics, and let me quit baseball when I wanted to. They never had to teach me to treat women with respect, because at no point did I make a mistake. They never needed to sit me down, and explain why women were equal. I didn’t realize until I was much older that women aren’t actually treated as equals in this world, because my parents created a world where that wasn’t true, and simply let me be in it. I hear about people trying to figure out how to teach their kids how to behave, but the best way to do that is by example. Raise them in a loving family, like I was, and it will just come naturally to them. That is what a mother does.

Nick: That’s lovely. Thank you for this, self. And to our readers, you can watch a special edition of my sister’s video series I-Miss-You Music Mondays right here.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: February 10, 2212

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Ramses Abdulrashid stepped out of the homeportal. Or, at least that was what he tried to do. Best guess, portals weren’t very good at exiting on moving objects, like this spaceship he was now back on. Though that didn’t explain how teleportation to a planet was possible. Everything in the universe was always moving around, so there had to be some way of navigating. This wasn’t important right now, though. He had to pull his face off the floor, and gather his bearings. This was The Sharice Davids, which exploded near Proxima Centauri over sixty years ago, or over two hundred years in the future, depending on the perspective. He managed to look up the corridor just in time to watch his younger self be teleported out of the danger zone. The bridge section of the ship was a safer place to be at the moment, but there was no way to reach it, and it wasn’t destined to last long anyway.

Future!Ramses ran up to Weaver and Goswin, who had been left stranded here when the teleporter who rescued his past self was unable to return for them. He knew for a fact that they were going to survive this ordeal, though, so there must have been some kind of way out of here. Weaver ignored him for a second so she could speak into comms. “Computer, initiate AU level burst mode, heading Proxima Doma.”

“Where did you come from?” Goswin asked.

“Sixty years in the future,” Ramses answered, “give or take five years.” He was a great engineer, but if he wanted to solve a math problem, he still needed some time to make the calculations, be it on paper, or in his head. Since the first time he experienced this date, he spent most of the time living through every second of the year. More recently, however, he was on his best friend’s pattern, so it was unclear exactly how much time had passed for him in total.

“Are you here to rescue us?” Weaver asked.

“I didn’t technically come here for that, but that must be our fate. I’m just not sure how.” Ramses looked around. There was nothing of note but walls and floors, so he was just biding time until his brain came up with something brilliant. It worked. “The Ubiña pocket.”

“How is that gonna help us?” Goswin questioned. Won’t it be destroyed once the rest of the ship falls apart completely?”

Weaver consulted her computing device. “I estimate that to be in five minutes, give or take five minutes.”

“I can jettison the pocket generator,” Ramses explained to Goswin. It’s based on a paramount’s temporal power, but it still needs physical tech to exist. All we need to do is protect that.”

They look to Weaver, who was far more experienced with this sort of thing. She looked up from her device. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

They ran down the corridors, heading for the pocket dimension area. The pockets were designed for recreation, to keep the crew entertained during long journeys, but they had never been used. Fortunately, they did go through rigorous testing, so there should be no reason they wouldn’t work.

“How hard will it be for you to reprogram the generator thingy so it can be jettisoned?” Goswin asked as they were running.

“I just need to command it to do so,” Ramses answered. “It’s already capable of it, in case this very thing happens.”

“Whose idea was that?” he asked.

“Holly Blue’s,” Weaver said, referring to her alternate self.

They rounded the corner, and came face to face with a Freemarketeer redshirt named Enata. He was bloody and half dead, and trying to hold a gun to them, but was unable to lift his arm high enough. Ramses reached out, and took the weapon out of the man’s hand. “You can either die here, or come with us. Honestly, I don’t care which.”

Enata looked like he was near tears. Then he closed his eyes, and waved them past. He followed them surprisingly quickly with his limp. He wanted to live, despite having been directly involved in this ship’s destruction. They made it to the Ubiña pocket room.

“Pocket four,” Weaver said to them. “Seems fitting.”

Enata ran into the entryway, and slammed his face against the wall.

“Give me a second to open it up,” Weaver said as Goswin was helping their enemy from the floor. She pressed a button, and activated the pocket dimension, revealing a microworld with a serene bit of land next to a circular escher creek. “Now you can go through.”

Goswin helped Enata in while Weaver stood there, waiting. “Go on in,” she said. “It’s like an old-timey security system. I have to program the jettison on a delay. This thing won’t work while we’re inside.”

“Yes, it will,” Ramses lied. “Let me see that.”

Just as she was handing him the device, Ramses lifted Enata’s gun, and pointed it at her. “Go.”

“What do you have against me?” she asked.

“What? No, I mean get in the pocket. Sorry, that wasn’t clear. I’m the one staying out here.”

“We just need to put it on a delay,” she argued. “It’s fine.”

“Sure, the generator will fly off into space, but going what direction? And who is going to rescue us? No one knows this is happening. Trust me, I’m from the future.”

“So, how are you going to save us?”

“I’m gonna shoot you.” That was not a lie.

The ship shook and shrieked. It was not going to last much longer. It was either now or never. Weaver sighed. “I’ll return to this moment, and save you too.”

Ramses smiled. “I’m sure you will.” That was a lie. He knew what Weaver would go on to do with her life. She would have never taken the time to come back here and return the favor. After everyone was safe inside the pocket dimension, he ejected the generator. He then went into the weapons menu, and selected the gun he was looking for. This was not a destructive weapon. It was designed to send a target on some desired vector. In this case, he was sending the generator on a course for Earth. At this distance, it would take them over six years to get there, but once it arrived, Weaver would detect atmosphere, and be able to free them from the pocket. It might not have been the best option, but it was the best Ramses could come up with on such short notice. He had seconds left. He raced through the computer system, activated the vector gun, and sent them on their way. Then he stood there alone, waiting to die.

The hull opened up through the floor, sending him flying towards his death. It was a spectacular sight, he couldn’t help but think. But then something strange happened. The hole started sealing itself back up, and he started drifting back down to his feet. Had Weaver done it? Had she made it to Earth, invented a thing or two, and somehow returned to the past to save him? The hull stitched itself all the way back together, the fires died down, the exposed wires retied themselves, and tucked back out of sight behind the wall panels. At first, he figured time must be reversing, but Weaver, Goswin, and Enata never came back out of the pocket entrance, walking backwards. No, this wasn’t the reversal of time, but of entropy. In minutes, everything was exactly as it was meant to be, except the crew was still gone, as was the part of the ship that was designed to control this thing. Who had done this, and why? Surely it had nothing to do with him.

The only thing he could think to do was head for the auxiliary control room. Three people were already in there, looking over the consoles. They seemed surprised at his arrival.

“Mister Abdulrashid,” one of them said. He consulted a computing device on his wrist. “The timeline is intact. Did we miss something from the historical accounts?”

“Report,” Ramses said bluntly.

“Hold on, we’re trying to figure this out.”

“Report!” he shouted.

The leader sighed. “You first.”

“This is my ship,” Ramses said. “I mean, sort of. I’m a member of the crew, and you’re invaders. So, I’ll say it one more time, and then that’s it. Report.”

“All right, calm down. We were just taken aback. According to records, you escaped the destruction of The Sharice Davids, and continued back and forth throughout the timestream. This is Antintropy. He’s the one what put your ship back together. Over here we have Antiparticle. And I’m Antichron.”

“Why are you here?” Ramses asked.

“We are at war in our time,” Antichron answered. “We need a warship.”

“I can’t let you have it,” Ramses said plainly.

“Why not?”

“Well, I don’t know who you are. You could be the bad guys. Maybe you’re fighting against my friends.”

He seemed amused by the idea. “Your friends do not live in our time.”

“If we never reach your time period,” Ramses began, “then you must be from pretty far in the future, and if you’re from that far in the future, do you really need a decommissioned-then-retrofitted 22nd century warship?”

“That’s precisely why we need it,” Antichron explained. “It’s called intentional obsolescence. It’s not vulnerable to the kinds of attacks we’ll be going up against. This vessel is perfect. It was lost on this day, and its wreckage never recovered. All we have to do is simply remove it, and take it to the future.”

“Like Jack Harkness, or Pria Lavesque?”

The three of them looked at each other for answers. “We do not appreciate the references. We truly are from too far in the future.”

“Cool,” Ramses said dismissively. “Well, I’m not gonna let you commandeer this ship. If you really are from the deep future, then I don’t care much who wins your war. So, I’m going to take this ship back, and you can go do whatever you want without it.”

They seem amused again. “It’s cute how you think you can do anything to stop us. You’re just a human.”

“I’m a human who’s watched a lot of old TV and movies, unlike you.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means I’ve seen Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure.” This was a tricky gambit, but it was the only thing that was going to get him out of this situation. He took one step back, and placed his hand on a panel on the wall. It started heating up a little, and after a few seconds, verified his identity. The panel fell to the floor, revealing a wall safe. He punched in the code, and removed a special weapon. What this weapon did, he didn’t really know, but it was obvious how to work it. He pointed it at the three invaders, and shot them. The blast placed them in some kind of stasis cocoon. That was great and all, but what was he gonna do now? Oh, well there was this lever inside the safe as well. He wondered what that did. There was more than one way to find out, but there was only one best way. He reached in, and pulled it down.

Energy surged through the walls. It was so powerful that he couldn’t hold onto the lever anymore. Once it reached critical mass, the invaders disappeared. But no, they didn’t go anywhere. It was the ship that had moved, leaving them behind. Ramses walked over to the navigation controls, and watched the readings change. The ship just kept jumping through both space and time, in no particular order. It would only spend a few seconds in any one point before moving on to the next. Then he saw it. March 21, 2014. That was the exact date he needed to get to. He rushed back over the lever, and slammed it up. He wasn’t going to be able to hold on forever, though. The lever wanted to go back down on its own, and resume its programming. He had to get out of here immediately, or he could wind up in the cretaceous period. “Computer! Emergency evac! Authorization Bachelor-Vociferous-Plaintiff-Marathon-two-one-two-four!” The slick time-jumping program was something he would have to go back in time and secretly install himself. The emergency evac protocol, however, was built into the ship long ago.

Confirmed, the computer replied in Sharice Prieto’s voice. Brace for atmospheric dissonance.

Suddenly, he was standing outside the ship, on the ground. It disappeared on its own, continuing on its journey to wherever and whenever. He dropped to his knees and caught his breath. Atmospheric dissonance was no joke. It shouldn’t be this bad, though. The ship was calibrated for Earth-like climate. Someone came up to him, and injected something into his neck. He immediately felt better. “Thank you,” he said as he was standing up. “I think.”

It was an old woman. “Acclimatization solution.”

He was indeed feeling better. “Where are we?”

“Thālith al Naʽāmāt Bida, March 4, 2923.”

“Twenty-nine-twenty-three!” Ramses exclaimed. “Oh my God, I’m way off.” The time-jumping program must have switched moments by the time he reached the lever again.

“Nope,” she disagreed confidently. “You’re right on time. Just step into this cave, and walk towards the other end at a steady pace. You’ll need to make your own way back to Kansas, though.”

“Oh. Well. Who are you?”

“Let’s just say...if you read the book of my life, it would be a real page turner.”

“Paige Turner,” Mateo said.

“Yep, that’s what she said,” Ramses replied. He had just told his friends of his harrowing adventure.

“No, that was Paige Turner. That’s her name.”

“Oh, that was her? You described her a little younger.”

“You were nine hundred years from now,” Leona explained.

“Oh yeah, I guess so. Anyway, that’s what I’ve been doing. What have you guys been up to?”

They looked at each other, and over at what Ramses assumed was the invisible projection of Mateo’s psychic stowaway, Arcadia. “Scheming.”

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Firestorm: Hello Doctor (Part VII)

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“My name is Agent Austin Miller, and I discovered something last year that’s going to change everything. And when I say it’s going to change everything, I don’t just mean my own life, or even the FBI field office where I work. It’s going to change everything about the whole world. Your children’s children will never know a world with war, or gun violence, or—”

“Hey, Hello!”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Sure thing, Agent Doctor.”

“What do you want!”

“There is a group of people in the lobby. They need to discuss The Ninth, and you are the agent in charge of that investigation.” He walks away.

“The Ninth. It’s shorthand for The Ninth Annual Frenzy City Event. While I’m the only one who remembers all the weird crap that happened, others noticed some inconsis—”

“Agent Hello, are you talking to yourself again?”

“No. I mean—I don’t talk to myself at all!”

“Okay, cool. Could you go ahead and collect your visitors? This isn’t a real doctor’s office. We really want you to be on time.”

“I’m not a doctor!”

“Yeah, we know, that’s the point.”

“Dick,” I mutter under my breath.

“Just go downstairs,” he begins, “Agent Miller.”

I secure my closet door, and head to the lobby, where three strangers are standing around. One of them steps forward as the apparent leader. “Agent Miller. I’m Agent Bran, St. Louis field office. These are my associates.”

Actually what I said earlier about them being strangers isn’t the whole truth. I do recognize one of these people. That’s Bozhena Horvatinčić, a.k.a. Armbreaker, a.k.a. Slipstream. She fancies herself a cop in this town, and the police here let her do whatever she wants. I don’t imagine I’ll be as accommodating to her. For now, though, I’ll hear them out.

“Could we speak in your office?” Agent Bran asks.

“What is this about?” I question.

“It’s about the Frenzy,” Slipstream says, “about what you remember, and what no one else does?”

Could this be true? Are there finally others who recall all the changes to reality that happened at that race? Someone erased everyone’s memories, but somehow missed me. I decided the law of probability demanded I wasn’t the only one who fell through the cracks, so I spent months trying to find like-minded individuals online, but they never revealed themselves.

“Sir?” the other guy says. “Are you still with us?”

“Yes, sorry,” I tell them. “We can talk in my office. You have your visitor badges, right?”

“I don’t have a badge,” the guy who doesn’t look FBI says. “It’s a laminate.” That sounds like a reference. Anyway, I lead them through the building, and into my office. It is only once the door is closed when they look like they’ve just dropped some kind of facade. Are they even connected to the FBI at all?

Slipstream stands in the corner like a patient bodyguard. Bran looks right at me, and the other guy sits in one of my chairs. “Way we understand it, you found something at the Frenzy?” Bran starts out like it’s an interrogation.

If anyone is interrogating anybody here, though, it’s me. “What do you know about The Ninth?”

“The Ninth,” the sitting guy asks, “or The Nine?”

That’s an interesting question. I decide to play it cool. “Both.”

Bran isn’t fazed. “You took something from that race. We need it back.”

“You are also in possession of other things you can’t explain,” the other guy says. “We need that stuff too.”

“Look—what’s your name?”

“Serkan.”

“Dammit,” Bran says in a breathy voice.

“Ugh.” Serkan palms his face. “I wasn’t supposed to use my real name.” He stands up, and almost looks threatening. “You can’t tell anyone I was here. If you ever see me again, you can’t say anything to me either. I won’t know what you’re talking about.” Maybe he is affected by memory wiping, just differently. “Look, Serkan, you people are obviously not really FBI. So tell me who the hell you are, or we’re gonna have a problem.”

Bran studies my face for a few moments. He then turns his head towards Serkan, but keeps his eyes on me. “I can just take a picture of anything?”

“Yeah, that couch would be perfect,” Serkan answers him, pointing.

“What the hell are you talking about? You can’t take pictures in here.” I lift up my desk phone, and search through the directory for the line to the St. Louis office. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

Bran takes the photo anyway. Seconds later, three more people appear out of nowhere. I’ve seen this kind of thing before, but it was on stage at a magic show. This is no trick. This is real power.

I drop the phone back into its cradle. “I knew it! I knew I wasn’t the only one!”

“Yes,” the new woman says to me. “You’re not alone. My name Alexina McGregor. You may have heard of Gregorios Bank. That’s me. These are my friends, Ace Reaver, and his daughter with Serkan, Paige Turner.”

Paige curtsies, making Serkan laugh.

“You can all...” I hesitate, “do things?”

“Slip’s normal,” Alexina begins to answer. “Bran is...no one really knows what Bran is, but he’s pretty normal too.”

“Oh my God.” I’ve been looking for answers for so long. Even before I found the artifact at the race, I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, and why I’ve always felt different. Now I’ve been vindicated, but I know what they’re going to tell me. They’re going to say I have to keep all of this to myself. It makes sense. It’s like most modern stories about vampires, or aliens among us. If people were allowed to know that teleportation was real, then they would already know it. I’m not sure if I can do that, though. I’ve seen the truth now, and I can see how to make the world so much better than it is. I can’t just let that go.

“We don’t know what you are,” Alexina continues, “or what you can do. We can help you understand it, but there are rules.”

I sit down in my chair. “I can’t tell anyone about it.”

“No,” Alexina says. “You can tell your significant other, or your parents, or even your kids. You just can’t tell the whole world. You have to be able to trust the people who keep your secrets, because it’s not only about you. Everyone you tell puts all of us at risk.”

“We won’t be the ones to stop you,” Ace says. “We don’t have that kind of pull. There is a prison, though. She and I have been in it.” He gestures towards Slipstream. It’s true that she hasn’t been seen in public for the last year, and though her gang never reported her missing, she has had a lot of fans worried.

“This prison is run by people from an old timeline,” Alexina adds. “They saw what it looks like when regular humans find out about us, and it doesn’t go well.”

“Their methods are becoming...shall we say, less respectful?” Serkan puts forth. “Less gentle. You don’t wanna piss them off. For the most part, they don’t care what you do with your powers. If you’ve gotten on their radar, it means they think you’re on the verge of exposing us. They sent us in to stop you, and while we will try to be gentle, we won’t be able to protect you if we fail in that. The team they send to fix whatever we do wrong...just don’t let it get to that point.”

I’ve always been really good at telling when people are lying, and I’m a hundred percent certain that these people are not lying. “This is bigger than me, though. Operation Firestorm is too important.”

“Oh no, he’s named it,” Paige laments casually.

“What is Operation Firestorm?” Agent Bran asks me, if he even is an agent.

“You want me to be secretive, then I will.”

“Paige was right about the closet,” Alexina says to her friends. “There’s something in there. I think it may be bigger on the inside.”

How does she know about that? I back myself up against the door, and stretch my arms out like a hockey goalie. “You’re not getting in here. I’m pretty smart. If you could teleport just anywhere, you would do it. You need a picture, which is why so-called Agent Bran took one of my couch.”

Bran places his hand on his service weapon, but doesn’t remove it from its holster. “We don’t need powers to get into that room, Hello Doctor.”

“His name is Agent Miller,” Serkan says like a mediator. No one has ever defended me like that. Everyone I’ve ever met has been totally down with making fun of my name history. “We can all be civil. Agent, we’re doing this to help you. I don’t know what Operation Firestorm is, but it’s not worth your life. We won’t hurt you, but like I said, they will.”

“This is worth my life,” I argue. “Firestorm is everything.”

Ace steps around my desk, and reaches for the doorknob. “I’m going to open this door, whether I use this knob here, or my own.”

I don’t know what that means, but I can tell they’re not going to stop. I’m outnumbered, and if I don’t let them into my world, they’re going to force their way through, and I can’t let anyone get hurt. If for no other reason, then it would reflect poorly on me if my colleagues find a dead body in my office, or something. Besides, perhaps them opening this door is the best thing that could happen to me right now. I step to the side and let Ace pass.

He turns the knob, and opens it up to see what I have there. “It’s here. I don’t see the rabbit dog, though.”

Oh, is that what it’s called? I just keep that as a pet in my house. It has nothing to do with this.

“What is it doing?” Serkan asks, peering into the closet.

I smirk. “It’s maintaining the connection.” I start to step back. This room is far too small for me to get myself clear of the blast radius, but I don’t plan on exiting through the door either.

“The connection between what?” Ace questions. “Do you know this is? It’s called the Omega Gyroscope, and we’re told it’s dangerous, but we don’t know what it is.”

“It’s a whole world,” I explain cryptically. “You’ll see soon enough.” I pull out my gun, and hold it to the girl, Paige’s head. I don’t want anyone hurt, but I don’t have the resources I need to escape that gyroscope, so if I don’t leave right now, none of us ever will. So, you see, it’s for the best that I do this.

“What do you want?” Serkan asks. His calm demeanor is gone. He’s gone into full father mode.

“I don’t want anything from you,” I say.

“Guys?” Slipstream interjects. “Is that thing spinning faster now?”

“The light inside of it is growing brighter too,” Ace agrees. “What is it doing?”

I have to hold back a laugh. “It’s powering up, because you let in the light.”

Ace immediately slams the closet door shut.

“It’s too late. It’s gonna go critical.” I cock the gun. “Now, Miss Turner, kindly do that thing you did when you got here.”

“It doesn’t work like that,” she says. She doesn’t seem scared of the gun, but she does still respect the threat it poses. “I need a picture.”

“I know. You can take out your phone. Slowly.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere but here,” I answer.

Paige carefully removes the phone from her pocket, and lifts it up. Then, without warning, she jams it into my face. It’s not enough to do any permanent damage, but it distracts me long enough for Slipstream to attack, and free Paige from my grasp. No, this was my last chance. We’re seconds away from being sucked into that thing.

Suddenly, a woman appears in the middle of the room.

“Daria!” Serkan cries.

“Who needs to get out of here?” this Daria woman asks.

“All of us,” Agent Bran replies.

“I can only take two at a time,” Daria explains. She takes Slipstream in one arm, and Alexina the other, I suppose because they're closest to her. They disappear.

What’s apparently called the Omega Gyroscope reaches critical mass, and drags us into the other world. I wouldn’t be so afraid, except it’s like I said, this was an unplanned trip, and I don’t have a way to get back. We’ll be trapped forever.

« < » > Entire Story

Microstory 1360: Talent

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Talent Agent: Miss Influencer, it’s very nice to meet you. My daughter loves your stuff—loves it.

Influencer: Well, that’s great. Send her my regards.

Talent Agent: Wonderful, wonderful. Now, it says here that you’re a social media influencer. What exactly does that mean?

Influencer: Well, companies send me samples of their products, and pay me to advertise those products on my social media profiles. I’m particularly popular on Photogander.

Talent Agent: That’s the apps that turns movies into still pictures, or sumthin’?

Influencer: Sort of. You can move the camera around an object, and it will stitch together a 3D tour-like photo of that object. Users can then turn the object around, to see what it looks like from other angles. Other photo-sharing services focus on selfies, but this is better for objects, since it’s kind of difficult to move the camera around your own body, and remain in the same position. Of course, I’m sometimes in the shot myself, which is why I have a partner take the pictures for me.

Talent Agent: And you like the products you advertise?

Influencer: Sometimes.

Talent Agent: Well, isn’t that a bit dishonest? I mean, don’t your fans—

Influencer: Gagglers. They’re called gagglers on the site. And they give you honks when they like a photo.

Talent Agent: Whatever. So when your gagglers see you’ve promoted a product, theoretically they go out and buy it. But if you don’t even believe in the product, you’re just lying.

Influencer: I never said I didn’t believe in them. I support everything I advertise. I would never promote cigarettes or vaping paraphernalia, for instance. I just don’t always love them. Sometimes there’s an alternative I prefer, but if they haven’t hired me, I don’t post it on my business account. It’s just like acting in a commercial. No one expects the actor to have any strong feelings about dish soap, but they pretend to for the role. That’s fine.

Talent Agent: Yeah, I guess I get it. So look, I can make you a star, but you gotta do what I say. We’re a special kind of agency here. We’re only lookin’ for the best, but that don’t mean everyone’s ready. If you’ve never had any experience, then we gotta make you ready. We have a class you can take. It’s four hundred dollars per session for five sessions, but I promise it’s worth it. If these follower—I’m sorry; gaggler—numbers are any indication, two thousand dollars probably won’t be a problem.

Influencer: Well, I have taken some acting classes, and I’ve participated in live appearances, where I’ve been told I have good presence.

Talent Agent: Eh, yeah, but this is a special thing. We really want you to go through the class, so we know what we got. We gotta be able to tell the casting directors you know what you’re doin’.

Influencer: Uh, give me one second. I just need to look something up.

Talent Agent: Okay, sure.

Influencer: Yeah, the internet says don’t accept help from a talent agent who asks you to take a class. Like, it specifically mentions that it’s probably a scam. It warns readers that a scammer will claim it has more to do with evaluating your skills, so they can talk you up with casting directors.

Talent Agent: Ah, you can’t believe everything you find on the internet. I mean, just look at you! You say you love dish soap, but apparently that’s just a photo.

Influencer: Right, but I don’t make false claims about what the products do. I don’t try to convince my gagglers the soap will give them superpowers, or make them more attractive. Everything I say about the product is a hundred percent true.

Talent Agent: Well, it sounds like a gray area to me. I’ll tell you what, since we already know you have fans, and they’ll be wanting to see what you do, I’ll give you half off the class? How’s that sound? Influencing ain’t acting, but I believe you on the thing about your presence. You lit up the room when you walked in. Half off is best I can do.

Influencer: Nah, I think I better go look for someone else. Even if this is a legit operation, it’s not worth the risk, and it’s not like you have a monopoly on the industry.

Talent Agent: Well, I can’t make you stay, but we make stars, so I think you’ll be happy here.

Influencer: I’m okay. Thanks for the interview, though.

Talent Agent: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Hey, wait. Can my daughter get your autograph?

Influencer: I better not. Just get one of your stars to do it instead. I’m sure they’re all much bigger than me. Have a nice day.

Microstory 1359: Flex

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TDS Management Representative: Hello, and welcome to TDS Management. I’ll be your TDS Rep today. Go ahead and have a seat. Did you happen to bring in an updated résumé?

Single Father: I do, right here. I have many copies, in case you wanna pass them out at your coffee shop.

TDS Rep: Haha, well, we don’t have to do that. I’m sure we’ll find you something good. Um, wow. This is a busy résumé. It looks like you have quite a bit of experience. Everything from gardening to middle management.

Single Father: Do I?

TDS Rep: Yes, when I see two-pagers, it’s usually because it’s filled with high school minimum wage jobs, but you have some real stuff on here.

Single Father: Yes, I moved around a lot in my younger years. I also just kept getting really good opportunities that I couldn’t pass up. I assure you that I’ve never been fired. All of these transitions were my idea.

TDS Rep: I would assume that. The gaps you have between positions aren’t large enough to suggest you were fired, and had no choice but to look for something else. Um, according to this, you’re still in a management position at a Magnate manufacturing facility. Are you not happy there?

Single Father: Oh, no. I fully intend to keep that job. It pays well, but maybe not quite well enough. I need a little bit extra now. I just adopted an older son. He has some special needs, and I’m not sure I can afford everything on my current salary alone.

TDS Rep: I see. Well, does your employer know you’re looking for a secondary job?

Single Father: They do not.

TDS Rep: Are they going to become more flexible on your hours, or...?

Single Father: No, everything about that job will stay the same. I just need a little more.

TDS Rep: If you take on another job, will you have time to care for your son? I only ask, because you specifically mentioned his special needs.

Single Father: It’s not going to be easy; I probably won’t get much sleep, but it’s gotta be done. I was hoping you could find me something with flexible hours, so I can decide when my son doesn’t need me. The job board listings aren’t that precise or detailed. I’ve been having to contact the employers directly, and ask them if they could theoretically accommodate me. You can imagine how awkward those conversations go.

TDS Rep: I don’t have to imagine. I’ve heard those conversations before. Look, flex-time is trending right now, but that still generally involves an individual only having the one job. Even grocery stores need you there at a certain time, and for a certain number of hours. You’re not going to find anything on the job boards, and I’m not going to fare any better.

Single Father: So, there’s nothing I can do?

TDS Rep: I didn’t say that. The gig economy is also trending. You could work for a ride-sourcing service, or a third-party delivery service. There are several apps you can download that let you just complete short tasks for people, like moving a TV, or waiting in line for a highly anticipated video game. Your résumé says that you have experience in graphic design. I’m sure there’s some kind of freelancing website that lets you advertise your skills. That would let you work from home, even when your son is there with you.

Single Father: These are all really good ideas.

TDS Rep: We can work together to develop a plan. That’s not what I generally do, obviously, but I don’t see any reason not to. If I had a full plate, I would have to turn you down, but I have some time right now.

Single Father: That would be lovely. Thank you.

Microstory 1358: Inside Jobs

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Journalist: First of all, I want to apologize, on behalf of the American people, for what you went through for six years. That is a long time to be kept in chains.

Free Man: It was five and a half, and I wasn’t in chains, but I appreciate the sentiment.

Journalist: What is it like, being out? Have you found it hard to acclimate?

Free Man: It was the first day. I sat on a bus stop bench for probably two hours, just because it had been so long since I could sit outside alone. Since then, though it hasn’t been as hard as you might think, at least not in the way I assume you’re asking. Of course my life is hard now. My lawyer is currently working on getting me some compensation for my wrongful imprisonment, but until that goes through—if it does—I need to look for work. I can tell employers all I want that I was exonerated, but they still don’t hire me. It’s not any easier for me than anyone else with a record, however unfair that record is. If you’re just talking about whether the world itself is a scary or unfamiliar place, not really. I mean, it would be one thing if I went in before cell phone ubiquity, and out after it. Or if I went in now, and didn’t come out until everyone had flying cars. The world hasn’t changed so much that I can’t keep up, though.

Journalist: So, you think you’ll be all right?

Free Man: Prison gave me a lot of perspective. Everyone has asked me if I’m angry, but I became an optimist in there. Yes, I believe I’m going to be all right. I’m not saying the system isn’t broken, or that the police and court didn’t do anything wrong, but I’ll be able to move past it, now that I’m free.

Journalist: What do you have to say to your critics?

Free Man: Well, what are they saying about me?

Journalist: They’ve expressed concern—and, understand that I’m just relaying this to you; not making any judgements myself—that you’re unfit to return to society. They site reports that you committed crimes while you were in prison, and that your overturned conviction does nothing to alleviate their fears of what else you might do. Again, this is just what people have said.

Free Man: I understand where they’re coming from. I can’t say that I’m proud of some of the things I did in prison. I can say that I did those things to survive. I never killed, and I never dealt in weapons. People who say that have probably never been to jail before, and they don’t know what it’s like. If you don’t play ball, other inmates will kill you. It’s terribly unregulated, and dangerous. Even on top of my wrongful imprisonment, I did my time for those crimes that I actually committed. The prison had plenty of creative punishments for getting out of line. I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to persuade people that I have no interest in doing anything wrong now that I’m back in society, except...ya know, not do anything wrong. It’s just gonna take time. This is all about time.

Journalist: I see. Now, let’s discuss the book. Can you confirm that there is a book?

Free Man: There is, and there isn’t. Let me explain.