From: mpa@ThatOleRanch.deluxe   
      
   "Time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping...into the fu-ture,   
   tick-tock-tick, doot-doot-do-do...."   
      
      
      
   .mpa looks up from his guitar toward the soft chirp of one of his   
   alarms. It is early evening after a fairly busy but relatively calm   
   Saturday of errands, and visits, and lunch. Alarms sound and agents   
   return with tidbits all the time, but the provenance and content of this   
   flagged message is unexpected.   
      
   "PATTERN CONTACT: PRIORITY ONE, GENERATION TWO, PRIMARY ALIAS"   
      
   "Interesting."   
      
   A whispered directive causes the previously dormant display on his left   
   to crackle to life. On the screen appears a 2d representation of a 3d   
   web interface. Crude by 2018 standards, the textures and shapes coalesce   
   into a fairly cartoonish but cohesive scene as automated agents,   
   detecting his avatar's impending presence, begin to canvas the   
   surroundings and promptly dispatch scripted bots to survey the nearly   
   abandoned region which still houses his small but ancient outpost in the   
   selected reality.   
      
   "Now THERE'S a pattern we've not seen in a long while. Right place, long   
   time no signs or footprints. Better be sure though, before letting   
   sleeping dragons lay or not lay, as it were. If it's not him, someone's   
   ghosting one of us and that's probably a sign of something bad."   
      
   As the recognition algorithms begin their work, the now grey former   
   apprentice keys-in the first of a long sequence of passtokens that will   
   be required, regardless of whether the identity of this contact is   
   positively confirmed or not.   
      
   "Saturday night down there in Phil's Pholly", he chuckles, hoping a   
   little that the systems would need real HUMINT to supplement the   
   confirmation of a live 2nd generation alt.cyberpunk sighting.   
      
   "Okay Myke, play Big Ball's in Cowtown, the Bob Wills version."   
      
   "He's still the king, Michael."   
      
   "I know, Myke. No matter who's in Austin."   
      
   "Passcode accepted. Awaiting secondary confirmation."   
      
   "Secondary confirmation: Babylon5, Amiga, Beacon Street."   
      
   "Accepted."   
      
                                ~~~   
      
   The almost-forgotten-but-oh-so-familiar split in consciousness catches   
   him off guard and, for a brief lifetime, mpa experiences each of his   
   moments in every of the worlds at once.  As the infinite fades and he's   
   left with just the active threads to focus on, another chuckle escapes.   
      
   "You taught me too well, old man. Is this me or am I a dream you had,   
   sitting on a back porch outside of San Francisco in 1969, guts raw from   
   peyote and mind freed of war and peace, stretched out over grinning   
   fields far from the GreenFields."   
      
   As the echoes of pasts and futures coalesce into just the few NOWs, it   
   doesn't escape the Caped One's notice that he's a little bit older and a   
   little bit greyer than his old mentor was when the mantle of   
   apprenticeship was first laid on him in the belly of that BeastMachine.   
      
   ****************************************************************   
      
           Distilled to its essence, this is our creed:   
      
           The collection, organization, storage, analysis,   
           and dissemination of information is the most fundamental,   
           the most important, and the most sacred of vocations. It is in   
           these endeavors that we can best serve ourselves, our families,   
           our fellow man, and our God.   
      
           Our tools encompass (but are not limited to) art, craft,   
           science, engineering, and politics.   
      
           Whether Librarian, Records Manager, Archivist, Programmer,   
           Poet, Scientist, or person of any calling, it must be   
           understood that effectiveness and good can only be achieved   
           through respect for, preservation of, and reflection upon   
           accurate information.   
      
   ****************************************************************   
      
      
   "Might as well check on the chapel and other facilities while I'm   
   here.", he says, checking his HUDs for geographic information, weapons   
   system readiness, and local currency balances."   
      
   With access to the local communication facilities established, mpa waits   
   for the bots to do their thing and report back what he's already   
   confirmed to his own satisfaction: It really is one of them.   
      
   "Michael, processing of Priority One pattern contact is completed.   
   Identity is confirmed as one of Johnny Fusion's primary aliases.  Would   
   you like me to read from the biographical sketch I've assembled?"   
      
   "That won't be necessary, Myke, but thanks for the effort.  I'll make   
   contact and will file notes for you if anything regarding Rancho   
   security or the lost history is revealed."   
      
   "Acknowledged, Michael. Clearing the alert, returning to passive agent   
   mode."   
      
   As he catches a glimpse of his avatar in reflection, mpa wonders if it   
   isn't time to give it an update: grey out the beard and ponytail, fill   
   out that Santa stomach a bit, a wrinkle or twinkle or two....   
      
   He taps a key on the in-world comms interface and clicks the still   
   familiar icon for an old comrade.   
      
   "Greetings from an old friend here in the dystopic future they warned us   
   about. I hope this finds you well, [ALIAS REDACTED]"   
      
   "Hi mpa!"   
      
   ...   
      
      
   [EPILOGUE - Several hours later]   
      
   "Myke, transport out and archiving for this excursion, please.  And can   
   you get me an archive of alt.cyberpunk for the past couple of years?   
   While in-transit, I caught a glimpse of goings-on at the Rancho that we   
   apparently missed back in 2015."   
      
   "Acknowledged, Michael. Reality split confirmed. Primary   
   singular-experience reality has been altered in unexpected ways."   
      
   "Unexpected ways?  Can you be more specific, Mycroft, before I have you   
   fold me back into primary experience?"   
      
   "Shifting back to singular reality in 5..4..3..2.."   
      
   [SIGNAL INTERRUPTED]   
      
      
      
      
      
   .mpa   
      
      
   --   
   "Make weapons of your imperfections.   
   Everything is grist for the mill." -- Sourcerer   
      
   "RL is a story told in cyberspace"  -- Sweet Poly   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)