Microstory 857: Drive Out

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My best friend and roommate, Deena Norup comes up with the craziest of theories, and as absurd as they sound when you first hear them, they start making a bit of sense the more she explains her reasoning. And she has been right every single time. She thought that our neighbors to the North were cheating on each other with our neighbors to the South. She insisted that the North house husband was sleeping with the South house wife, and vice versa. I didn’t believe until the truth finally came out a week later, and we watched the four of them get in a huge screaming match on our lawn. Deena also predicted that the mayor of our town was actually featured in a number of scifi B-movies in the early 90s, but always while wearing some alien or monster costume. This turned out to be one hundred percent true, and I still don’t know how she discovered it. He only ever did it to help his second cousin, who was a filmmaker, and he was never credited for his parts. She just sees connections that other people don’t. So when I tell you she believed the paralegal at the law firm where she works as a receptionist was secretly an inventor with hundreds of patents, you know I was on board with proving it. The paralegal dressed in modest inexpensive clothing, treated everyone as if they were his boss, and didn’t seem to have a personal life. No one but Deena would expect this guy to be a multimillionaire who carved out an extensive underground lair under his one house, but it turned out to be there, just as she said. We put on our comfortable black clothes, broke into his house, and snuck downstairs, where we found a massive garage full of rare classic cars. We went another level down to find a laboratory with tons of equipment and machines that neither of us could name. The third level was finished, but almost completely empty, like it was waiting to be designated for some interesting purpose. The only thing in it was another car, but it was of no model we recognized, by no apparent make. He must have built it himself from scratch.

The car gave Deena a bad feeling that only increased the nearer she got to it. She begged for us to leave, but we were this close, so how could I not at least check it out? I opened the door and crawled inside. Right away, I could see that this car must have come from the future. The windows turned opaque, and displayed full 4K screens. There was a coffee maker, and a stove; both of which were built into the interior. The passenger seat lifted up to reveal a toilet, and the back seat turned into a tub. Once my foot was clear, the front door closed on its own and locked itself. I couldn’t open it from the inside, and Deena couldn’t let me out either. The screens indicated that the vehicle was in vacuum mode, which freaked me out, but I could steal breathe, so maybe I was misinterpreting what that meant. Still, I needed to get out somehow. By now, alarms were going off in what must have been the whole lair, but Deena was just standing there, as calm as ever. “Drive,” she said simply. What the hell did that mean? I continued looking for an exit, but there was nothing. The only way I was going to solve this problem was with help somewhere else, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s to trust what Deena says. I turned the engine, and started driving forward, hoping to find an exit somewhere. The wall in front of me opened on its own, and let out to the yard above. There waiting for me was a horde of angry men and women with guns. They were all wearing suits, so I assumed them to be federal agents. The paralegal was there too. He spoke to me through his wrist watch, “Miss Norup should not have shown you that. It is not for you.” I was desperate to get out of there, any way possible, and it was like the car read my mind. It started hovering over the ground, then rose higher and higher. Through cameras on the side of the car, I could see that the wheels had turned into rocket engines, and were flying me away. It just kept going and going, high above the atmosphere, and I finally realized what vacuum mode was. I looked at the back camera feed, and could see the agents had followed me with their own flying cars. This must be part of some secret government program. A friendly voice spoke to alert me that the drive-in theatre was now populated, and that the end had come. The screen showed me footage of a parking lot filled with a bunch of vans. Then the Earth disappeared...literally. All that survived were that parking lot, and these spacecars.

Microstory 359: Right to Privacy

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Safety from Political Corruption

I know what you’re thinking; Nick, my mind is actually preoccupied with something else right now. That’s okay, but if you happen to have been paying attention, then you may know that I’m a huge supporter of security over privacy. At least I think I’ve discussed this here before; that may have been with someone else. Just the same, I’ll reiterate my feelings. There are terrorists on this planet. It’s kind of a conservative’s go-to argument against pretty much any change to society, but that doesn’t mean it’s not true. There are people in this world who want to hurt others. I don’t care their reasons, because I’m not going to change who I am out of fear, hoping they lay down their arms. The fact is that they are a real and major threat to the happiness of millions, even billions, of people around the globe. I’m not super happy about the NSA listening in on my calls, and reading my emails, but I allow it. My embarrassing research queries are less important to me than...like, my life? They’re doing it to protect us. The government isn’t going to call your spouse about your affair, and they aren’t posting to the White House website that you secretly like The Notebook. They’re trying to save your life, so stop crying and let them in. That said, that doesn’t mean the government should be privy to absolutely everything you do. There must be regulations, compartmentalization, and other safeguards in place to protect the innocent. This is where artificial superintelligence comes in. Everyone is so freaked out about the dangers of an ASI taking over the world by turning humans into paperclips, but remember that and AI would be the only entity capable of deleting memories. When you ask the jury to “please disregard what was just said” there’s no way for them to do that. Once it’s in the brain, it’s there forever. We don’t lose memories, just connection. Computers, however, can forget. They can scan your private files, and then wipe the knowledge from their minds upon learning your irrelevance. Doesn’t that sound like a pretty good idea now?

Progressive Society

Microstory 265: Perspective Forty

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Perspective Thirty-Nine

My husband thinks that our family life is going to get better if we spend a night each week playing games. I thought it would be fun, but it’s started stressing me out. Intellectually, I know he’s trying his best, probably. But I can’t help but feel that he is just covering for something bad. I haven’t always been faithful in our relationship. I haven’t gone all the way or anything, but still, he knows about it, and I know that he’s just waiting for his moment to use it against me. I’m always worried that he’s going to abandon me for his mistress. Whoever she is, I’m sure she’ll treat him right. Probably. Lord knows I don’t. But that’s just who I am. I’m a bad person. What am I supposed to do about it? I was born broken, and there’s nothing I can do to fix myself. Sure, I can take the medicine my psychiatrist prescribes me, but exactly how much can that do? These tiny little pills are packed with what, magic? I’ve always had a hard time believing in that kind of medicine. if you give me a vial of something, or if you inject something into my blood, then I can kind of see how that works. But pills just seem completely ineffective to me. I don’t feel any different. I guess he did say that there was only so much they could do anyway; that the pills can only help with my anger and stabilize my moods a bit. It’s hard to take him seriously, though. He probably has dozens of other patients that he cares about far more than me. And why should he focus on me? It’s not like I have suicidal thoughts or anything. I mean, sure, that would take the pain away, and it would be easier for my family if they just didn’t have to worry about what I was going to do next, but death isn’t a good answer. Probably. All I need to do is be a better person. I can do that. I can fake it, even if it means I have to do it forever. I just need to watch how good people act and mirror them. Shouldn’t be too hard. Probably.

Perspective Forty-One

Microstory 243: Perspective Eighteen

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Perspective Seventeen

I’ve been called a “wretched busybody” by different people, on multiple occasions. Such a strange phrase, so people must be talking about me behind my back. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be sweet and understanding, and even a little submissive. That all stopped when my husband revealed to me that he’s been having an affair with the same woman for the entire fifty years of our marriage, and then some.  I never really liked the man, and was a little relieved that I finally had a reason to let him go. I actually wish he had told me the truth sooner. For the first few weeks, I felt free and alive. I even went out to the clubs a few times. I stuck out like a sore thumb at an amputee convention, but I had a lot of fun. Pretty soon, though, the novelty of single life wore off, and I reverted into the bitter, irritable old woman I was destined to be. My neighbor feels the brunt of my wrath. He runs a small business out of his home, selling custom wares with a cadre of hoodlums and delinquents. They all seem like nice people, but they all have problems. I don’t know if any of them have been to jail, but they just don’t look right to me. I don’t trust them, and I worry that their presence is bringing down property values. I had a real estate appraiser come out and confirm as much about neighborhood small businesses. Okay, that’s a lie, but I still heard that it’s true. He’s a great guy, and I’m glad he’s helping those kids out, but I just don’t think I should have to suffer them. Sure, they’ve not done wrong by me...per se, but they might. You don’t know. My daughter says that I should hold onto the youth I was recapturing just after the separation. She’s been not so subtly emailing me information about cruises, saying that women my age do this all the time. Apparently there’s this entire subculture of old people who just live on cruise ships for the rest of their lives. I’ve always found that kind of thing to be rather pathetic, but now it’s looking a bit appealing, to be honest. She recently sent me a brochure about a cruise for older singles. I’m still thinking it over.

Perspective Nineteen

Microstory 103: Shaun Rice

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Shaun Rice lived in the cold of northern Dakota. He discovered as a child that he could create holograms out of nothing. He decided to tell no one about his ability. After years of practice, he learned nothing more about it. What he could do on the first day was precisely what he could do as an adult. He didn’t progress, and he didn’t change. At some point, he realized that his ability probably had something to do with his decision to become a graphic designer, ultimately working at a local news station. Shaun only ever revealed his secret to his family, but mostly out of necessity. His extramarital son presented an ability of his own, though all he seemed to be able to do was basically suck all the light out of the immediate area. Claude was pretty bummed about how lame his ability was, and exhibited poor behavior throughout adolescence. His daughter by his wife, however, was extraordinary. Catriona exercised more control over her holograms; focusing the light better so that they looked more real. She could hold up multiple holograms without thinking, and make them move as they would in the real world. It was because of her that he agreed to move his entire family to Bellevue. She needed to be around others like her, and have free reign to be herself. There were very few other children at Bellevue, and even fewer of them were Generation Twos like Catriona and Claude. He was devastated when she went missing, along with other children. He would later find out that their disappearance had something to do with his wife who had a secret of her own.