Microstory 2453: Threshold

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A liminal space is an empty place of transition, such as a hallway or a stairwell. The keypoint is that it’s empty, devoid of life...except for you. This invokes a sense of unease, suggestive of not simply being alone in the room that you happen to be in, but in the world, or even all of time. It is quiet and creepy, and behind every corner could be a lurking threat. It’s hard to decide if such a threat even would be worse, however, or if you wish something would be there just so something would happen to break up the emptiness. Just so you wouldn’t be alone anymore. That is the idea behind a dome simply called Threshold. It’s nothing but liminal space. Any empty room you come across will just lead to a closet, another hallway, or another empty room. You will occasionally come across a small white bucket on a table that’s missing a leg, or a stain on the carpet in the vague shape of a man. While it is generally quiet, random unplaceable noises will sound off somewhere nearby, like a creak, or a chirp. When you walk over to investigate, you won’t find anything, except maybe a surprise mirror, which could give you life-affirming jumpscare. I’ve been through this one a lot, because I revel in the disquiet. I see it as an opportunity for introspection and self-reflection, if there’s a difference. I should wander around and give a think on that. There are some water stations for safety, but no other supplies. You go in with a dayfruit grower-slash hygiene station combo cart, and a cot, but that’s it. Whenever you’re ready to leave, you can activate an exit beacon. A bot will come to retrieve you and lead you out through the nearest locked trapdoor. That’s the only time you’ll see someone else, and once you press that button, you gotta go. If you’re wondering if it’s even possible for multiple people to visit Threshold, and not run into each other once in a while, I assure you that not only is it possible, it may be impossible for two to cross paths. There is plenty of room here. Like the terminal, the outer shell of the liminal space complex takes up just about the entire volume of the dome, which—I looked it up—is 149 thousand cubic kilometers, or 149 billion megalitres. With over 13,800 floors, you’re not gonna run into anyone else. They make sure to keep us separated, and while I can’t be sure, I believe the locked doors I run into occasionally would lead to other people’s areas. Thresholders, as we like to call ourselves, have been discussing the possibilities on the message boards, but Castlebourne gives you very little information. Obviously part of the experience. Normally I wouldn’t discourage someone from visiting a dome. My reviews are usually pretty upbeat and favorable, but it takes a strong stomach to even cross one threshold once you’re inside, let alone a series of them. I don’t know for sure that there aren’t any monsters hiding in dark corners. I only know that I’ve never seen any before. But I do hear those noises, and I don’t know what’s making them.

Microstory 2396: Vacuus, April 28, 2182

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Dear Pascal,

It has been over two years since we have been able to contact Earth. Vacuus as a whole has been able to make contact for the last couple of weeks, but due to restrictions, the common man was unable to send any messages. Basically, it was a waste of time for us to try to send any signal out, so it was temporarily against the law, and that law had to be repealed, which took a little time. Once capabilities were finally restored for me and my own equipment, I immediately tried to send a letter to Condor. I actually had it all written up already. I wrote in a few months after the blackout started, and every few months, I would rework it to include more updated information. I was so excited, and so happy, but ultimately disappointed. Two weeks after my message, I received a bounceback. Condor’s server could not be reached. That is so weird, because even if he couldn’t check it himself, it should still be online somewhere. I tried again, and two weeks later (today) it bounced back again. I’m really hoping that nothing terrible happened, but I’m so afraid. Nothing happened to the Earth overall—that much I know—so please, is there anything you can tell me? How long has it been since you’ve spoken to him? Do you know where he could be? If he’s dead, then just be honest. If it’s time to grieve, then I need to know it, and I need to tell Velia... Oh, I don’t want to be so negative, but that’s the only answer that I can think of for why he wouldn’t be able to receive my message. I mean, I don’t know for sure that you terminate people’s comms credentials when they die, but that’s part of protocol here, so there’s no confusion. If you can think of a better explanation, but still don’t know the truth yourself, please tell me that instead. Basically, just tell me what you know, and we’ll sort it out later. I hope you are doing okay, and I’m going to be waiting for two whole weeks for the other shoe to drop. That’s assuming you receive me, and respond to me right away. What if something happened to you or your credentials too? Well, if that’s what happened, then I guess no one will ever read my frantic and desperate words, and start to question my sanity.

Impatiently waiting for your reply, and hoping for only good news, but prepared for the truth either way,

Corinthia

Microstory 2382: Earth, October 31, 2179

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Dear Corinthia,

I’m sure that my son has already informed you, but I was recently on a trip to Eastern Seaboard, which if you don’t know, is a city-state in the former United States of America. I was taking part in very early negotiations for future possible trade deals. The platform is still circumnavigating the continent of Australia, even though our initial required proximity period has passed. We ended up extending that another four months after some people from other Australian domes began to express interest in moving here. We currently don’t know where we’ll go after this, but it’s always good to have your options open, and it’s not like we have to float over to a trading partner in order to trade with them. That’s what jets are for. So I went out there for my work, but I was also doing something else. After investigating my own past, and reaching out to my contacts, I discovered that an old friend of ours from before the collapse of society—or, I guess it was kind of during it—was living there. I couldn’t pinpoint his exact location remotely, or find his contact information, so I decided to fly up there to look for him myself. And wouldn’t you know it, I found him. I told you that I wouldn’t send you another message until I had a solid update for you, so I hope this qualifies. I confronted Gunnar about his motivations back then after we started catching up, and felt like he was being rather evasive. He seemed to have mixed feelings about seeing me again, like he was happy, but also pretty worried. In my head, I thought for sure this was the guy. He knew something. He was part of it. He was Condor’s secret observer. As it turns out, not exactly. When we met, he was genuinely trying to be my friend. He didn’t even like sports or outdoorsy stuff either; he just figured that I did, because they were very common hobbies, and he was desperately trying to connect. The reason he approached me in the first place was because he had social anxiety, and his therapist recommended he intentionally step out of his comfort zone, and try his hand at small talk, explaining that the worst that could happen was an awkward conversation that ended quickly. I felt really bad about accusing him of something nefarious but then he admitted that he was once contacted by a mysterious someone, asking him to keep tabs on us; Condor in particular. Out of fear, he actually agreed to do it, but he fed this stranger false information. He would just straight up lie about how Condor was doing, and how his personality was developing. He didn’t know if this was the right thing to do, or if he should have refused entirely. He wasn’t sure if he should have told me what was going on either. He always regretted not speaking up, though, and was grateful for the opportunity recently. Except for the first one, Gunnar recorded every conversation he had with this other man, who never gave him his name. Gunnar kept these recordings all this time, so he was able to give me copies of them. I’ve put in a request to the forensics specialists to have them analyzed, and will update you again if and when they find something. We’re getting closer, Cori. We’re gonna find out who did this to you. To us.

Your distant but doting father,

Pascal

Microstory 2329: Vacuus, December 16, 2178

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Dear Condor,

It sounds like it was a pretty rough conversation with your father. I know that you were really wanting some answers, and what he said may or may not have been what you were looking for. If you’re trying to find an enemy in this situation, I hope that you can let go of your anger, and take each day one step at a time. It’s not worth the stress it puts on your heart to hold onto grudges like that. Believe me, I’ve been there. Think of it this way, if you’ve had a good relationship with your dad up until this point, he must be an okay guy. There should be no reason why you can’t forgive him for whatever he did...however he was involved. Even if the whole separation thing had been his idea instead, that was over three decades ago. But I understand that your family situation was different from mine before, and is different now, in more ways than one. In some ways, it’s been easier for me. I no longer have the opportunity to ask my mom about it, but I also don’t have the anxiety from anticipating her answers. I just hope that you two can find a way past this, and maintain your strong relationship. If I could ask you one thing, though, maybe you could serve as a sort of intermediary between the two of us? I don’t know if I’ll ever want to call him dad, but I think that he and I should probably get to know each other either way. I mean, there’s this thing that I do where I moisten my eyeballs one at a time, so it always looks like I’m winking. Normal people just blink, I don’t really know why. Other people have noticed that I do this, and think that it’s funny. There’s often a genetic component to those kinds of tics. Mom never did anything like that, so I’ve always wondered where it came from. On the other hand, if you don’t feel comfortable connecting him with me, I understand. Just let me know, because I really am good either way. I feel like this situation is more up to you. Really, no pressure. Anyway, I have to get to a meeting, so I’ll talk to you in a couple weeks.

Wink wink,

Corinthia

Microstory 2326: Vacuus, November 18, 2178

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Dear Condor,

I’m sorry to hear that you were having so much trouble sleeping. If you ever need to take a few days to respond, that’s okay. You’ve already extended me the same courtesy when I was gone for weeks. It would be crazy of me to not give you a little bit of extra time if you need it. I mean, if there’s nothing to say, then there’s nothing to say. When I first wrote to you, I didn’t think that you would respond in the first place, let alone that we would start conversing on any sort or regular basis. If I don’t hear from you, I’ll assume that you’re waiting for something interesting to happen, or that you just don’t feel like talking. Yes, I will worry about you, and wonder if something’s happened to you, but that’s just the nature of interplanetary correspondence. I spoke with an expert on this side of the void who says that the FTL communication research has stalled, despite what some might be trying to convince the public. He’s not as hopeful as people may be making it out to be. He can’t say for sure that it’s impossible, but it’s unlikely to work any time soon, if ever. For now, we’re stuck with the light lag. Back in the old days, it was not unheard of for a letter to take weeks to get from one place to another. They were riding in carriages, and directly on horses, and even in some cases, just walking on their own two feet! Can you imagine? There was no way for them to know if their messages were being received unless and until they received a reply. At least we have the option of read receipts for our digital signals. I like when that comes in. It makes me feel a little bit better, because it would know if the message had been intercepted, which of course, it hasn’t so far. What it doesn’t tell us is whether the other twin is doing okay, but maybe there’s a way for us to handle that ourselves. I suppose that we could come up with a protocol where we reply right away with a very brief acknowledgement as a sort of manual read receipt. That way, we know that the other is still alive, but can’t reply fully yet. What do you think of that idea? Please respond at faster than light speeds so I don’t have to wait too long for your input.

From the other side of darkness,

Corinthia

Microstory 2325: Earth, November 10, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

I had a dream last night, instead of responding to your letter in a reasonable amount of time. All that happened in this dream was that I sat on my computer to write a message to my father. It’s been frustrating, anticipating his return. You may be okay with waiting for answers, or even never getting them, but I don’t think I can do that. I appreciate your plea to not leave the dome, and I promise that I won’t go try to intercept him. I suppose my brain was trying to reconcile that, so it came up with a fantasy scenario where I got to tell him off anyway, and express how I really feel about what he may or may have done to us. I don’t normally write or read in dreams, but now that you and I are connecting almost every week, my mind is getting used to the concept on a subconscious level. The dream felt so real, and even does now that I’m awake. If I had been flying over the oceans, or fighting off giant monsters, my waking self would acknowledge that that couldn’t have happened, and been able to move on. But this, the way that it was so mundane, and something that I actually could have done, I can’t let it go. What’s even more annoying is that I can’t even remember what was in the letter! I keep sitting down to rewrite it in the real world, but nothing comes out. I will never get it back, which is a shame, because it was so perfect. That’s how it seemed anyway. I know that it wasn’t real, but it feels like I spent a lot of time crafting a perfect speech, and now, not only is it gone, but it probably wasn’t all that relevant. It was most likely total nonsense. And I still need to come up with something good. I need to write him something for real, whether it’s as amazingly pointed as the fake original or not. On top of this whole ordeal, I didn’t get very much sleep. Or rather I didn’t wake up well-rested. So maybe I should wait to write it either way. Maybe I should delete what I’ve written to you here, and start over with your letter too. What do you think? Give me your thoughts on this message right away, so I can write you a new one tomorrow if I need to. Lol, I’m joking, but I really should get some sleep, because it almost feels like breaking the laws of physics makes sense as an idea.

Your catfish,

Condor

Microstory 2318: Earth, September 4, 2178

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Dear Corinthia,

I hate that you were so anxious about my reply. It definitely didn’t help that you had to wait a whole week. Damn this blasted light lag! Rest assured now, though, if you keep talking to me, I’ll keep talking back. By the way, I do realize that I sent two messages by the time you could respond to the first one. I’ll try to be better about that in the future. It’s just that I had an update, and I was too excited to wait, so I didn’t really think about it. I don’t know anyone else in space, so every message I’ve ever tried to send has arrived at its destination almost immediately. I hear that researchers are currently trying to figure out how to send superluminal signals, but I don’t know how close they are to realizing that dream, and either way, people like us will probably be stuck with regular radios for the foreseeable future. It would be really cool, though—wouldn’t it—If we could talk to each other as if we were in the same room together? Surely it’s a pretty big priority. We’re not the only two people having this problem. You said that you don’t know much about Earth, but do you know about any of the other colonies? A lot of the rest of the solar system has been colonized by now too. I believe that they were already developing these other bases when your ship was launched, though we were babies, so maybe no one has thought to bring it up to you since then. I remember asking our dad once if we could move to one of the outpost worlds, and if any of them would be better, but he says that life isn’t any easier anywhere else. That makes sense, and now that you’ve described how hard it is in the habitats, I fully believe it. Earth was perfect for us, and fixing it wouldn’t be any more difficult than starting somewhere new. I guess there are no good places left. But we find little pockets of happiness where we can. Because of my father’s respectable position with the dome’s leadership, we’re afforded a larger private cabin. I won’t send any photos now, if you don’t want to send your own, but perhaps we can swap? I would sure like to get a better idea of where you are. Who knows? They might be strikingly similar. Let me know what you can do.

Sorry about the extra message,

Condor

Microstory 2317: Vacuus, August 28, 2178

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Dear Condor,

Thank you so much for writing me back. I had so much anxiety, wondering if you would get my message, and if you did, if you want to have anything to do with me. I’m sorry to hear about your world. We don’t know anything about that all the way out here. Well, I don’t at least. I’ve recently learned that I was kept in the dark about my whole family history, so they could be keeping other things from me, for all I know. So it sounds like we’re in the same boat in some respects, trapped with limited movement, in a hostile environment. The difference is that people here are trying to make the world a better place, and it sounds like a bunch of greedy corporations ruined yours on purpose. The last we heard—or I heard, anyway—it was pretty much a paradise. I have a holo-window on my wall. I can change it to anything I want on a whim, but I’ve always kept it on The Blue Marble. It’s the first full-disc image of Earth, and it’s over 200 years old. It’s not the best quality, but I think it’s perfect, because it represents humanity’s ambition, and the spirit of exploration. Plus, it’s nice to pretend that I have a nice view, even though my quarters are on the interior side. As much as I struggle living here, I know that just flying tens of billions of kilometers to this spot is an achievement that proves that we can do great things. We can be better than the atmosphere poisoners. I have faith that things will get better one day, for both you and me, on our respective worlds. I’ve asked about going to Earth many times, long before I knew anything about you, but it’s always been impossible. This was planned as a one-way mission. We’re supposed to die here. Some already have. We don’t have the resources or manpower to engineer a return trip, and I’m sure that the people in charge don’t want that, because then probably too many people would volunteer. I’m rambling, sorry, but that’s just who I am. I’m not sure if I was born this way, or if it has more to do with how I grew up. People here are always so preoccupied with their work. If you want to be seen, you have to be loud, and you kind of have to say it quickly before they get bored, and start to ignore you. Thanks again for responding! Hope to hear from you again in a week!

Love,

Corinthia

Microstory 2283: Is How it Goes

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I’m sorry to disappoint you, folks but there’s nothing special to report in regards to my sleep study. Why am I sleeping poorly, besides the pain that I’m still in? Stress, mostly. Stress and anxiety. We were pretty sure that that was the issue, but we tested for it in case it was something weird. They took a lot of blood and other samples, though, and there’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’ve always had problems sleeping. When I was a kid, people would tell me that you need eight hours of sleep per night, so I would ask whether that meant we need six hours total, accounting for the two hours it takes to fall asleep, or if I need to give myself a ten hour window. They had no clue what I was talking about. It was taking them ten or twenty minutes to fall asleep. That’s when I realized that I hated people. Not really, lol, but...kind of. I apologize that I’m giving you such an unexciting explanation, because my readers may tune out because of it, but this is how it goes, and it should be for now. Maybe it’s not great for engagement, but that’s what we want. I prefer it to be boring, after all that I’ve been through this year. Stress, I can handle. I have been dealing with it my whole life, even as a child. I’m sure I’ll start to sleep better now. Speaking of which, let’s go test that out now. Goodnight, everybody!

Microstory 2262: Rather Be Blissfully Ignorant

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All of you apparently expected to hear me give you an answer for whether I was going to do an interview for one of my local news television programs. In short, yes. In a tiny bit longer, it’s complicated. I will be doing something in some way at some point, but the network is making certain accommodations for it that I’m not privy to. I’ll give you all more information, not when I know it, but when I’m allowed to tell you. Don’t stress out about it, though, because it may be a long time before the gears start turning. In the meantime, my publicist is setting me up with one of the firm’s interview specialists to help me learn how to speak in public. I’ve done it before—in various ways, and to varying degrees of success—but I’ve never actually been interviewed, per se. I think we’ll be practicing a lot, which I’m sure I’ll have a lot of fun with...he said sarcastically. I don’t really care to talk about myself in person, and I don’t like trying to figure out how to censor my responses. The only thing worse than getting a question that I wasn’t ready for would be being prepared for all questions, and feeling anxious for them the whole time until it’s finally over. You would think that the worry that comes from not knowing what’s going to happen is what kills me, and that’s true in most situations, but when it comes to interacting with other people, I think I would rather be blissfully ignorant so I don’t spend too much time thinking about it. I’m just weird like that I guess. So to protect myself, that’s all I’ll say for now.

Extremus: Year 85

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This is it. Tinaya and Lataran are going to tell the general public of Extremus that they have maintained a permanent connection to Verdemus. Having a Nexus on the ship was always an option, but the people who first developed the idea of the mission ultimately decided against it for obvious reasons. There was never any law that said they couldn’t build one, probably because doing so takes the intelligence of a lesser god, and the patience of a saint. It was sort of against the spirit of what they’re trying to do here, but since the two they have access to were built for a rescue operation, it’s okay. Things might change in the future, but for now the council says that it’s fine. They have already been briefed on the subject. The braintrust lied to them too, though. They ended up making the claim that, since the two Nexa weren’t constructed by the original designers, they couldn’t be on the network. They could only connect to each other. So people will be able to travel from one to the other, but nowhere else.

With the council’s input, it has been decided that travel will not be a free-for-all. For a period of exactly one year, anyone who wants to visit Verdemus will have to apply to do so. The application that they submit will either be for a temporary stay, or permanent residency. They will have the chance to upgrade or downgrade later, should they change their minds. Some will be excited for the chance to live out their lives on a real planet, only to realize that they don’t really like it there, with all the bugs and everything. Others will go just to see what it’s like, and ultimately fall in love with it. Nothing has to be decided today, but it does have to be decided in 396 days. At that point, the connection will be completely severed. The Verdemusians, both new and old, will have to fend for themselves from then on, and the Extremusians the same. They’re dropping people off, like a bus, and this proverbial bus will not be turning around again. But buses do turn around. They do it all the time, it’s a specific route. So this is not really a good analogy, which is what Tinaya struggled the most with when she was writing her speech. The final draft has her just explaining the situation in no uncertain terms.

They’re going to tell the general population that the Nexa will be destroyed on both ends. What the council believes is that the Nexus will simply be disabled, and can be turned on again for emergencies. What only the small group of the original non-clone, non-secret explosion survivors knows is that the connection will just stay up the whole time, and they’ll be free to move back and forth however they please. They probably won’t do it much, but they’ll at least be able to communicate with each other. Lilac, Aristotle, and Niobe are staying on Verdemus. The latter two feel that it is their home, and the former wants to be with her son. Vaska will be staying too, not only because she isn’t on the Extremus manifest, but also because she wants to keep studying it. Omega and Valencia will be working on Jaunemus for now, but if anyone’s going to be using the Nexa after the one year grace period, it’ll be them. They have important jobs to complete, and they need the leeway to complete them. Tinaya will be staying on Extremus with Arqut, and of course, the Captain will too. Spirit and Belahkay have not yet made a decision, but they’ll surely stay together.

This is a joint presentation, but Lataran will only be responsible for answering questions at the end, since this is just for the crew for now. Tinaya is the one who will be explaining everything. She’s pacing on stage, nervous but using her breathing techniques. The curtain that separates her from the audience is soundproof. She could scream as loud as she pleased, and no one would notice. She almost wants to do this, just to recenter herself. She’s not dealt with the crew much as of late, since her leadership experience has been mostly relegated to the civilian side, and she’s been away for so many years anyway. Very few currently on rotation were there back in the day, so he doesn’t know many of these people.

Tinaya checks her watch, not wanting to be late. The seconds are ticking by, but she still has about twenty of them left, which is more than enough time for her to get over her nerves, and figure this out. Right? Why is she so anxious about it? She’s been around people. Well, in a different way, sure, but not like this. Extremus is a hollow chunk of metal hurtling through space. It has to be a structured well-oiled machine, or everything falls apart, and everyone dies. They had so much more freedom on the planet, and life was a lot more forgiving. Holy shit, how did ten seconds pass so quickly? Okay, get ready. There’s the button to open the curtains. Why isn’t Lataran here with her? Oh yeah, she’s greeting people by the door. That’s stupid, and annoying. The only thing worse than speaking in front of a huge crowd of people is being alone. She needs support. She needs Lataran. “Lataran.”

The Captain’s hand pushes Tinaya’s out of the way just before she can open the curtain. “Don’t push the button. Button is bad.”

“What are you talking about?” Tinaya questions.

“We’re not doing this. Trust me, it’s a bad idea. I’ll explain everything, but we need to get you out of here right now.”

“What about the crew?”

“I’ve sent them back to their assignments,” Lataran replied.

“You have?” A completely different Lataran asks. “That’s news to me.”

“What the hell are you doing back here?” The first Lataran shoves Tinaya behind her as if trying to be a human target.

“Well, one of the new Forest Rangers was running a little late for the presentation when he saw me sneak backstage, and then immediately saw me again at the entrance. I could have teleported, yes, but it didn’t look like that’s where I was headed.”

“Well, shit.” The first Lataran lets go of Tinaya, and holds up her hands defensively. “Now, I know you have to place me in hock, but you should know that I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m not an impostor. I’m a time traveler.”

“I’m not taking you anywhere,” the second Lataran corrects. “Tinaya is taking both of us, because neither of us can be trusted.”

Tinaya doesn’t move.

“Tiny, that is protocol. You have to assume that we’re both bad guys.”

“She’s right,” the first Lataran says. “I never meant for the two of us to be in a room together. I wanted to get us away from here before I explained why I came back.”

“That’s a great idea,” the second Lataran says. “So stop talking!”

Tinaya removes the magcuff from her belt loop, which is standard issue for all crewmembers, and some key civilians. It’s so thin, she forgets that one is in every pair of pants that she owns. She only has the one, so the two of them will have to share. They look like twin sisters holding hands, but not for long. Tinaya teleports into the hock entrance, and checks them in with the Hock Watcher. He’s totally indifferent to the situation. He quietly locks them up in two separate interrogation rooms, and alerts the council, as well as First and Second Lieutenants. While he’s doing that, Tinaya reaches out to the current crew consul. She’s actually never met Icarus Faulkner, but he’s said to be just the nicest guy in the world.

In these uncertain situations, both copies of the same person will be treated equally until the authority can determine which one of them belongs, and which one doesn’t. But one version of Lataran is claiming to be real, and from this time period, while the other is admitting to being an interloper. So they’re starting with the assumption that both of them are telling the truth, and focusing their efforts on the latter version. Consul Faulker pulls Tinaya’s seat out for her, but doesn’t sit down next to her right away. “Can I get you two anything? Water? Tea?”

Tinaya reaches her hand towards him. “That’s not your job anymore, Consul.”

When he was still young, before he began his apprenticeship, he really did serve as an assistant to an earlier consul. That was so many years ago; he should not be experiencing a conditioned response like this. “It’s quite all right, I’m still standing.”

“We’re both fine,” Tinaya insists.

“She’s right,” Lataran is forced to say when Icarus looks over at her so she can answer for herself.

He finally relents, and takes his own seat. Poor eyesight is virtually a thing of the past. It really just depends on what you define as normal. Almost no one needs to wear lenses. Those who do almost always want some sort of enhanced vision, like telescopic, microscopic, or otherwise augmented. Icarus, however, is legitimately farsighted, and has not elected for corrective surgery, apparently because he doesn’t want to put the surgeon out. Yeah. There is such a thing as being too nice. He puts his reading glasses on, and inspects his tablet. As he goes through his spiel, he skims through the early report, and doesn’t look up at anyone. “This is Consul Icarus Faulkner of the VMS Extremus, sitting with former First Chair, Tinaya Leithe. We are interviewing a purported time traveler who has appeared in the form of current VMS Extremus Captain, Lataran Keen. The interviewee has been magnetically bound to the table, and is being treated respectfully and humanely. She has been offered refreshments, and...” Now he looks up. He quickly taps on the screen. “Do you need to use the restroom?”

“No.”

Tap. “...an opportunity to use the facilities, which she has so far declined.” He leans back in his chair, and carefully adjusts the microexpression detector attached to the one-way mirror behind them. “Okay, here we go.”

Tinaya instinctively holds to the back of his chair in case he tips all the way back.

“Thank you kindly.” He goes back into the formal questioning. “Please state your full name for analysis.”

“Lataran Keen.”

“Middle name included.”

“Don’t have one.”

Icarus looks back at the detector over his reading glasses, which doesn’t really tell him anything, of course, so he looks down at the results on his tablet. “Very well. Are you a time traveler?”

“Indeed.”

“What was your date and time of egress?”

“October 12, 2355 at 15:52.”

“What was the purpose of your journey back in time?”

“To stop the announcement of the true nature of our relationship to Verdemus.”

“Why should this announcement not be made?” he presses.

“It becomes disastrous for both the ship, and the planet. Four months into allowing passengers to visit Verdemus, attacks begin. It starts with individual killings, and quickly escalates into full-on bombings. We believe that a message was recently sent to the Exin Empire, alerting them to the survival of the planet, and its inhabitants.”

“You believe that a spy infiltrated the visitors in order to sabotage whatever harmonious society has, and will have, been established there.”

“That’s correct,” Lataran confirms.

“Do you know for sure that it was one of the visitors?”

“Who else would it be?” Lataran asks, very confused.

“Well, when I was briefed, I was told that there are already thousands of people living there. Clones of Mister Omega Parker?”

“Omega Strong,” Tinaya corrects.

“Apologies. Let the record reflect that I misnamed Omega Strong.”

This sounds like the stupidest thing that Lataran has ever heard. “It wasn’t the clones. They were there for years before the passengers began to show up.”

“I am afraid that you have proven a correlative connection, but not a causal one. That two things occurred in sequence—”

“I understand how logic and causality work,” Lataran interrupts. “Thank you, but I did pass second grade.”

“You will show respect to the Consul,” Tinaya warns.

“I’m sorry,” Lataran says. “I understand that I have not given you enough information. Tinaya, you confiscated a flashdrive from me when I checked in?”

“Is that what that is?” Tinaya asks. “It looks ancient.”

“Intentional obsolescence,” Lataran explains. “For security purposes. Reach out to the Technology Historians Club. They’ll know what to do. It will have all the evidence you need to cancel the announcement. We were wrong. No one can know that Verdemus still stands. We don’t know who we can trust, but someone is not on our side.”

“We’ll review the data you submitted,” Icarus goes on, “and the claims you have made. In the meantime, the other Lataran Keen will remain in hock on the ship, and you will be transported through the Nexus for indefinite detainment on world.” He switches off the recording, and stands up.

“That’s it?” Tinaya asks him. “No more questions?”

“Until the data can be verified,” Icarus begins, “I would not like to contaminate my investigation with more, possibly corrupt, information. I’m sure that we’ll have more to ask once we learn more from that...flashdrive thing.” He begins to leave the room. “I’ll arrange for covert transport. I’ll let you two have a moment for a private goodbye, but Miss Leithe, you are not leaving the ship, and you are not speaking with the other Captain.” He exits the room with a polite nod to the both of them.

Tinaya and the visiting Lataran do say their goodbyes, because it really feels like they’re never going to see each other again. It could be that Lataran’s image has been forever tarnished, and that the real one will be relieved of her position as well.

After a thorough investigation—with the help of time travel experts Omega and Valencia, and the current temporal engineers—it’s determined that the time traveler was telling the truth. The announcement is postponed until further notice. Five months later, though no passengers are ever allowed to visit Verdemus, the murders begin, and the planet falls under attack.

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Microstory 2216: Him to Survive

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Nick is catatonic today, not in the literal sense, but in the faking sort of way. I know that he can hear me, and that he’s processing information just fine. He’s anxious about the results of the latest test, which are said to be coming by the end of the week. The diagnostics doctor doesn’t want to say beforehand what he’s thinking, or what specifically the test is for, but Nick says that he has this feeling that the answer is on its way. He believes that we will know what we’re dealing with on Friday. The anticipation is killing him faster than the disease probably could. So he’s refusing to eat or communicate, or even sleep. He just lies there, staring up at the ceiling. I’m taking care of his bodily imperatives, but there are ways for him to still handle some of that himself, so I will not continue doing it all for him for an extended period of time. It’s okay for now, but he’ll have to get back to work on his own recovery tomorrow. This is a home care program, so if that’s not enough for him to survive, then I’ll have no choice but to check him into a facility full time. I don’t think he wants that. He’s gotta meet me halfway. I think he thought that he would be a pro at this, but his reaction to all this change is perfectly normal. We will get through it. Together.

Microstory 2214: With an Autopsy

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There was a bit of a misunderstanding. Due to Nick’s sleep issues, the EEG test needed to be able to measure his brain activity while he was awake, and also while he was asleep. I asked if we should reschedule it for the nighttime, but Nick was confident that he would be able to fall asleep given the right conditions. To make it happen, they packed his hospital room with a number of medical staff who weren’t too busy with other things. For almost thirty minutes, he was the center of attention. They asked him questions, mostly not about his medical issues. He had to talk about the universe where he’s from, and all the adventures he went on after he left it. It didn’t matter whether they believed him or not, or even if they were listening. Being around crowds of people is exhausting for him, and it’s even worse when they’re paying all their attention to him. By the end of it, he had little trouble sleeping. The doctor rechecked the electrodes, shut off the lights, and left the room. I asked to stay by his side, but he insisted that Nick be alone, which admittedly made sense. I don’t want to say that these results were inconclusive, like all the others, but they were. Best guess at the moment is that he’s suffering from some form of dementia. The MRI would seem to support this possibility, but only as a possibility. That is to say, it doesn’t rule it out. Unfortunately, the best way to know for sure that that’s the case is with an autopsy, which is obviously not in the cards at this stage. I suppose it might one day give his survivors some sense of closure, but it doesn’t help Nick now, and I’m still holding out hope for a turnaround. As for the lumbar puncture, we have only received a few preliminary results so far. His cell count and glucose levels are totally fine. The diagnostician said that his protein levels were suspicious, but he couldn’t elaborate on that. My schooling did not go over any of this kind of stuff, and he’s aware of that, so he didn’t bother elaborating. He did seem pretty cryptic about it, though. He said that he needed to send the data off to a special lab, but that it could take up to a week to get more answers. I’m really worried about it, so I’ve decided to not tell Nick about that just yet. It will only cause him more anxiety, and it might also end up being nothing. That’s it for the tests for now. We have nothing planned for tomorrow, but I’ll probably get him back to his physical therapy to help him stay as independent as possible for as long as possible.

Microstory 2209: We’re in the Endgame Now

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Might wanna skip this one if you have depression or anxiety issues, because they may be triggered by my words. The doctors have no clue what’s wrong with me, but the signs and symptoms are clear. Long before I started traveling the bulk, I watched my maternal grandfather slowly die of Parkinson’s disease. I don’t actually know if that’s what killed him, but it certainly contributed to it. I’m exhibiting a lot of the same problems that I remember him having. Stiffness, numbing, tremors. You don’t use the same term for it here, but after some conversation, the doctors were able to assure me that their idea of this same disease could be ruled out. It’s something else. That’s neither good nor bad, because it can’t be cured on either world. Neither can whatever it actually is...probably. Based on my rate of decline, and their lack of understanding, they don’t see any reason why I would improve. It’s likely going to keep getting worse until I become nothing more than a shell of my former self. Death is almost certain to follow. It will be slow, painful, and extremely frustrating. So far, the mental component hasn’t been too bad, but it has still been an issue. I’ve forgotten things, and I’ve been snapping at people, even before I went into the hospital. I’ve asked them to keep me alive at just about all costs, but at some point—probably rather soon—you won’t be hearing from me anymore. I won’t be able to think, let alone type or talk. We’re in the endgame now.

Microstory 2195: Should Not Have Jumped

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I had this whole thing planned. I was going to welcome our first staff members with a little party. It wasn’t going to be a huge celebration, but I thought it was a good idea to give people the chance to meet each other in a more social environment. I, for one, do not like parties. Crowds make me uncomfortable, and I tend to say the wrong thing. I’m much better in a professional context. Jasmine pointed out that we would just have to keep doing this every time someone new came along. A lot of them are starting on Monday, but not everyone, and I guess I just wasn’t thinking it all the way through; probably because of everything else I have on my mind. It makes sense, to wait until we’re all together. We can call the early days the soft open, and then have a grand opening party later on. I’ll have to find someone else to eat this ice cream cake. I cannot keep it in the house, because I can eat the whole thing myself at once, and I will. Don’t test me. So we’ll work first, and wait for the party. I should have not jumped the gun, and maybe I shouldn’t have told you about it—I don’t know—but it’s fine. There’s nothing left to say. Who knows what I’ll be able to divulge in this setting next week? I’ll have to feel the situation out with my new and growing team.

Microstory 2183: Held My Fate in Their Hands

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I’ve been spending all day conducting phone interviews with the first wave of applicants. It wasn’t just me, though. Jasmine took part of the list, as did my colleague who has been helping me prepare for the in-person interviews that will come later. As I was about to make the first call today, I realized that I should have also taken some time to practice these, not only because they come before the face-to-face meetings, but because I don’t tend to be too great on the phone. I have trouble picking up on social cues, but at least when I’m in the same room with someone, I can do my best. It’s so much harder on the phone. They could be muting themselves, and giggling at how I stumble over my words, or gesturing their boredom with the blah, blah, blah hand gesture. These possibilities start swirling around in my brain, and I start to lose my train of thought, which only makes things worse. I sometimes hang up the phone having kind of blacked out, and being unsure whether anything I said made any sense whatsoever. That all being said, my colleague’s training helped with these too. I did okay, and I think the candidates were receiving me pretty well. I asked the right questions at the right time, and remembered that one major reason for phone interviews is to give candidates time to ask questions of me. Hiring managers might forget that it’s not just about us choosing them, but them choosing us too. This is meant to be a new business partnership, or in the case of internal candidates, a change in that relationship. Just because someone needs a job, doesn’t mean that they’re desperate for it, or that they ought to be desperate, or that they should be thankful that we’re even bothering to consider them, or that we have the right to exploit them for all we need.

It’s important to me that I never forget what it’s like for people in their situations. I don’t know everything that they’re all going through, and I shouldn’t be expected to, but I should try to empathize anyway. It wasn’t too long ago that I was in jail, and before that, I was on the run, and before that, I was unhoused. I didn’t get to where I am by being brilliant and hardworking. I relied on a lot of other people giving me a chance, and putting their trust in me, and not being judgmental. Long ago, in my home universe, I was in between jobs, but it hadn’t been too long yet. An interviewer asked me how long I had been on the search. I was afraid that she wouldn’t consider me if I told her the truth, because someone who had been searching for longer was in more need, all things being equal. What my mother told me later was that it was the opposite; that if you’ve been looking for too long, they’ll assume that something’s wrong with you. That’s bullshit, and I won’t tolerate it. So I’m not going to ask people how long they’ve been out of work, or why. It’s none of my goddamn business. I more than anyone know how hopeless it feels to be treated like everything bad that has ever happened to you is your own fault. People deserve better. They deserve the benefit of the doubt. Now, I’m mostly hiring highly experienced and specialized workers for my team, as we have no entry level positions available on the team, but I’m still going into it with this attitude, because I don’t want to become everything I’ve hated in people who held my fate in their hands. I want to take my personal experiences, and make them better for others. So if you applied, and you feel like you’re being mistreated, or if you have stories to tell about your issues with other employers, send me a message. I’m always looking to improve, even if I’m not the only one who should hear what you have to say.

Microstory 2138: Death More Than Anything

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My therapist read my story yesterday, and became concerned, so she insisted that we have our appointment in person. I wore a mask to protect her from my infection, and we stayed three meters from each other at all times. She came to my apartment, so I wouldn’t have to go out and expose my illness to a bunch of other people on the way. We scheduled it in such a way that the nurse who came by to take my blood at the end of the day was able to take hers as well. I didn’t think that they would be able to test for a pathogen that early after receiving it, but that’s why I’m not a doctor. To be honest, my therapist was a little worried about what I may do to myself. I know, I was saying a lot of dark and sad things yesterday, but I’m not suicidal. I gave up the ability to borrow infinite abilities in order to hold onto one, and it was immortality. I have no desire to die; now, or at any point in the future. If you only learn one thing about me, let it be the fact that I hate death more than anything in the worlds. That is why I hate smokers so much too, because I see them as an extension of death. Whoa, that’s dark, Self. Maybe I’ll work on that with my therapist next week. I don’t wanna talk about it anymore, though. I’ll be all right. I’ll feel better when I get back to jail in a couple days, lol.

Microstory 2137: A Specific Person

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I’ve been experiencing a lot of depression lately, which is understandable, and also not at all surprising. I’ve suffered from depression and anxiety my whole life, and sought professional help for it on a number of occasions. It’s never really helped, and I’ve not been able to speak with my current therapist recently, because of my physical medical issues. We try to talk on the phone, but I’m absolutely terrible at that. I have trouble interpreting how other people are receiving what I’m saying in person, but it’s even worse when I can’t see them at all. Plus, in therapy, there need to be moments of quiet that can be filled with nonverbal cues, or even the lack thereof cues, so the therapist can gain insights into one’s condition by that silence. When you’re on the phone, well maybe, you actually are talking, but it’s a bad connection, or the call has been dropped entirely. I’ve had varying qualities of success when it comes to therapy, so even if I could talk to someone in the way that I need, it probably wouldn’t work anyway. I have too many character flaws that I don’t want to get rid of, because doing so might make me more like other people. Normal people eat fecal matter, murder each other, and vote against the greater good. As hard as it is for me to live with who I am, I wouldn’t wanna be much like you either, because at least I can look in the mirror and see a specific person, instead of just a facsimile of everyone else in the world. I’m not special, but I’m not typical. I know, I’m rambling, and not saying anything of any value or meaning, but that’s what happens when I’m struggling with my mental health. Like I was saying, I’ve always been depressed and anxious. It’s my resting state. I think I stopped trying to get help with it because I got so used to these feelings, and never thought they could be fixed. I’m still not sure about it. I’ll go back to therapy when I’m literally fit to go do so again, but I don’t expect any semblance of progress. If it’s happened before, it was so gradual that I didn’t notice. I don’t like things that can’t be measured, and I don’t know what happiness looks like. My guess is that it doesn’t exist beyond the abstract, like dark matter, or a man who’s eaten his own head.

Microstory 2118: Tiny Little Baby Boy

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I had a physical examination today. Some laws in this world are weird, and some of them are better than they are where I’m from. For others, I’m not sure one way or the other. I think my world would do this sort of thing sometimes, for when there were specific reasons to believe that the accused was in need of it, but here, they do it for everyone. There is an entire branch of medicine dedicated to making sure that people like me are fit to stand trial, or even just this small hearing. They call it Judicial Fitness, making this my Judicial Fitness Evaluation. I’ll go through more by the time this is over, and maybe more while I’m being monitored by a parole officer. This Earth, and this country in particular, is very concerned with the physical and emotional stability of their accused and convicted. I would be interested to learn what happened in history to turn this into a common practice. Were there too many bored doctors? Were there a ton of patients who were later discovered to have been unfit for legal proceedings, which resulted in severe damage to their welfare? Or maybe there was one highly publicized case that shifted perception. Either way, I don’t have a problem submitting to it. I have nothing to hide. Y’all already know, I don’t mind admitting to my medical issues; I’ve done that in multiple instances on this site. I believe in medical privacy, but I’ve personally never run into a situation that I felt I couldn’t tell anyone about, even if it would be “embarrassing” for a neurotypical. I’m trying to think of a story like that to prove to you that I don’t care, but nothing comes to mind. Perhaps I just don’t understand what other people’s threshold would be. I’ve had a few ingrown toenails, which required minor surgery, does that count? They sent a scope up my urethra to try to figure out my digestive issues. That’s not great, a normal person would probably keep that to themselves. Let’s see, I used to vomit from anxiety whenever I did something new. I guess that can still happen, it’s just that less is new than it was when I was a tiny little baby boy. I just called myself a tiny little baby boy, should I be embarrassed by that? You tell me. If those aren’t juicy enough for ya, I’m afraid that my current condition isn’t gonna help you either. I earned a clean bill of health from my physician, which means that I can attend my hearing tomorrow. What exactly the purpose of it is a bunch of legalese that I don’t understand, but I’ll try to recount it tomorrow, unless they throw me in prison right away, and don’t give me access to a computer. If that happens, my blog will just end. I don’t have any backup posts waiting on the schedule this time. Welp, it’s been real...or rather it hasn’t, because I’m making all of this up, ain’t I? Or am I? I am. Wait...oh no, I was right, this is all fiction.

Microstory 2113: Forward to the Food

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This is it. I’m about to turn myself in for having skipped town after agreeing to report to my social worker regularly. I got in a lot more trouble a lot quickerly than I expected, but I guess I always knew that it would end like this. It’s better than going down in a hail of gunfire, though, right? That was not an implausibility, I’ll say that much. Ever since I came to this world—and let’s face it, the world before this one—I’ve struggled with getting work, holding work, paying my bills, and just standing on my own two feet. A lot of people have been really patient and helpful with me, but it’s really done a number on my anxiety. As bad as jail sounds to me, at least I’ll have a place to sleep at night. As weird as it may sound to you, I’m most looking forward to the food. It’s not that I think it will be good, but I won’t have any other options. That’s where most of my money goes, and where my weight comes from. Carefully portioned...portions, and carefully planned eating times, will actually make life a lot simpler. I remember watching this video online a long time ago where an autistic character starts learning about how strict life is in prison, and decides that he wants to be part of it, because people like us thrive on procedures and protocols. It’s gonna suck in a lot of ways, like all the dangers that come with being around unpredictable and potentially violent people, but there are some benefits to it. As I said before, I’m tired of running anyway, so I’ll take whatever punishment I’m owed. By the time you read this, I’ll have walked into that police station. I may never get to tell you how it went, but don’t imagine the worst. I’m sure I’ll be fine.