Microstory 2300: Millions of People

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The place was packed. In case you never found out, the event was catered, that was the surprise from the other day. A counter-serve vegetarian restaurant called Honeypea’s Harvest graciously donated tons of food and labor time for what’s certainly the largest reception I’ve ever been to. They actually started out in the Kansas City area, and their first location that wasn’t in the immediate region was Chicago, so they felt a kinship to us. Nick loved going there, I remember that, but I didn’t think to reach out to them. Our publicity firm did, and we’re very grateful for their assistance. We basically took over the entire Humankind Causeway Center, because we had the auditorium on one end, and then the ballroom for the reception on the other. You can see why I couldn’t tell you about it before, right? You say the word free, and people flock to you, whether they know what you’re giving away or not. There was a limited amount of space and food available, so we couldn’t let the whole world know. As for the service itself, it went pretty well. I told you that I was nervous, and having a full auditorium didn’t help with my nerves, but I pretended that they weren’t there, and that I was still practicing in front of the mirror. I got into a rhythm, and made it through to the other end. I want to thank all who attended, and everyone who logged in to watch the stream. Millions. Millions of people watched it live, and millions more have watched the recording since it ended. I can’t believe we ended up here. When I first met Dutch, he was just this cool guy without a care in the world. And when I met Nick, I honestly thought that he was a little nutty. He was shy, but not shy about telling us who he was, and where he came from. I grew to believe him, and it seems that a lot of you have too. I find it hard to imagine that this many people read his blog, especially now that he’s dead, when they just think it’s this dumb little fictional story. Dare I say most of you are believers? It’s crazy how far he’s come. Even though he’s gone, his legacy continues, through all of you, and through me. I’ll keep sending out posts as long as you keep reading them. I think he would appreciate that. In fact, I bet he would literally say, “I appreciate your support.”

Microstory 2267: 2018 Was No Bueno

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Funny story. Obviously, before you meet the President, the Diplomatic Protection Authority has to run a thorough background check on you. You have heard of everyone that I know. I’ve mentioned literally everyone I’ve ever met here beyond random customers and clients. I don’t have a past from before the beginning of this year, and the DPA doesn’t know what to do with that. I think they still don’t believe me, which is understandable, but I don’t know what to tell ya. I can’t conjure a family out of nowhere, and no matter how deep you dig, you’re not gonna find them, because you’re looking in the wrong world. I’m guessing that there are two camps; one which wants to believe me, and one which thinks that this is all part of an extremely intricate coverup to hide the fact that I’m some kind of international assassin. That would be one hell of a long con. Could you imagine, doing everything I’ve done for a year just on the off-chance that the leader of the free world would eventually want to meet me? I gave myself an incurable disease, managed to cure it in a matter of moments anyway, and everyone who saw it happen is somehow loyal to me, or has been paid off. That’s more bonkers than the truth. I didn’t ask for this meeting. I didn’t see it coming. So if you want to cancel on me, that’s fine. I have no strong feelings about it. As I’ve said, I just got here, so I’m not all that familiar with your history, or your politics. I don’t even know whether I would have voted for her if I had been born on this planet. One major difference between my world and yours is that it’s okay to be apolitical, because you’re not deciding between a decent human being, and one of the worst monsters ever created. Trust me, I know that I call you boring, but this is far better. The administration I left behind in 2018 was no bueno.

Microstory 2117: Cosmic Frequency

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Since I have nowhere else to live, I’m still in the hotel room that the government is paying for. I spoke with my lawyer yesterday—the one that my former employer is paying for—and also this morning. It looks like this thing isn’t going to be going to a full trial. The FBI and my benefactors are going to be vouching for me to the judge, as will reportedly my social worker. I’ll most likely serve some time in prison, but not in the way that you think. Have you ever heard anyone on a police or lawyer procedural say that a convict is being sentenced to consecutive time? Have you ever wondered if that means that there’s such a thing as nonconsecutive prison time? Well, yes, young Padawan, there is! It’s often called weekend jail, and it’s generally meant to allow people to continue working throughout the week, and/or take care of their families. I’m currently in between jobs, so I’ve been advised to start working closely with my social worker to change that. He’ll probably have ideas on an employer who would be willing to deal with what will become an unusual schedule. Or maybe it’s not that unusual. My frame of reference isn’t perfect, but I do believe that intermittent confinement is more common on this world. That reminds me, I’m a visitor from another universe, and people are very interested in that. That’s why they’ve been so helpful, because they want to understand if it’s even a little bit true. They don’t believe me entirely, but who could expect them to? I have no proof, and no way to prove it. A science fiction story would suggest that people from different universes have different quarks, or something, but I’m not sure if that’s true. I wrote a story once where a character was in a similar situation. He ended up in a highly advanced galaxy, where a group of doctors were able to run a “cosmic frequency” test on him to confirm his alien origins. I’m not sure how difficult it would be to do that here, but if researchers want to know how I tick, I guess I’ll suggest that, and see what they say. This is all in the very early stages. The military isn’t going to spend too many resources studying me until they have some real reason to believe that I’m telling the truth. For now, everyone’s playing this by ear, including me. Not everyone is gonna believe me at all, or be on my side. They’ll expect me to pay for my crimes, and won’t let the FBI, a private organization, or anyone else exonerate me, even under special circumstances. Weekend jail sounds like a good deal to me. I’m not a partier, so it’s not like I’m known to do anything special with my days off. Plus, that would allow me to stay online throughout my sentence. That would be cool, wouldn’t it? I am getting the sense that they want me to keep up with my blog too. My view count has been skyrocketing lately. Word is spreading about my life story, and people are catching up on my previous posts. It’s surreal. I can’t wait to see what’s next.

Microstory 2069: There Are No Winners

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I’m feeling bad again, but it has nothing to do with my recent infections. I’m a week away from my first day on the job at the garden, and I’m getting really nervous about it. I’ve been worshiping the porcelain god, as they say. Can you imagine what a real porcelain god would be like? Of course you can’t, you gave up religion a long time ago, because it was too interesting. That’s one upside to living on this Earth, I guess. You somehow lost the curiosity gene, but at least you don’t believe in a flying spaghetti monster. I was hoping that I would be less anxious, since I’ve not encountered very many surprising people, except for those two alien believers, but my stomach has a different idea. When I’m not running from my life, like I was when Cricket, Claire, and I were hopping all over the multiverse, I’m anxious all the time. That’s me, I’m full of anxiety. Well, that and depression. I hear “brave” people in the public eye talking about how their mental health issues are things that they’ve been battling. But for me, it has always just been suffering. It’s not a fight, it’s survival. There are no winners. All I can really do—after the medication wears off, and the therapists close the door—is get through the day. Then I get five or six hours of sleep, and wake up to get through the next day. Listen to me, being all moody and broody about life. It’s not all that bad. It’s not like I can remember every bad thing that has ever happened to me, and I can’t remember many of the good things. That would be crazy, right? Ha. Right? Who could survive that?

Microstory 2064: Naïve and Trusting

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I had a phone call with a guy who claimed to also be from another universe, and it was pretty interesting. Out of respect for his privacy, I’m not going to tell you his real name. He hasn’t consented to me talking about him. Though, I think he would kind of be okay with it. How can I put this? He’s the opposite of a conspiracy theorist? He isn’t paranoid about the government, or anything like that. He’s very naïve and trusting, which is why he responded to my ad in the first place. As it turns out, he’s been looking out for any message like mine, which is why he receives the Kansas City Post even though he lives in Chicago, among reportedly tons of others. Surprisingly enough, I’m not one hundred percent certain that he’s not also from another universe. Have you ever heard of the Mandela Effect? Of course you haven’t. You’re too boring to come up with psychology terms like that. Basically it refers to a phenomenon where people believe something is true that is not, like maybe that a particular mascot has always worn a hat, when in fact, the hat never existed. Maybe you remember a character from an old TV show having a brother, when what you’re probably thinking of is an episode where he pretends to be a neighbor’s brother so they can get a discount at the arcade. I just made those up, but you get what I mean. That’s essentially what may or not be happening with my new Chicago friend. He wasn’t talking about all these crazy differences from where he supposedly grew up. There are lots of little differences, like street names, and the biggest companies in the world. All of these can be attributed to poor memory, or more severe mental health issues, but they could also mean he came through Westfall, and for some reason, is aware that it happened. I will need to speak with him more to get a better understanding of what he’s been dealing with. No valid conclusion yet.

Microstory 1947: Leonard’s Debrief

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SI Eliot: Shifting gears, I think we have a pretty good idea of what happened out in the desert. Your story matches other people’s accounts. I want to know more about you, and where you come from. I understand that you’re from Earth, but in another universe. What exactly does that mean? Is there another you running around here somewhere?

Leonard: I am no expert in this. Like I’ve told you, I’m just a parole officer. I only know about any of this because I had a parolee who wrote stories about it. I didn’t think any of it was real until it happened to me, so now I’m drawing on what I can remember him telling me. I didn’t exactly take notes, because again, I thought they were just stories. But no, there’s other me here. There’s a difference between a timeline, a reality, and a universe. Right? Yeah, that sounds right. Don’t ask me about the first two, but I get that the third one is completely different. It doesn’t have the same people. How two unrelated universes could both end up with a planet called Earth with humans living on it who are about the same as each other, I really couldn’t explain.

SI Eliot: Who was this parolee of yours? He was, what, just some writer?

Leonard: Well, yes. He wrote science fiction stories, and then one day he found himself in one of his own stories, and that’s what set him on the path to my universe.

SI Eliot: Where is he now?

Leonard: Apparently, now is a relative term. The last time I saw him, he was in my universe. They probably assigned him a new parole officer after I disappeared. Or...

SI Eliot: Or what?

Leonard: Or I’ll eventually go back to where I was, and no time will have passed from the perspective of everyone I left. *airquotes*

SI Eliot: So, you’re a time traveler.

Leonard: I may be a time traveler.

SI Eliot: *clears his throat*

Leonard: I told you that I’m not an expert. Look, I don’t think I would have noticed anything if my friends were here, and your laws weren’t so different. I mean, it’s not illegal to break out of jail? That’s so weird. For me, it’s a crime, and when you’re caught, you’re charged with it as such, and if found guilty, it could add to your sentence.

SI Eliot: Do you want us to do that to you?

Leonard: No, of course not. I’m just trying to illustrate the differences. This world probably seems completely normal to you, but if you went to mine, you would feel like I do now. Now imagine being a—quote-unquote—alien. Those four you have in custody right now, I bet their society is profoundly different than yours, or even mine. Just remember that. If you have to jar them with your bizarre procedures and practices, do that. If you have to try to meet them at their level, do that. But do not expect your understanding of human behavior to have anything to do with how they think. They have seen humans destroy worlds before, and even though they’ve reportedly found you not guilty of the same, I don’t see how they don’t use it against you anyway.

SI Eliot: What are you trying to say?

Leonard: Don’t trust them. They want to kill you, whether they admit it or not. Now are we done here? I’ve not slept in days, and I don’t feel like this is doing any good.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 14, 2399

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Imani Pettis is a Compliance Enforcer in the Church of Daltomism. Unlike most Daltomists at her level, she began in a starter house where she could have easily been lost in the crowd. People who have risen up the ranks to be where she is today have done so after being born into more elite status. There’s a downside to this, because while it’s impossible to begin in the uppermost levels, those who start at the upper levels just under those are not always considered worthy by the general Daltomistic population. Imani garners a lot of respect, because she started at nothing, and earned her place. She belongs to what is called a Singularity Church, which basically means that she operates autonomously, and at the behest of the Primary Church. The paradox is complicated, but even though there are thousands of members of the Primary Church, they each technically belong to their own church. That is what gives them the highest elite status.

Imani attends services all over her region, which encompasses the majority of Northeast United States. She is there to ensure that the local chapters are following the Word of Dalton faithfully, and that no one in the congregation strays from the path too significantly. The point of starter houses is to determine who is worthy to move up to smaller meeting houses, which means that technically, people here don’t have to do anything The Word says. But she will still instruct the local leadership on how to guide the wandering flock towards the Mountain of Truth. It’s unclear why she has requested a meeting with Leona Matic, but Heath wanted to impress her because of what she can do for their mission, so he set it up right away.

“Madam Pettis,” Leona says with her hand outstretched. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Likewise.” She shakes her hand. “You may call me Imani.”

“Thank you, Imani. How can I help you today?”

Imani looks around, and walks forward a little. “What is the purpose of this building?”

“We hope to turn it into a refugee sanctuary. It’s not quite ready. We need to inspect all of the rooms, and there are many.”

Imani nods. “How did you come to create it? Or did someone create it for you?”

Leona looks to Heath for guidance, but he isn’t giving anything away. Okay, so a building appeared out of nowhere in the middle of downtown, which threw out the whole secrecy thing. For now, Leona has been able to remain quiet about how she’s not stunned that this happened, but it may be time to change that. If she were freaking out, she would probably be telling people, and asking the public how the hell it happened. She doesn’t know how it happened, but she knows that they can’t help her. “Someone appears to have created it for us. I had a general idea of what I wanted to do, and this building fits those parameters. I’ve taken it as a gift from an anonymous donor.”

Imani laughs. “An anonymous donor builds an invisible building for you, and then just suddenly makes it visible? I would like to meet the person with such power.”

She probably doesn’t need to know about the Omega Gyroscope. Whoever built it may not have known that it would be activated, and was intending to keep the Superscraper hidden for longer. Unless that person was Dalton himself, which is a plausible theory. “There are things in this world that most would not understand.”

“Yet you understand it?” Imani prods.

“Some things I know, some things I don’t,” Leona quotes a TV show.

“Quite,” Imani replies. She looks around some more, and steps a bit deeper in. “A Dark Citadel will fall from the heavens, and make its mark in the Center of World Power. The Watchers who come out of it will change the world forever, and the people shall know the Life of God.”

“Ma’am?” Heath asks vaguely.

“Word of Dalton, Book Two, Chapter Thirty-One.” She grins at him. “Yes, dear, there is a second Word of Dalton book. You have not learned enough to know it.” Pretty impressive, keeping the existence of a whole prooftext out of public knowledge, especially in this advanced informational age. She goes on, “tell me, do either of you recall the date that this building appeared?”

“March 1,” Heath replied.

“March 1, 2399.” She holds up a tablet, and navigates to the chapter in question. “Chapter 31...month three, day one. Page two,” she says as she swipes to the second page. “Paragraph three, words 99 through 137. March 1, 2399,” she repeats. Numerology: the fool’s excuse for being late.

“Interesting,” Leona says, trying not to scoff at the absurdity, knowing in the back of her mind that it’s possible that the book is telling the truth, and this has all been orchestrated to turn out exactly as Dalton wished.

“Tell me,” she repeats herself, “would you consider New York City to be the Center of World Power?”

“One could argue that,” Heath says.

“One could also argue that it’s Kansas. Perhaps the whole country is the world power, and Kansas is literally in the middle of it.”

Imani points at her. “Exactly, my child. Because that’s how Dalton’s words often go. He frequently means something literally that most would take metaphorically, or culturally. And while Daltomism began in Africa, many competing religions were started somewhere in the land which would become North America. Some believe that Kansas holds a plethora of sacred secrets. Besides, look around...would you consider this place to be a dark citadel? Why, it’s so white, I was nearly blinded by the façade when I pulled up.” She’s right. Normal arcological megastructures are painted a gray base, which can alter its tint automagically to reflect or absorb sunlight, depending on the regional climate, and current weather where it’s built. The Superscraper is shockingly white, making it stand out even more amongst all the puny little skyscrapers below, and it doesn’t appear to change colors at all. Plus, it shouldn’t really be described as a citadel.

“So this is not the structure as foretold in your...little book,” Leona says, knowing that it’s a pretty disrespectful way to word it, especially considering it may all be real.

“That was why I wanted to come here, and why I appreciate your accommodation, despite the line of others ahead of me.” It’s true, the number of people who have asked to cross the border has grown exponentially, and that is showing no signs of slowing down. Most of them likely don’t have any particular reason they want to come. They’re curious more than anything, but as soon as they find out that she was invited without any sort of waiting list, or whatever, others might start to feel a little ticked off. Hopefully Imani does not intend to ask for more than just a few answers.

“So we’re agreed that this is not the Dark Citadel?” Leona presses.

“It’s not, but that does not mean that it is not something else. Mr. Walton, tell me what you know of the False Watchers of the Other Worlds.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: March 13, 2399

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Leona was still hesitant to let Heath go undercover in the Church of Daltomism alone, but he’s finally doing it today. Daltomists meet every day of the week, but Fridays are the biggest. At first, he thought that that would be the best day to go, but if he’s trying to establish himself in the community, Saturday may be the better choice. He may be able to stand out more here, which is what he really needs. Of course, this is such a large congregation that a smaller service is still pretty big, but he has other ways of getting noticed. They practiced strategies yesterday.

He’s not going to start right away. He has to get his bearings first, and find out who here has the power to help him infiltrate. In Daltomism, just because someone is up on stage, it doesn’t mean that there isn’t someone in the audience who is more important than them. He’s looking for someone who all of the other congregants are avoiding, but not like they smell, because they respect and fear them. They’re more than likely too high ranked to be worshiping here as a normal person, and are here to make sure that this particular location is following the teachings of Dalton, and not straying from The Word. This person won’t know that Dalton is alive, but they may know someone who knows someone, who knows someone, ad infinitum.

There. That’s her. She’s holding herself with a strong sense of entitlement and superiority. She’s disgusted by the size of this place. In other faiths, the larger group of followers you have in one place, the more clout you have amongst the other chapters. Daltomism is different. The smaller the meeting house, the more elite you are, which is why this place is so gargantuan. It’s a starter house, and doesn’t require an invitation. He doesn’t really have time to prove himself, though. He has to move up the ranks fast...or else. That’s why he needs to get in the good graces of whoever this woman is, because she’s his ticket into something greater.

He won’t approach her right away. In fact, he’ll probably never try to speak with her at all. He’ll have to find some way to get himself noticed. He doesn’t want her to know that he’s targeting her, after all. God, he sounds like such a creep. This is important, though. Knowing that Dalton is just a man with access to special powers makes him seem a lot less mystical. Heath was never a huge believer, especially since he was taught to believe that he would never amount to much, but the truth has pushed him over the edge. He doesn’t feel bad about doing this, and doesn’t consider these his people anymore. Let’s see, he needs to get himself on stage. He doesn’t have to be the center of attention, but they sometimes bring people up to sing. They usually pick from the front, and he didn’t get here early enough for a good seat, but maybe he can swing it.

While he’s thinking about that, the woman he was eying suddenly approaches. “I know who you are,” she says to him, almost accusatorily.

“You do?” he questions. He’s not famous, in any circles. She shouldn’t recognize him in the least, especially not since they’re a thousand miles from Kansas City.

“I saw you on the news. You weren’t featured, but you were there, being led into that woman’s crime hole.”

“Oh. It’s not a crime hole. She’s trying to change all that.”

“Yeah, I don’t need to hear the pitch. I just need you to get me in the building.”

“That I can do,” he says with a smile. “Hi, I’m Heath Walton.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 20, 2398

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Mateo Matic is not a very smart man. He hasn’t had a lot of education, and what he did manage to get through, he didn’t pay much attention, nor retain it. That’s why he became a driver. That’s not to say all drivers are stupid, but it he excelled at it, and he wasn’t great at anything else, so it made the most sense at the time. Even since all this, he’s had opportunities to enrich himself with knowledge, but he hasn’t really taken them. That’s fine, that’s why he has people like Ramses, Leona, and the Angelas. It’s also one reason he misses Olimpia so dearly, because she’s more like him. Despite all this, he’s still been around for quite awhile, and in that time, he’s grown wiser.

Jessie did not appear to be a threat, but he didn’t want to take a chance. After listening to her stories, he escorted her to her car parked by the side of the road, and then reentered the woods. He did not return to the bunker, though he was certain he knew what direction it was, which he was proud of himself for. Instead, he pulled out his bivy sack. It’s very small, but useful in situations such as these, and he’s grateful that it survived the destruction of his bag’s pocket dimension. It’s kind of weird, really, that all the essentials survived. His e-reader, and extra clothes are gone now, but he has a sleeping bag, pocket knife, and he had extra water, until he drank it all to turn it over to a fresh cycle. When Ramses got ahold of him through the radio, Mateo relayed that he needed to sleep outside tonight. He didn’t say why for fear of being eavesdropped on, but his team accepted it, and didn’t try to lure him back. If Jessie, an associate of hers, or some other nefarious party wanted to find out where Mateo’s friends were hiding, they were going to have to wait ‘til morning. That seemed unlikely.

Unprompted, Fairpoint called Marie the next late morning to inform her that he was finally on his way to the police station to find out where Heath and Angela were. She reminded him of what was at stake here, and what the authorities were allowed to know. Apparently, atheists are conventionally that way when it comes to religion, but so-called agnostic in terms of anything else. They don’t care about police brutality. They don’t care about racism. They don’t care about war. They think all these things are bad, to be sure, but they’re generally comfortable in their superiority, and find that trying to alleviate suffering can lead only to frustrating inefficacy. Religious people are the passionate ones. Some are on the wrong side of any given issue, but atheists don’t usually get involved at all, so someone like him needs to be directly encouraged to go out of his way to do the right thing. It should be okay. He sounds like he understands the concern, and is going to do everything he can.

“So we still have to wait,” Mateo presumes.

“It could take hours,” Marie replies. “They may make him wait, or not agree right away to let him advocate. There’s no telling how they’ll handle this. It all depends on the religious makeup of that station.”

“God, why does religion always have to mess things up?” Leona questions.

Marie twitches at this. Mateo was Catholic once, and he knows this academically, but The Superintendent stripped him of all his faith just before he tore him out of the timestream for half a century. Leona was born enlightened, and Ramses at a time after superstition had faded significantly from culture. Out of all of them, Marie and Angela could recall belief the best. Back when they were only a she, she did lose her faith over time. It was reportedly common for dead people to stop following the lies that their particular prooftexts claimed once they learned the truth. It wasn’t a given, though. There were those who continued to believe. Pryce’s afterlife simulation, after all, was just that; a simulation. It could never explain what happens after one dies. It only demonstrated that it was possible to technologically stave it off indefinitely. Some of the more intelligent religious people recognized this reality, and continued to believe in some kind of actual divine power that was still out of reach. Though to be fair, if they were so smart, they probably rejected mysticism anyway.

Here, religion has taken over society, but unlike most fictional depictions of such a world, there isn’t one governing body that lords over the innocent people. It’s not a cult of belief. It’s a cult of belief in belief. That is a lesson that the main sequence began to gradually learn for themselves in the latter days. It’s not really any specific denomination that ultimately proves itself no longer worthy of devotion. It’s the very idea of devotion to the unscientific. Young generations realized that simply believing in something that isn’t real is detrimental to healthy and ethical personal and sociological advancement. It doesn’t matter that a certain sect donates money to the poor, or accepts gay people past their doors. The act alone of trying to convince someone of a lie—even if you are genuinely convinced of it yourself—is immoral at the highest level. The only sane and virtuous path is the one towards observable truth. If what you think can only stand on its own potential to be true, then it is not true, and ought to be ultimately rejected. This is something that Mateo doubts the people of this planet will ever come to accept.

The phone rings. Everyone holds their breath as Marie listens. She then says, “okay,” and hangs up. “We’ll see them tomorrow. It’s over.”

No, Mateo thinks to himself, this has just begun.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: April 15, 2398

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Finding out where Heath and Marie live would be a trivial task for the authorities of the Kansas City Police Department. The rest of the team can’t go back there, and if they manage to break Heath and Angela out of the holding cells—or even if they fail in the attempt—they never will again. Fortunately, while Marie never had any intention of breaking the law before, she devised ways of protecting her assets. The two of them are basically survivalists, and they own a small patch of land on the outskirts of town where they buried a secret bunker. Once the other four reunited at the rendezvous point, they traveled there together to discuss recent events, and formulate a plan. Marie asked Mateo not to mention anything about feeling the pull of their pattern until they could solve this first problem, and he agreed to that with no controversy.

The laws in this reality are very different. It’s been a long and deadly road that got civilization to this point, and they’re paranoid about going backwards. Many separate religions have similar ideas. In fact, a cursory glance at each one might lead an outsider to believe that they all originated from the same few ancient events, and branched out from there. This may be true, but it’s caused hostility either way. One might think that these cross-denominational similarities would help people find common ground, but historically, they’ve only stirred up resentment. It would be unthinkable and impossible to combine their faiths into one, so the fact that they all think they’re right, and they’re right about the same thing, just means that this town ain’t big enough for the both of us. Because one of the major things they have in common is that a select few elite should be in charge of all others, and the crux of the competing religions is that everyone thinks they’re that elite.

While Heath works in information technology, religious studies is a passion of his on the side, and he dedicates his free time to finding a way out of these conflicts. WWVII is perpetually around the corner. Each peacetime is met with another war, and a lot of people want to put a stop to it. Even significant instigators of war don’t really want to do it anymore, they always just feel compelled to compete against the others, who they think aren’t as enlightened and peaceful as them. Scholars came up with a term to describe it, which is Radical Defensivism, noting that it leads to some form of offensivism if left unchecked. But don’t let anyone hear you say that, because suggesting to an individual or group that they’re morally wrong for wanting to protect themselves is considered, on its own, an act of offensive aggression, and will only give them the excuse they were looking for to retaliate.

According to current religious laws, freedom of religious pursuits is protected above all else, but there are limits. Religious practice cannot involve speaking ill of someone else’s beliefs, nor overly promoting one’s own beliefs. That’s what Heath did that has got him in so much trouble. And because he is known in certain circles as someone who attempts to solve the antagonism from a practical and academic standpoint, it’s going to be so much worse for him. And it could put his scholarly peaceful movement in danger, so if his colleagues don’t denounce him and his actions as ironic, they risk destroying their own reputation. They can’t allow one of their own to be labeled a hypocrite, so they have to excise him from all association. Whether he is freed or not, his dream of being a meaningful force for good in this way is over. But there is some hope, because there’s a way to get him out, and it has to do with that first class of religious laws.

By arresting him in the first place, the authorities also risk their reputation. They are not meant to be above the laws, so if they deliberately antagonize someone for their beliefs, they enter a gray area. In fact, the entire thing is a gray area. It might be one’s belief that they ought to be able to demean and argue against other people’s beliefs. There is no way to satisfy some kind of moral imperative when it comes to something like this. The concept itself is self-contradictory. You can’t be intolerant of religiously intolerant people that claim their intolerance is a tenet of their religion. The team could make the case that the cops were being the hypocrites. Heath was shouting his intolerance in the middle of the night in an industrial area where no one else was around. Only the authorities heard his words, so they would have to testify against him in a personal capacity in order to make the arrest stick. If they choose not to—which would be in their best political interests—he should be free to go. He’ll still have to be shunned by his community, but he’ll be able to go home. Angela should be able to go home too, as long as she can successfully convince them that she’s actually Marie.

“So, we’re not breaking them out?” Leona asks.

“We should do this the right way,” Marie replies.

“There’s a problem,” Ramses points out. “None of us has an identity. That’s why Angela took your place, instead of claiming to be herself. You can’t argue on behalf of either of them, because one of you isn’t supposed to exist.”

Marie nods, “that’s why I’m not going to be the one going down there to argue on their behalf. We’re going to need outside help, from someone I hope we can trust.”

“Hope?” Mateo questions.

“Nothing in life is certain, Mateo, not even death or taxes. We should have all learned that by now. I will say that this guy is our best chance, and he has a...”

“A what?” Leona presses.

“He and Heath have history.”

“What kind of history?”

Marie takes a breath. “They were married before us. He believes that I stole Heath from him, and he’s been trying to steal him back ever since. He won’t want to help me, but he’ll want to help Heath. I just hope that side of him overpowers the other.”

“Great,” Leona declares, “let’s go now.”

“He travels during the week for work,” Marie explains. “I don’t usually know where, but I know he won’t be back until Friday.”

“What happens to our friends in the meantime?”

“The holding cells are actually rather comfortable; it’s a religious thing, so they’re not being tortured in there, or anything. This reality does not guarantee speedy due process. I doubt the pigs will do anything with them until next week. You take the good with the bad.”

“One day it will all be the good,” Mateo muses. He didn’t mean to say it, it just came out, and no one has the heart to dispute it. Though many strange things have happened over the years. It could happen again.

Microstory 1890: Forced Pair

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I was one of two new kids when my family moved to a new town for my fourth year of primary school. I was nervous about fitting in, but I had no idea how difficult it would be. The other kid was—for lack of a more reasonable term—weird. He wore baggy pants, tight shirts, and a baseball cap that was missing the bill. He had a strange way about him, and didn’t seem to understand topical references. I was more or less normal. Quiet but responsive; capable of smiling, but not overly bubbly. I should have found a group of friends, and done so sooner than later. Probably because the teacher sat the two of us next to each other, everybody got it in their heads that we were friends. I didn’t know him, we had never met, and we didn’t hang out, but they started calling us inseparable. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t break free from this total misunderstanding. I suppose I could have tried harder, but that would have required me to say mean things about him, and I didn’t want to do that. He was an odd duck, but he was gentle, and polite, and he didn’t deserve the ridicule. So I eventually let it go, and decided things would get better when I was older. We were bound to be placed in a different class the next year, and it would go away on its own. I don’t know if the school caught wind of the rumor, or what, but that’s not what happened. It would seem that we were stuck together, so if my social life was going to be entirely dependent on this one person, I figured I might as well get to know him. At least I would have someone to talk to.

When asked about it, he would tell people that the cap was for religious reasons. They still thought it was funny, but it stopped them from messing around with it for fear of being labeled bigots. The truth was his parents were conspiracy theorists, though they would never use this term; they considered themselves believers. In particular, they believed in aliens, telepathy, and telepathic aliens. They didn’t want nefarious forces to read their minds, and they were under the impression that this special headwear could protect them from the brain scanners. The inside was lined with aluminum, which is a trick I recalled having heard of. But those were usually crude and cheap-looking. His was smooth and well-tailored; his parents had put some real time into constructing them. He wasn’t sure he believed in all that stuff, but he didn’t want to upset them, so he did as he was asked. We remained friends over the years, though we had to contrive common interests at first. Eventually we formed a genuine relationship, and I found myself feeling grateful that we met, and that the universe worked so hard to pair us up, as unlikely as it seemed at first. We went to college at an institution distant enough to allow him to stop wearing his hat, and it was there that we learned better how to blend in with the crowd. We found new friends, and our lives were good. There was never anything romantic between us, but there was a strong financial connection. We both wanted to be super rich, and to be in charge of a company. But what could we do? What were we experts on? Aluminum foil hats? I know it sounds crazy, but yes! We adapted the misguided paranoia into a lucrative business. You see, while mind-reading isn’t real, electronic scanners are, and as the world was becoming more and more reliant on digital technology, customers needed a way to protect their data. They can do this using signal-blocking material. We hold a number of patents for techniques that make this technology work. So even if customers don’t buy directly from us, we still make money off of nearly every sale. Who’s laughing now?

Microstory 1878: Devoted to Self

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I dedicated my life to the attainment of absolute goodness and purity. I believe in evil. I believe in the Devil. And of course, I believe in God. I was born into a family of hedonistic atheists, who cared for nothing but earthly pursuits. They did not study the bible, and they had no faith. For the ones who died before me, I know that they are now in hell. They have to be, for they did not heed the word of our Lord and Savior. I heed it, and it’s all thanks to an amazing little girl I met on the school bus. She went real dark for our first discussion, talking about God’s wrath, and the punishment man has faced due to his sins. I was so scared, I went straight to church immediately after school, and had to walk all the way back home afterwards. My parents were so upset and worried, but they should have been worried for themselves. For I had just begun the long walk on a road of righteousness, and they were filled to the brim with sin. It was not easy, learning everything I needed to be a good Christian, but I never gave up, and I never compromised. Here’s what I believe. I believe that a woman has the right to choose what to do with her own body...unless that choice affects the life of another. I can’t understand how it could be any other way. Yes, you have personal autonomy, but so does the child. You cannot take that away from it. I mean, it’s not okay to kill people after they’re born, is it? I mean, I guess you have to if you’re in a war. And I suppose some criminals need to be dealt with to a level of irreversibility. This world must be cleansed from sin, and sometimes death is the only way to achieve that goal. But that baby is not evil, is it? I mean, I guess it is, because of original sin. But still, leave it alone!

The point is that there is only one path to Heaven, and I’ve finally reached the end of it, so my reward is near. All those people, dedicating their time to worthless endeavors, like the accumulation of wealth. I earned my money the right way, by raising and slaughtering cattle to nourish the world by my man’s side. I do not value material possessions. I constructed a large house to shelter my family, because God says to be fruitful and multiply. I own a nice car, so I don’t have to buy a new one every year. I make it last at least five years, or it gets too old, it’s not worth it anymore. I shop at boutique shops, because they always have the best stuff. And of course, I eat gourmet food, because that is the healthiest kind. But other than that, my entire self is devoted to God, and his teachings. Everything I do is to serve him, and his will. I haven’t even counted the number of people that I’ve converted to the side of light using The Good Word. Though I’m sure they number in the thousands; maybe even tens of thousands. But you don’t hear me bragging about that, because pride is a deadly sin. I am a sinful woman, just like anyone, but I make up for it, unlike all those other people who insist on spitting in the face of truth. I can’t wait to see what the eternal paradise looks like. Oh, it will be so grand. Every need will be provided for me, and I shall sit under the throne of our Creator. This is it; it’s everything that I’ve been working for. All those backbreaking hours at the charity galas and church bake sales will finally be worth it. I hope they serve rosé. Oh, tee-hee-hee, I’m just kidding, but really, I’m not. Because I deserve it. I’m a good person. No, I’m a great person. Nay, I’m the best. Feel free to take me now, Jesus. I’m ready.

Microstory 1852: No Friends

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My dog and I were born on the same day. He was one of the first faces I saw when my parents brought me home from the hospital. Their neighbors didn’t realize that the dog they adopted was pregnant, so they needed people to take in the pups. Frankenstein and I grew up together. There are tons of photographs of the two of us snuggling together in a shared crib. Back then, there wasn’t anything you could do with the photos you took except put them in a physical album in case company came by, and asked—or agreed—to look at them. I was really attached to Frankenstein. I always considered him to be my brother, and I didn’t really have friends beyond him. It probably didn’t occur to me that we weren’t actually related until I was much older. I think I recall asking why we didn’t look alike. My older human brother just laughed, because he thought I was a dummy. He confirmed that I didn’t make up this story once we were well into adulthood, and expressed regret at laughing at me, and just in general mocking my relationship with Frankenstein. As you can imagine, I didn’t take it very well when he died. It’s the cruelest thing God did, making humans live so long, and our pets live so short. That didn’t make any sense to me, and I struggled with my faith a lot after it happened. My parents were concerned, but they didn’t want to be overbearing, so they let me tread my own spiritual path, knowing that it could lead me into atheism. That’s precisely what it did. I decided that it was the only explanation for my pain, and for the pain of so many others. Either God exists, and he’s evil, or he doesn’t. I would much rather it be the latter. The former is such a horrifying prospect. I can’t believe people live their lives under such obvious oppression. My family didn’t disown me, but we did drift apart.

I had to forge a new family with the people that I met along the way. I sort of collected them from the various groups that I was a part of. One guy was on the football team with me. We were drawn to each other, because we both enjoyed the sport, but we weren’t passionate about it. We taught each other that that was okay. I met a girl in one of my classes that I got along with real well. She didn’t know the footballer, in case you’re wondering. Lots of people play sports for their schools, but for us, it was a separate thing. I had a part time job at the grocery store, where I hung out with another guy. I met a cool girl in college. It was about two hours from home, so it was hard to stay in contact with the others. Once I graduated, and started working full time, I strengthened my connection to my old friends, and built some new ones, but eventually realized that after all this time, they still didn’t know each other. That had to be remedied. I decided to organize my own birthday party, even though I hadn’t really celebrated it before. It was just an excuse for them to finally meet. These were the most important people in my life; it was ridiculous that they weren’t friends with each other. It didn’t go well. Politics, religion, general personalities; everything clashed. They tried, they really tried. None of them went into that dinner with the intention of hating the others, but things just kept getting worse. If two of them agreed on something, another disagreed so adamantly that it overshadowed that whole part of the conversation. For the next few months, we continued to try finding some common ground, but never could. I then tried going back to just keeping them separate, but that no longer worked. I drifted from them too, and I haven’t had a friend in decades. Isn’t that just the saddest story you’ve ever heard?

Microstory 1816: Right to Die

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My children want me to get myself cured. We don’t live too far away from the foundation, and they’re sure that I’ll be able to make an appointment, but I’ve decided not to, and I’ll explain why. I had a very happy, but very tiring, life. I ended up having more children than we planned, and much more than I wanted. My husband—God rest his soul—was loving and caring, but he never did quite understand how taxing it was to carry, deliver, and raise eight entire people, mostly on my own. I didn’t have any multiples, which would have been hell in its own right. I went through all that eight times, and it exhausted me. Anyone who says that being a homemaker isn’t a real job should try to step into my worn out shoes. That’s not to say I don’t love them all to death, or that I regret a single second of it. I just mean that it’s over, and I’m done. Even though they’re all grown up, and I don’t technically have to raise them anymore, it’s not like they stopped coming to me with their problems. There are 24 hours in a day, so that’s...well, I didn’t go to college, so you tell me the chances of getting a call from one of them at any given moment. Again, I love them all more than anything in the world, but I could use a break. I’ve always believed in God, and the afterlife. My parents didn’t drill it into my brain. They were pretty progressive for the time period. They let me make my own choices, but also showed me my options. I decided that there had to be something else out there than just we lowly humans. There has to be someone with a grand design, or else what’s the point of it all? And there has to be some kind of outcome, otherwise what’s the point of it all for me? I’m not saying people shouldn’t take the cure, or that it’s somehow blasphemy. It’s just not for me, and I’ll thank you to respect my wishes.

This was hard for my children to hear. They lamented the fact that their father passed before the cure became available. They don’t want to go through that again, but the cure didn’t always exist, of course, so they should have wrapped their head around the concept by now. I keep calling it a cure, but that may not be the right word for it. It is no pill, nor even an injection. It’s a man. It’s a man with the power to heal, and if he had come to us with claims of righteous divinity, I might have believed that he was the second coming of Christ. Instead, he told us that he was just a person who had been in the right place at the right time, and would be using his gifts to help as many people as possible. Some worship him anyway, but I prefer to take his word for it. The real Messiah would not say that he’s not. Regardless of who he truly is, the proof is in the results. Unlike the faith healers of yesteryear, Landis Tipton never erected a tent in a field, trying to get a few naïve people here and there. He set up a foundation, and healed famously sick people. Every day, he proved himself worthy of our belief in him, and this only fueled my children’s insistence that I go to him myself. They actually tried to seek some kind of legal avenue to force me to try to extend my life, but there was no precedent for it, and I am in my right mind, so there was nothing they could do. The judge nearly laughed. The Tipton cure was so new back then. I have a terminal disease, and I accepted that years ago when I was first diagnosed. I made peace with God, and I trust in his plan. Again, I don’t mean to say than it’s not other people’s fates to be cured, but I’m not one of those people, and I don’t want him to waste his time with me when there are so many other sick people out there who actually want it. Goodbye.

Microstory 1302: Third Party Founder

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Blog Reporter: If you would, please state your name.

Third Party Founder: My name is Third Party Founder, and I’m here to talk about my new political party; Ban Religion.

Blog Reporter: It sounds like a band name.

Third Party Founder: You’re thinking of Bad Religion.

Blog Reporter: And why exactly do you want to ban religion?

Third Party Founder: Religions have been destroying this country ever since it was founded, and before that...they were destroying the rest of the world already.

Blog Reporter: Yet, we are still standing.

Third Party Founder: Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased?

Blog Reporter: How would you go about banning all religions?

Third Party Founder: We will pass laws.

Blog Reporter: You’ll pass laws; the party, that is?

Third Party Founder: Yes.

Blog Reporter: You mean your candidates will do that.

Third Party Founder: What?

Blog Reporter: Parties don’t make legislative decisions on any level of government; be it federal, or local. All you can do is fund and promote candidates you believe will support your platform.

Third Party Founder: Well, yes, that’s...what I meant.

Blog Reporter: Of course. So, now that we know your platform, where are you in the process? Have you already registered as a party?

Third Party Founder: No, not as of yet.

Blog Reporter: How many signatures have you received?

Third Party Founder: Seven.

Blog Reporter: How many do you need?

Third Party Founder: Would you like to sign?

Blog Reporter: No, thank you. Which candidates are you backing in order to fulfill your goals?

Third Party Founder: Well, I’m a candidate.

Blog Reporter: For what?

Third Party Founder: I’m running for governor.

Blog Reporter: Of a whole state?

Third Party Founder: [clears throat]

Blog Reporter: Do you have any experience as a civil servant?

Third Party Founder: Well, no, but neither did Donald Trump.

Blog Reporter: And look how that turned out.

Third Party Founder: I really think you’re not meant to have a personal opinion.

Blog Reporter: I’m not a real journalist. As I understand it, I’m the only one who agreed to your requests for an interview. You’re clearly only interested in exposure, hoping to secure those thousands of more signatures you need to so much as register as a new political party.

Third Party Founder: The woman said I only need three hundred to represent my local area.

Blog Reporter: You won’t be able to run for office on a statewide ticket if that state does not recognize your party.

Third Party Founder: That’s why I’m trying to get the word out. Look, I may sound like a crazy person, but there are tons of atheists in the world, and we’re all tired of not having our voices heard.

Blog Reporter: You’re right; religion has been fading from American culture for years, but most nonbelievers aren’t going to back a candidate, or support a party in general, if your only platform is that you want to get rid of religion. Even if they’re radical enough to support the idea—and I make no judgments about whether it is or isn’t a good idea—they have other issues they’re more concerned with. For instance, what is your stance on firearm safety laws? What about the environment? Civil rights? Taxes? Government spending? Third party candidates don’t fail just because they’re not one of the big two. It’s also because they’re often built around a single issue, and no one can really tell who they are.

Third Party Founder: Well, you’ve given me a lot to think about.

Blog Reporter: You’re not crazy, but you are naïve if you think you’ll ever be able to move the needle. I understand that you want to make change, but I don’t think this is the way to do it. It’s just not practical. Don’t take it personally, really; few third parties have any real impact on social change. At the very least, there are too many of them for enough people to notice any one of them.

Third Party Founder: Yeah, that makes sense.

Blog Reporter: I’m not going to write or publish this story. My readers aren’t interested, and I know you think exposure will only help you, but the most it’ll do is make you the butt of a few jokes for the few website visitors who will actually bother.

Third Party Founder: This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?

Blog Reporter: Trying to start a new political party, or asking me to interview you?

Third Party Founder: Both.

Blog Reporter: I wouldn’t say that. You’ve made a new friend.