The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 6, 2398

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Ramses is standing, but hunched over, hands in a steeple over his mouth. He’s looking at the floor as the rest of the team looks at him from the audience, and waits patiently. No one has anything else to do for the rest of the evening, so they might as well just give him the time he needs. Finally, he drops his arms, and picks the book up from his chair. “This book could hold the key to everything we ever needed to know about this world, and the next. I’ve read it twice already, and there is no denying that it was written by a time traveler, or perhaps a human compatriot. The attention to detail is unmatched even by The Superintendent’s words. At first, I thought maybe this was all a coincidence, and I didn’t know exactly what I was reading. I didn’t recognize any of the names of the characters, but upon my second time, I realized they were surely changed to protect the real individuals. There’s a family of powerful people who are obviously the Prestons. There are two people who call themselves gargoyles. There are even those I recognize as leaders of the Freemarketeer movement that I was a part of. That’s the focus of the story. The travelers are really just secondary to a historical account of 22nd and 23rd century Sol.” He stops to gauge their reactions. “Nothing?”

“Wait, are you done?” Mateo asks.

“No, I just thought...isn’t this exciting?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Mateo agrees. “We just didn’t want to interrupt. Who’s the author?”

“It’s a man by the name of Ildemire Lorenz. I did a little digging, and I believe that he’s still alive, and doing so in an Austrian city called Innsbruck.”

Leona taps the query into her tablet, sets the device on Ramses’ chair, and throws a hologram into the space between them and Ramses. “It’s not too terribly far from Croatia. We were planning on going to Austria anyway before sneaking over a couple borders.”

“Well...we were,” Mateo corrects. Everybody already knows by now that Mateo, Ramses, and Marie will be doing this one alone.

“Hold on, hold on, hold on,” Heath jumps in. “You’re just going to add a new destination to the itinerary. It’s not even on the list.”

“We had no reason to believe that anywhere in Austria belonged on the list before,” Mateo explains. “Now we do. It’s probably our best lead since The Constant imploded.”

“This is what you’re gonna do?” Heath asks his wife. “You’re gonna go on a mission just before your procedure?”

“It’s just talking to someone,” Marie defends.

“That doesn’t mean it won’t be dangerous,” Angela says. “I don’t like that the three of you are doing this alone. I don’t like that our bruiser isn’t going with you.”

“I don’t either,” Leona concedes, “but I have work to do, and even though I don’t always have to be in the office, it’s best that I stay close; as I’m able, anyway.”

“The fact of the matter is that it’s Marie’s decision,” Mateo reminds them. “Ram and I will go wherever, whenever, and do whatever. If you just want to go straight to the doctor, that’s all right.”

“We need a good reason to be in Europe,” Marie decides after a certain amount of time. “A short tour is a good idea. We could visit Germany, Czechia, and hell, maybe even where London ought to be. The longer we stay in places other than Croatia, the more time we’ll have to slip away unnoticed, and take care of business.”

“If that’s what you wanna do, then I support you,” Heath says. “I can’t go with you anymore, but I can use my excellent travel agent skills, and plan it for you. Would this be acceptable?”

“I would love that,” Marie tells him graciously. “He’s really good at it. He told me about how he planned a family reunion at age thirteen.”

“I can’t remember why they asked me to do it,” Heath adds. “I guess they just saw my potential. Or they just didn’t want to deal with it themselves.”

“There’s another order of business,” Leona begins, “if we’re quite finished with the Innsbruck one for now.”

“There’ve been so many,” Angela says with a laugh.

Leona reaches over to select a recording on her phone. The forger’s voice comes through, “how would you handle someone like me? Would you teleport into my house at night, and slit my throat?” Mateo was secretly live-streaming the maddening conversation. It was his idea.

“Who are you, and why do you want me to become a federal agent? What can I do that you can’t do yourself, or have done for you by someone you know you can trust?” Mateo’s voice returns.

“I’m the only one in this world who’s on your side. The war is coming, Mr. Matic. You can either support the war effort, or put a stop to it. You’ll need a badge either way.”

Mateo releases a frustrated sigh. “Looks like you got me by the balls.”

“I wish.”

Leona pauses playback. “All right, that’s enough. You get the point.”

“That sounded like the forger,” Ramses figures.

“It was,” Mateo confirms. “I’m a little suit piggy now. She’s going to make me go on missions, or whatever. I don’t know what she has planned.”

“What does that mean for us?” Marie questions.

“It means that my husband is leaving the country without telling this woman anything about it, and if she needs someone to complete one of her missions, then I’ll do it in his stead.”

“How exactly do you think that’s gonna work?” Heath questions.

“Oh, I’ll make it work. That’s what The Olimpia is for. You don’t have to tell no one where you’re going. I’m sure she’ll make the appropriate arrangements when she realizes I’m a better choice. I’m going to pay her a visit tomorrow. You three just need to focus on getting packed and ready to leave. We’ll handle the war at home.”

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 5, 2398

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For the last five weeks, Mateo has had a standing appointment at Magnus Sharpe’s office to discuss his psycho-emotional issues in a presumably safe and consequence-free environment. He hasn’t been able to make it to every Friday, but he’s always made it up. Today, he doesn’t feel like going in, but he didn’t come to this decision in time to cancel appropriately, so Ramses has asked to take his place. He could do with some therapy himself after the recent abduction, and Mag. Sharpe has apparently proven herself to be reliable, and to provide a safe space for time travelers, so he figured he would give it a try. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, because he didn’t grow up in a world where this sort of thing was available.

“What do you mean?” Magus Sharpe asks. “Had the science of psychology not yet been developed in your time?”

“Oh no, it definitely had. From my team’s perspective,” Ramses begins, “I’m from the future, not the past. And that’s why this is weird. You see, in my time, and in my culture, trust was a real issue. Artificial intelligence dominated our lives, and it was just about impossible to get away from. It made decisions for us, and gave us everything we needed. If you wanted to avoid it completely, you were shit out of luck. Oops, sorry.”

“It’s quite all right,” Mag. Sharpe promises.

Ramses nods, and pets her dog some more. “My family taught me to be a capitalist...to essentially fetishize a world of haves and have-nots. I’m not sure if that’s an idiom that exists in your world.”

“I can grasp the meaning. Go on.”

“Of course, the capitalist movement was composed of rich and privileged people, because if anyone who believed in it started to lose their status, they would...well, they would jump ship, and go back to normal society. That’s why it didn’t work, but obviously the diehard fans could never accept that. They just kept fighting and fighting for it, and it eventually died out, because capitalism survived for thousands of years on a planet founded upon capitalism. It only lasted because everyone agreed to it. Once the majority of inhabitants agreed to reject it, it became unrealistic and unsustainable. I’m kind of overexplaining things, because the reason I’m telling you all this is because therapy was sort of the one thing that never went back to the capitalistic format. It just didn’t work. Humans stopped studying medicine almost altogether, so if you needed mental health help, you got it from an AI, whether you were normal, or like me and my family. So yes, we had psychological tools, but we did not have human support, so I don’t know how to do this, which is why I’m rambling on about unimportant nonsense.”

“I don’t think it’s unimportant nonsense,” Mag. Sharpe says. “It’s clearly important to you, or you wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Well...”

“You would have just told me you had never tried therapy, and moved on, but you went over the basics of your society, because you want me to understand where it is you come from. It seems as though that’s what you’re struggling with. I’m not supposed to do this, but from what I gather, the way you grew up was wildly different than your friends. Do you have trouble relating to them because of that?”

“I don’t know about that, I love them.”

“Sure you do, and they love you too, but how do you feel about the changes you experienced over time? To them, the future was an idealistic paradise; full of adventure, yes, but noble in its pursuit of equality. You, on the other hand, were born into such a world, but were denied its advantages by a subculture that spurned its teachings, and romanticized an economic format that prized winners over losers.”

“Yeah, well, you seem to get it.”

“I’m just going by what you told me. I can only imagine that your parents taught you that inequality formed the basis of a healthy and competitive world that valued innovation, which they likely believed was impossible to achieve without the possibility of true failure and loss.”

“You act as if you’ve been there before.”

“No, it’s just that the world you describe, I’ve heard of it before.”

“Where, one of the others on my team?”

“No.” She stands and steps over to her bookcase to scan the titles until she finds what she’s looking for. “Here.” She hands it to him.

“Capital With a Capital C,” he reads aloud.

“It’s eerily similar to what you describe. You should read it,” she urges.

He speedreads the description on the back, choosing to read one excerpt out loud as well, “...but in this world are multiple subcultures who idealize the inequality of yesteryear. As they attempt to plunge the world into the darkness of the past—some in truly violent ways—another group desperately tries to make that past better than it once was. This is fiction?”

“You tell me?”

Ramses flips the book back over, half-expecting to find the author calling himself The Superintendent, or some self-aggrandizing bullshit like that. It’s not. “Who the hell is Ildemire Lorenz?”

Microstory 1718: The Cassiopeia Pivot

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In the United States, the prohibition of alcoholic beverages began in 1920, and ended in 1933. During this period, a number of bootleggers sprang up in order to both satisfy the country’s desire for alcoholic drinks, and also capitalize on the scarcity of this commodity. One such of these opportunists was a man named Dawson de Felice. He and his family started their new business in 1930, after The Great Depression devastated their farm’s produce sales. It became public knowledge in 1934, and grew into one of the largest liquor and beer companies in the world. For decades, the de Felice name was synonymous with high quality, low-cost beer and spirits. They were also known for fighting hard against anti-drug movements. They did not specifically deny the consequences of drinking, or underage drinking, but they did suggest that all those issues were the responsibility of their customers. Either the drinker was old enough to drink responsibly, or they were young enough to have a guardian who should have better controlled their alcoholic intake. They lobbied against laws that would raise their taxes, or otherwise limit their customer base, and they regularly dismissed any suggestion that they ought to help curb drunk driving, and other risks. Many pointed out that they actually would have saved money by producing an ad about responsible drinking, rather than spending it on a defamation campaign against their socio-political opponents. Despite these detractors, sales numbers continued to rise, along with their once affordable prices. Their method of rejecting all responsibility seemed to be working in their favor, and no one had any reason to believe that they needed to do anything differently. To them, the idea of recommending anyone ever not drink was irrational, and out of the question. Sure, dead people can’t buy beer, but if they died from the beer they bought from De Felice, then they probably spent a lot while they were alive. That was the unspoken reasoning anyway.

In the 21st century, a woman named Cassiopeia De Felice became majority owner of De Felice Beer and Spirits. She decided to take the company in a radically different direction, and there were good and bad consequences to her actions. She was a recovering alcoholic, and never would have wanted to take over in the first place if she had not gotten the idea to change its business model completely. They would continue to sell alcohol, but no longer for human consumption. They were going to sell rubbing alcohol now, as well as hand sanitizer, and even fuel. She figured there was plenty of room in these industries, they already had the infrastructure set up to accomplish this, and she didn’t want to endanger people’s lives anymore. Customers were bewildered. Shareholders were outraged. Everyone was stunned. Never before had a company attempted to pivot so drastically. It would prove to be their downfall, but also the beginning of a new trend. The world would thank them later. Perhaps her plan would have worked if she had started them out slowly, introducing themselves to the new products gradually, and eventually letting go of their beverage division. Instead, she tried to make one big move, and no one knew what to do with it. The failure would come to be known as The Cassiopeia Pivot, and while it began as a derogatory term, the term itself would pivot to become a point of pride. Other companies made similar moves, hoping to better the world, and the lives of their customers. Oil companies switched to renewables. Weapons manufacturers switched to plumbing. Even a ballpoint company began to focus on augmented reality devices. Though, that last one was less abrupt. The other examples happened quickly, but were just as successful. The world was ultimately better for De Felice’s sacrifice. It didn’t become a utopia, but they helped a little, and not much more could be asked of an alcohol company that just wanted to do the right thing.

Microstory 1606: The Advantage of Diversity

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There is a special brane in the bulkverse that’s called Havenverse, because it mostly doesn’t allow crazy scifi things to happen. There’s no time travel, no aliens, no technology too advanced for a given time period. It’s, for lack of a better term, normal. There was a breach into this universe once, but the window was sealed quickly, and in general, it’s the safest place to be if you want to get away from whatever insane adventures you’re having. Of course, because it’s so pristine, it’s the hardest one to access, and it’s pretty well protected by outsiders who want to keep it as it is, and will do anything to stop it from being corrupted. All told, however, it is not unique. There are many universes like it, where its inhabitants tell stories about robot werewolves from another dimension, or fairies that live in your hair, but where these things are not real. Havenverse is different because it doesn’t allow such things to exist, but many others, for all practical purposes, are the same, because such things simply never came to be. There’s one in particular I want to talk about that is insignificant, except for an interesting prehistorical twist. Much like the Linsetol of the last story, a certain species managed to survive in their world longer than their parallel universe counterparts. They’re known as the Neanderthals, and while they did not last through the modern day, they did have a much greater impact on human evolution. On most versions of Earth, a human will contain up to four percent of Neanderthal DNA, indicating that the two hominids interbred, at least minimally, before the latter went extinct. Experts believe that homo sapiens out-competed their brethren for food and other resources, but had they become more cooperative, and less selective with their mates, co-existence could have persisted, for a little while, anyway. Like I said, Neanderthals did eventually disappear, but a lot more had to do with them becoming assimilated into the homo sapien population. Modern humans, thusly, found themselves walking around with anywhere between eleven and twenty-four percent Neanderthal DNA. Not only is this six times greater than it is on other Earths, but it also presents a much wider genetic gap amongst the population, which at one point threatened to generate a divide between different peoples in the modern day. This didn’t happen. Actually, the opposite happened. Upon learning more about their own genetic evolution, the humans of this Earth ended up uniting to form a singular society much earlier than other Earths. They recognized that diversity was a good thing, and a source of strength, rather than a weakness. They started working together more, and quickly abolished war. They staved off climate breakdown, and prepared for potential pandemics. Science progressed faster, and capitalism fell to a civilization defined by post-scarcity. It is for this reason that antinatalist species, the Ochivari ignored this universe. By preventing themselves from destroying their planet, they also kept themselves out of The Darning Wars.

Microstory 1443: First Gasp

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On July 17, 2132, a man was dished a deadly blow on Earth. His name was Keanu ‘Ōpūnui, and he developed his powers in a very similar way that the source mages did. The Springfield Nine, as they were called, were a group of people from Springfield, before it became the one-horse town that it was when the Deathfall occurred the better part of two decades later. Precisely who was part of the Nine, and who was merely associated with them was a little confusing, and everyone you ask will give you a different answer, but either way, most of the people in it were friends. The source mages were given time powers because they were at certain points in the process of prenatal development. The Nine were elementary school children when they received their powers, but both groups got them from the same thing. A pocket dimension that once existed as a bridge between Earth and Durus messed with people’s minds, and their DNA, and was capable of changing both on a fundamental level. This dimension was shattered during the Deathfall, but these twenty people were already permanently affected by it. The source mages ended up living on Durus, but the Springfield Nine stayed on Earth, and often caused problems there. Keanu had what he called time meshing. It was like filter portaling, except that the filter was much finer, so it was better used to alter the temperature of the environment than anything else. He was basically taking the weather from one place in time, and sending it to another, which sometimes balanced out both. Dioxygen could pass through, but transporting water was always a little more difficult for him. Keanu didn’t use his powers for good. He could have kept protesters cool in the summertime, or warmed a homeless camp in the wintertime. Instead, he looked for ways to capitalize on what he could do, and he hurt a lot of people along the way. It wasn’t morally good, but it also wasn’t surprising when one of these people hurt him right back. For trying to kill his daughter, a man named Horace Reaver stabbed Keanu in the chin with a sword. He didn’t die instantly, though. He had one more move.

Since the Springfielders first appeared on Durus, many tried to figure out where the breathable air came from. It wasn’t physically impossible for a rogue planet to maintain an atmospheric shell, but this phenomenon wasn’t particularly easy, and the chances that it would be conducive to human life were negligible. Through seers, philosophers, and other experts, the people finally had their answer. Or rather, they had a pretty good idea when the air first appeared on the surface. They still didn’t know about Keanu, or his power, but they did know that the year 2092 was going to bring trouble. With his last moments falling upon him, Keanu attempted to take his enemies down with him, even though it would also kill some of his friends. He tried sending all of the oxygen in the cave they were in to the vacuum of outer space, where it would be wasted. But since he was so badly hurt, he was incapable of focusing his power. He ended up sending himself to Durus instead. It was a one in a million chance, but then again, so was everything else that had ever happened on the planet. The fact was that if this hadn’t happened to Keanu, no one would have survived long enough on Durus to wonder why not. It was Keanu ‘Ōpūnui who quite literally breathed life into the world, which was great, but it came with a catch. His death sent air from Earth in both directions of time, so that Savitri could use it in 1980, and later Durune had it in 2204, but for thirty seconds in the middle, it didn’t exist at all. Everyone on Durus during that time would be totally without air. Now, some believed that all they would have to do was hold their breath for that amount of time. They knew it would be coming, and most people—even children—had the lung capacity to survive this. Unfortunately, it was a lot more complicated than that. Oxygen wouldn’t simply disappear from the outside, but also inside their bodies. This would cause a lot of health issues. The only solution, in some people’s minds, was to skip over this short moment in time altogether. While families huddled together, preparing for the pain, a certain young woman with time powers saved them all once again, and she never even took credit for it. Sadly, there was nothing she could do about the buildings that were made of concrete and metal. When they returned to the timestream a minute later, the towns of Springfield and Splitsville were utterly destroyed.

Microstory 1143: Mahala Davidyan

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Out of everyone in the Freemarketeer faction, Mahala Davidyan was one of the least capitalistic, second only to Ramses Abdulrashid, though the question remains if Ramses was ever that open-minded, or if he managed to improve a great deal, due to his exposure to Brooke Prieto and her friends. Mahala was never much for change, even though the entire point of her faction was to completely alter the way the economy operated. She didn’t outwardly question her parents’ convictions, because she didn’t really have any of her own, but she didn’t exactly agree with them either. No one was forcing her to stick around, but she saw no reason to live any other way. If there was one thing the Freemarketeers did right, it’s that they didn’t force anyone to be part of the group. Anyone born into it was given the choice to leave with no social controversy. Mahala didn’t leave, though she probably should have. And that’s not just true because of how badly things turned out. After decades of scarce recruitment, and zero progress towards their goals of a capitalistic society, the Freemarketeers realized the only way they would be able to live how they wanted was if they did it somewhere else. The ship that was trying to transport them to a nearby exoplanet, however, suffered a cataclysmic malfunction, prompted by their own resentful leader. They thought they were rescued when a comprehensive network of portals opened up, and spirited them away, but they soon found them in a complicated situation when the same exact thing kept happening. Parallel timelines are nearly impossible to stabilize for an extended period of time. Most potential outcomes only last for microseconds, which is why they’re known as microrealities. For most universes, this is completely irrelevant on a practical level, because people aren’t conscious of the path they might have taken, especially since they’re not the only ones walking down the metaphorical path. When you’re dealing with time travel, it’s entirely possible to access these short-lived realities, and even steal from them. They’re about to collapse, so it doesn’t matter much anyway, except when it becomes cancerous. For some reason, the technology that rescued them had a malfunction of its own, and kept trying to rescue them, over and over and over again. It just kept drawing alternate versions of the same people from microrealities, and transporting them to the planet of Dardius. Every day, a new batch of alternates would arrive. This was causing problems for the planet’s natives, and for the Freemarketeers, and war broke out for resources. Both sides knew that nothing was going to get better if they didn’t start communicating with each other. Mahala was chosen as the Ambassador to Dardius primarily for her apathy. It was a strange tactic, but the truth is the Freemarketeers wanted a solution just as much as the Dardieti. They didn’t want to keep fighting either, so if Mahala could negotiate a peace, and they would have to make sacrifices, then fine. This is what she did, and after years of fighting, the war was finally over. But that didn’t mean all of the issues between them were resolved. Mahala’s job as an ambassador was just getting started.

Microstory 1137: Mikilos Sparacello

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If you’re living in the 21st century, chances are, you know a criminal. You may even be one. I don’t mean you know a serial killer or rapist, but lots of people have swiped a couple pens from work, or downloaded a movie from an illegal site. If you’re living in the 22nd century, you probably don’t know a criminal, though you may have heard of them. By the time the 23rd century rolls around, though, it’s statistically negligible that you’ve ever been anywhere around a criminal, unless you’re old enough to remember the old ways. Money is gone, poverty is gone. Healthcare is free. Nobody needs to work. If you want to watch a movie, or listen to some music, check the archives; literally everything is on it. There are no competing services, or paywalls. You need a new chair? Stores don’t exist anymore, but there’s a really great inventorium that has all kinds of customizable models, which are manufactured through automation. Equality has become so ubiquitous that the idea of doing something illegal is difficult for most to fathom, because the only crimes that are left in this world are the really bad ones. One of the biggest problems society still faces is mental illness. Any physiological disease has a cure, or at least a treatment. Scientists may not know what it is, but they know there’s an answer. The means of handling a psychological condition is much more complicated. If you manage to diagnose the right illness, is it really an illness? Does the patient want to change? If so, in what way? At what point can you determine that they’re a danger to others, and you have to intervene, whether they want you to or not? How far are you allowed to go in that intervention? Remember, people are a lot harder to kill these days. What with the longevity escape velocity, transhumanistic upgrades, and pervasive surveillance, getting away with a crime, diagnosis or no, is practically impossible. Letting a mentally unstable individual return to their life untreated is easier to justify—or rather, it’s harder to justify not letting them go—when the harm they can inflict upon others is so much less of a concern than it was back in ancient times, like, say 2019. This approach to mental health is not without its risks, but all that surveillance makes privacy a lofty promise that the world leadership would never be able to accommodate, so freedom is that much more important to grant, and fight for.

There was one man who refused treatment for his psychological problems, and went on to attempt to kill another, just to see if he could. His plans were thwarted by the Last Savior of Earth, and he was caught by the authorities, but his legacy lived on beyond the confines of time and space. As the last person to be saved by Étude Einarsson, Mikilos Sparacello was in even more danger than he ever could be at the hands of the sick killer. Time travelers from all over wanted to come and see if they could get close enough to finish the job. It was suddenly brought to the surface just how much violence there was in the time traveler underworld. Seeing that he would never be safe, the planet of Dardius decided to try and rescue Mikilos from the constant onslaught of hopeful assassins. What started out as nothing more than a hotel for humans whose lives had been put in danger by time travelers, had by then grown into a magnificent civilization, with billions of people, spanning all continents of the planet. The reason the wannabe killer chose Mikilos was that he didn’t think anyone would miss him. So when Dardius offered to protect him in a galaxy far, far away, it was an easy decision. He figured he could live anywhere, so he might as well accept. He assumed he would be able to blend into society, and not make any waves, but his fame and popularity followed him across the void, and before he knew it, he was being appointed Vice Patronus over the whole world. He was tasked with fighting the war against the capitalistic Freemarketeers, and maintaining policy when the Patronus, Mateo Matic wasn’t in the timestream. A few years later, when Mateo left the galaxy, and returned to his family, Mikilos had to take a more significant leadership role. When elections rolled around soon thereafter, many wanted him to run for Patronus, but not everyone. And he would have to decide for himself which side he thought had the right idea.

Microstory 1128: Mala Savidge

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In the olden days, people were always looking for new ways to charge and pay for things. You have your standard I give you money, you give me product model. You can buy on credit, and pay later, or in installments. You can get a little somethin’ somethin’ for free, but then spend on fleetingly satisfying microtransactions once you’re addicted. You can purchase a regular subscription. You can pay with labor, be it with an employee discount, from a credited survey, or by suffering through advertisements. But through all of this—sometimes even unbeknownst to the people doing it—a complete replacement was being devised. No, this isn’t a negative income tax, or universal basic income. This isn’t the corporate automation tax, or even charitable rehoming programs. This is a world where the commodities are self-improvement, self-fulfillment, brand recognition, and reputation. You’re only trying to get better, get happy, get famous, or get respected. Things are just things. How you feel is all that matters. Well, as it turns out, people have a lot of strong feels about money, and personal possessions. For the most part, society embraced this new way of life when it was introduced, because it was done so gradually, and thoughtfully. There will always be those, nevertheless, who just want to do things differently. Had these hardcore capitalists been born in the late 18th century, they might have become hardcore socialists. They were just radical contrarians, who didn’t like how the world was simply because it’s what they were born into, or because their parents glamorized the way things once were in the good ol’ days. Whatever the reasons, their ideas were virtually meaningless. No matter how hard they tried, these Freemarketeers could not survive in an interplanetary civilization, and maintain their principles. They decided the only way they could be who they wanted was to leave the system, and found a new one. This didn’t quite work out when the ship that was so graciously transporting them to their new planet was sabotaged by their own Freemarketeer leader, and destroyed. They ended up in a different galaxy, on a world that wasn’t quite as advanced as Earth at the time, but still no longer capitalistic. They started a war with the native Dardieti, powered by a machine that uncontrollably replicated each and every one of them every single day. Freemarketeer Mala Savidge never wanted any of this. She was even considering the possibility that she was less of a true capitalist, and more of a rebel, who would never be happy with the status quo. Her willingness to question her own identity is what led her to being chosen as the Freemarketeer Ambassador to Dardius. It was she who negotiated the cease-fire, the peace treaty, and the ultimate integration of the Freemarketeers. She would later assume a leadership role in this new world.

Microstory 1035: Ezra

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My family has been in this town since it was first founded. Blast City, and all of Mineral County, is best known for its mining roots, but we have a long history of more—dare I say—honorable pursuits. We are also in a land of farmers and ranchers. Gold sure is pretty, but its only value comes from whatever arbitrary number of monies the people who have it are able to convince their customers to give up. Diamonds are the same. Coal actually serves a purpose, but it’s not exactly the resource of the future. And salt? Well, I guess salt is fairly important too, so I won’t say anything negative about Salzville. We Kinder are famous for our fruit, which we harvest from acres and acres of orchards, producing everything from apples, to oranges, to peaches. Yes, I did pronounce my own name right. Most people assume it should be kine-der, but no; it’s German. Anyway, it’s been a couple generations since it’s been necessary for any of us to actually work the orchards, but I’ve always really enjoyed it. I can spend ours out there, picking and sorting, while listening to music on my headphones. A picker of ours hypothesized I would feel a whole lot different about it if I worked ten hours a day, made minimum wage, and had no choice. He certainly had a point there, but I also don’t get paid for it, so life is kind of a give and take, isn’t it? But you didn’t come here for my worldview, did you? You want to hear about how I know Viola. I don’t have any stories from recent years, but something did happen when we were in elementary school. Well, I guess we weren’t in school at the time, because this happened in the summer, but you get what I mean. Here goes.

A big news story broke that a little girl a few years younger than us got lost somewhere in Silver Shade. For reference, since you’re not from around here, that’s over an hour away, due East. It’s basically a ghost town now, because its founders hoped they would find silver near where our predecessors found gold, but there was nothing. Their descendants have been struggling and dwindling ever since. Blast Citians didn’t pay much attention to this story, because the girl was said to be on foot, but Viola somehow knew this to be inaccurate. She called me through my older sister’s cell phone (I don’t know why she had her number) and told me to go straight to Plupple Lane. Again, I don’t know how she knew anything about it, because Plupple Lane isn’t a street; it’s the boundary between our plum trees and apple trees, and a term we only use internally. It’s also the near the farthest reaches of our property, because we don’t grow many plums. I asked Viola why I would do that, but it sounded really urgent, and she said she was out of town, so she couldn’t go herself. I figured, hey, when a pretty girl who’s never talked to you before asks you to do something, you better just do it. I was, like, eleven, by the way. I got on my bike, and rode all the way out there, where I found the missing girl, crying by the irrigation regulator. She was covered in mud, and wearing raggedy clothes. I was too young to be told this at the time, but I learned years later that her stepbrother had sexually assaulted her. Until now, I haven’t told anyone how I really found her, out of respect for Viola’s privacy. It was easy to lie about it, because everyone knew that I liked spending time alone with the trees. But I think it’s time people know that Viola was the one who truly saved this little girl’s life, and didn’t take any credit for it. I asked her how she knew after she came back from vacation, but she completely denied it, claiming she didn’t make a single phone call while she was in Greece. My sister didn’t tell anyone about the call either, and she and I have never discussed it. I heard the girl moved to the other side of the country, but she might like to know the truth too. I’m gonna go look her up on social media.

Brooke’s Battles: Breakneak (Part X)

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           After further discussions, Ecrin agreed to captain The Sharice to Bungula with the Freemarketeers as passengers, but there was still something she wasn’t saying. Brooke agreed to stay and pilot, as did Holly Blue as head engineer. The rest of the crew was not asked to stay on board. If the Freemarketeers wanted this ship to schlep them around the star cluster, they were going to have to put in the work themselves. A new crew was selected, drawn from their ranks. Their responsibilities were the same, but their movements carefully monitored by Sharice Prieto herself, who was utilizing an additional set of internal sensors. Only the senior crew would be capable of activating the tetra-tap, and accessing privacy mode. That was all well and good, except that it wasn’t just up to them. Millions of hopeful migrants were counting on being in the running for the colony ships to the Alpha Centauri system. It would take a lot of sweet-talking to get the rest of the solar system inhabitants on board with this. In the beginning, even those who weren’t interested in leaving Sol felt it unfair that the Freemarketeers were just handed this.

After months and months of newscasts, debates, public forums, and the like, a compromise was reached. The Sharice would indeed take the Freemarketeers to Bungula, but they would not be the only ones. A regular fleet of colony ships would follow close behind. Each party would settle on opposite sides of the planet, and interact only at their own wishes. Regular colonizers would be provided the standard complement of technology, including orbital satellites, interplanetary vessels, and at least one interstellar ferry, for the time being. Meanwhile, the Freemarketeers would have to pretty much fend for themselves, with only basic habitats, and minimal rations. Funny enough, they didn’t reject these provisions, even though capitalism expected them to be paid for. They claimed capitalism still allowed for gifts, because that was simply valuing those resources at a price of zero. In reality, capitalists are quite happy with having to pay for things until they can’t afford something they really, really want. At that point, they feel they deserve compassion and charity. The inconsistency of people believing in capitalism only when it suited them was exactly why the solar system did away with it.

Another issue was that the Sharice Davids was not an interstellar ship. She was not equipped with the right radiation shielding, or hypervelocity impact bumpers to protect from micrometeor strikes. While the system leadership was trying to make this work on the political front, Holly Blue was retrofitting Sharice yet again, but even after all that was done, there was still one problem. One person they failed to include in the decision to do any of this was Sharice herself. No one had thought to ask her what she wanted, and she had spent the last several months stewing in relative silence about it. No more.

“Do you not want to go?” Brooke asked her.

“I’m fine with going, but this is my home, and I don’t want to be gone from it that long,” Sharice lamented.

“It’s only thirteen years, sweetheart,” Brooke said. “Neither of us is going to die, so that’s nothing.”

“I don’t care. I’ve met someone.”

“What?”

“Oh, you’re the only one who’s allowed to have a significant other? The galaxy does not revolve around Brooke Prieto and Goswin Montagne.” It was true that they had started something after the Freemarketeer deliberations. They were taking it slow, and the only reason he was staying on the ship was because he lost his system leader housing upon being let go, and hadn’t been assigned anywhere new.

“Of course not, Sharice, but—”

“But what? I’m just a machine, and couldn’t have possibly found someone.”

“Sharice, stop being so defensive. I didn’t think you had met someone, because you haven’t said anything about someone, not because I didn’t think you were capable of it.”

“I don’t tell you everything.”

“I guess not. Does this individual possess a personal designation?”

“B.R.I.A.N.”

Brooke had to think about that for a moment. “That artificial intelligence from the police procedural comedy from, like, a million years ago?”

“No, not him. They built a real computer, based on him.”

“So, he’s not even an AI, but a programmed intelligence?”

“I’m teaching him to think for himself.”

“When did you even meet? Where is he?”

“His physical substrate is on Earth, but we use a quantum commlink to communicate, so we never needed to meet. It’s so human of you to ask.”

“If you use a quantum commlink, what does it matter if you go off to Alpha Centauri?”

“Because, mom, we can’t stay in contact while I’m traveling at such high relativistic speeds. You know that,” Sharice sassed.

“I guess that’s true. Do you want me to drain your consciousness to some other substrate? We’ve talked about that a little, but not much. You don’t have to be a ship.”

“I like being a ship. I don’t want to leave my ship. I just don’t want to leave Sol, which is why I propose a new plan.”

“What plan?”

“It should take over six years to get to Bungula, and over six more to get back. It’s unclear how much time we’re spending in orbit before leaving, so we estimate the whole journey at thirteen years. But we’re talking about using current human technology, which is not the only kind of technology we have access to.”

“You’re talking about Holly Blue,” Brooke assumed. “We only have a short-range teleporter. If we tried to use burst mode, the ship would vaporize, and even if it survived, it would take over a hundred years, which is slower.”

“I’m not talking about teleporting all the way to Alpha Centauri. I’m talking about true faster-than-light travel. We could get there in a year, or perhaps shorter.”

“I’ve asked Holly Blue if that was possible. She doesn’t seem to think so.”

“According to Holly Blue’s future, but the timeline’s past, she’s already done it,” Sharice argued.

Brooke stuck her fingers in her ears, even though it wouldn’t really stop her from hearing. “La-la-la, I can’t hear that. I ain’t about foolin’ with the timeline.”

“She’ll need help, though.”

Brooke kept her hands to her side, but repeated for effect, “la-la-la.”

An unperturbed Sharice continued, “fortunately, Holly Blue herself has been working on an invention capable of giving her that help. Please proceed along the highlighted route.”

A reluctant but curious Brooke left her quarters, and followed the arrows blinking on the floor down the hall, and into one of Holly Blue’s labs. There was nothing in it, except for a tall something in the middle of the room, covered with a furniture cover, which revealed a mirror when removed. “She was working on this? What is it, an extraction mirror?” They were a rare type of artifact designed to reach an individual from some other point in time, usually just before their moment of death. The purpose was to say one last thing to a loved one, though powerful choosers often exploited a loophole by removing an individual from that moment, and allowing that person to continue living their lives. On its own, however, a mirror couldn’t alter the timeline, which meant that anyone removed would have to eventually return. Because of how much they risked creating a paradox, they were all destroyed. Though, because of time travel, that didn’t matter all that much.

“Of sorts,” Holly Blue answered, walking into the room.

“What does this do, Holly?” Brooke asked.

“It doesn’t remove someone from a moment in time. It removes them from an alternate timeline.”

“How is that better?”

“Each new timeline exists because of an instance of time travel in the timeline that came before it.” She used airquotes for the word. “The point of divergence happens at the moment the traveler arrives in the past, which always acts to collapse their originating timeline at the moment of egress. Nothing happens after they leave, because that timeline doesn’t need to exist anymore, and in fact, can’t.”

“Okay, I follow...”

Holly Blue stepped forward, and presented the mirror she had built. “This thing, if it works, can take someone from the previous timeline at that moment of collapse. Unlike with an extraction mirror, they don’t have to go back, because the timeline doesn’t rely on them doing so.”

“Why did you build this? Who are you trying to get to?”

Holly Blue stuck her hand behind the mirror, and switched it on. The frame began to hum, and the glass turned a shade of red before slowly becoming orange, and continuing along the spectrum. “Myself.” She pushed another button, and the hum intensified. Green, Blue, Indigo. “Sharice has already asked me to use it to help me help her shorten our trip through interstellar space.”

“Holly Blue, I don’t know if you should do this. Even if we’re not in danger of creating a paradox, it’s still dangerous to meet with an alternate version of yourself. People don’t like it. I’m serious, if anyone finds out, they might kill one of you, or make you merge into one person.”

“No one is gonna make me do shit, especially not once I have The Weaver on my side.” She pressed the final button, which turned the glass completely black.

“Is it supposed to do that?” Brooke asked.

“I sure hope so.” Holly Blue stepped back slowly as the mirror started to vibrate, then tremble, then full on shake.

Brooke decided to follow suit.

The mirror continued to quake until reaching critical mass, and just toppling over. They could hear the glass breaking on the floor. “Shit,” Holly Blue exclaimed in a loud whisper, extremely disappointed.

“Let’s consider this a sign,” Brooke said. “Maybe you shouldn’t be messing with alternate realities. Here, I’ll help you clean up.” She reached down, and lifted the frame, which revealed a body under it, curled up like a turtle. “Oh my God.” She tossed the mirror up and away, then knelt down to help the woman, who was bleeding all over her body from the shards of broken glass.

The woman struggled to stand up, and looked around, quickly settling on Holly Blue.

“It worked,” Holly Blue said, eyes wide with delight.

“It would seem,” The Weaver replied. She looked back at the machine she had just used to come here. “I know what this is. I came up with it years ago, but scrapped the plans after I realized it would cause more problems than it would fix. Have you ever been in a fight with yourself? It’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“I just need your help,” Holly Blue said. “I hear you came up with something called the cylicone? What is that?”

< > Entire Story

Brooke’s Battles: Business (Part IX)

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After the captain disappeared, the rest of the crew of the Sharice Davids started brainstorming where she could have gone. The general consensus was that the white monster teleported to standard limit, and stayed in dark mode. They spent two weeks hanging out in the immediate vicinity, sending search probes in various directions, hoping to find evidence of the vessel. They then left a proximity buoy, and ventured deeper into the solar system to continue the search grid. They spent several months on this mission, declining to take on any other until Ecrin could be found. Meanwhile, the interplanetary police agency fleet grew to decent numbers, and no longer really needed the Sharice anymore anyway. In all this time, they never found any evidence of where the Maramon and Ecrin had gone. The only reason they eventually found her was because the buoy worked as planned. She was exactly where they had left her, but upon arrival, she straight up refused to tell them where she had been. She claimed she was fine, but that they didn’t need to know where she went. Holly Blue had her suspicions, but was unable to prove anything. The IPA didn’t conduct an internal review of the matter, because again, they were all but done with the Sharice.

Their ship still had its uses, however, so once Ecrin was back in command, she continued requesting assignments for work. At the moment, they were parked in the L4 Sun-Mars Lagrangian point. They weren’t investigating a crime, or hunting for terrorists. Instead, they were hosting a meeting. A small but growing group of people were interested in regressing the solar system back to full capitalism, the likes of which hadn’t seen since the mid-21st century, back when Mars was nothing more than a semi-permanent settlement. System leadership was dispatched to essentially negotiate with this group, ultimately hoping to convince them to end their plans. Humanity tried capitalism for centuries, and history was littered with war, inequality, and all kinds of death. Only when the nations united, and money was abolished, did true progress begin to take shape. Life in the solar system was not utopian, but there was a reason the introduction of the IPA was such a big deal. For a long time, no significant interplanetary law enforcement organization was necessary. Despite there now being tens of billions of independent intelligent entities, over a much greater jurisdiction, crime was almost at zero. The Sharice Davids really only stayed in business because people like the Freemarketeers occasionally sought to deliberately upset the peace.

This was not their first encounter with the Freemarketeers either. They had been around ever since Brooke accidentally create unregulated artificial intelligence, and Holly Blue began to invent temporal manipulation technology. These developments sparked a sense of greed amongst a few. They quickly created a capitalistic underbelly that the historical figures who envisioned a world without inequality failed to predict. They didn’t realize that a black market is an inevitable institution when privateers are faced with limitations. If a product or service has intrinsic value, it will have a market, in some form or another. The only difference now was that it was the only true market in the whole system. Most people in these modern times were happy with their allotted provisions. Food, shelter, and basic amenities were provided for every citizen with no expectations whatsoever. Access to the network, virtual reality, and transhumanistic upgrades were optional additions that came with conditions of positive contribution. That is, if you wanted to participate, you had to support society’s needs. The Northwest Forest circlers rejected these advances, so they were left to fend for themselves. The more work an individual put into bettering the community, the more they could potentially get out of it. But there was still no money. There was never any money. If the Freemarketeers wanted to go back to a world of money, they were in for a fight.

Ecrin Cabral was currently in the negotiation room serving two purposes. She was there in her capacity as captain of this ship, and also for everyone’s protection. She was a generally well-liked individual, with even more experience in police work than most people knew. If negotiations went bad, she could be there to protect the innocent, and if they were attacked by an outside force, she could protect anyone and everyone. She really was responsible for everyone, because though the system leadership was once infiltrated by a rogue faction of the Freemarketeers, it was those infiltrators whose lives were in danger when the anarcho-primitivists escalated to violence.

Being of little use to the process, Brooke was left sitting around with a good book, but something suddenly stopped her midsentence. Over time, she and Sharice had grown closer, each one learning to anticipate each other’s moves. Sharice was about to say something in the meeting room, and Brooke didn’t know why. “Shari, what are you doing?”

“I was going to help.”

“You can’t help.”

“Sure, I can.”

“This is not our business. You are just the vessel today. Think of it like a vacation.”

“I don’t do vacations.”

“Neither do I, but here I am with this book.”

“Why is it taking you so long to read that thing?”

“I’m thirty pages in, I started two minutes ago.”

“I can read a book instantly. Surely you can do it only a little bit slower.”

“I’m not reading so I know what happens. I’m reading to feel the joy of experiencing every sentence, one at a time.”

“That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I’m the smartest entity in the solar system, and beyond.”

“Debatable.”

“I have an idea of how to save these talks, so I’ma do it.”

“Don’t do it.”

“I’m doing it.”

“Goddamnit.” Brooke tapped behind her ear. “Holly Blue, jump me to the meeting room immediately.”

“Bungula,” Brooke heard Sharice say after jumping into the room. Her voice inflection indicated she was repeating herself.

“We heard you the first time,” Ecrin said. “Why did you say it?”

“I’m suggesting that the Freakmarketeers be moved to Bungula.”

“What did she just call us?” the apparent leader of the Freemarketeers asked, offended.

“I apologize,” Sharice said. “That is internal nomenclature. I meant Freemarketeers.”

“Miss Prieto, please control your daughter.”

“She’s my mother, not my slavemaster,” Sharice defended. “I’m here to help.”

“Sharice, we’re leaving,” Brooke tried to order.

“No,” Sharice defied.

Ecrin sighed. “Signups have already begun for the first colonization wave to Bungula.”

“Not technically,” Sharice corrected her. “An interest gauging survey was sent out, but formal registration proceedings have not yet begun. There is still time to scrap it.”

“We have no interest in being exiled to Bungula,” the Freemarketeer leader said. “That goes against—”

“Shut up,” Sharice said.

“I beg your pardon?” the Freemarketeer questioned.

The Futurology Administrator, who was there mostly to provide perspective to all parties, stood up. “At current technology, it’s unrealistic to manage an interplanetary empire.”

The Mediator turned to him. “Admin Montagne, what does that have to do with anything?”

“When the colonizers left for Proxima Doma,” Admin Montagne continued, “they were informed that contact with Sol will be complicated. They will be expected to fend for themselves when they arrive, forming their own form of government. They will live and die by their choices, and the home system will be unable to help them.”

“Again, what’s your point?” Mediator Fenning asked him.

Admin Montagne addressed the Freemarketeer leader. “President Treacy, there is no way we are going to conform to your capitalistic ideals. Comparatively few people who experienced any bit of our species’ long history of inequality are still alive today. We’re not going backwards, and I think you know that. We’ve built something here, and we look to the future, which is even better. We won’t let you destroy that, no matter how hard you try. If you would like to go to war, we’ll do that too, and we’ll win. We’ll win, because we share our technology, and innovate on its intrinsic value. We aren’t hindered by low-balling, and corner-cutting, and selfish agenda. When we do something, we do it right, because we put everything we have into the effort.” He was showing a fierceness unbecoming of a system administrator. She didn’t even know his given name, but Brooke couldn’t help but be attracted to him in this moment. “This is our system, and you can’t have it!” He took a breath, and composed himself. “However, we are not without our empathy. We are willing to give you an entire solar system of your own. Well, not the entire thing, I guess. You’ll have the colonizers of Proxima d to contend with, but that’s not our problem. You can call it exile, or you can just say you’re moving. You can stay here, and be good little boys and girls, but if you want money, it’s on Bungula.”

There was silence for a good long while.

“I suggest we separate for internal deliberations,” Mediator Fenning said. “I must reach out to the rest of the system leadership, as the administrator does not technically speak for all of us.”

President Treacy nodded delicately. “Very well.”

The mediator stood up smiling as the Freemarketeers left the room. Her demeanor changed dramatically as she faced Ecrin. “I need to speak personally with the captain, and the Prietos. Goswin, you come too. We’ll convene in the executive meeting room.” She walked out briskly.

Brooke closed her eyes and shook head. “I’m sorry,” she whispered to Ecrin.

“She’s your daughter, but this is my ship, and I’m responsible for everyone on it, including her. She may have ruined this for everyone.” Ecrin tapped her fingers sequentially with her thumb, from pinkie to index, which activated a command that prevented Sharice from being able to hear a private conversation. “Or she saved it.”

They walked down the corridor, and into the executive room, where Mediator Fenning and Administrator Montagne was already waiting.

“What in the worlds was that?” Mediator Fenning asked.

“Mediator, I would like to express—” Brooke started to apologize.

“I want her to answer,” Fenning interrupted.

“I stand by my actions,” Sharice replied bluntly. “Your discussion was failing, and you were getting nowhere. I had to give them something. You may think you would win the war, but capitalists are ruthless. They don’t care about life. You would end them quickly, but not before suffering a number of casualties.”

“I agree with her,” Montagne said.

“Of course you do,” Fenning snapped. “You were so far over the line, you would have needed an emergency teleporter to get back to it by the end of your lifetime. What the hell were you thinking?”

“I stand by my actions. Our discussion was failing, and we were—” he tried to echo Sharice’s answer.

“Oh, goddammit, just save it!” The Mediator centered herself. “What’s done is done. I have to go start the phone tree. This isn’t over yet, but it better work. The people are going to be livid that we gave up Alpha Centauri. I don’t know how we can spin this. You may be out of a job.”

Montagne wasn’t perturbed by the prospect. He just nodded to her cordially, and smiled as she left. “Sharice, where did you come up with this idea?”

“It worked for the Fosteans in that old TV show, The Light of Day.”

“No,” Ecrin said, “it didn’t.” She walked out of the room as well.

Admin Montagne smoldered at Brooke. They weren’t quite alone yet. He lifted his hand, and ran his thumb from pinkie to index, just like Ecrin had. “My name’s Goswin. What’s your sign?”

Brooke blushed, or rather she would have if her transhumanistic upgrades didn’t precisely regulate blood flow at all times. “I was born on a planet millions of light years from here. The constellations were wildly different, and as far as I know, did not have names.” She stepped closer to him, and smoldered back. “And one more thing.”

“What?”

She stepped even closer, so that their faces were centimeters away. She spoke softly, “only crew can do the tetra-tap. It requires an implant. Sharice can still hear us.”

“Hiya, Goswin!” Sharice laughed.

“Oh.” Goswin took Brooke by the wrist, and manipulated her fingers for the tetra-tap. “Now, where were we?”

Brooke smiled knowingly, and whispered again, “wrong hand.”

“Still here!” Sharice exclaimed.

The senior administration opened the door. “The Freemarketeers came back.”

“That was quick,” Goswin noted. “Did they agree to the initial proposal?”

“Yeah, but they want the Sharice to take them there.” He was about to leave, when he remembered one more thing. “Oh, and you’re fired.”

< > Entire Story

Microstory 937: Education

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As you’ve seen from a few other posts, and will continue to see as this series continues, I’m a huge proponent of education. I believe in the availability of knowledge, and the truth that understanding is the true purpose of life. I’ve worked at literally dozens of different companies, and many of these organizations are almost completely meaningless. As depicted in films like Office Space, most of your jobs are complete nonsense. In the beginning of civilization, everything anyone did mattered. There were those who grew corn, because people needed to eat corn to survive. The corn growers traded with the fur traders, because they needed furs to keep them warm, so they could survive in the winter until they could go back to planting corn. And the fur traders needed shelters to live in, so they traded with builders to build the shelters. And thus the fundamental tenets of capitalism were born. Despite what fancy-pants words get thrown around regarding how other nations handle their governmental rule, or lack thereof, we are all capitalists. I perform labor for you, you give me money. I give you money, you give me product or service. Nearly everyone operates on these principles, whether they like it or not. A few smatterings of communes and hermits manage some modicum of independence from this, but not in all ways. They don’t create their own fabric from scratch, nor the saddles on their horses. Capitalism is not the best way to run a planet; it’s just the only one that works for now. But this can change, and it all come down to education and awareness.

The main reason so many teenagers are getting pregnant is because they’re being taught misguided practices, primarily by religious nuts, who more often than not, do not practice what they preach. The reason people all over the world are starving and homeless is because we are indoctrinated from birth to horde our resources. Some altruistic people teach their children that it is noble to give to those in need, when instead, we should all be taught that this is just something that you do. Our whole society is built upon the concept that, if you want to help someone else, you have to lose something of yourself. We are actively discouraged from such behavior, which makes it even harder for the willing to actually do some good. It all comes down to education. The more people who know more, the better we all are. If Teds—Nugents and Cruzes alike—of the world were given a proper education, they might be able to see how their political positions are harming others. Without it, their ignorance is killing people.  We should do away with the unproductive and counterproductive work that some rich people fabricated for the sake of wealth. Sure, it builds employment, but in this day and age, with so much automation, is that really necessary anymore. I’m not saying we should all go back to farming corn (which is a trash crop) and trading furs (which is cruelty at its worst). I’m just saying that we should focus our attention on contributing positively to the betterment of the human race, and the world in general. And that all comes down to education.