Extremus: Year 124

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Waldemar was being dramatic last year when he promised Sevara that he would make big changes to the ship. He is smart enough to know that jumping right into his endgame will get him kicked out of the captain’s chair. He can’t let that happen, not in his first term. Yeah, he’s calling them terms. It never made any sense to say that they were shifts. A shift is something you do for a matter of hours at a time, not the entirety of your role. It’s little things like that that he’s changing first. They’re also officially calling the place you go when you’ve been bad the brig, because that’s what it’s called! It’s been filling up. Some people think it’s wrong, but for too long, the passengers have been getting away with doing whatever they want, and that stops now. There are cells here. There are so many cells in the brig on this ship. The ancestors obviously anticipated more crime. The fact that they mostly stand empty is a point of pride among most, but from Waldemar’s point of view, it just looks like the bar has been set too low.

Silveon has become Waldemar’s personal steward, which should have been the case from day one. He doesn’t care if it looks like he’s playing favorites. That’s the whole point of being in power. Cronyism is supposed to be a dirty word, but it is a well-trusted Earthan tradition. If you’re loyal, you’ll be rewarded. Anyone who thinks that disloyal people should be rewarded instead—based on this stupid concept called merit—is an idiot. Loyalty is everything, and it’s time they recognize that. Not everyone agrees. Silveon doesn’t. Which is ironic, but that’s okay. Waldemar isn’t a crazy person, who thinks that no one else should have their own opinion. Silveon’s perspective is not only not a problem, but actively helping. He doesn’t just want to be surrounded by sycophants. He needs to understand the other side of these issues, so he knows how the people will react to his changes...so he knows how to fight against them. Silveon is the most important person in his career, but not in his life. For that, he needs another.

Waldemar and Sable have grown closer and closer by the week. It started out as only sex, but he’s starting to feel real feelings for her. At first, he denied them, because he doesn’t have those, but maybe he was wrong about that. Most of how he understands his own psychology comes from his mother. Even though he hated her, and she’s gone now, it’s not like those lessons went away. She raised him using a certain—evil—method, based on what she thought he was, from his birth. How does he let go of the damage she’s done? Well, being with Sable helps. They’re lying in bed now. He’s idly running his fingers through her hair. It doesn’t even feel like he’s putting in any effort. His hand has become a perpetual motion machine. They are one.

She’s looking at his chest. “You were shot.”

“What?” The wounds completely healed a long time ago. He didn’t even suffer permanent internal injury. She shouldn’t know anything about it, unless Silveon told her, or Sevara before she met her quite timely death. “What are you talking about?”

She props herself up by one hand, and looks down at him with a kind sadness. With her free hand, she places her finger where one of the bullets went in. “Number one.” She moves on to the others. “Number two, number three, number four...A.” She reaches under his back. “Number four B.”

She knows too much. Lying about it now will only serve to ruin the special thing they have together. So he might as well acknowledge that she’s right. “How do you know about those? Did Silvy say something?”

Sable makes a face. He may not see emotions, but he understands coinfusion. “Who? Your steward?”

“Yes, and your mother’s late friend’s son.”

“He and I are not friends. We see each other occasionally when mom invites him over for a meal. No, he didn’t randomly tell me about how you got shot five times.”

“I thought maybe there was a chance that you and he were...”

“No!” she argues. “I’m with you. Only you.”

“It would be okay if you weren’t. You know that Audrey and I are still active. She doesn’t know about us, and I still love her. I’ve been honest about that, and I’ve never told you that you couldn’t have a life outside of this room.” This is a special room. When you’re captain, you can take whatever you need for whatever you need it for. This is only for the two of them. It’s located in an otherwise not-yet-populated sector of Extremus. They don’t even have to walk here. He granted her teleportation privileges for this reason. He doesn’t think she uses it for much else.

She gets on top of him again, and kisses him passionately. “I’m only here for you. I don’t have a problem with you going home to Audrey. I don’t mind sharing.” She kisses him again. She smiles like a villain. “In fact, I get off on the thrill.”

They’re not going to have sex again. He only has so much sexual stamina at this age. Waldemar hasn’t figured out how he’s going to convince the ship to become immortal. It goes against everything everyone believes in. There’s a big difference between conforming the crew’s job titles to a more cohesive convention, and completely dismantling generational indoctrination. Speaking of which, he has to get back to the grind. He is more free to have a personal life than past captains, but that’s because he’s so efficient. He’s had to fire people, but now he can delegate work to others, confident that they’ll get it done, or else. Still, it’s not like he doesn’t have anything to do himself. At the very least, he needs to be seen to maintain his control. “I wish this didn’t have to end, but—”

“But you’re trying to save our people from themselves. I get it.” One more peck on the lips, no tongue. “Get back to the grind.” She hops off of him, and heads for the head to brush her teeth, and then shower. That word. He used it in his own thoughts. It’s weird that she came up with the same one. It’s not entirely crazy. It fits the situation, and he’s probably said it before. That’s why they’re so perfect together, because she knows him so well. Then again, she knows about the bullets...

Waldemar begins to gather his clothes. “Think about what I asked you earlier.” He blows a final kiss to her.

She catches it. “‘Kay.”

He disappears.

Sable typically prefers to take a traditional shower with real water, instead of just a sonic misting, but she doesn’t have time. She usually doesn’t anymore. Ever since Silveon took a job working with the captain, they don’t have a ton of time to talk. Each time Waldemar leaves Sable, it means that he’ll be expecting Silveon to return to his side rather quickly. There’s a very short window here. She jumps straight to his office.

Silveon shoots up from his chair. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine, why? Why would you think he hurt me?”

“Well, you’re practically naked.”

She looks down at herself. “Yeah, I’m in a hurry. You don’t mind, do you?”

“It just looks bad, okay? If you were violated, this is exactly how you would show up. I’ve told you before, I’ll—”

“Oh my God, I just told you I was in a hurry! Stop talking.” She knows what he’s gonna say anyway. She can back out of this assignment at any time. If she doesn’t feel safe, they can relocate her to Verdemus. It’s fine, she doesn’t need this. If Waldemar were gross, it might be harder, but she does technically enjoy being with him physically, which makes faking the love part easier.

“Sorry, go ahead.”

“He wants me to paint him. He wants me to sit there behind an easel, and paint him while he poses, like the ancients did.”

“Oh, he told me about that. He’s going to hang it above the fireplace in his office.”

She stares at him blankly. “He has a fireplace?”

“He does now. He had the synthwrights install it. It vents to the fusion torches.”

“It’s a working fireplace?” She shakes it off. “Doesn’t matter. Why didn’t you tell me he was going to ask me this?”

“I didn’t know he would ask you. He said he wanted a portrait. I thought he meant a blown-up photo, not an oil painting, or whatever.”

“Well, I don’t know if you remember, but I’m not actually good at drawing. The album I carry around isn’t actually mine?”

“Yes, thank you for reminding me,” Silveon retorts. “It’s not like I’m the one who gets you those pictures from the real artist.”

“What are we going to do about it?” she questions. “Are you going to teleport in while he’s mid-blink, and switch it?”

“I don’t know what we’ll do, but we will figure this out. If he asked you, he’s not going to ask anyone else. You have to say yes...unless, of course...”

“I’m not quitting!” she snaps back. “Stop suggesting that. I’m not a little baby.”

“I’m sorry, it’s hard not to see you as young. I was there when you were born, and even back then, I was an old man.”

She didn’t know about that. “Gross. You saw my mom’s wrinkly old vagina?”

Silveon looks away in disgust. “Jesus, no! I didn’t mean I was in the room! Why is he so obsessed with you? You’re kind of an asshole.”

Yeah, he likes assholes. “I think you just answered your own question.”

“That’s not how Audrey is. She’s nice.”

“Yeah, and he’s cheating on her, with me. So...”

“Good point.” He checks his watch. “I should probably get back to the bridge. We’ll talk more about the portrait. We’ll freeze time, or you’ll tell him you prefer to draw from photos.”

“That won’t work, he’s already said he doesn’t want to do that, because that’s not what kings did in the past. But okay. Thank you, I just wanted you to start thinking about it. It’s not urgent. I’m sorry that you had to see me in my bra.”

“It’s fine,” he promises in the most professional way possible.

“Oh, really?” she teases.

“Just get out before he shows up. He usually calls first, but we can’t be sure.”

“See ya later, Uncle Sil.” She disappears.

To get ahead of it, Silveon calls Waldemar instead. “Need anything, Cap?”

“Nah,  just the usual,” Waldemar replies. “Take the rest of the day off.”

Silveon knows that he means the opposite of what he’s saying. Waldemar is calling a meeting with his secret police, and knows that Silveon wouldn’t approve, so he keeps him out of it. It’s annoying, but also an impossible situation. He can’t just tell Waldemar to disband the force. Their relationship has never worked like that. He’s never been able to tackle it so bluntly. It takes finesse. “Okay, thanks. You’re a good boss. You’ve gotten better at knowing what others deserve.” That’s not wholly relevant to the secret police problem, but it will hopefully help in a more general sense.

“I agree.”

Silveon shoots a quick message to his contact in the police. She thinks that the information she’s providing Silveon is helping to keep Waldemar safe. His reasoning is that if it’s leaking to Silveon, it’s less likely to leak to someone else. That’s kind of ridiculous, but Waldemar didn’t hire the best and brightest for the job. He hired followers. She knows that Silveon is smarter, so his plan must make sense. Silveon sends another message, then immediately teleports to the rendezvous point.

Audrey is somehow already there. “It took you long enough.”

“How did you beat me?” he questions. “I hit send just before my jump.”

She holds up her watch. “New model. It sends you backwards in time, just a little bit; not enough to make any meaningful changes. It only works at long enough distances, so you can’t interfere with your own past self.”

“That’s time travel, it’s illegal.”

“Oh, and we wouldn’t want to break the law, would we?” she jokes. “Anyway, what do you have for me?”

Silveon tells her about the painting problem. “Can it be done?”

She massages the back of her neck. “Well, I know of one way, but it’s risky. I think you might like it, though, because it takes Sable out of the equation entirely.”

“How would that work?” he presses.

“I would just dress up like her, and wear a hologram. We’re about the same size.”

Silveon thinks through it a little. “You’re right, that is risky. We would need an uninterruptible power source, and you would have to learn her mannerisms. Waldemar doesn’t recognize people that well. He’s learned to tune to things that others don’t notice, like gait and chin tilts.”

“I think I can figure that out. I know Sable. I know how she moves. I’ve obviously never tried to impersonate her before, but I have time to practice, don’t I?”

“Yes, you’ll have some time, but you should get started.”

“Will do, boss.”

He shakes his head, unable to hide his smile. Everyone’s giving him attitude today. “How are you doing? Any domestic issues?”

“Nope. We still have sex. The guy’s insatiable, but I don’t mind.”

“All right. You know your options, so I won’t bother repeating them. I’ll leave you to it.” He disappears.

Audrey teleports to Sable. “Don’t you worry. I always knew he might ask to watch you, and I’m locked and loaded with an idea. I just need to watch you walk and eat.”

“What? Why?” Sable asks. “Wait, you’re the real artist? Why keep that from me?”

Sable’s mother, Lataran stands up. “She’s gonna pretend to be you. Before you volunteered for this assignment, that’s how we thought we would do it.” She looks at Audrey. “But if it goes well, he’ll ask her for more. Holograms won’t work long-term, or maybe not even short-term. We need that consciousness-transference tech.”

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Microstory 2556: Web Developer

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I knew what I wanted to do with my life from a pretty young age. I taught myself HTML and CSS when I was in fourth grade, and started three surprisingly successful websites that demonstrated my skills. They were stupid, and thank God, defunct now, but they were my first little babies. I took all the computer classes I could in high school. I had to ask my guidance counselor to waive the language requirement, because I did not have time to learn it. I was learning javascript. That is a language, and these days, some schools which also have a language minimum include it in their lists. I never went to a four-year program, because it would have been a waste of time. I would have gotten a degree in art history, or something, and cost my parents tens of thousands of dollars for nothing. Again, I knew what I wanted to do. I earned an associate’s degree in Web Development and Graphic Design, which was helpful because graphics have never come easy for me. I’m much better with deep coding, and logical operations. After I completed that, I felt ready to really lean into my specialization, and ended up being accepted into a Coding Bootcamp. Unlike other programs, this one lasted for eighteen months. What they do there is teach you how to write code from scratch, and build your own libraries. It’s kind of this open secret that most coders don’t write most of their code. They copy and paste, and there’s nothing wrong with that, except there is, because that’s where the bugs come from. If your phone ever randomly closes an app on you, or two separate programs claim that they’re compatible with each other, but you can’t get them to share data properly, it’s probably because the developer didn’t know how to do a thing they needed to do. To make it work, they found a resource. This other resource gave them something similar to what they needed, and they were smart enough to adapt it for their needs. The problem with this technique is there’s no cohesion in the code. You can tell either that that’s how they did it, or multiple people worked on different sections, and then they had to stitch everything together. Mama don’t play that way.

My code is mine, and it works flawlessly because I wrote it all myself, and I did it using consistent conventions, which promotes flow and compatibility. Now, I’m not saying things don’t go wrong. People are still accessing my site from browsers that I have no control over, and with extensions that interfere with it, but for the most part, it’s a well-oiled machine. I keep a watchful eye over it, and man do I pay attention to those bug reports and complaints. A lot of tech companies don’t do that, because they don’t want to spend the time on it. Fixing bugs doesn’t make them money. Only signing up new users, or generating more traffic, can do that. The application process is complicated. The way you answer one question changes what questions are asked of you afterwards. This is not easy to program, but I can do it, because I worked hard, and I’m passionate about perfection. Candidates do not want to get all the way through the application, only to be kicked out because they missed a question, or because their internet cut out for a millisecond. I prevent those disruptions. I save their work. I don’t make mistakes. Because if I make a mistake, they make a mistake, which gives the evaluators the wrong information, which leads to no healing, which leads to death! I can’t have that on my conscience. I won’t allow it. I live and breathe this code. It’s my one and only baby now, and I won’t let anything bad happen to it. I promise.

Microstory 2544: Consort

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I have always wanted children. My problem has always been finding someone to have them with. I just didn’t click with anyone that I dated. Well, that’s too narrow of an explanation. There was always something wrong with the relationship. He didn’t want kids, or he said he did but it was a lie, or he cheated on me, or we grew apart, or he wasn’t responsible enough. I’m not saying anything special. I broke up with my past love interests for all the same reasons that other people do. I don’t have any family, and the job I had before this was very demanding. I could have cut back on the work, but only if I had a partner to help support the family. It wouldn’t have worked out if I had chosen to go it alone. The baby would have been cared for by babysitters, daycare workers, and/or nannies. Not that there’s anything wrong with those jobs, but I wanted to be part of the baby’s life. Truthfully—and this may make me sound like a jackass—I didn’t sign up to be with Landis, or to have a kid with superpowers. I signed up for a baby, and a home to raise it in. Now I don’t work at all, and I spend my whole day taking care of my little guy. There’s a roof over our heads, and three squares a day. That’s all we need. I’m not greedy. That’s kind of a barrier for entry into this program. Unless you have a job that you can do from home, you can’t really make any money from this. We’re not even given a stipend. If you want something, you request it from the Facilitators, and they purchase it for you, using their company accounts. Again, that’s totally fine with us. These restrictions are important, not only because of their inherent value in protecting the legacies, but because they don’t want millions of people signing up. If it were as easy as requesting that they ship potential mothers a sample of Landis’ seed, everyone would want to do it. Might as well. You have to be able to come here, you have to be willing to have sex with Landis, and you have to be all right with staying put, and just being a mother. It’s not for couples. And it’s not for moms who already have kids. It’s for people like me, who want to devote their lives to raising one amazing child. Superpowers or not, I love him and we’re happy.

Microstory 2487: Skilldome

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I don’t want to speak for you, but I’m guessing that your life is pretty easy. Everything you need is handed to you, along with a few things that you might just want. There are those who spend their whole lives holed up in their modules, connected to VR or the network. Dayfruit growers provide them with food. Drones deliver their feedstock. Their electricity and water is piped in, and their waste is shipped out. Their personal robot does all their work. I’m not criticising people who live like this. This is just a preamble so you’ll understand what purpose Skilldome serves. So many things that you may or may not take for granted were either not cheap for our ancestors, hardly available, or outright didn’t exist. Obviously, different time periods came with different limitations, and over the years, there are skills that we’ve lost to automation, and engineered simplicity. I’m not saying that you’ll become a better person if you learn how to drive a car with your hands and feet. I’m just telling you that the skill is something that this dome offers. You can also learn how to churn butter, command an animal to plow a field, or write something down with a pencil and paper. It’s hard to describe what these activities are, since there’s such a broad range, but it’s basically everything that people used to have to do to be productive that we don’t anymore. To be sure, there are some things that still hold some merit in our world. You might not have access to a medpod or healing nanites, even today, so knowing how to perform first aid is one of those skills that some people have maintained anyway. But for those of us whose minds it didn’t cross to do it before, if you’re on Castlebourne, come on down and take a class. As far as skills that are less practical in the synthetic era go, like stuffing mail in envelopes, or coding a program in an obsolete computer language called C++, you can do it just for fun, or to have a greater appreciation for modern living. Or come up with your own reasons. There are no requirements on what you have to do when you come here, but if you do come, and you do choose a particular skill, it is asked of you to use the tools you are given, and not “cheat”. If you’re taking a math test, only use one of those old basic calculators that they will provide you with. Don’t just ask an AI to do it for you. That defeats the purpose. I actually saw a guy do this, which was so stupid, because no one was making him take this otherwise pointless test. What you get out of coming here is entirely up to you. Ain’t nobody gonna hold your hand. Nor should they have to.

Microstory 2469: Gambledome

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Here’s the thing about gambling in a post-scarcity society...it’s not any fun! When money isn’t real, the stakes aren’t real, and there’s nothing interesting about it. The creators of Gambledome have managed to subvert this about as well as possible without completely shifting the paradigm of the economy. In Gambledome, money kind of is real, but only here. You start out with a modest amount of cash to spend on chips, and as you play, you win and lose those chips. If your stack starts piling up, you can cash them out, and spend it on things. You can get yourself a nice, luxurious room to stay in. You can spring for the (faux) lobster at dinner. You can give it away to your friends to make them like you. This is how it worked in other gambling communities on Earth back in the before-fore times, like Las Vegas. Here, it’s a recreation, which may make you think that your life can only get better, but that’s not true. If you run into the negative, you’re in trouble. You can’t leave the dome, and go back to the utopia that vonearthans have created since automation made fiat-based economies obsolete. You have to stick around, and pay off your debts. That’s right, there are real consequences. Some of the humans walking around as staff may be there because that is the experience that they have asked to be assigned while staying in the dome, but some are there because they have to be. Don’t come here if you don’t genuinely want to pretend to be an ancient human, because that’s the thing about gambling. You don’t know if you’re gonna win, and people lose all the time. A note on cheating: while they won’t torture you, it can land you in jail, where you’ll pay off your social debt by being locked up in a cell, unable to leave. We still have jails in the 27th century, of course, but the percentage of incarcerated individuals has never been lower, so this is rare. One woman lost her money on purpose, threw a tantrum, and tried to steal it all back, specifically so they would throw her in a cell, because it just doesn’t happen all that often anymore, and she certainly didn’t want to break any real laws. She didn’t want to go through the real justice system, and go to a real jail, where she might never get out. Overall, this place is a lot of fun, but only temporarily. I wouldn’t want to spend the rest of my life here, and I certainly wouldn’t want to live in a world where people are sincerely desperate enough to gamble because they think they have no other choice. I don’t know if Gambledome is fostering any real addicts, but I sure would be interested to know if it’s happening, and if it is, whether the creators have any plans to do anything about it.

The Advancement of Mateo Matic: July 17, 2499

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Mateo and Olimpia were in St. Louis on one of their business trips. There was an issue with the booking, which was forcing them into a single room with a single bed. It was no coincidence that all of the hotels were booked up this week. They weren’t the only game in this town right now. Every ridesourcing company was hoping to strike a deal with St. Louis Metro Transit. They were looking to expand their service to multiple outlying areas, but found the project to be cost-prohibitive on their own. One of the bus drivers moonlighted as a driver for Tractus Rides, and suggested they form some sort of partnership. It was a last mile program, which could help thousands get to their destinations at lower cost than if they had to drive themselves, or use a ridesharing service alone. The executives actually thought it was a good idea, but they didn’t just want to close themselves up to options. Everyone was going to get a shot to pitch their idea. This would be a huge opportunity for RideSauce. While St. Louis fell under Mateo’s purview, he wasn’t in charge of the negotiations, because that was well above his paygrade. If they managed to secure something here, there was a chance that RideSauce would make similar deals in other cities.

Only the higher ups for RideSource were here, but Tractus went a different direction. They decided to secure rooms for their local drivers as well, reportedly to show their enthusiasm for the project, but clearly just to make themselves look stronger. They took all the hotel rooms just so they could walk around with their big swingin’ wieners, and that was annoying. There was nothing that the front desk agent could do, so Mateo was gonna have to swallow his pride, and speak to his archrival. “Pacey,” he greeted with an insincere nod.

“Matthew, what a pleasant surprise.” Pacey Henricksen was essentially Mateo’s equivalent for Tractus in the central midwest, though not exactly. Their organization was structured differently, so he managed more cities, and other divisions in those cities. RideSauce focused on ridesourcing, but Tractus was also in delivery and limousine services. And he knew that Mateo would be here, obviously.

“You took all the rooms.”

Pacey breathed in deeply through his nose and nodded. “We need them.”

“This is a stunt.”

“This is all a stunt,” Pacey argued. “That’s what we’re doing here. How we appear to the client is what matters most.”

“What we can provide to the client is what matters in our eyes,” Mateo countered. “They’ll see that.” He wasn’t really here to get in a fight, but he couldn’t help it.

“We’re bigger, and they need to know how much better we’ll be at scaling operations.”

“Your other divisions are irrelevant. The bus riders aren’t going to be getting in any limos.”

“They might if they pay a premium,” Pacey reasoned.

Mateo laughed. “They’re bus riders,” Mateo emphasized. “They don’t pay premiums. You have no idea who you’re dealing with.”

“We’ll see. Did you need something?”

“We need one of your rooms. They overbooked, so now we’re stuck with one between the two of us.”

Pacey looked over Mateo’s shoulder, at Olimpia. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Put your tongue back in your mouth, you’re not her type.”

“What’s her type?”

“Decent people,” Mateo answered.

Pacey shrugged. “I’m sure she would make an exception.”

“She and I are professionals. You might look into it. Until then, what do I need to do to get one of your rooms?”

Pacey grimaced. “You see, if I give you a room, I’ll be taking it away from someone else, which means they’ll be pairing up instead. That doesn’t really solve the problem, it just shifts it to someone else. You have more experience with that than I do.”

Ugh. Of course he would bring that up again. He always found a way whenever they ran into each other. “For the last time, that driver was not in my area. Just because he was supposed to drive the rider from Sioux Falls to Sioux City doesn’t mean he worked for me. He was registered in South Dakota. I had nothing to do with the failed background check.”

“Well, it speaks to how flippant your company is with safety and security,” Pacey decided.

“The driver worked for you too, he passed your background check just as easily, so don’t give me that bullshit. And unlike me, South Dakota is in your jurisdiction.”

“Well, he wasn’t working for us that night, which is why the judge withheld it as evidence.”

Mateo had no retort, and it was a distraction anyway. “There are only two of us, and as her superior, it would be inappropriate for us to share a room. Pacey. Please. You must know of two people who can bunk up.”

Pacey looked away in thought. “Well...there’s this one driver that I’ve been seeing. I suppose that she and I could share. Your little assistant could sleep in her room instead. We wouldn’t even have to involve the hotel. We’ll just give her a keycard. But if she takes anything from the mini-bar, you’re paying for it.”

“She never would,” Mateo explained. “I’ll ask her if she’s okay with it.”

“Lovely,” Pacey said. “Always glad to assist a colleague.”

Mateo stepped over to talk to Olimpia, who was receptive to the idea. She wasn’t entirely convinced that the original situation was a problem that needed to be fixed, but she didn’t argue. She wouldn’t, though. He needed to get better at reading her, and recognizing that he’s her boss, and that she wouldn’t want to antagonize him. As long as Pacey’s companion stayed in his room, instead of going back to her own, Olimpia should be fine. That wasn’t what happened, though, and they should have known.

“They got in a big fight apparently,” Olimpia said at Mateo’s doorway.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping away.

She rolled her suitcase inside. “She was telling me about it, but I’ve become pretty good at tuning people out. I know what they want to hear when I’m pretending to listen actively, based on tone and pauses in their speech, so I don’t have to absorb the information. I’m sure it was very banal and meaningless. The fact is, she wanted her room back, and I didn’t want to stick around. She said she was fine sharing it with me, because I seemed cool, but I really don’t wanna do that.” She looked around this room. “I was hoping there was a couch, errr...”

“No, the company’s very frugal. I typically don’t care. It doesn’t need to be big, just clean. But you can sleep in the bed, and I’ll be in the tub.”

“I know you, Mateo, you shower at night. I can tell that you already have. The tub is wet.”

He shrugged. “I always bring a swimsuit. I’ll sleep in that.”

“That’s silly. We can share, it’ll be fine.”

Mateo looked down at the bed. “It’s a full, not even a queen. Pacey must have done that on purpose as further punishment.”

“Pacey?” she questioned. “How would he have any control over what room you were assigned?”

Mateo blinked. “I don’t know, how would he?”

Olimpia blinked back. “Can you sleep next to a woman without having sex with her?”

“Yeah, can you? Vice versa, that is?”

She hesitated to answer.

“Olimpia, it’s a simple—” Wait...

She still couldn’t answer, and she didn’t try to backpedal.

No, he couldn’t sleep in the bed with her. He couldn’t even sleep in the tub. He had to get out of here entirely. “You take the bed, I’m gonna hail a RideSauce Hot. They’re almost always SUVs, so I should be able to sleep in the back.”

“That’ll cost you a fortune.”

“Not if we don’t go anywhere,” he contended. “I’ll pay under the table.”

“That is not a service that our company offers.”

“No, but...I’m the boss. I’m sure whoever it is will say yes. That’s the difference between us and Tractus. The drivers know who I am. Nobody who works for Pacey could pick him out of a line up.”

“Mateo, it’ll be fine. I’m not saying that I won’t be able to handle it. I just want to be honest about my feelings.”

“I appreciate that. It would have been real easy for you to say nothing, and let it happen. But I have to nip this in the bud. You’re my employee, and I’m married.”

“Right, which is why I’ll get over it.”

“It’s too complicated. Things are different out there.” He pivoted, and started to gaze out the window at the stars. What did they have to do with anything?

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Mateo’s phone rang. It was Leona. “Hey, I’m about to go to bed.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. What would be wrong?”

“I just had this feeling that you’re upset about something. I can’t explain it.”

“Things have gotten a little bit awkward with the hotel rooms, but we’re working it out. I think you just get worried about me when I’m gone.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Oh, hold on. I’m getting another call.” He switched over without even bothering to see who it was. “Hello?”

“Mateo. This is Angela. Is everything okay?”

“Angela? My neighbor? Why would you think there’s something wrong?”

“Marie and I just started getting this weird feeling.”

A text came in. It was Ramses. Yu ight?

What the hell was going on?

They heard a series of beeps at the door just before it opened. Pacey walked in. He looked disappointed. “I thought you three had an understanding, but it looks like the feelings are a little more complicated, so this whole hotel room gambit isn’t gonna get you where you need to be.”

“What are you talking about?” Mateo demanded to know. “How do you even have a key to get in this room?”

Pacey looked back at the door, and then back to Mateo. “What room?”

“I’m so confused.” Mateo sat down on the edge of the bed, and buried his face in his hands.”

“I know,” Pacey said. “I messed up. I was trying to respect your privacy by only extracting the memories and knowledge that I needed to set up a plausible scenario, but it wasn’t enough. I’m afraid, in order to keep you here, I’m gonna have to go deeper.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Mateo argued.

“I know, and you won’t remember any of this anyway. You and Olimpia will have had sex tonight. That’s how you’ll remember it, and you will have already told Leona about it by the time you wake up. In fact, it will have been weeks ago. She will be fine, and the three of you will move forward with your relationship. Unfortunately, in order to make this work, you’re gonna have to lose the transit contract. I’ll become a weaker antagonist if you don’t.”

Actually, this was starting to make sense. Mateo’s memories were resurfacing. None of this was real. This wasn’t his life. This wasn’t any of their lives. “I know you. You met Leona before. She ran into you in the ka—”

Mateo was nervous. He had never been on a date with two women before. Well, there was that one time, but that was more of a double date where his girlfriend’s friend’s boyfriend flaked out on her. He had never been interested in that other girl. He was interested in Olimpia, and as fate would have it, Leona was interested in her too. She seemed to like them both. This might even go okay. But a first date was a first date, and those were stressful no matter what.

“Are you ready?” Leona asked. “I just need to pick a pair of shoes.”

“Wow. You look beautiful in that.”

“It’ll look better on the floor,” she joked. “Ah, come on, I’m tryna lighten the mood.”

“Is this weird? This seems weird. Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

“It’s almost the 26th century,” Leona began. “Polyamory is in.”

“I know, but...”

“Don’t shoot yourself in the foot. Two hot chicks are into you. Just let it happen. If things get messy in the future, we’ll clean it up. No one’s life is gonna get ruined.”

“You can’t promise that.”

“You and I have been through worse,” Leona claimed.

“We’ll see about that.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “But I trust in your judgment. And I love you.”

“Were I you,” she said as he was walking out of the room.

“Were you me what?”

She blinked. “Huh. I don’t know. It’s an idiom, though, isn’t it?”

He shook his head. “No, it isn’t.” But was it?

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The Advancement of Mateo Matic: June 3, 2398

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Leona did a double take as she was driving last night on her way back from date night. She and Mateo were meant to have dinner downtown, but they got in a fight on the ride out there, and ended up just skipping it. He got out of the car to walk alone, so she decided to drive around a little bit to clear her head. It’s not everyday that he has the upper hand in an argument, so she wasn’t exactly excited to get back home and face her friends. She wasn’t too far away when she spotted one of them walking along the path in the park across from their building. “Hey!” she called out to him. He looked around for the source of the voice, and smiled when he found it. Before they could exchange one more word with each other, a dark van pulled up between them, and stopped for a few seconds. When it drove away, Ramses was gone.

She held for a second to go over the possibilities. He could have been taken against his will, sure. It wouldn’t be the first time for any of them. She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he clearly saw her on the other side of the road. He wouldn’t have smiled if he didn’t realize in time that it was her. Given that, he would have made an effort to say something to her if he was intending to get into that van. He wouldn’t have just shrugged off the awkward timing, and went about his secret business. No, even though she didn’t know why he would be taken, it was the only logical hypothesis. So she moved over to the right lane, put on her hazard lights, and impatiently waited for the traffic to clear. Then she made an illegal u-turn, and begin to pursue the van.

She called his phone, just in case there was a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of this. After three rings, the driver of the van tossed something relatively small out the window. She was pretty sure she knew what it was, but she stopped anyway, and quickly opened her door to pick the phone off the road, and bring it in. Hopefully they didn’t just see her do that, because they might become suspicious. Fortunately, the car behind her still had a ways to go before catching up, so nobody honked their horn. Now it was pretty obvious that something nefarious was going on here, and she needed help. She tried to call Marie, and then Angela, but neither of them answered their phone. She called Mateo, even though he was surely still on foot, but his phone rang inside the car. Damn, he left it here when he hopped out in a huff. She was going to have to fix this on her own.

Twenty-five minutes later, they were into the rural outskirts of the metropolitan area, and the van was showing no signs of slowing. That was when the route started to become all kinds of crazy. They turned down one road, and then down another, and then another, until they were all the way back to where they started from. They winded around, and occasionally spent a little too long at a stop sign. Oh no, they must have realized that she was following them, and were just testing her. She tried to call her friends again, but this time couldn’t even get through to voicemail. She couldn’t find a signal at all. What were these people doing? And what were they going to do to Ramses once they confirmed that Leona was behind them. It was dark, though, and despite the fact that they were out in the country, there were still quite a few other cars around. She just hung back a little farther, and prayed that they couldn’t prove any suspicions. 

They played this game for hours, and now it’s after midnight. There’s still no cell service, and Heath’s car is running out of gas. The van probably is too, but she has no choice but to keep trying. All she can do is continue to follow, three cars back, and hope that they stop soon. They don’t, though. In fact, they turn off on a single lane road; that’s one lane, full stop. It would look mighty suspicious if she happened to be going that way too. But it doesn’t matter, because Ramses needs rescuing, and she’s the rescuer. They keep going until they reach this isolated little farmhouse.

Leona switches off her lights, and turns into the driveway, because if they haven’t noticed her by now, they probably never will. They go all the way up to the porch, but she stops near the road to watch. She sees them drag a Ramses-sized burlap sack, up the steps, and into the house. If he’s dead, she’s going to kill them. One of them leans against the van and lights up a cigarette while the others are starting to do whatever it is they plan on doing. That’s when she gets out of her car, and approaches without caution.

“Hey, you’re not supposed to be here! Who are you?” he cries.

“This your van?” she asks, nodding to it like a gangsta.

“What of it?”

“How did you not detect my pursuit?”

“Hell you talkin’ ‘bout?”

She pops him in the nose with her forearm, spilling blood out like a beer can at a college party. As he’s crying like a baby, and trying to shove the blood back into his body, she slams the back of his head against the passenger window, cracking it slightly. Lastly, she situates the inside of her ankle against his, and pulls the back of his neck away from the car. He trips on her leg, and crashes to the ground. She stomps on his back before casually walking up the steps, where she finds the other two men trying to get Ramses into a chair. They stop and stare at her of course, not sure what the hell is going on.

“Hey, wait, I know you. You’re just a floor worker.”

“No,” Leona contends. “I’m the lead floor worker.” She fights them both. They have knives, which is adorable, and they’re rolling on the floor in a matter of seconds. Those three years she spent training with the Crucia Heavy really paid off. These electronic repair idiots are no match for her, but it’s better to be overqualified than underqualified.

Once it’s all over, Ramses finally comes to. He takes a moment to assess the situation. “Thanks for coming after me.”

Leona starts to untie him. “What do these guys what?”

He chuckles. “Honor. You see, I quit, which apparently didn’t mean that the number two worker was promoted to supervisor, or as a thought, repromoted. They had to be tested again, and evidently, Bruno over there cheated the first time, so they fired him. And the other guy, Stockboy, just sort of does whatever Bruno says.

“We were driving for, like, four hours, but we’re probably less than an hour away,” she tells him, questioning the rationale.

“Yeah, they were worried about being followed or traced, so they thought going around in circles would prevent that. I guess they figured that would be good enough, and they wouldn’t have to actually look out for someone like you. True morons, if you ask me.”

“I would have asked,” Leona begins, “if I didn’t surmise that myself.” She tenses up when the front door opens, but relaxes when she sees that it’s the rest of the team. They’re in no hurry either, presumably after seeing the driver writhing on the ground.

“Okay,” Heath says, “next time you go into the Great Dead Zone, drop a message. We barely found you.”

Microstory 1824: Red Meat Cute

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Over a decade ago, I moved to a new city with big dreams. No, this wasn’t Hollywood, or New York. I didn’t think I was going to become rich and famous. What I thought was that I was going to get a fresh start. I wanted to—no, needed to—get away from my hometown where my grandfather closed the plant, and ruined the local economy. To be fair, it wasn’t entirely his fault. The business was failing, and this was the only option. It happens. Still, it didn’t feel safe to stick around with my last name, so I escaped. I didn’t know anyone in the area, so I went out at night, hoping to meet some cool people. That’s when I met the girl who would become who I thought was my best friend. She took me under her wing, and showed me how things worked around here. One thing in particular she introduced me to was this app that lets you order food from various restaurants, and have it delivered right to your door. I would later learn that she was kind of playing on my naïvete by making it look like us dumb farm folk hadn’t learned about this newfangled technology yet, when in reality, the city belonged to the test population for an entirely new industry sector. Nobody had this yet, I wasn’t behind the times. The app didn’t even have very many restaurant partners at the time. Anyway, I knew what my new home address was, and I knew how to use a smartphone, but I’ve always been just a little bit careless. I entered 56th Street when I really meant 56th Terrace. So I’m waiting for my food, and watching the estimated time approach, and then I see the app claims it’s been delivered. I look on the porch, in front of the garage, even on the roof, like an idiot. No, it’s not there. That’s when I realize my mistake. I call the app, and the restaurant, and they both tell me that it’s not their problem. So I take a walk.

I went to the bad address, and rang the doorbell. The guy who answered was drinking my strawberry milkshake, and I could smell the burger and fries. I explained to him what had happened, and he was apologetic, but also not? He acted like he was just an innocent bystander who had done nothing wrong. I asked him where he thought it came from. Apparently, when a stranger showed up at his door, and handed him unasked for food, he didn't stop to think that maybe someone else would be missing it. Well, I was none too happy, and I let him know as much. He apologized some more, and offered to pay for it, because he was really hungry, and had already touched everything. Instead, I showed him what app to download, so he could reorder for me, and then we would call it even. I turned to leave, satisfied with this result, when he stopped me. Actually, he didn’t instruct the app to deliver to my house, but to his own again. If I wanted it, I was going to have to stay and share the meal. Okay, I admit, that was kind of a cute way to ask me to lunch. As we were waiting, we got to talking, and long story short, we were together for eleven years; married for eight. Today, I discovered that he has been cheating on me, for what’s probably been just about the entire time. I’m sure you’ve guessed, I’m talking about my best friend. I realize now that I should have seen it coming. The signs were all there. She always thought I owed her for helping me get my bearings in the city, and he always felt entitled to take whatever he wanted without considering other people’s feelings. It was a match made in hell. To make matters worse, on my way to confront her at her work, a freaking loose brick falls off of the façade of that first goddamn restaurant I had delivered, and strikes me in the head. I guess I really wasn’t cut out for this city.

Microstory 1792: Reverse Karma

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I was a terrible human being, and I don’t regret anything I did, except maybe the choices I made on my last day on Earth. I learned to become the man I am from my father, but not in the way you’re probably assuming. Dad was the greatest guy ever, who literally wouldn’t hurt a fly. I had to take care of the pests myself, because he couldn’t bring himself to do it. I wish his parents had encouraged him to deal with things like that, if only to teach him how to stand up for himself. His wife—my father—cheated on him, chronically, and openly. She just kept doing it, but never left him, because he made good money, and she didn’t think the court would make him pay alimony if she was clearly the bad egg in the relationship. He continued to give her anything she wanted, and didn’t divorce her, because he was just too nice. He was fired for costing the company too much in accumulated raises, just before he would be able to receive full pension. He got shot in the gut once, trying to mediate a street fight. He survived the attack, only to die in his hospital room a few days later after a nurse screwed up his medication. It was an ongoing issue too; something that had to build up in his system. We’re all pretty sure that he noticed the mistake, but didn’t say anything, because he didn’t want to bother her. I knew that I couldn’t live my life like he did his. He was forced to do his best to hide how miserable he was, and I realized that the only way to be happy is to take what you need, and not worry about how it makes other people feel. People hated me, but never fought against my selfishness, because they were worried about how I would react if they called me out on my shit. I’m sure things would have worked out just fine, but I found that letting them be afraid of me served me better than being kind and honest.

I was right to be the way that I was, all the way up to the day that I died...but not through the day that I died. I suppose you would tell me that that’s proof my lifestyle didn’t work, but it was really just one fluke, and had I survived it, I doubt I would have changed my ways, and I doubt it would have come back to bite me in the ass later. My dad suffered from reverse karma. The more good he put into the universe, the more the universe took, and it never gave back. I, on the other hand, had a wonderful life, filled with booze, broads, and buttloads of money. I had a high-paying job, and I didn’t listen to people who told me I didn’t deserve to be happy. It was only this one time that I guess I should have opened my ears a little bit. So I was walking down into the subway, trying to enjoy my audiocast when this smug asshole wearing all hemp assaults my senses with his mediocre—but loud—rendition of some dumb pop song I didn’t care about. As I was walking by, I kicked his guitar case closed. I didn’t padlock it, or anything. All he had to do was reopen it, but suddenly I was attacked by a bunch of social justice workers who thought I was starting a war on the poor. I didn’t care that he was poor, I just didn’t want him to interrupt the latest episode of Sexy Serial Killers. I defended myself, as one does, but they just kept screaming at me for being a bad person. Whatever, it wasn’t like any of these people mattered. Except, apparently, they did. While I was trying to stand as far from the crowd as possible, I ended up slipping over the edge, and down onto the tracks, twisting my ankle, and possibly breaking my hand. The injuries turned out to be the least of my concerns when I realized that no one was going to help me back up. Death by subway train. At least you can’t say it was boring.

Microstory 1788: Vulpeculiar

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I never wanted to get into gambling. My family has a history of gambling addiction, and I knew that I didn’t want to even look down that path, so I never put myself in that position. Unfortunately, gambling found me anyway, and I fell into it hard. Maybe if I hadn’t been so afraid of it, I could have learned restraint, but there’s no way to know now. I’m madly in love with it, and every time I lose, it only makes me want more, because there’s always a chance of turning things around. I’m actually not half-bad, now that I know the rules of my favorite games. I’ve come up with a system, and I know everyone says that, but most of the people who say it are thousands—or even hundreds of thousands—of dollars in debt, whereas I always keep myself in the black. I have a special savings account of money that I don’t touch. It doesn’t matter how close I get to losing everything else, that money is for food and shelter, and I’ve held firm on that. That doesn’t mean my life has been safe and happy. I’ve certainly had some problems, especially with sore losers who think that they’re entitled to live their own lives free from consequences. It’s hard to disabuse them of the idea that they won when they’re holding the scary end of a gun against my temple. I’ve recently become immersed in the shadier side of gambling, to which the authorities either turn a blind eye, or can’t even find. I’ve just been going deeper and deeper, playing games with higher and higher stakes. I’ve recently discovered the most mysterious and unusual game of them all. Bottom of the rabbit hole, I call it. The people who play it, though...they call it Vulpeculiar.

There’s a family game I remember playing as a kid called Catch Phrase. I don’t remember the rules, but it doesn’t matter, because it’s just the game disc for Vulpeculiar that reminds me of it. Only 121 people can play in the world, and the only time someone new can join is if someone quits while they’re in the black. This is hard to do, because if you’re in the red, you can’t choose to play. Only someone else can select you as an opponent. It’s a game of chance. You choose who you want to play against, and how much to bet. Then you squeeze the button. You either win, or you lose, and the only strategy is to decide to quit while you’re ahead. When you lose—and you will lose—if you can’t pay with money or collateral, you pay with your soul. You’ll be sucked into the disc, where you’re conscious, and totally at the mercy of the corporeal players. They can give you a chance to win back your freedom, or they can ignore your slot, and play against someone else. The guy who got me into this mess is probably best described as my frenemy. I guess he figured it would be easy to convince me to help him cheat. It’s a two-man job. If I hold the disc, and he squeezes the button, the game is confused about who the player is. If he loses, the round will be disqualified, and nothing will happen. But if he wins, it will pay out into our supposed joint account. Of course, he betrayed me, and never gave me access to those funds, so I’ve decided to screw him over too. I let go of the disc at the very last second, dooming him to losing after betting the sum of every player’s debt against the “dealer”, which he could never hope to pay. He’s sucked into the disc, and I realize I’m the last corporeal player left. It has to end here. The game is evil, and I’m the only one who can stop it. I bet the pot too. It’s over a billion dollars, so I assume that I’ll be sucked in, and leave no slots open for new players. I was wrong. Not only do I win, but the other 120 slots suddenly open up. I think I just killed everyone.

Microstory 1723: Pair of Compasses

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Pamela. You are my compass. When you found me, I was nothing. I was going nowhere in my life. My father, may his soul rest in peace, did everything he could to point me in the right direction, but when I lost him, I lost myself. Instead of honoring his memory, I continued on a pointless path, and made nothing of myself. Then you came along; my light in the dense forest. You showed me that it wasn’t too late, and that there was still hope for me. I will forever be grateful for where we have gone together, and how far we’ve come. Now, I know that I strayed from the path a little, and for that, I will forever be ashamed. But you forgave me my transgressions, and that just proves how perfect we are as a team. You knew that, even then—even after all I did—with my ex...and her ex, and your sister...and your sister’s ex—you knew—you knew that I was still redeemable. I will never be able to make up for what I did, but I believe together, we can walk towards a beautiful future. I will no longer attempt to walk alone, or find my own way. I will surrender to your wisdom. Your needle always points North, and knowing that, we can make our way to any way that we wish. Um. I think this metaphor is getting to be a little too much. Just give me a second. Notecards, I know, but...just hold on. (Let’s see, don’t want to bring this up—I’ve rethought this whole part of the  speech—my brother said that was an inappropriate—hold for laught—oh, never mind). Okay. Pamela. Poetry aside, I would just like to promise you that I have successfully changed my ways. You changed me, and you won’t have to worry about me ever again. As long as you’re by my side, I’m certain that we can get through anything. I vow to be faithful and fearless, interesting and inspiring, mesmerizing and motivating, and successful and satisfying. I can’t wait to begin the next leg of our journey together. Thank you.

Chaz. I think you’re right, I’m a compass. But you are a compass as well. You could even say that we are a pair of compasses. I don’t mean that we’re just two mariner’s compasses. We are the drafting instrument that architects and engineers use to make their designs accurate. I don’t mean to say that we are building something great, or that our home is perfect. The truth is that nothing has been remotely perfect about our lives together. Yes, you cheated on me, and I’m not sure why we needed a rundown of your offenses. Well...I think we all know that those were only about half of your offenses, and that it only includes the ones I actually know about. Who knows how many more there are? Which children here today are yours? Do we even know? I joke, I joke. You’re right, I forgave you for what you did. And that brings us back to my metaphor. (I admit, I took a peek at your vows, which is why I’m prepared to say what I’m saying now). When I took you back, my friends pointed out what we mean to each other, and what our potential is. I didn’t listen to them, but now I know that we truly are a pair of compasses. You see, the compass drawing tool involves two legs. One is steady. It stays in place, while the other makes the drawing. You are the steady leg. You plant yourself in one spot, and I revolve around you. That is our pattern. All we do is make circles. Sure, we can make smaller circles, and sometimes even larger ones, but we can never escape the pattern. We just go ‘round, and around, and around. The only way to break the cycle is for me to break the compass, and set myself free. So I’m leaving you, Chaz. You can sleep with whomever it is you want. It’s not my problem anymore. Goodbye.